Hand of Evil

me. When he tried to drag me out of the car, I slammed the door on his hand, put it in gear, and drove until he shut the hell up.”

Drunk, crazy, and dangerous as hell, Ali thought.

“So why are you telling me this, Arabella?” she asked. “Are you planning on taking care of me, too?”

As Ali asked the question, she wondered if she shouldn’t try to make a run for it. The front door was only a few feet away, and Arabella Ashcroft was no spring chicken. If Ali could make it out the door and down the hill to one of the neighbor’s, maybe she’d be able to duck inside and use a phone to summon help. On the other hand, there was always a chance that running might prove more dangerous than staying where she was.

“I guess I hoped that if I told you the whole story, maybe you’d help me,” Arabella continued. “I really do admire cutloose. At one time I thought I could do some good by sharing my story with others. I’ve been working on writing it down for months, but that’s not going to happen now. What Bill Junior did to me didn’t just destroy my childhood, Ali. It destroyed my whole life. By the time he was done with me, sex was all I was good for-sex and revenge. Once those were gone, I wasn’t good for anything.”

In Arabella’s despairing words, Ali was afraid she was catching a glimpse of what might be Crystal Holman’s grim future, as well-unless someone did something to change it.

“How do you expect me to help you?” Ali asked.

Arabella frowned. “After you talked to me this afternoon, I thought I’d come here and have you help me locate an attorney so I could turn myself in, but now I’ve changed my mind. There’s something else I need to do first.”

“What?” Ali asked.

The phone rang. Ali jumped and so did Arabella. Before Ali could move toward the phone, Arabella had reached into the still-opened briefcase and retrieved a handgun that she pointed in Ali’s direction.

“Answer it,” Arabella ordered.

“Hello,” Ali managed.

“Why are you still at home?” Chris wanted to know. “You should be here. Everybody else is. Grandma and Athena are dishing up.”

“I’m on my way,” Ali managed. “I’ll be there in a little while.” She put down the phone.

“Good girl,” Arabella said with a smile. “You are on your way. In fact, I think the two of us are on our way.”

“On our way where?” Ali asked.

“Just a little trip together,” Arabella said. “We’ll know when we get there. As you have so kindly pointed out, I’ve had a bit too much to drink. That being the case, you should probably drive.”

Holding the gun with one hand, Arabella tucked the flask into her bra. Then she used the other hand to return the jar to the briefcase, which she clicked shut.

“Shouldn’t you have wrapped that?” Ali asked.

Arabella picked up the briefcase and rattled the contents. “I don’t think so,” she said. “It’ll be fine. Let’s go. We’ll take the Rolls. Get in on the passenger side and then slide over. I’ll sit in the back.”

As they moved toward the front door, Ali once again considered making a break for it. When she opened the door, though, her ears were assailed by the pneumatic blat, blat, blat of a bouncing basketball. That meant that Gabe, the eighth-grader who lived down the street, was out in the driveway dribbling endlessly and shooting baskets. Ali couldn’t do anything that would endanger him or anyone else. And once behind the wheel, Ali realized she wouldn’t be able to risk driving erratically and provoking a traffic stop, either. No telling what Arabella would do if an officer approached the vehicle. Without a cell phone or any way to summon help, all Ali could do was play a waiting game and hope that eventually the booze would do its work.

Ali complied wth her marching orders while Arabella, puffing slightly, clambered into the back. Ali cringed as the briefcase landed heavily on the floor behind her with the jar rattling loosely around inside it.

“Here,” Arabella said. “Put this on. It’ll look better.” She dropped Leland Brooks’s short-billed cap into the front seat. “And the key is there in the ignition.”

Only someone who wasn’t used to driving would make that kind of mistake with a Rolls, Ali thought. When she turned the key, the perfectly tuned engine purred to life. It took a moment to fasten her belt, adjust the seat, and locate the headlight switch. Nothing was familiar.

“Where to?” Ali said finally, pulling out of the driveway.

She caught a hint of gin as Arabella took another hit from the flask. “When you get to the bottom, turn left.”

As soon as Ali turned onto the highway, she saw the Sugarloaf Rock and below it the cafe. The lights were out, but there were several cars still in the parking lot. She caught a glimpse of her father’s Bronco, somehow repaired and returned from the garage in a surprisingly timely fashion. She saw her mother’s Alero, Chris’s silver Prius, Dave’s battered Nissan, and two more vehicles Ali couldn’t quite identify. Earlier she had dreaded going there and having to tell Dave the latest piece of Crystal’s bad news.

Now, though, Ali could easily imagine the crowded living room of her parents’ cramped house, and that was exactly where Ali Reynolds wanted to be, seated along with everyone else in a humble living room masquerading as a dining room and breaking bread with people she loved. That wasn’t to be. Instead of being there and being able to meet the young woman who might become Chris’s wife, Ali was stuck in a bright yellow Rolls-Royce, being held captive by an armed old woman who was certifiably crazy.

Just like Detective Marsh said, she thought ruefully. Definitely inserted and definitely in danger.

“Where are we going?” Ali said.

“Just drive out to the freeway,” Arabella told her. “I’ll tell you what to do once we get there.”

When the two detectives arrived in Sedona, it was well after dark. There were lights on deep in the interior of Arabella Ashcroft’s house, but no one was home.

“What do we do now?” Hank asked.

Larry Marsh sighed. “I hate to mention it, but I guess we’d better look up Ali Reynolds after all.”

“Do we know where she lives?”

Larry was already pulling the cell phone out of his pocket. “We will in a minute.”

Twenty minutes later they arrived at a mobile home at the top of Sedona’s Andante Drive. There were several vehicles parked in the driveway with people milling around inside and out. Somewhere in the background the slap of a basketball pounded on pavement.

“What’s going on?” Larry asked an older woman standing outside, talking animatedly on her phone.

“It’s my daughter, Ali,” she said. “She’s missing. Are you cops? Dave was just now calling. How did you get here so fast?”

“We are cops,” Larry said, pulling out his badge. “But probably not the ones who were called. Your daughter is Alison Reynolds? What’s your name, and how long has she been gone?”

“Edie, Edie Larson. My grandson talked to his mother right at six-thirty. We were putting dinner on the table, and she was already supposed to be there by then. She told him she was on her way, but she never showed. Finally we came up the hill to check. Her car is here and so are her keys, but no purse and no cell phone. I’ve tried calling that-but she doesn’t answer.”

Larry Marsh knew exactly where the missing phone and purse were-back in Phoenix in the evidence room. No wonder she hadn’t answered.

A man showed up and looked anxiously from Edie to Larry. “Who’s this?” he asked.

“Detective Marsh,” Edie told him. “From Phoenix.”

The guy held out his hand. “I’m Dave Holman,” he said. “Detective Dave Holman, Yavapai County Sheriff’s Department. What brings you here?”

“We’re investigating the death of a man named William Ashcroft. We wanted to speak to Ms. Reynolds about Mr. Ashcroft’s aunt, Arabella.”

Just then a young man came jogging back up the hill. “I talked to Gabe down the street,” he said. “He was out shooting baskets and saw Mom leave. She was driving a big old yellow car. He didn’t know what kind exactly, and he said there was someone sitting in the backseat.”