be locked in the back of the vehicle like a common criminal-like he was under arrest or something? But then Ali remembered that when her almost-ex husband, Paul Grayson, had been run over by a speeding freight in southern California, the investigating officers had driven her to Riverside in the back of a patrol car as well. Perhaps this was the same protocol and it meant nothing. Maybe Ali was simply reading too much into it.
“If you’d like me to, madam,” Leland Brooks said quietly, “I’d be happy to track down the work crew and relay the bad news.”
Ali knew that in the past, Leland had dealt with Arabella Ashcroft’s periodic flights from sanity by retreating into that very proper butler made. Dave’s uncharacteristic detour into formality had disturbed her, but as Leland switched gears, Ali felt herself comforted.
“Thank you,” Ali said. “That would be greatly appreciated.”
Ali sat staring into the depths of her teacup and thought about two little girls coming home to the shock of finding their mother murdered. It appalled Ali to think about them being thrust into this awful turmoil and then being carted off to the sheriff’s office by some stranger to await the arrival of their father.
Ali’s cell phone rang. Glad to be jolted out of her grim contemplations, she hurried to answer, but it didn’t do her much good.
“Have you heard about Morgan Forester?” Edie Larson asked. “It’s positively dreadful! I still can’t believe it.”
Ali Reynolds had always marveled at her mother’s uncanny ability to know everything that was going on in Sedona, Arizona, before almost anyone else did. Since Edie’s sources were quick and nearly always accurate, Ali didn’t bother questioning them now. Obviously, whoever had delivered the news knew what was going on.
“Just did,” Ali admitted. “Dave was here a few minutes ago and told Bryan what had happened.”
“Those poor sweet little girls,” Edie went on. “Can you imagine coming home from school and finding something like that? The one is already such an odd little duck, I doubt she’ll ever recover.”
“Odd?” Ali asked.
“They’re twins, you know,” Edie said. “They’ve come to the Sugarloaf on occasion, usually with their daddy.” The Sugarloaf Cafe was the family-owned diner Ali’s parents had run for years.
“The two of them are the cutest little things. They look just alike, but the one-I don’t know which is which-talks nonstop. She chatters on and on like a little magpie, while the other one never says a word. The one eats everything in sight and cleans her plate without the least bit of fuss. The other one has to have everything on a separate plate-one plate for the eggs, another for the hash browns, another for the bacon, and still another for her toast or sweet roll. God forbid if one crumb of food should touch another. It’s always a problem when they come in, because there’s not enough room on our four-tops for one person to use four separate plates.” Edie paused and then added, “I guess you’ve never waited on them.”
Periodically, Ali pitched in as a substitute waitress. She knew of several adult customers with similar phobias, but she didn’t remember ever waiting on Bryan Forester’s little girls. “I guess not,” she agreed.
“I’m baking one of my tuna casseroles right now. Your dad will deliver it to their house a little later. I understand Bryan’s folks moved down to Sun City a few years ago. His dad has arthritis, and the winters up here were too cold, but I’m sure they’re on their way. I don’t know about Morgan’s folks. It seems to me they’re not from around here.”
Ali didn’t know anything about Morgan Forester’s family. Wherever her parents lived, once they learned the news, their hearts, too, would be broken, but Ali suspected that no one from either side of the family would be very interested in Edie Larson’s excellent tuna casserole.
“If the house is a crime scene, it’ll be empty,” Ali said quietly. “No one will be allowed to be there.”
“You’re right, of course,” Edie said after a pause. “Well, then, I’ll talk to one of the neighbors and find out where your father should deliver the food once I have it ready. Now, what about Thanksgiving?”
Her seamless segue from tuna casserole to turkey and dressing left Ali momentarily confounded.
“I know you had your heart set on having everyone over to your new place,” Edie continued. “But we have to be realistic. That just isn’t going to happen. We need a new plan.”
If Edie Larson had a sentimental bone in her body, her daughter had never seen it. After spending her entire lifetime either working in or running a restaurant and being in the day-to-day business of food, Edie looked at life’s ups and downs through a framework of what needed to be cooked, where, and when. Yes, Morgan Forester’s murder was a terrible thing, but after taking care of that required tuna casserole, Edie was ready to move on to the next piece of critical culinary business-Thanksgiving dinner. Meanwhile, Ali had been so shocked by what had happened that she had yet to consider how the terrible disruptions in Bryan Forester’s life might also impact her own situation.
“Don’t worry about it, Mom,” Ali said. “I’m sure we’ll be fine.”
Ali was hanging up when Leland emerged from the house and began gathering up the tea things. She passed him her cup, cold now but still half full.
“You told them?” she asked.
Leland nodded somberly. “I talked to Billy, Mr. Forester’s second in command. He said that if it’s all the same to you, they’d like to come on the job tomorrow anyway. If he can get the building inspector to come out and sign off on the permits, he said they’ll be able to go ahead with the wallboarding with or without Mr. Forester. But only if you don’t mind.”
The fact that Bryan’s crew was ready and willing to move forward without him seemed commendable. “It’s fine with me,” Ali said.
Leland nodded. “Very good, madam,” he said. “I told them I’d let them know if you had any objections.”
As if on cue, the workmen emerged from the building. Carrying tool belts, tool cases, and lunch boxes, they headed first to the Mini-Mobile, the metal storage unit where they stowed tools and supplies. Leland locked it each evening after the workmen left the job site and opened it every morning before they arrived. Minutes after the workmen left, the camera crew decamped as well, but they took their load of expensive equipment along with them. Leland picked up the tray, but before he could head back to his cozy fifth wheel, Ali stopped him.
“Detective Holman asked me if Mr. Forester had been here all day,” she said casually.
Dave had come to notify Bryan Forester of his wife’s death, but Ali had no doubt the man had been in Dave’s sights as a possible perpetrator from the moment Morgan’s homicide had been reported, and Dave had already started the process of tracing Bryan’s movements.
Leland returned the heavy tray to the table. “I seem to recall he did arrive a little later than usual,” he said thoughtfully. “Most of the time he’s here early enough to park at the top of the driveway. Today I noticed that his truck was down near the bottom of the hill.”
Ali nodded. “Did he seem upset to you?” she asked.
Leland frowned. “Now that you mention it,” he said, “I believe Mr. Forester did appear to be slightly out of sorts. He spent a good part of the day talking on his phone.”
“Did he happen to mention any kind of difficulty at home?” Ali asked.
Leland gave her a wry smile. “That’s not the kind of thing one would mention to the hired help,” he said quietly. “It’s just not done. It’s getting quite cool out here,” he added. “Would you like me to light the heater?”
They had stationed a propane-fueled outdoor heater near the picnic table so the guys could have their morning coffee without freezing their butts off.
“That’s all right,” Ali said. “I think I’ll head home.”
“By the way,” he reminded her, “it is Monday. Your evening to cook, I believe. Would you like me to come by and throw something together for you?”
Ali looked at this remarkably caring man.
“Thanks for keeping me on track,” Ali said. “You’ve done more than enough for today. I’ll handle dinner.”
“Very well,” Leland said. “Will we see you in the morning?”
“If the work crew is coming, I’m coming,” Ali told him.
But as Ali pulled out of the driveway, she wasn’t thinking about getting her job done. She was thinking about two little girls, Morgan Forester’s daughters, who would have to grow up without their mother.
Poor babies, Ali said to herself. Those poor babies.
