Hand of Evil

drink?”

“Oh my, yes. I’d love one of your martinis about now, Mr. Brooks. Wouldn’t you, Ali? As cold as you can make them, of course, but do change out of those ridiculous clothes before you serve us.”

Ali’s head was spinning. By force of sheer willpower Leland Brooks had somehow managed to create a sense of normalcy out of chaos. His steadfast calm in the face of Arabella’s erratic frenzy seemed to have dragged Arabella back into the real world as well. Was this how he had handled her all these years?

“Is that what you would like, Madam Reynolds?” Brooks asked. “A martini?”

“Yes, please,” Ali said. “That would be fine. And a telephone.”

“Very well. Please have a seat here by the fire. I’ll be right back.”

He took the coat and draped it over the back of a nearby chair and then exited the room, taking the briefcase with him. Arabella leaned into her chair, closed her eyes briefly, and sighed with contentment. She seemed happy to be home. Maybe she’s finally running out of steam, Ali thought.

Facedown on the table between the two chairs lay a well-thumbed paperback copy of Louis Lamour’s High Lonesome. Ali picked it up and looked at the cover. The two-dollar price tag printed on the cover probably meant that it had been around for a long time.

Arabella opened her eyes. “That’s Mr. Brooks’s book,” she said. “He likes westerns. He reads to me sometimes when I can’t sleep. Since my memory’s shot a lot of the time, it doesn’t matter if he reads the same story over and over.”

What a good man, Ali thought.

When Brooks returned to the living room, he brought with him a tray laden with shakers and glasses along with a thick stack of papers and a telephone. He put the tray on a side table, then he handed the phone to Ali, and approached Arabella with the collection of papers.

“Before I pour the drinks,” he said, “there are a few items that must be attended to.”

“Like what?” Arabella asked. “And why haven’t you changed clothes?”

“This is a listing agreement,” he replied, ignoring her question. “I finished signing it just a few minutes before you arrived. The real estate agent was more than happy to make an after-hours visit.”

“A listing agreement for what?”

“To sell the house, of course,” he answered. “Since I have your power of attorney, I’ve already signed it, but I wanted you to have an opportunity to review the documents.”

Arabella seemed totally dismayed. “We’re selling the house?” she asked. “But why? Where are we going to live?”

Ali’s first phone call was to the sheriff’s department, where she told the dispatcher what was going on and left a message asking Dave to come get her. Next she dialed her home number.

“Mom,” Chris said anxiously. “Is that you? Thank God. Where are you? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she said. “I’m at Arabella’s house.”

“Athena and I can pick you up.”

“No. I just talked to the sheriff’s department. Dave’s most likely already on his way here. This is going to take time. Dave will be glad to give me a ride home when things are sorted out.”

By the time Ali was off the phone, the martinis were poured, but Arabella was once again in a towering rage. “You can’t do that to me,” she screeched at Leland Brooks. “You can’t sell the house right out from under me. It’s not fair. Why are you doing this?”

“Because you’re going to need the money,” Brooks explained patiently. “We don’t have enough ready cash available to pay for the defense attorney. This is the best way to handle that.”

“Like hell it is,” Arabella returned. With that, she heaved the papers into the fire and smiled with grim satisfaction as they caught fire and turned into sheets of flying ash.

Brooks shook his head. “Those are merely copies of the original documents,” he said. “Burning them will do no good at all. Now, please, settle down and have your drink.”

“I won’t settle down. And you can’t do this to me. I won’t stand for it. You’re fired, do you hear? Fired. I want you out of the house now.”

“All in good time, madam. All in good time. As I told you earlier, I’m waiting for my ride.” Brooks turned to Ali. “I believe you’ve summoned the authorities?”

Ali nodded. “Dave Holman is on his way, too.”

“I thought as much,” Leland said.

“Why are you doing this?” Arabella asked again.

Brooks turned to look at her. “I suppose you’ve heard of the straw that broke the camel’s back? In this case, we’re talking about a star.”

“A star?” Arabella asked.

“A Silver Star,” Brooks replied.

“Oh, that,” Arabella said.

Now it was Ali who thought they were speaking a foreign language. What Silver Star? she wondered.

“How do you suppose Mr. Ashcroft ended up with my Silver Star?” Brooks asked. “I used to keep it in my wallet back when I first started driving your mother back and forth to Paso Robles, and I never noticed when it disappeared. I thought it had just fallen out somewhere along the line, but you stole it from me, didn’t you?”

Shrugging, Arabella picked up her drink and took an unconcerned sip. While Ali watched, she slipped back into the bizarre game-playing persona she had exhibited on their long drive together.

“What if I did?” she asked coyly. Somehow, trapped in that seventy-year-old voice, Ali heard the sound of a terribly disturbed nine-year-old girl determined to have her own way. No matter what.

“Did you plant it in Mr. Ashcroft Junior’s car?” Brooks asked.

“Maybe I did,” Arabella said. “Maybe I was hoping if the cops came around asking questions, they’d find the star and think you and mother were responsible for what had happened to him. I mean, you were just Mother’s driver back then, but luckily no one ever asked any questions, either. Bill Junior was a drunk, he died, no big deal.”

“Until Billy started asking questions,” Brooks said.

“Yes. He finally had to clear out Bill Senior’s storage unit where Bill Junior’s personal effects from the crash scene had been kept. I’m sure he was looking for something else, but what he found was the star. He hadn’t quite put the whole story together, though,” Arabella added. “He thought the two of us were in on it as a team. I don’t think he had any idea I was capable of doing something that drastic completely on my own. He found out, though, didn’t he?”

The doorbell rang. Brooks glanced at his watch. “Good,” he said. “Right on time.”

“It’s the middle of the night,” Arabella muttered as Brooks went to answer the summons. “Who on earth could that be?”

A few moments later, Brooks escorted a newcomer into the room. Ali expected to see Dave Holman or one of the local Sedona uniforms. Instead, she saw a tall, sallow-faced stranger, carrying a briefcase of his own. Despite the lateness of the hour, he came dressed in a full suit and tie. His costume alone was enough for Ali to realize he had to be a lawyer.

“I’m not too late, am I?” the newcomer was asking.

“No, not at all,” Brooks assured him. “No one else is here yet, although the police have been summoned. They’ll be here momentarily.”

“Good.”

“What kind of strangers are you inviting in now?” Arabella wanted to know.

“Madam Ashcroft,” Brooks said. “This is Morgan Hatfield, your criminal defense attorney. He’s just now driven up from Phoenix.”

“Send him back,” Arabella insisted. “I already told you, I don’t need a defense attorney. I don’t want one.”

“But you do need one,” Brooks said. “And now you have one.”

“And since the police are no doubt on their way,” Hatfield said, “I should probably have a moment alone with my client.”

“Very well,” Brooks said. “Would you care for some coffee?”