Deadly Stakes

by J. A. Jance

  “My husband and I were going through a rough patch right then, so it wasn’t a big hardship for me to stay on and help out. I moved into my old room because it made looking after Mama that much easier than living anywhere else. Later on, when Chip needed a place to stay, he got around me by talking to our mother and asking to use the casita. Naturally, she said yes. I finally went along with the program, but only on the condition that Chip would agree to abide by my father’s wishes.”

  “Which were?”

  “That Chip have nothing to do with my mother’s care.”

  “So he hasn’t been backstopping you on that?”

  “I don’t need backstopping,” Molly declared. “I’m fully capable of taking care of Mama on my own, and I don’t need some self-proclaimed ‘expert’ telling me what I should or shouldn’t be doing.”

  That last comment brought Molly’s previous comment about what was forgivable and what was not into clear focus. In sorting out the care of frail and aging parents, what had once been a case of ordinary sibling rivalry between Molly and her brother had morphed into something more toxic. Out in the world, Dr. Charles Ralston may have been a well-respected Alzheimer’s expert, but as far as his sister was concerned, that expertise counted as nothing but unwelcome interference. Ali was smart enough to recognize that as far as families went, this was probably not an isolated situation.

  “Your mother’s illness and your brother’s divorce must have come to pass at the same time,” Ali observed.

  “Pretty much,” Molly agreed, “and now we have this whole new crisis. I still can’t believe Gem is dead.”

  “I understand you and she were friends?”

  “And have been for years,” Molly said with a nod. “We were roommates our freshman year in college, and we’ve been friends ever since, through good times and bad. I’m the one who introduced Gemma to Chip, so I guess you can lay the whole mess at my door.”

  “You and Gemma stayed friends even after she and Chip divorced?”

  Molly nodded. “From my perspective, husbands tend to come and go with amazing regularity, but friends are friends forever. I couldn’t just erase Gemma from my life on Chip’s say-so, and neither could my mother. You adored Gemma, didn’t you, Mama?”

  “Gemma?” Doris asked vaguely. “Oh yes. Lovely girl. Just lovely. Did we talk today? On the phone, I mean. We usually do, you know. She calls me every morning, first thing.”

  Molly shook her head. “See there?” she said. “It’s hopeless.”

  “Yes,” Ali said. “I can see that. When did you last see Gemma?”

  Ali’s question was directed at Molly, but Doris was the one who answered. “It was tonight, wasn’t it? I’m sure Gemma was here just a little while ago.”

  “No, Mama,” Molly said patiently to Doris. “That’s not right. She didn’t come by today.” To Ali, she added, “The last time I saw Gem was on Monday afternoon. We played tennis in the afternoon, and then we had a drink in the bar afterward.”

  Under the circumstances, Ali thought tennis sounded like an excellent idea. Considering the caregiving burden Molly Handraker was facing at home, the thought of being out in the sun and hitting something, or even just hitting at something, would be welcome.

  “How was Gemma that day?” Ali asked. “Did she seem upset about anything? Worried? Out of sorts?”

  “No, not at all. We played down at the club—the country club. She beat me in straight sets. She had a lot more time to play tennis recently than I did.”

  “Which country club?” Ali asked.

  “Paradise Valley,” Molly answered, as though any other choice were ludicrous. “I don’t remember the exact time. Three-thirty or so, I think. They’ll have exact time at the reservation desk. We met there, played, stopped in the clubhouse for a drink or two, and then I came home. I had some help to look after Mama that night, so I didn’t have to rush. But that was the last time I saw her. On Tuesday, she had a tennis date with another friend of ours—Valerie Sloan.”

  Ali held up a finger, pausing Molly’s statement long enough to make a note of the name and contact information which Molly supplied from memory.

  “When Gemma didn’t show up for their match,” Molly continued, “Val went by Gemma’s place to check on her. Her car was in the garage. Her front door was unlocked and standing open. The alarm wasn’t on. Gemma’s purse and car keys were there, and so was her phone, but she wasn’t. That seemed odd enough that Val called the cops to report her missing.”

  “No sign of a struggle at the apartment?”

