“Yes,” Chip said. “I’m sure she could use the work. She was really loyal to my mom. It’s a shame she had to be let go. Molly always claimed it was a matter of saving money.”
“Might the maid have stolen something?”
“Consuelo? Never,” Chip declared. “Why?”
“Your mother said something to Gemma about losing a necklace, a diamond necklace. With your mother’s condition, it’s hard to tell if it’s something that happened recently or a long time ago.”
“Yes,” Chip agreed. “The time lines do tend to get muddled, but I can’t imagine Consuelo ever stealing something from anyone at all, much less from Mother. I think it’s more likely that whatever it is simply got misplaced.”
“Okay,” Ali said. “One last question. Did your ex-wife have a friend or acquaintance named Dennis?”
“What I don’t know about my ex’s affairs, romantic or otherwise, would fill volumes-for all I know, there could have been a dozen Dennises in her life, but I don’t remember hearing that name mentioned. Ever.”
“I take it there’s still no word from Cap Horning?”
“Not so far. Anything else?”
Ali’s phone buzzed. Stuart Ramey’s name and number appeared on the screen. “Thanks for your help, Chip. I have to run. I’ve got another call.”
25
Hey,” Stuart said when she switched over. “How are things?”
“It’s been an interesting morning.” While she put the Cayenne in gear and eased out of the parking lot, she gave Stu a quick summary of her day so far. She finished by saying, “Now I’m on my way to Doris Ralston’s house to have another chat with her daughter about Monday night. Our interview last night ended abruptly. I know a little more about their situation now, and I have a few more questions. What about you?”
“After you told me about Sanders giving that chunk of change to his son, I went digging in the Mission’s finances and picked up an interesting tidbit. Contributions are down across the board, and so is fund-raising. As a result, the Mission coffers have been running on empty. Until this week, they were three months behind on their lease and behind on payments to suppliers. They’ve evidently been using rent money to make payroll and pay their food vendors. As of Wednesday of this week, their lease is current. It looks like an anonymous forty-five-thousand- dollar cash donation came in at the end of last week. I’m guessing they used some of that to bring their rent up to date and get caught up with their suppliers.”
“Let me guess where this sudden windfall came from,” Ali said. “Would this anonymous benefactor happen to be James Sanders, aka Mason?”
“That’s what I’m thinking,” Stuart replied. “According to my math, we’ve accounted for all the money Scott Ballentine handed over to Sanders in gambling chips.”
“But why would he give the whole sum away?” Ali asked. “Why not keep it?”
“I don’t know,” Stuart said. “I’ll keep digging on that. As for what you asked me earlier? I’ll keep looking, but so far, I’ve come up empty on the Dennis situation. Anything else?”
“Just for argument’s sake, I’d like you to take a look at Molly Handraker.”
“Why? What am I looking for?”
“Just background material,” Ali said. “There’s something about Gemma, Valerie, and Molly that doesn’t ring true. So far, I’ve discovered that at least two of these so-called best friends are underhanded backstabbers who maintain a wonderfully goody-goody public persona. As far as the world is concerned, Molly is the downtrodden younger sister bravely assuming the entire burden of caring for an aging mother.”
“You’re thinking appearances might be deceiving?”
“Maybe. Just let me know what you find. Molly’s been married three times. She’s still married to a guy named Barry Handraker. They used to live in Minneapolis, and I’m assuming he still does. Gemma and Valerie Sloan have a very low opinion of the guy and were counseling Molly to dump him.”
“Okay,” Stuart said. “Will do. Call me back when you get out of your interview.”
By then Ali had arrived at the Ralston residence and parked in the driveway just outside the front entrance. It was much easier to find the second time, in bright November daylight, rather than in the dark. Everything about the place was impressive, from the red-tiled roof to the lush green lawn edged with beds of newly planted petunias and pansies. Ali knew that maintaining that kind of landscape didn’t come cheap in terms of water or labor. In fact, as she watched, a yard guy wearing an immense white Stetson and pushing a lawn mower emerged from the side of the house. Seeing her, he tipped his hat in her direction. Then he turned on the mower and went to work as Ali rang the bell.
No one answered on the first ring or the second, but the house was large enough that Ali waited a minute and then tried a third time. That was when she heard Molly’s voice from somewhere inside.
“I’m coming. I’m coming.” There was a pause and the sound of something being slammed shut in the entryway. “Where’s the damned deadbolt key?” Molly muttered. “Somebody must have moved it. Wait just a minute. I’ll be back.”
Long seconds passed. Eventually, Ali heard the sound of a key scraping in the lock, and the door was flung open. An angry Molly Handraker stood in the doorway. Though it was early afternoon, she had clearly just stepped out of the shower. Barefoot and wearing nothing but a terry-cloth robe, she had a damp towel wrapped around her head.
“You again?” she demanded irritably, peering first at Ali and then glancing around the rest of the yard. “Couldn’t you at least have called first?”
“I’m sorry if it’s inconvenient,” Ali said placatingly. “I was in the neighborhood. I just have a few more questions.”
“All right, all right,” Molly said impatiently. “Come in.”
As Ali stepped into the entryway, she saw a stack of luggage sitting near the front door as if waiting to be loaded into a vehicle. She waited while Molly slammed the door shut, then stomped around the luggage and through the entryway, leading the way into the living room.
“Is someone taking a trip?” Ali asked, pulling out her iPad and opening the lid.
“Not that it’s any of your business,” Molly replied, “but I’m going to drop Mother off in Palm Springs and let her spend a couple of days with Jack and Gloria Manning, some friends of my father’s. All the emotional turmoil with Gemma and Chip is too much for her. As you saw last night, she can’t remember from one moment to another if Gemma’s alive or dead, and it’s too hard on both of us for me to keep telling her what’s what over and over. I’ve decided it’ll be easier if she’s out of town, at least until after the funeral.”
“Wouldn’t participating in a funeral help her?” Ali asked, talking as she typed “Jack and Gloria Manning” and “Palm Springs” into her iPad. “I mean, maybe the formal mourning rituals would help clarify the situation for her.”
“I’ll take care of my mother,” Molly said. “Now what do you want?”
The night before, Ali had come away with the impression that Molly Handraker was close to saintliness as far as her dealings with her ailing mother were concerned. This morning the saintly mask had slipped a little, and Molly’s mean-girl tone and manner were more in line with what Ali might have expected from one of Gemma Ralston’s and Valerie Sloan’s “best friends.”
“I just wanted to clarify one or two things. I understand that you and Gemma had a disagreement of some kind the other night-the night she went missing. I wondered if it might be important.”
Molly seemed to consider her answer before she spoke. “You know that old saw about people who live in glass houses not throwing stones?”
Ali nodded. “What about it?”
“I got tired of being the target of all that stone throwing,” Molly said. “I mean, here’s Gemma busily telling me ‘What you need to do is this’ and ‘What you need to do is that,’ when her own life isn’t exactly a model of perfect relationships. I figured she didn’t have much room to talk, and I told her so. Then I left, came home, and went to bed. That’s all there was to it.”
“Then there was that odd moment when your mother said something about Gemma being asleep in the
