“And what about Lynn and Gemma? Did they ever meet?”
“Oh, yes,” Valerie said. “There was a big stink just last week. Something about the divorce settlement that was still hanging. Gemma had stopped by to see Doris. As she was leaving, Chip tried to talk to her about some documents he needed her to sign-something to do with a purchase offer on a piece of property they’re trying to sell.
“Gemma said forget it, that she wasn’t signing anything without talking to her attorney and maybe not even then. Lynn was with Chip at the time, and the three of them got into a huge shouting match out in the yard. According to Molly, Lynn was screaming at Gemma that she had no right to destroy Chip and why couldn’t she just let the poor guy be. To which Gemma replied that as far as she was concerned, the only way she would be done tormenting Chip Ralston was when he was dead or else when she was. To which Lynn said something to the effect of maybe that could be arranged. I think that’s when it happened, when Lynn decided to take Gemma out of the equation.”
“How is it that you know about this quarrel?”
“Gemma told me all about it first, but so did Molly. Gemma thought the whole thing was a big joke. Once she went missing, I didn’t think it was funny. The first time I talked to the cops at Gemma’s house, I told them they needed to take a close look at Chip and Lynn; that if there had been some kind of foul play, one of them would be behind it.”
“All right, then,” Ali said, changing the subject. “Let’s talk about Gemma’s personal life for a moment. Can you tell me anything about her current romantic entanglements?”
“Not much,” Valerie allowed. “I know she had dipped her toe back in the dating game, but I also know she had no intention of getting married again. She just wanted to have fun-nothing too serious. You know, the old friends-with-benefits kind of thing.”
“And nothing that would risk turning off her alimony checks from Chip Ralston.”
Valerie smiled. “That, too.”
“Did she have any beaus in particular?”
“None that I can think of,” Valerie answered. “She was mostly just playing the field.”
“Did she tell you about her boyfriends?”
“Not really,” Valerie said, shaking her head. “We played tennis, but between Gemma and me, talking about our love lives was off limits-sisterly rivalry and all that. Gemma wasn’t much good when it came to that kind of competition.”
There had been a slight lull in the conversation while Ali considered her next question, but her train of thought was interrupted by a question from Valerie. “Did she do it?”
For a moment Ali was stumped. “Did who do what?”
Valerie shook her head in exasperation. “Did Chip’s girlfriend murder Gemma? That’s what Molly seems to think, regardless of who pulled the trigger-not that there was a trigger,” she corrected quickly. “I’m sure you know what I mean, there’s only one person who’s ultimately responsible for what happened.”
“Who would that be?” Ali asked.
“Chip Ralston, of course. That’s his modus operandi. Sooner or later, he lets everybody down-his parents, his wife, his sister. Mark my words, he’ll do the same thing to Lynn Martinson.”
There didn’t seem to be anything more to be gained by continuing to ask questions. Ali closed her iPad and stood up. “Thanks for your help,” she said, walking toward the door.
“Isn’t that what friends are for?” Valerie asked.
As Ali headed for her car, she found herself feeling incredibly sad. Supposedly, Gemma and Molly and Valerie had been the best of friends, but there seemed to be very little genuine grief coming from the two survivors. The only person who seemed to be truly mourning Gemma Ralston’s death was the woman’s former mother-in-law, someone whose current mental condition left her unlikely to remember much of anything, including the fact that Gemma was no longer among the living.
Ali walked away from Valerie Sloan’s house feeling sorry for everyone involved but for Gemma Ralston most of all.
22
Ali’s cell phone rang as she climbed into the Cayenne. She put the Porsche in gear and got on the road toward Phoenix before she answered.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Dave Holman demanded. “I want you to get out of my case and stay out.”
“Good morning to you, too,” Ali said.
“I mean it, Ali. I’ve got two homicides on my hands, and I don’t need someone like you running interference with potential witnesses.”
“Why?” Ali asked. “Has someone complained?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, they have. I’ll give you three guesses.”
“Molly Handraker?”
“She says she caught you prowling around her mother’s place last night. She said she almost called the cops.”
“Did she also happen to mention that she pulled a gun on me?”
“She did, but it turns out she has a concealed-carry permit. It’s a miracle the two of you didn’t plug each other. Not only that, from what she said, it sounds as though you’re passing yourself off as a private detective, which, according to the laws of Arizona, you can’t possibly be.”
“I’ve accepted a writing assignment,” Ali said.
“I don’t care what you say you’re doing. I want you to get out of my case and stay out.”
Ali was messing around in two of his cases, but remembering the old saw about the best defense, Ali turned the tables. “I must have missed the memo,” she said.
Dave paused in midrant. “What memo?”
“Either we got married without my noticing, or you’ve been elected sheriff and I’m one of your hapless deputies, because I don’t see any other possibilities for your deciding you can order me around. Just because we’re friends doesn’t give you the right to meddle in what jobs I take or how I do them.”
Before Dave had time to respond, call waiting buzzed. Ali glanced at her phone. The 602 area code meant it was a Phoenix call. By then she was sailing along, westbound on Camelback, in light midmorning traffic.
“Phone call, Dave,” Ali said, dismissing him. “Gotta go.”
“Ms. Reynolds?” a young male voice said when she switched over to the other call.
Ali glanced again at the phone number to see if it would give her a clue about the caller’s identity. “Yes, this is Ali Reynolds. Who is this?”
“It’s A.J.,” he said. “A. J. Sanders. I’m calling to ask you a question. Is it true what you said last night-that my father was dead a long time before that woman died?”
“Yes, that’s my understanding. Why?”
“And you’re not a cop.”
“No. What’s going on?”
“I need to talk to someone who knows something about the case, but someone who isn’t a cop and someone who isn’t my mother. I can’t talk to her about this. I don’t know what to do.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Ali said. “What’s up?”
A.J.’s words came out in a rush. “I found a gun in our trash this morning when I took the garbage out. Not in the big can in the alley, but in the smaller one we keep on the back porch. I found it when I dumped the little one into the big one.”
Ali envisaged some kind of gangbanger running through the neighborhood and dropping a weapon into the first trash can that presented itself. What she didn’t understand was why A.J. would seek advice from a complete stranger as opposed to his own mother. Still, she didn’t blow him off.
“I noticed yesterday there’s no fence around your yard,” she said. “If someone from the neighborhood was trying to ditch a weapon, it would be easy to sneak through your yard and dump it in the trash. What kind of gun are we talking about?”
“I don’t know much about guns,” A.J. admitted. “It’s a revolver, I think, and not very big.”
“A snub-nose, maybe?”
“I guess,” A.J. said. “Whoever put the gun there did it because they’re trying to frame me for my father’s death. Mom told me last night that the cops said my dad was carrying a large amount of money at the time he died, and now it’s gone. She also said he was shot at close range. I’ll bet the gun I found this morning is the murder weapon. As for the money?” He paused and didn’t continue.