J. Jance - Cruel Intent

“Is something wrong?” Ali asked. “Are you all right?”

“No. We’re not all right,” Beverly managed, pulling herself together. “We’re still at the Best Western. The cops were here a little while ago. They put my son in handcuffs, loaded him into the back of a patrol car, and drove away.”

Ali’s heart fell. If Dave had gone so far as to place Bryan under arrest, then the evidence he had collected from the back of the truck must have been damning.

“The girls didn’t see that,” Bev Forester continued. “But they’re dreadfully upset that their father isn’t here with them right now, and I don’t know what to do. Lindsey’s crying like her poor little heart’s broken. Lacy’s locked herself in the bathroom and won’t come out. They’ve been through so much the last few days, but I can’t do a thing with them, and right now I’m at my wits’ end!”

“I’m sure if you just talked to them-” Ali began.

“I already tried that,” Beverly returned. “So did Harold, Bryan’s father. He didn’t get anywhere, either. We were wondering if we could convince you to come see them.”

“I can’t see how that would help,” Ali objected. “I don’t even know them.”

“Oh,” Beverly said with a disappointed sigh. “Bryan speaks so highly of you, I thought maybe you knew his girls as well.”

“I don’t, but it’s possible I know someone who does,” Ali said. “I met their teacher at a function last night. Her name is Mindy Farber. Her roommate is my son’s fiancée. Mindy seemed to be concerned about the girls. Maybe she could help.”

“Do you have her number?”

“Let me call her and explain the situation,” Ali said.

Once off the phone with Beverly, Ali called Athena’s number. While Chris listened with considerable interest, Ali enlisted Mindy’s help and made arrangements to come get her.

“Thank you for picking me up,” Mindy said twenty minutes later as she buckled herself into the Cayenne’s passenger seat. “You didn’t have to. I know where the Best Western is. I could have driven there myself.”

The truth was, Ali wanted to go, too. Bryan Forester was part of her life; so were his girls. If there was anything she personally could do to help them, she would. As a consequence, on the drive there, Ali filled Mindy in with as much background information as she’d been able to piece together.

At the hotel, Ali drove around the building until she spotted Bryan’s Dodge Ram. A man smoking a pipe stood leaning against the front bumper. “Mr. Forester?” Ali asked as she stepped out of her car and into the parking lot.

He straightened. “Ms. Reynolds?” he asked. “Thank you for coming. Bev’s not very good at this kind of thing. Completely out of her league. I don’t know how much more she can take.”

“Where is she?”

“Bryan and the girls were staying in the next room over,” he said, pointing toward the adjoining door. “I don’t know what we’re going to do about that tonight. We can’t very well leave them there by themselves.”

As Ali walked through the low-lying cloud of pipe smoke, Mindy Farber was already knocking on the door. “Come in,” Bev Forester called.

As soon as Mindy opened the door, Ali saw a gray-haired woman sitting on the edge of a bed. A little girl lay on the far side of the bed, crying inconsolably. When the woman reached out to touch her, the girl shrank away. The woman stood up, then, wringing her hands, she hurried to meet Mindy.

“She’s been like this ever since her father left,” Bev Forester said. “What should I do?”

In answer, Mindy walked past her and took Bev’s place on the bed. “Lindsey,” she said softly. “It’s Miss Farber. Are you all right?”

Without warning, Lindsey sat up and flung herself at Mindy and buried her tearstained face in her young teacher’s breast. “Did you hear?” she hiccuped through her sobs. “Our mother is dead. Somebody murdered her. I heard some people talking. They were saying that they think Daddy is the one who did it. I wasn’t supposed to, but I was peeking out the window when he left. They put handcuffs on him, put him in the back of a car, and drove away. Oh, Miss Farber, if Daddy’s in jail, what’s going to happen to us? Where will we live? Who will take care of us?”

“Maybe your grandparents-”

“They don’t like us,” Lindsey sobbed. “They don’t like Lacy.”

“That’s not true,” Bev interjected. “Of course we like Lacy, we just don’t understand-”

Just then the bathroom door swung silently open. Without so much as a glance in Bev Forester’s direction, Lacy emerged from the bathroom. She went straight to the bed and sat down next to her sister. With a dignity that belied her age, Lacy silently took one of Lindsey’s hands and held it tightly with both of hers while two fat tears tumbled down her own cheeks.

Ali knew Lacy to be a troubled child. Her willingness to emerge from the bathroom in hopes of comforting her grieving sister seemed like a display of raw courage.

Mindy Farber was already holding Lindsey. Ali worried that if Mindy tried to draw Lacy into the same hug, she’d once again withdraw. Mindy must have sensed the same thing. She continued to cradle Lindsey but made no effort to reach for Lacy.

“I don’t know the answers to any of those questions,” Mindy said softly to both girls. “But I do know this much: Wherever you are, I’m sure you’ll be together.”

Ali held her breath. The words were simple enough to say, but if, for some reason, Bryan’s folks were unable to care for the girls and Child Protective Services stepped into the picture, Ali knew that promise might not be easily kept. Where the girls would end up then was anybody’s guess.

While Mindy Farber dealt with the two girls, Ali took Bev by the arm and led her outside, where she sank into her husband’s arms and burst into tears herself. “What are we going to do?” she asked him. “The girls don’t know us, really. Lacy especially refuses to have anything to do with us. How are we going to manage, Harold? And what will become of Bryan?”

“I’ve got a call in to Mitch,” he said. To Ali, he added, “Mitch Gunn used to be our attorney when we lived here. I left him a message. So far he hasn’t called back.”

“Is Mitch Gunn a criminal defense attorney?” Ali asked.

“I’m not sure what his specialty is. Mitch has handled business agreements as well as our wills-that kind of thing,” Harold Forester said. “Up till now, that’s the only legal help we’ve ever needed.”

“If your son has been arrested for murder,” Ali told the Foresters, “he’s going to need a lot more than that.”

“If you know someone who would be better, tell us,” Harold said. “Whatever it costs, we’ll find the money. We have to. He’s our son.”

In the past several years, a series of tough circumstances had forced Ali to retain a whole series of defense attorneys, all of whom had proved reasonably effective. The first one, however, a local named Rick Santos, had been by far the most affordable. Once Harold Forester was on the line with Rick, Ali went back into the girls’ room, where Mindy Farber had somehow convinced Lindsey and Lacy to don pajamas and climb into bed.

“Are you going to stay with us?” Lindsey asked her teacher.

Mindy shook her head. “Not overnight. Your grandparents will be here with you. I have to go home so I can get ready for school in the morning.”

“Can we go back to school, too?” Lindsey asked. “I hate being here. So does Lacy. It’s boring. There’s nothing to do.”

Bev Forester had followed Ali into the room. “Of course you can’t go back to school,” she announced. “Not right now. Not until after the funeral on Friday. What would people think?”