Tewksbury.”
“She confessed to shooting Jose?” Renteria asked.
“Yes. I have no idea why she murdered Phil Tewksbury,” Ali said.
“I think I do,” Renteria said. “She was setting him up to take the blame for the Reyes shooting.”
“According to her,” Ali continued, “the only thing that went wrong with the execution of her plan was that Jose didn’t die, but that wasn’t quite true. Somehow or other, Oscar must have found out about Olga’s relationship with Phil Tewksbury. She thought Oscar was the one who told us about the relationship when it was really Christine.”
“So Oscar either found out or figured it out on his own,” Renteria said.
“I don’t know which,” Ali said. “I don’t think Olga knew, either.”
“Whichever it was, it sent her completely around the bend,” Renteria said.
“There’s something else,” Ali added. “She didn’t come right out and say as much, but I’m pretty sure she’s responsible for the vandalism at Jose and Teresa’s house. I wouldn’t be surprised if the crime lab doesn’t find trace evidence from that on the soles of her shoes. Boots, rather. She was wearing cowboy boots, not shoes.”
The sheriff sighed. “I can see now why Oscar is dead. He was a good man and a proud one. He wouldn’t have taken that kind of thing lying down. Having a wife messing around behind his back? He would have had to do something. If I’d been him, I would have filed for divorce. I’m assuming Olga had no intention of sticking around to face the music.”
“That’s right. She had a pilot all lined up to fly her out of town tonight,” Ali said. “She had three packed suitcases. Two of them were filled with clothing. The third one was filled with cash, so she was going somewhere-Mexico is what she told me-and she wasn’t coming back. Two detectives from Tucson PD are out at Ryan Field right now, looking for the pilot. He’s supposedly one of Olga’s son’s pals.”
“Figures,” Renteria said. “Danny didn’t run in the best circles. But did I understand you to say that Olga kidnapped Teresa’s daughters, her own granddaughters?”
“And gave them an overdose of Ambien with their ice cream. They’re both in the hospital. I haven’t heard anything new on their condition. And the homicide detective is still waiting to finish the interview. I’d better get back to him.”
“If you don’t mind,” Renteria said, “you might want to put him on the line. Sounds like we’ll need to get together with him and Lieutenant Lattimore first thing tomorrow morning and see if we can pull all these pieces together.”
Detective Howard was on the phone with Renteria for several long minutes. When he relinquished it, he said to Ali, “I think you had a couple of calls that came in while I was using your phone.”
When the interview ended and Ali was leaving to go back to the hospital, she was finally able to check her phone. The actual number of missed calls turned out to be two-one from Sister Anselm and one from Stuart Ramey. She called Sister Anselm first.
“I thought you’d want to know that Lucy and Carinda are both in the ICU,” Sister Anselm said. “Teresa told me that they’re both still in critical condition. If you hadn’t found them when you did, it’s likely neither one of them would have made it.”
“Thank God,” Ali said.
“Yes.” Sister Anselm chuckled. “With a capital G. But how are you?”
“A little shaky,” Ali admitted. “Watching someone blow her brains out right in front of you comes as a bit of a shock to the system. If I had used the Taser, I might have saved her life.”
“Some people don’t want their lives saved,” Sister Anselm observed. “Some people don’t deserve it, either.”
“How are things with your patient?”
“She’s out of the hospital.”
“She’s well enough to leave?” Ali asked.
“She wasn’t well enough, but we moved her all the same. She’ll still be under her doctor’s care and under mine as well, but rather than being in PMC, she’ll be staying at All Saints. We figured out tonight that someone had come to the hospital hunting her, hoping to keep her from testifying against her attackers. Moving her to the convent was the closest thing we had to putting her into protective custody, and it took a whole lot less paperwork.”
“Doesn’t Sister Genevieve have something to say about that?” Ali asked.
“Actually, I believe she thinks it’s a bit of a lark to have the nuns from All Saints venture into the witness protection business.”
“Speaking of All Saints,” Ali said, “I’ll stop off at the hospital for a few minutes after I leave here, but I’m looking forward to getting back to my room at the convent. It’s been a tough day all around.”
Her next call was to Stuart Ramey. “You saved the day,” she said. “Again. Thank you.”
“And the two girls are all right?”
“Let’s hope so,” Ali told him. “Originally, Olga denied having the girls with her, but you’d already told me about the video, so I knew better. As soon as I saw the Buick in the carport, I knew I had her. This isn’t going to get you in trouble with B., is it?”
“Let’s just say it would be better if none of this shows up in any court action.”
“It won’t,” Ali assured him. “I’m not saying a word about it. For one thing, with Olga dead, there probably won’t be any court proceedings. And if there are, I’ll tell the truth and nothing but the truth, but maybe not the whole truth.”
Stuart laughed at that.
On her way back to the hospital, Ali called B. and caught him up on everything that had happened between the last call and this one.
“You’re okay, though?” he asked.
“Yes,” Ali said. “Okay but very tired. Drained.”
“Could you please consider finding something else to do that doesn’t put you in the line of fire with people like this?”
“Believe me,” she said, “I didn’t do it on purpose.”
By the time the call with B. ended, Ali had pulled into the parking lot at PMC. She could have saved herself the trouble. Teresa and Carmine were asleep in the maternity wing. Jose was asleep in his room, and the girls were sleeping in the ICU. Even Sister Anselm had decamped for the night, so Ali left, too. When she pulled up to the gate at All Saints and rang the bell, Sister Genevieve’s cheerful voice greeted her and buzzed her in.
“Come on up to the main building,” Sister Genevieve said. “Sister Anselm and I are sharing a cup of tea-decaf chamomile, of course. I hope you’ll join us.”
Ali did so. Tea at All Saints, served in mugs, was accompanied by some delicately flavored lemon bars that Leland Brooks would have been proud to claim as his own. Somehow Sister Anselm managed to steer the accompanying conversation away from a rehashing of the day’s events and into a spirited discussion of the days and times of Don Quixote. The book had always been a particular favorite of both nuns, who had read it in Spanish rather than English.
Instead of drifting off to sleep with visions of Olga Sanchez’s lifeless body tumbling to the floor, Ali thought instead of Don Quixote and the loyalty and friendship of his somewhat reluctant squire, Sancho Panza. Which brought her around to thinking about her somewhat unorthodox friendship with Sister Anselm.
If one was going to go around tilting at windmills, real or imaginary, it was always a good idea to have a friend there to back you up. Sister Anselm Becker was exactly that kind of friend.
She had told Ali on more than one occasion that life had a way of showing you what you were meant to do. That was what had happened today. By the simple act of offering to take the car seats to the girls, Ali had ended up saving their lives.
With that one final thought in mind, Ali Reynolds drifted off into a deep and restful slumber.
56