  “It’s a town house, not an apartment,” Molly corrected. “Just a couple of miles from here off Camelback. According to what Val told me, there was no sign of a struggle. Nothing was out of place, and there were no signs of forced entry, and apparently, nothing of value was taken. Her jewelry was in the box on the dresser in the bedroom; her computer and printer were in the office. Val said it was like Gemma simply walked out of her place and disappeared into thin air.”

  “It sounds like this makes you one of the last people to see her alive?” Ali asked.

  “I suppose,” Molly agreed. “I left her at the clubhouse about six-thirty or seven.”

  “Was she with anyone when you left?”

  Molly shook her head. “Not that I noticed. We had been sitting at the bar. You could probably ask the bartender. His name is Luis.”

  “What was Gemma’s home address?”

  Molly recited it, and Ali jotted it down.

  Doris, who had dozed off briefly, awakened with a start. “What’s going on?” she wanted to know.

  Molly heaved a heartfelt sigh. “Mama, please,” she said patiently. “We’re talking about Gemma.”

  “What about her?” Doris asked. “Where is she, and where’s Chipper? Wherever Gemma is, he’s probably there, too.”

  “She’s not with Chip, Mama. Gemma’s dead, and Chip’s in jail in Prescott,” Molly explained.

  “In jail?” Doris was aghast. “Why on earth would he be in jail? This is serious. We have to do something about it.”

  “We already did do something about it, Mama, but you probably don’t remember. I called Matt Greenburg earlier today and asked him to go up to Prescott to look into the situation. That’s why this lady is here asking questions. She’s working on an article about it.”

  “So things are under control?” Doris worried.

  “As much as they can be,” Molly said.

  “Let’s go back to Monday,” Ali resumed. “You were aware that Lynn Martinson spent the night here on Monday?”

  “She spends most nights here. I don’t approve, but there’s not much we can do about it,” Molly said. “She comes late, leaves early. For the time being, she and Chip have settled for sneaking around. Not very dignified, if you ask me.”

  “What’s not dignified?” Doris asked.

  “Chip and Lynn.”

  “Lynn?” Doris sounded genuinely puzzled. “Who’s Lynn?”

  “You know who Lynn Martinson is,” Molly admonished. “You met her that one time after the concert. She’s Chip’s girlfriend.”

  “His girlfriend?” Doris echoed, visably shocked. “You’re saying Chip has a girlfriend? How can he? He’s married. Gemma won’t tolerate such a thing, and neither will I. I’ll disown him if I have to. I’ll write him right out of my will.”

  Molly said nothing. Clearly, the woman’s patience with her mother was stretched to the breaking point.

  “Did you hear any vehicles come and go during the night?” Ali asked.

  “No,” Molly said, “but we wouldn’t, anyway. Once Mama takes out her hearing aids, she turns her television set up so loud, it blasts you into the next county. She sleeps right through it. Besides, our bedrooms are over there.” She pointed to the far side of the living room. “The driveway to the casita is at the other end of the house, so we didn’t hear any cars coming and going, and we certainly didn’t hear anyone coming into the kitchen for the knife.”

 
; “Knife?” Ali repeated. “What knife?”

  “The murder weapon—a Henckels boning knife. I guess I’m supposed to say ‘the alleged murder weapon.’ They found it in Lynn Martinson’s trunk, and the boning knife from Mama’s Henckels set in the kitchen is currently missing from the knife block. As I told the detective earlier, for all we know, that knife could have been missing for months. When Chip moved into the casita, he came with the clothes on his back, and that was about it. Mama and I had Consuelo outfit him with whatever extras he needed from here.”

  “Who’s Consuelo?”

  “Mother’s maid. Used to be full-time, but shortly after Chip came home, I had to let her go. Keeping her on was too expensive. At the time he was moving back in, I had her pack up some of Mama’s extra linens, dishes, silverware, pots and pans, and take them over to the casita so he could use them. If it turns out it was our knife that the cops found in the back of the car, that’s possibly where it came from—the stuff Consuelo sent over to his place, not from someone sneaking into the kitchen in the middle of the night to grab a knife.”

