When they finished eating, B. leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. “This is the best part of being away on business-coming home,” he said. “I love what I do, but perpetually living out of a suitcase and being on no known time zone gets old after a while.” He opened his eyes, looked at her, and grinned. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m not going to ask you to marry me again. A guy can only handle so much rejection. The problem is, Leland has always been my benchmark. As long as you kept him around, I figured I was safe, but if he’s on a short leash. .”
Just then Ali’s phone rang. The caller ID said GATE. The security gate at the bottom of the drive closed automatically at sunset. From then on, anyone wanting access to Ali’s home had to dial from the handset on the post.
Ali switched on the kitchen TV and activated the video monitor that allowed a clear view of visitors on the far side of the gate. An older woman stood there, holding the phone to her ear.
“Yes,” Ali said, answering the phone. “May I help you?”
“My name is Beatrice Hart,” the woman said. “My daughter, Lynn, is a friend of yours.”
“Sorry,” Ali said. “Are you sure you have the right person? I’m afraid I don’t know anyone named Lynn Hart.”
“You’re the lady detective who helped catch Brenda Riley’s cyber-stalker, aren’t you?”
“I may have helped, but I’m not a detective-not officially,” Ali responded.
“In that case, you probably know my daughter by her married name, Lynn Martinson. She was one of the women who got mixed up with that same guy years ago. I believe they filmed both you and Lynn at a TV station in Phoenix when Brenda’s book was about to come out last summer and when they were doing that true-crime show for TV.”
That was enough of a hint to trigger a vague memory. Yes, Ali did remember meeting a woman named Lynn in the greenroom for
“I follow Brenda on Twitter these days,” Beatrice continued. “Did you know she’s about to come out with another true-crime book? This one’s about a serial killer who operated in Northern California and southern Oregon. When all of this came up this afternoon, I sent Brenda a tweet asking for her advice. She suggested I should get in touch with you.”
“When all what came up?” Ali asked.
“Lynn’s gone missing,” Beatrice said, her voice breaking. “She didn’t come home this morning, and with this murder business all over the TV news, I’m terribly worried.”
“This sounds like a police matter,” Ali said. “I’m not sure how I can be of assistance.”
“Please,” Beatrice begged.
Of course, the use of the magic word-as Ali was forever telling the twins-was enough to tip the scales in Beatrice’s favor.
“You’d better come on up,” Ali said, relenting. “I’ll buzz the gate open. It’ll close automatically after you drive through. Drive to the turnaround at the top of the hill. I’ll meet you at the front door.”
“What’s going on?” B. asked as Ali pocketed her cell phone and headed for the entryway. “Who’s here?”
“Her name’s Beatrice,” Ali told him. “She’s the mother of one of the women from Brenda Riley’s book. Something about her daughter going missing. I couldn’t just leave her standing in the cold, so I invited her up.”
“If her daughter is missing,” B. said, “what does she expect you to do about it?”
“Good question,” Ali said. “I guess we’ll find out when she gets here. Brenda Riley evidently suggested that the mother contact me.”
“You go let her in,” B. suggested. “In the meantime, how about if I clean up the kitchen and set out cups and saucers?”
“Good idea,” Ali said. “From the sound of things, a hot beverage is just what the doctor ordered.”
Leaving B. to do his voluntary KP duty, Ali went to the front door, turned on the porch light, and stood waiting while an older-model Chevy Lumina with a single occupant came up the drive and parked in the turnaround.
The white-haired woman who emerged from the vehicle and walked briskly up the drive looked to be somewhere in her late sixties or early seventies. She was wearing a red-and-white tracksuit and tennis shoes.
“Thank you for seeing me like this,” she said, hurrying forward with her hand outstretched. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you’ve agreed to help.”
Ali had made no such agreement, but she let that pass. “You must be freezing,” she said. “Come in.” She led Beatrice into the house and through the living room before offering her a chair in front of the glowing gas-log fireplace in the library. “Would you care for something to drink? We can make coffee or tea, or perhaps I should offer you something stronger.”
“Coffee would be welcome,” Beatrice said. “Most welcome indeed. It’s been a difficult day, and I’ll need to drive back home once we’re finished.”
“So, tell me,” Ali urged. “I understood you to say something about a murder. What’s going on?”
Beatrice hesitated before she answered. “My daughter has always had terrible taste in men,” she said. “First there was her ex-husband. Then came Richard Lewis-the guy with all the different last names. I’m sure you know all about him, because you were there when they found him. Now I’m afraid Lynn may be making the same kind of mistake with this new guy, Chip Ralston. On the surface, he looks nice enough, but now I’m not so sure. With all this murder business. .”
“What murder business are you talking about?” Ali insisted.
“Chip’s ex-wife has been murdered,” Beatrice said. “Her name was Gemma Ralston. Someone found her body yesterday afternoon a few miles south of here, off I-17. They didn’t release her name until early this afternoon.”
Ali nodded. She and Leland had watched the noontime news broadcast. She didn’t remember hearing the dead woman’s name, although it wouldn’t have meant anything to her at the time. The same broadcast had mentioned that a second body had been found in approximately the same location, or at least nearby. Given the fact that Camp Verde was inside Yavapai County, there was a good chance that Dave Holman was the lead investigator on both cases.
“Lynn routinely stays overnight at Chip’s place,” Beatrice continued, “but she usually comes home early in the morning. This morning she didn’t. At first I didn’t give it much thought. She’s an adult, after all. It’s not like she has to call me every time she and Chip have a change of plans. Still, it’s not like her not to be in touch. I tried calling Lynn’s cell phone any number of times, but there was no answer. The calls kept going straight to voice mail. I even tried calling Chip’s office to see if his receptionist might know something-Chip’s a doctor-but there was a recording saying the office was closed due to a family emergency. Then late this afternoon, when they mentioned Gemma’s name on the news, I went into a complete panic.
“If Gemma’s dead, maybe Lynn is, too. The killer always turns out to be the ex-husband or the ex-wife. What if Chip turns out to be a serial killer masquerading as a good-guy doctor? It wouldn’t be the first time Lynn got involved with someone who wasn’t what he professed to be. My first thought was that if Chip did it and Lynn found out about it, maybe he took her out, too.”
“I believe the Yavapai County Sheriff’s Department is investigating that homicide,” Ali said. “If you have any pertinent information, you should be in touch with the local investigators. Did you try contacting them?”
Beatrice shook her head. “That’s what Brenda said I should do, too, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. That’s when she suggested I contact you. She said that with your connections to the Sheriff’s Department here, maybe you could do that for me.”
That was the moment when B. chose to make his entrance, carrying a tray loaded with coffee, as well as a collection of Ali’s Royal Limoges china-cups and saucers, along with a matching sugar bowl and creamer. “Do what?” he asked.
“This is Beatrice Hart,” Ali said quickly, “and this is B. Simpson, my partner.”
The word “partner” was out of Ali’s mouth before she had a chance to reconsider. In a discussion centering on Lynn Martinson’s less than stellar choice of boyfriends, that word had been devalued enough that Ali was reluctant to use it in reference to B. She could tell by the small smile creasing the corners of his mouth as he set down the tray that her use of the word hadn’t gone unnoticed.
Ali said to B., “Ms. Hart’s daughter, Lynn, may be involved in some fashion with one of the cases Dave
