well?”
“Yes, a reservation for three,” Ali said with a smile. “That will be perfect.”
A glance at her watch told her she had a few minutes to kill. Since she was only a mile or so away from Gemma’s condo, Ali headed there. She spent the time canvassing Gemma’s near neighbors. It was late morning on a weekday. Mostly, no one was home, but as Ali walked through the neighborhood, she noted the addresses of any houses with obvious security cameras. They might be worth having Stuart Ramey check into later.
At exactly twelve-fifteen, she presented herself at the gatehouse for the Paradise Valley Country Club. She nodded at the guard as he waved her through. Parking in the clubhouse lot, she scanned through her iPad notes until she located the name of the bartender. Luis, with no last name. Armed with nothing but the name Luis, Ali made her way into the clubhouse. The dining room was busy, and the harried hostess cast a worried glance first at her list and then in the direction of an occupied table by the far window.
“The rest of your party isn’t here yet,” she said. “Would you mind waiting in the bar?”
“Not at all,” Ali said graciously.
“Luis Cruz?” The hostess nodded. “He came on at eleven.”
She made her way into the bar. There were a number of people there, some of them watching CNN and the others glued to a golf tournament being played in some cold clime where the players and the few fans braving the edges of the fairways and the grandstands at the greens were bundled up to ward off wind and rain.
Ali took a seat and waited for the bartender-a guy in his thirties with a buzz cut, a pencil-thin mustache, and a bull neck-to turn in her direction. “What can I get you?” he asked.
“Just water,” she said. “I’m meeting Doris Ralston and her daughter, and they’re not here yet.”
“Ice?” he asked.
“Yes, please.”
The bartender brought the water and set it in front of her. “Not a good time for the Ralstons,” he said.
“So you’ve heard?”
“Everybody’s talking about it,” Luis said with a shrug. “First Molly’s father died a few months back; the mother is having health issues of some kind; and now her brother is accused of murder. From where I’m standing, Molly Handraker has her hands full.”
“You know her then? Molly, I mean.”
He shrugged. “Not well. I’ve only known her since she got back to town, but I’ve heard stories about her family. You know the type-the sons are the fair-haired boys and can do no wrong, and the girls are second-class citizens who are supposed to grow up and be wives and mothers and join the Junior League. When you’re playing that game, being beautiful helps. Molly’s not bad-looking, but taking care of her mother is wearing her down. I feel sorry for her.”
“What can you tell me about Gemma Ralston?”
Luis gave Ali a searching look, then shook his head. “Gemma’s another story,” he said, “and this would probably be an excellent time for me to keep my mouth shut. How about those Cardinals?”
Turning his back, Luis walked away from Ali’s end of the bar. For the next few minutes, he made dutiful rounds of all the other customers, mixing cocktails and pouring drinks for them and for waitresses from the dining room, and providing another pitcher of beer for the guys watching the golf tournament. Finally, he returned to Ali.
“I take it you didn’t like Gemma Ralston?” she asked.
He gave her a baleful look. “What’s your deal in all this?”
“I’m a freelancer,” Ali said, producing a business card and handing it over. “My name is Ali Reynolds, and I’m doing a writing project on early-onset Alzheimer’s.”
She had noticed that the word “freelancer” prompted far fewer negative reactions than the word “reporter.” Maybe freelancing put people in mind less of out-of-control journalists and more of men out in armor, tilting at windmills and slaying the occasional dragon. What could be a more understandable dragon to slay than a dread disease that scared the hell out of everyone?
“Luis Cruz,” he said, accepting both the card and the explanation. “I’ve never had a problem with any of the other Ralstons, but Gemma is another story. Let’s just say whoever took that woman out did the whole world a favor. And in case you’re interested, I told the cops the same thing.”
“They talked to you?”
“Sure. Why wouldn’t they? Gemma Ralston was here on Monday night, the same night she went missing. As a matter of fact, she and Molly Handraker were here together. I overheard them talking about a diamond necklace, Mrs. Ralston’s most likely. It had disappeared, and Gemma mentioned dropping by the next day to help look for it. Molly said something like ‘You don’t need to bother-she won’t even remember,’ and Gemma says, ‘I told your mother I’d come help, and I will.’ Molly stayed around a while longer after that, but when she left, I got the feeling that she was upset about something.”
“Did Gemma leave then, too?” Ali asked.
“It would have been great if she had, but she didn’t,” Luis continued. “As usual, she stayed on, drinking and throwing her weight around. As soon as Molly’s back was turned, Gemma started bad-mouthing the woman who was supposed to be her best friend. That didn’t sit too well with me. Snobs don’t bother me-there are plenty of those around here-but I don’t like two-faced snobs.”
“Did she leave with anyone?”
Luis shook his head. “The cops asked the same question. She left by herself around nine or so. Not quite drunk but getting there. She raised hell when I cut her off and suggested she call a taxi. She threw a fit and went screaming to my manager about it. She wanted him to fire me on the spot.”
“I guess that didn’t work,” Ali observed with a smile.
“No, it didn’t, but no thanks to her,” Luis replied. “Even though I was in the right for cutting her off, I still ended up getting a write-up. Customer complaints are a big deal around here, so pardon me if I say good riddance. By the way, she evidently disregarded my advice and drove herself home after all. So don’t bother asking where I was on Monday night, because I was here working until two A.M. You can check the time clock. I’m sure the cops already did. And after I left work, I went straight home. There’s a security camera on the parking garage of my building. It’ll show that I was home safe and sound at two-thirty. They’re welcome to check that for themselves, and so are you.”
Two more golfers, one of them in an ordinary polo shirt and chinos and the other in vivid yellow-and-orange- checked pants with a matching orange shirt, bellied up to the bar and ordered Bloody Marys. While Luis mixed their drinks, Ali considered her next move.
“When Gemma left, did she say where she was going?”
“It was hard to tell. She was so busy screeching at me and telling me to go to hell for eighty-sixing her that I don’t believe she mentioned any destination in particular. And let me tell you, as long as she wasn’t in my bar, I didn’t care where she was going.”
“So if you were going to make a wild guess about who might have wanted her dead. .”
“Besides me, you mean.”
“Right,” Ali said with a smile. “Who else besides you?”
“My money’s on the guy in jail,” Luis replied. “Doris Ralston’s son, the ex-husband. I, for one, don’t blame him a bit.”
“Was Chip Ralston here on Monday?”
“Hardly,” Luis said. “He’s not a member anymore. From what I can tell, when he and Gemma divorced, he got the shaft, and she got the membership.”
“Did you ever hear Gemma talking with or about someone named Dennis?” Ali asked.
“Dennis who?”
“I have no idea,” she replied. “All I have is the first name.”
“Doesn’t ring a bell,” Luis said.
Ali glanced at her watch. It was twelve-forty-five.
“Let me guess,” Luis said. “The old lady stood you up?”