  Ali thought about how Molly and Doris had bypassed the alarm keypad on their way into the house. “What about your alarm system?” she asked. “If people were coming and going from the casita overnight, wouldn’t your alarm have sounded?”

  “There’s no longer an active alarm system on the property,” Molly said. “We used to have one, but it turned into too much of a hassle. Before I got Mother’s sleep meds adjusted, she kept getting up during the night, wandering around the house, and punching buttons right and left. She’d be thinking she was turning the AC up or down or the heat on or off when she was really punching the keypad on the alarm. Finally, after several false alarms, we had to turn the system off.”

  “You keep your doors locked, don’t you?” Ali asked.

  “Of course,” Molly snapped. “Without the alarm, we’d be stupid not to, but I have a master key, and so does Chip. I’m betting that’s what she used.”

  “She?”

  “Lynn Martinson,” Molly said in exasperation. “Who do you think? The blood was found in her car. The knife was found in her car. I find that pretty compelling evidence.”

  “You’re convinced that Lynn Martinson is the murderer, then?” Ali asked. “You don’t believe your brother had anything to do with it?”

  “No,” Molly said. “Chip could never be a murderer. He doesn’t have it in him.”

  “What’s this about a murder?” Doris asked, once again rousing herself like a hopelessly broken record. Whatever information she gathered one minute was erased the next. “Who are you talking about?”

  “We’re talking about Gemma, Mama,” Molly explained again. “About what happened to her.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Nothing, Mama. It’s not important. I’ll tell you about it later.”

  Ali was still focused on the knife. Dave hadn’t mentioned anything about investigators finding a knife in Lynn’s vehicle. Ali wondered if Paula Urban knew about it.

  “Anyway,” Molly continued, “when the detective showed up with his search warrant and a crime scene team this afternoon, I had to let them in, and they were dusting everything with that ugly fingerprint powder.”

  “That’s when they told you about the knife?”

  Molly nodded. “They didn’t say much of anything to me. They were still here when Mama and I left for dinner, but they must have left before you got here.”

  Without putting up any crime scene tape, Ali thought. Which means they found nothing.

  “If they’re not treating the casita as a crime scene,” Ali said, “that means that whatever happened to Gemma didn’t happen in the casita and, according to what you said, apparently not in Gemma’s town house, either. So where’s the crime scene?”

  “In the trunk, maybe?” Molly said. “Detective Holman seems to think Gemma was spirited away from her town house sometime in the middle of the night, after she got home from the bar. He thinks she may have left there voluntarily, most likely with someone she knew.”

  “She may have left her town house voluntarily,” Ali observed, “but she didn’t get in the trunk voluntarily. So does Lynn Martinson qualify as someone Gemma knew?”

  “I suppose,” Molly said, “and not necessarily in a good way. Chip and Gemma got into an argument out in the yard a couple of weeks ago. Lynn ended up being right in the middle of it.”

  “What kind of argument?”

  “Over a real estate deal of some kind. Chip needed Gemma to sign a sales document, and she refused. Words were exchanged. When I went outside to check on what was going on, Lynn was saying something to the effect that if Gemma didn’t stop tormenting Chip, she would figure out a way to put a stop to it. Gemma said the only way she’d be done messing with Chip was when she was dead.”

  “You told the detective about that?”

  Molly nodded. “I did. It sounded too much like a direct threat to me. Given what’s happened, I couldn’t very well ignore it.”

  “From what you’re saying, you think your brother isn’t capable of doing something like this, but you think Lynn is?”

  “Look,” Molly said, “my brother is probably the best thing that ever happened to Lynn Martinson. With the divorce keeping him strapped for cash, I can see her thinking that if Gemma was out of the way, she’d have a clear shot at taking Chip to the altar.”

  “Could your mother have helped him with some of those money issues?”

  “She could, but she didn’t in the past, and she isn’t going to in the future,” Molly said determinedly. “Chip made his own mess, and I told him that he needs to clean it up on his own.”

  “I take it you’re handling your mother’s finances, then?”

