In the past, I’m sure I would have accepted the “official” answer as the “real” answer, but circumstances change, and so have I.
And since all of you have been walking along the Reenie road with me, I’ll keep you posted as well.
Posted 5:23 A.M. by Babe
Lucille had responded:
Dear Babe,
You can post my letter. I haven’t looked for my son. I don’t have the money, and I’m afraid of what I’d find. Maybe he’s dead. Or like his father.
Lucille
Ali posted Lucille’s first note, then she started to read the new stuff. The first one was from Andrea Rogers.
Dear Ali
Glad to know you’re feeling better. Thank God! That maniac could have killed you.
I’ll go to Goodwill first thing this morning, before I even go to the office. I know some of the people down there. When I tell them what’s happened, I’m sure they’ll do whatever they can to help. Some of Reenie’s stuff is probably gone-some but not all. I’ll do what I can.
Andrea
The next e-mail was a stunner.
Dear Mrs. Reynolds,
A friend of mine told me I could write to you here.
My husband was abusive. He use to beat me in front of the kids, but I stayed with him. Because of the kids. He finally got sick and died, praise the Lord!
But now my son is dead, too, and I keep wondering how much of it is my fault. I forgive you if you forgive me.
Sincerely,
Myra Witherspoon
Closing her computer, Ali went to get dressed.
Chapter 19
Myra Witherspoon’s note stayed with Ali as she dressed and tried to make herself presentable. For both Lucille and for Myra, domestic violence had been a communicable disease, spreading its poison through their families from one generation to the next. And maybe even to the generation after that. Both of them had lost their sons. But obviously, both women had somehow plumbed the depths of their own heartbreak and found a measure of forgiveness for others. Otherwise they wouldn’t have written.
It was humbling to realize that Myra was willing to forgive the person who had pulled the trigger and ended her son’s violent existence.
If our situations were reversed, Ali wondered, could I do the same?
She rummaged through her closet until she found a long-sleeved turtle neck she had left in Sedona over Christmas. That covered the bruises on her arms if not the ones on the backs of her hands, and a pair of jeans did the same for the stitches from the cut on her leg and the scrapes on her knees from where she had scrambled away from her attacker in the gravel driveway. Her face was another matter entirely.
Working in front of the bathroom mirror, Ali soon discovered what many other women had learned before her-makeup can’t do everything. No amount of Estee Lauder concealer camouflaged the ugly greenish yellow tinge of the bruise that spread from her cheekbone to the base of her neck. Eye-shadow only emphasized the cut near the corner of her puffy eye. Lipstick did the same for her cut and badly swollen upper lip.
Chris called as she was examining the final results in the mirror. “How are you feeling?” he asked.
“Medium,” she told him.
“Maybe I should come back over this weekend,” he offered. “My last final is over at noon on Friday.
“That’s not necessary, Chris. Really. I’m fine. I’ve got more food here than I’ll ever manage to eat. All I’m doing is hanging around with Sam and taking it easy.”
“I just read this morning’s post,” Chris countered. “That didn’t sound like you’d be taking it easy.”
“Don’t go all grown-up on me,” Ali said with a laugh. “I just want some answers. That’s all.”
“And how do you plan on getting them?”
“By asking questions, I suppose,” she returned.
“What kinds of questions?”
“My plan for today is to drive down to Phoenix and talk to the banker Reenie talked with the day she died. I just want to get a line on what she did after she left the doctor’s office.”
“That’s all?”
“What do you mean, that’s all?”
“I mean you won’t be doing things you shouldn’t.”
“You mean as in not minding my own business? You really are starting to sound like your grandmother.”
“And for good reason,” Chris responded. “You just got out of the hospital, remember?”
“So you’re worried about me!”
“You could say that,” he agreed. “And from the sound of your post this morning, I should be, which is why, at the very least, I should come over and help.”
“No,” she said. “You definitely shouldn’t do that. Finish your exams. Finish school.”
“But you’ll be careful?”
“Chris, I’m going to go talk to a banker,” she said, not trying to conceal her exasperation. “How dangerous can that be?”
“In your case, who knows?” he returned.
Chris hung up abruptly after that. Ali and her son quarreled so seldom that their telephone tiff left her feeling uneasy. Had Chris started it or had she? And what did he expect her to do, just turn her back on Reenie and forget about it?
Sipping coffee, she reread the printed e-mail from First United Financial. This time her eyes stopped short on the words “the trustee and/or with the grantor.” Who in Reenie’s family would be best qualified to fill either one of those jobs?
Ed Holzer! Ali realized. Of course. That made perfect sense.
After all, the man had been a banker for years before selling out and establishing a property management firm in its stead. In fact, there was a good chance that Ed himself had established the trust accounts. Maybe these were things he and Diane had set up to benefit their grandchildren.
Ali had started making a to-do list to take with her. The phone rang just as she added Ed’s name.
“Good morning,” Bob Larson said. “How’s my girl this morning?”
“Fine,” she told her dad. “Still bruised and battered but fine.”
“Your mother wants to know if you’re coming down for breakfast. So do I, for that matter.”
“I won’t have time,” she said. “I’m leaving for Phoenix in just a few minutes, and I thought I’d stop by and see Ed and Diane Holzer on the way.”
“Our loss,” he said. “Dave’s, too.”
“Dave?”
“Holman. He was hoping to talk to you, too.”
Detective Dave Holman was the last person Ali wanted to see. She remembered Dave running to her side at the end of the Ben Witherspoon confrontation. And she had a hazy recollection of his worried face hovering in the background as the EMTs rolled her from the ambulance into the ER. She hadn’t seen him again after that, and it was just as well. For one thing, Rick Santos, her criminal defense attorney, had told her to have nothing at all to do with law enforcement officers for the time being, at least not until the Witherspoon matter had been resolved, one way or the other. Before that, her attorney needed to be present at all times: As in anything you say can be held against you.
But Ali had a second reason for avoiding Dave Holman which, in her opinion, carried as much weight as her attorney’s objections. If Chris somewhat disapproved of Ali looking into the Reenie situation, Dave was likely to be absolutely opposed.
“Tell him I’ll be in touch,” Ali said. She was about to hang up, but Bob caught her in time.
“Kip said something about your having extra food you want to donate?”
“Tons of it,” she said.
“How about if I have him bring me up to your place later on this morning,” Bob suggested. “I have a key. We can pick up your extra food and take it up the mountain. Kip’s old neighbors will be glad to have it, and I imagine your mother will be thrilled to have me out from under hand and foot.”
“Be advised,” Ali said. “I have an alarm system now.” She gave him the code. “And don’t let the cat out.”