Hand of Evil

better than I do-left-handed, and she’s hoping to play basketball again, but that’s a lot harder.”

Ali looked at Chris. As he talked about the girl, his face glowed with excitement. And happiness.

“You’re really serious about her, aren’t you?”

Chris paused. “I didn’t mean to be,” he said. “It’s just that she’s different from the other girls I’ve dated. A lot more…I don’t know. A lot more grown up, I guess.”

“What happened to her husband?”

“He was in the National Guard, too. That’s where they met-basic training. She got sent to Iraq; he didn’t. He got involved with someone else while she was deployed. Dumped her with a Dear Jane letter while she was still recovering at Walter Reed. That’s why she left Minnesota and came here. Her ex still lives there with his new wife.”

Ali looked at Chris as though he was a stranger. In the blink of an eye, he had gone from being a boy to being a man-a man whose mind was made up.

“When did you know?” Ali asked.

“Know what?”

“That she was the one.”

“The first time I saw her,” Chris said. “At the very first faculty meeting back in August. She walked in the door, and I knew. It took me a while to work up the nerve to ask her out.”

Love at first sight, Ali thought. That was what had happened to her with Dean, and with Dean it had worked. That instant attraction had sustained them both through all the tough times that had come along later.

“Why didn’t you tell me about her?” Ali asked. “Why have you kept it under wraps all this time?”

Chris chewed on his lower lip before he answered. “To begin with, you were going through that whole divorce mess,” he said. “Then, after Paul died and you were, well, upset, it just didn’t seem fair for me to be falling in love when your life was in the toilet.”

Hearing that made Ali’s heart wince. He had kept Athena a secret from her because he was trying to protect her. That was Chris, all right-thoughtful to a fault.

“It sounds as though you’re taking on a lot,” Ali said.

Chris nodded. “But wait ’til you meet her, Mom. You’re going to love her as much as I do.”

Ali reached over and patted her son’s knee. “I’m sure you’re right,” she said. “And I’m sure I will.”

Eager to change the subject, Chris glanced at Ali’s computer. “Working on cutloose?” he asked.

“I’m actually doing some research on Arabella Ashcroft and her family,” Ali said.

“How come?”

“Her nephew was murdered down in Phoenix this week. I think he was threatening to blow the lid off some long-buried family secret, and I think that’s why he’s dead. So I’m looking into the Ashcroft archives. The problem is, they were prominent members of the California business establishment for decades. I have a feeling there’s going to be tons of material. The trick will be boiling it down and figuring out if any of it is relevant.”

“Want some help?”

“Please,” Ali said. “I’d really appreciate it.”

“Hang on,” Chris said. “I’ll go get my laptop.”

In a little less than an hour of working on the project, Chris had amassed an astonishing amount of material on the Ashcroft clan-their various businesses, charitable events, and forays into southern California’s high society. He gathered the articles from various sources, printed them, and handed them over to Ali, who read through them one at a time.

For ease of study, Ali sorted the assembled articles into stacks, one for each person involved. It didn’t take long for Ali to realize that the Ashcroft menfolk were definitely front and center in all this while the women faded into the background. There was far more information about Anna Lee Askins Ashcroft after she had moved to Sedona than there had been while she was still in California. It was as though she had been forced to move to another state in order to come into her own right.

It was in one of the Anna Lee articles where Ali found a first mention of the Mosberg Institute. Anna Lee was cited several times as a leading benefactress for the Mosberg Institute. Later she was quoted briefly in a much longer article from the Paso Robles Herald, dated March 20, 1956, which discussed the previous week’s fatal fire:

“This is an unspeakable tragedy,” said Mrs. Anna Lee Ashcroft, a longtime Mosberg Institute supporter. “These are vulnerable people and we’re fortunate more lives weren’t lost. And the idea that someone actually set the fire is absolutely appalling.”

Ali was still reading the whole article when Chris closed his computer. “We can do more of this later,” he said. “Right now, I need to go pick up Athena. I promised Grandma we’d come by to help move furniture and set the table.”

The Larsons’ tiny home contained a kitchen and a living room but no formal dining room. To accommodate groups larger than four, it was necessary to move the kitchen table into the living room and drag in seating from elsewhere in the house.

“You go on ahead,” Ali said. “As soon as I finish reading this one article, I’ll shower and dress and be there, too.”

She was about to shut her own computer when a click announced the arrival of an incoming e-mail. Thinking the message might be from Velma T, Ali clicked over to her e-mail account. The address line on her newest message was disturbingly familiar-uttley, t. uttley.

Some relation to Coach Curt? Ali wondered and pressed OPEN.

So your friend’s runaway “daughter is safe at home,” the little slut? I’m sure you didn’t post her name in your blog because you’re protecting her privacy. How can you? She’s a wicked temptress who led a good man into sin. Why should she be protected? Who’s going to protect my two boys? What about their privacy? Their father is dead, and it’s all because of her. My husband’s name is being dragged through the mud in the paper and on the news. That means my boys’ name is there, too.

Curtis and I had our troubles, but we got counseling for them. He came back to church with me and the boys. We were doing fine until she came along, got her hooks into him, and led him astray. And if you don’t believe she’s evil, maybe you’ll want to check out this Web site. I found it on Curt’s computer and couldn’t believe I was seeing such filth. Maybe you should post it on your blog so the people who read it will know the kind of company you keep.

The Good Book says we should pray for our enemies. I am praying for her all right. I am praying that girl will rot in hell.

Sincerely,

THERESA UTTLEY

Here’s the link.

Ali could hardly argue with the idea that the sins of the father ought not to be visited on the children. Coach Curt’s sons were in no way responsible for what their father had done, but the suggestion that Crystal was somehow solely to blame for Curt’s going astray was preposterous.

Shaking her head, Ali hit the link and waited for the URL to load and open. When the image first came on the screen, it was so poorly lit that it was difficult to make any sense of what was there. Ali decided that the filming was being done by someone with very limited know-how using computerized podcast equipment. Eventually, though, the images clarified themselves, and then it was all too clear. A middle-aged man’s sagging, naked body complete with nonsagging equipment stood directly in front of the camera. And a girl-a very familiar girl-was being pulled toward him. “Come to Daddy,” he was saying. “Come to Daddy.”

Filled with revulsion, Ali slammed shut the lid of her laptop, breaking her Internet connection and shutting off the video. She sat there for a very long time feeling sick to her stomach. Gradually she was able to remember what Theresa Uttley had said. Something about Crystal being a temptress and leading Curt Uttley astray. Only someone totally blinded by her own grief and despair could fail to see that Crystal was anything but a temptress here. She was a victim, too-a manipulated, helpless victim.

Who the hell is this jerk? Ali wondered. Gary Whitman, maybe? And once I know who he is, how do I keep Dave from killing him?

The phone rang. Ali had to take a deep breath before she was able to answer. What if it was Dave? What