“What kind of difficulties?” Ali asked the question without really expecting an answer.
“Oh, you know,” he said, waggling his glass. “The usual thing-a bit of a rough patch. We might have got through it, or it could be we would have ended up in divorce court, but then, when the bomb-shell dropped about her health…You know about that-about the ALS?”
“Yes,” Ali said. “I know.”
“Godawful stuff, ALS,” he continued. “But what I can’t understand is why she did it now. She wasn’t that sick, at least not yet. She could still drive. She was probably just making a point.”
Ali was surprised to hear Howie voice his own doubts about the suddenness of Reenie’s departure.
“You thought she was going to stay to fight?”
“That’s what she said,” Howie replied.
“And what did you mean when you said she was making a point?”
“She was mad at me,” Howie continued. “Furious. We barely spoke the last two weeks, but I had no idea…”
“You quarreled?” Ali asked.
“She was talking about going to Mexico to try out some new treatment. Something with supplements that the FDA hasn’t approved yet and may not ever approve. It’s expensive as hell and not covered under our insurance. I told her it was too risky and probably a waste of time and money.”
“Risky?” Ali asked. “She was dying anyway. How risky could a treatment be, especially if there was even the smallest chance it would help?”
“Well, then, a rip-off maybe. I’ve heard of all kinds of quacks who’ve set up phony treatment centers. They take people’s money. When it’s gone, they put their patients either in a pine box or on a bus and ship them home.”
So we’re back to the money, Ali thought. Reenie wanted to try some new treatment, and Howie said no- solely to keep from having to spend the money.
“Do you know anything about this treatment center?” Ali asked. “Where it is? What it costs?”
“A one-time payment of eighty-thousand bucks,” Howie muttered, staring into his almost empty glass. “And you know what you get for all that dough? Not a cure, that’s for sure. Probably just the symptoms slowed down for a couple of months and a few extra months at the back end, but for part of that time she wouldn’t even be here. She’d have to be in the treatment center.”
“Where is it?”
“Down there someplace. In Mexico. Guayamas. Mazatlan. I don’t remember, really. It’s one of those little beach towns.”
“Do you remember the name of the facility?”
“She didn’t go there,” Howie said very slowly and carefully as if explaining a difficult concept Ali was too stupid to understand. “She wasn’t ever going to go there. I told her flat out that we couldn’t afford it, and that was the truth. Besides, the whole thing was a rip-off and a fraud. Why should I remember the name?”
He was starting to sound surly, and Ali decided it was time to try a different approach. “I talked to Andrea Rogers,” she said.
“I did, too,” Howie said. “She’s broken up about this, poor woman, completely broken up.”
“Andrea says she talked to Reenie after her doctor’s appointment on Thursday,” Ali said. “According to her Reenie said she was planning to stop by the bank on her way home. Do you have any idea which one?”
“B of A,” Howie managed. “The detective already asked me all about it. I tried to help. Called the bank to check, but there wasn’t any activity on Thursday afternoon-not on any of our accounts or on any of our credit cards, either. That’s not true. She was at a Hallmark store in Scottsdale, but that was before her appointment not after it. But as far as her doing something in a bank branch? Nada! Nothing! Zippo!”
He smiled wryly and poured himself another drink.
“Tell me about the note,” Ali said. “What was it like?”
“I already told you…”
“I mean what kind of paper was it on?”
“Paper?” Howie asked with a scowl. “Regular computer paper.”
“So it was done on a computer?” Ali asked.
“Didn’t I just say that?” he asked irritably. “Yes, it was written on a computer and printed on ordinary computer paper. They found it folded up and stuck in a crack between the seat and the frame. How it kept from flying out, nobody knows. If it had fallen out into the snow it probably never would have been found because it was white, you see.” He paused and then looked at Ali. “Why do you want to know?”
How long had Reenie and Howie been married? Ali wondered. Ten years at least. So how was it pos sible that he knew so little about his wife? Reenie had been to a Hallmark store that day. She would have found a card, the perfect blank card, and used that to say her good-byes.
“So she must have gone back to the office after all,” Ali murmured. “After Andrea left for the day. Did they find the file on her computer?”
“No, Farris-that’s the detective-said she probably deleted it after she printed it. They’re sending the computer off somewhere. Phoenix, I think. He said something about scanning the hard drive for recently deleted files. But I’m sure that’s why she did it the way she did. To show me. All I can say, though, is, thank God she left the note. If it hadn’t been for that I’d probably be in jail tonight, instead of sitting here at home drinking scotch.”
Ali had never liked Howard Bernard much. She’d tried to get along with him, for Reenie’s sake. For friendship’s sake. But it was hard to endure this rambling and maudlin exercise in self-pity especially since he was clearly far more sorry for himself than he was for Reenie. Or the kids.
A pair of headlights turned into the driveway, an engine switched off, and a car door opened and closed.
“Hey,” Howie said, brightening suddenly. “Looks like somebody’s stopping by after all.”
Clearly pleased, he struggled to rise from the sofa, but before he had time to shamble across the room, a key turned in the lock and the overhead light switched on. To Ali’s amazement, a young dark-haired woman stepped into the room, closing the door behind her as if she owned the place.
“Howie,” she said, meeting him halfway across the room and giving him a kiss that was anything but neighborly. “Sorry I’m late.”
Over Howie’s shoulder, the woman must have caught sight of Ali. “Oh,” she said quickly, extricating herself from Howie’s drunken embrace. “I’m sorry. I had no idea you had company. I should probably go.”
“No problem,” Howie said. “No problemo! This is Ali Reynolds, an old friend of the family come by to pay a condolence visit and buck me up,” His slur was worse now. “And this is Jasmine, Ali. Jasmine Wright. She’s a student of mine-an excellent student, by the way-one of my doctoral candidates.”
Jasmine’s name registered in Ali’s hearing and heart on the exact same frequency as April and Charmaine’s had. And the look on Ali’s face was most likely something close to absolute fury.
A doctoral candidate with her own key to Reenie’s house! Ali thought. How very convenient!
Jasmine Wright-Jasmine Wrong as Ali chose to think of her-was fairly tall and willowy, but curvy in all the right places. She had olive skin, dark eyes, and very white teeth. Her skintight Spandex top ended a good six inches above her equally tight and low-cut jeans. She didn’t look like any history major Ali ever remembered meeting, and as a package she was way more than a balding, paunchy, and married history professor could have expected-or deserved.
“Ali Reynolds,” Ali said. Plastering a phony smile on her face, she stood and extended her hand in greeting. “Reenie and I were friends from high school on.”
Howie launched off into his own unnecessarily expansive explanation. “Ali was Reenie’s best friend,” he enthused. “Can you believe it? She came all the way over from California to help out. The kids are in Cottonwood with Reenie’s folks, and since I didn’t know for sure what was going to happen today-if they were going to let me go or not-Ali was kind enough to take the kids’ cat home with her. Sam, you know Sam, don’t you?”
Jasmine nodded.
Why the hell am I stuck with Sam? Ali wondered suddenly. Surely someone else-somebody with a key to the house, for instance-could easily have stopped by to feed and check on Samantha.
While an oblivious Howie droned on, the two women regarded one another with wary speculation.
“How very nice,” Jasmine said with a careful smile, but in a tone that clearly meant she didn’t think it was nice at all.