  “Yes,” Molly said. “For right now, I’m the one writing the checks and paying the bills. I want to make sure her money doesn’t run out before she does.”

  “What about the defense attorney you sent riding to your brother’s rescue today?” Ali asked.

  “I did do that,” Molly agreed. “I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself if I let him take the fall for something his girlfriend did. Besides, if Mother were in her right mind, I’m sure that’s what she would have done, too. She would have regarded it as money well spent.”

  Doris sat up and blinked. “What money?” she asked.

  “The money we spent on Matt Greenburg?”

  “Matt Greenburg the lawyer?” Doris asked with a frown.

  Molly nodded. “Yes, Mama.”

  “Matt was one of your father’s good friends, but I never liked him much,” Doris said. “He’s one of those defense attorneys, isn’t he? The kind who are always getting crooks out of jail and helping them get off on technicalities?”

  “Maybe,” Molly agreed. “About the technicalities.”

  Before Ali had time to ask another question, Doris Ralston levered her rail-thin frame off the sofa and headed out of the room.

  “Where are you going, Mama?” Molly asked.

  “I’m going to go check on Gemma and see if she’s still sleeping in the car.”

  “She’s not!” Molly insisted. “She’s not sleeping anywhere, Mama! How many times do I have to tell you? Gemma is dead. Come on. Let’s get you to bed.”

  Nodding, Doris reversed direction and started back across the room. “So where’s my book?” she asked. “Have you seen where I put it?”

  “It’s right here where you left it, on the coffee table.” Reaching over, Molly picked up what appeared to be a wedding album and handed it to her mother, who clutched it to her breast.

  “Sorry,” Molly apologized to Ali, getting to her feet. “When she gets too tired, things get worse. I’m going to have to get her to bed now. I’m sorry we got off to such a bad start earlier.”

  “That’s all right,” Ali said easily. “You had no idea who I was. Considering everything that’s happened, I easily could have been someone who was up to no good.”

  �
��Do you have everything you need?”

  “I think so,” Ali answered.

  “Well, if there’s anything else, you’re welcome to call.” Molly reeled off a telephone number, which Ali jotted into her iPad.

  After Molly and Doris left the room, Ali slipped her iPad into her purse and let herself out of the house. She had given Molly a card earlier, but she dropped another one on the entryway table on her way out.

  After leaving Upper Glen Road, Ali drove back down to the hotel at Twenty-fourth and Camelback. Forty-five minutes later, showered and wearing her little black dress and a pair of suitable heels, Ali walked into Morton’s on B.’s arm.

  “Are we celebrating a special occasion tonight?” the hostess asked as she seated them and handed out menus.

  “Yes, we are,” B. said with a grin. “We’re continuing to celebrate the launch of a brand-new partnership.”

  20

  Chip Ralston’s mother has Alzheimer’s?” B. asked thoughtfully as he sliced into his thick hunk of medium-rare prime rib. “I remember Beatrice Hart mentioning that Chip’s father had died, but I don’t think she said anything about his mother.”

  “She’s suffering dementia issues of some kind, even if what she has isn’t straight-out Alzheimer’s,” Ali answered. “The whole time I was talking to Molly, Doris would be asleep one minute and awake the next. And each time she woke up, she had no idea what was going on. It has to be driving her daughter nuts. And I have a feeling Beatrice didn’t know about Doris Ralston’s condition because I doubt her daughter knows about Doris’s condition. I suspect Chip never told her.”

  “Why not?” B. sounded surprised. “After what happened to Lynn’s father, why wouldn’t he talk to her about that?”

  Ali shook her head. “I don’t know. I’m supposed to be in Lynn Martinson’s corner, but all I’ve managed to do so far is turn up evidence of another whole level of betrayal. She finally worked up enough courage to fall in love again, but it looks like she’s fallen for another dud. I like Chip, but apparently he’s a liar from, let’s just say, a troubled family. Doris Ralston’s elevator doesn’t go all the way to the top floor. She can’t quite grasp that her former daughter-in-law is dead. Doris keeps talking about Gemma this and Gemma that. She seems far more enamored with Gemma than she is with either her own son or her daughter.”