she was having keeping the place afloat. Recently, when he came into a bunch of money, he gave her a chunk of it to help out. It pissed her off that, instead of using his windfall to grubstake her pet project, he decided to give the lion’s share of it to his kid.
“That was when the whole thing went deadly. Abigail admitted to putting a GPS device-an illegal one-on his car, in hopes of grabbing the money before he dropped it off. Fortunately for Sanders’s son, James beat her to the punch. She also said she planted the murder weapon at A.J.’s house to implicate him, but when one of the cops in Las Vegas started asking too many questions, she crumbled. A.J. said Gemma Ralston mentioned someone named Dennis just before she died. We’re trying to sort out if he’s an associate of Barry and Molly’s.”
“I’ll bet he isn’t,” Ali said. “I’ll bet he doesn’t exist. Gemma was drunk out of her head the night she died. Between the booze and whatever drug they gave her, I’ll bet playing tennis with Molly is the last thing she remembered. Tennis/Dennis.”
“Makes sense,” Dave said. “But for the time being, we’ll keep looking for him, just in case.”
Ali leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. The doctor had given her something for the pain, and she was starting to feel drowsy. “You’re right,” Ali said at last. “That’s all good news.”
“It’s good for me, too.” Dave grinned. “The county attorney has been going after Sheriff Maxwell in a big way. One of his metrics is our closure rate, which has taken a big step up today. I think you could say the Yavapai County Sheriff’s Department is currently batting a thousand.”
“Does A.J. get to keep the money?”
“As far as I can tell. There’s one more thing you probably haven’t heard. I finally got James Sanders’s autopsy results today. The official one. Two weeks ago he got a cancer diagnosis-pancreatic, stage four. Scott Ballentine had stayed in touch with him. Said he owed James a huge debt for taking the fall on that counterfeiting rap years ago. Ballentine said he had told James over the years that he had more money than sense, and if there was ever anything he could do for him, to let him know.”
“Let me guess,” Ali said. “He took him up on it exactly twice-once a year ago, so he could get A.J. a car for his sixteenth birthday, and again last week, so the kid could have money to go to school.”
“You’re pretty smart for a girl,” Dave said. They were both laughing when the door to the interview room swung open. A plainclothes cop came out, escorting a lush blonde who looked to be fifteen years younger than the real Molly Handraker.
“We’ve got a name on this one now,” the cop said, speaking mostly to Dave. “Candace Kestral. We’ve got a car outside that’s going to transport her to the jail in Kingman. If you have questions for Ms. Kestral, that’s where she’ll be. We’ve been in touch with Las Vegas PD. Turns out that earlier this evening, someone contacted an outfit called
Dave Holman glanced in B.’s direction and then turned back to the other detective. “It’s odd, all right,” he agreed.
The Mohave County detective examined Ali, taking in her torn and bloodied clothing as well as the bandages on her feet. “Today’s kidnapping victim, I assume?” he asked.
“One and the same,” Dave said. “Her name’s Alison Reynolds.”
“Very good,” the detective said to Ali. “Just let me get this one sent off to the slammer, Ms. Reynolds. I’ll be right back to take statements-Mr. Brooks’s statement first and then yours. Do you need anything while you’re waiting? Something to eat or drink? It’s not too late to order pizza.”
Until he said that, Ali hadn’t thought about being either hungry or thirsty, but she realized she was famished. “Pizza sounds good.”
“What kind?” the detective asked.
Now it was B.’s turn to interject. “When it comes to pizza and the lady, there’s only one kind, and that’s pepperoni.”
There was a considerable delay before the detective reappeared. While he was out of the room and they waited for the pizza delivery, Ali went over to the couch, where Leland Brooks was sitting apart from the others.
“While we were in the ER, B. told me what you did,” she said. “That he had asked you to bring him the phone, but you insisted on coming along. To hear him tell it, you practically hijacked the helicopter to be allowed on board.”
“I wasn’t about to be left out of all the excitement,” Leland said. “When we saw the situation on the ground, I told Mr. Simpson that it made sense for me to be the one dropped off to make contact with the enemy. After all, I’ve had some actual training in hand-to-hand combat. I’m afraid Mr. Simpson’s experience is more of the video- game variety, which is good as far as it goes, but when it comes time for cracking heads, I say go for someone who understands how to get the job done.”
Pizza and sodas came and disappeared. It was almost two o’clock in the morning before Ali finished giving her statement. B. had asked the helicopter to hang around long enough to give Leland Brooks and Dave Holman a lift back to Sedona. Only after they flew away did Ali and B. head for the barn.
The room in the Lake Mohave Resort was far humbler than the one in the suite in the Ritz-Carlton in Phoenix, but the king-size bed was spacious, the sheets were clean, and the nonsmoking room smelled fresh. Even had the room not been comfortable, it was unlikely Ali Reynolds would have noticed.
She was far too intent on cuddling up to the warmth of B. Simpson’s long bare back and falling fast asleep.
36
When Ali awakened the next morning, her body felt like it had taken a beating.
“It did,” B. said when she complained to him about it over breakfast in the resort’s dining room. “After a day spent throwing yourself into ditches, dragging yourself through piles of broken glass, and spending hours crammed in a trunk? I’m surprised you can walk.”
“You know what was nice about that whole thing?” Ali asked.
“What?”
“Bullhead City is the end of the known universe as far as the media is concerned. No reporters.”
“You’re right,” B. agreed. “Considering High Noon’s somewhat illicit involvement, I think it’s advantageous.”
They drove B.’s Enterprise rental back home to Sedona, taking their time. When they got as far as Williams, B. turned off and headed for the Grand Canyon.
“Why?” Ali wanted to know.
“Because I want to,” B. said. “Because yesterday, while you were out risking life and limb, I was figuring out what was important. I almost lost you, Ali. It’s one way of getting a guy’s undivided attention. So now I’ve got some debts to repay, except they’re mostly not repayable.”
“Stuart Ramey, for one?” Ali asked.
“Yup,” B. said. “You’ve got it. He went way out on a limb yesterday, and if it hadn’t been for his working like crazy in the background, there’s no way we would have found you in time for Leland Brooks to knock Barry Handraker senseless before he managed to finish you off.”
“What are you going to do about it?”
“You mean what are
“Does Stuart speak French?” Ali asked.
