by J. A. Jance
Ali looked around what could best be categorized as an upscale pigsty and compared it to Sylvia Sanders’s far more humble but compulsively neat living room. Ali suspected the same would be true for Valerie’s twins—that they wouldn’t compare very favorably with Sylvia’s son, A.J.
“You’re here to talk about Gemma?” Valerie asked. She had perched herself on one arm of the sofa in a none too subtle hint that she didn’t expect Ali to stay long.
“Yes,” Ali said. “I’m a freelancer doing a research project on the investigation into Gemma’s homicide.” That little white lie was getting easier to say every time she repeated it.
“I’ve already told the cops everything I know,” Valerie said. “Couldn’t you talk to them?”
“I’m sorry for the loss of your friend, but I’d rather talk to you,” Ali said placatingly.
“All right,” Valerie said, giving in. “What do you want to know?”
“Tell me about Tuesday. I understand you’re the person who reported Gemma Ralston missing.”
Valerie nodded. Her eyes misted over briefly, then she shrugged off the sadness in the same determined way she had shifted the stack of clothing from the couch to the floor, as though she didn’t have either the time or energy to give way to an overly emotional response. “When Gemma didn’t show up for our tennis date and didn’t answer my calls, I went to her place to check on her. She wasn’t there, but her stuff was—her purse, keys, and car. The front door was unlocked and open. I called the cops. They took over from there. End of story.”
“You’ve been friends a long time?”
“Since college,” Valerie replied. “Gemma, Molly, and I ended up as roommates our freshman year at ASU. I was dirt-poor. Gemma’s parents were gone; she had been raised by her grandparents. They had a fair amount of money. Molly’s family was absolutely loaded but judgmental. In spades. Since Molly was at odds with her family most of the time, she dragged Gemma and me along to family get-togethers and used us as human shields to keep her parents off her back. That’s how we ended up at a Christmas party at their house our freshman year, when Chip came home for the holidays.
“Gemma had told us at the beginning of the year that she was going to find a good-looking guy who was going to be a doctor, preferably a surgeon, to marry. We thought she was kidding. Molly had told Gemma that her brother was doing premed at USC, but she didn’t pay much attention. That changed as soon as Gemma saw Chip in the flesh. Once that happened, it was like she flipped a switch and turned into a heat-seeking missile. After that, no matter how long it took to land him, Chip Ralston was the only guy she was interested in. She never dated anyone else.”
“Until after her divorce,” Ali offered.
Valerie waggled her hand up and down as if to say maybe not quite until after. “Their marriage lasted for fifteen years,” she said. “Mine, too.”
“What happened?” Ali asked.
“To my marriage?” Valerie asked. “My husband—now ex—had a midlife crisis and an affair. Brad and his new wife have a two-year-old now. You can imagine how thrilled my twins are about that!”
“What about Chip and Gemma’s marriage?”
“Chip had his midlife crisis early on, while he was in the last year of his residency. From the time Chip and Gemma started dating, she told everyone who would listen that Chip was going to be a world-famous surgeon someday, just like his dad. Gemma believed it. Chip’s mother believed it. I think his father believed it, too. The only problem was Chip didn’t believe it, and it never happened.
“During his residency, one of the patients under Chip’s care died. I don’t know all the gory details. It’s one of those things people don’t talk about, and it’s not polite to ask. Gemma told me it was some kind of routine surgery that went terribly wrong, where the guy shouldn’t have died but did, and it was held to be Chip’s fault. After that, Chip walked away from surgery and never looked back. Pissed Gemma off, too, I can tell you.” Warming to the conversation, Valerie had dropped from the arm of the sofa and settled on the seat. “What else do you want to know?”
“How long were they married?”
“Like I said,” Valerie answered, “fifteen years, give or take.”
“Do you know why it ended?”
“A bad case of terminal boredom, I suppose,” Valerie said. “At least on Gemma’s part. She told me that being married to Chip was like being married to an Eagle Scout. From my point of view, the big advantage of being married to an Eagle Scout is maybe you don’t have to worry about picking up an STD.”
That rueful remark told Ali way too much about the end of Valerie Sloan’s own marriage.
“Gemma spent years waiting for him to get through medical school. Because the surgeon thing turned out so badly, I think she always felt like she’d been sold a bill of goods—as though Chip never lived up to his end of the bargain. I think Chip’s parents were disappointed, too. The thing is, disgruntled parents don’t get to divorce their kids the way disgruntled wives get to shed husbands and vice versa. When Chip got into financial trouble, Gemma didn’t see any point in hanging around. She bailed.”
“What kind of financial trouble?” Ali asked.
“Chip made some bad investments along the way. Bought more houses than he could afford, and just before the bubble burst. Bought high and had to sell low. He’s still trying to sell some of them. When the downturn came, his retirement accounts dropped like rocks, too. Gemma could see that she needed to get out while there was something left to take. Once she was gone, Chip had to go back home to live. Doris was already sick by then, but I don’t think anyone knew how bad it was, and her condition has worsened since then.”
“Given Chip Ralston’s expertise, I don’t understand why the full burden of their mother’s care falls on Molly.”
“Because that’s the way Dr. Ralston—the elder Dr. Ralston—wanted it,” Valerie answered. “Turns out it’s the way Molly wants it, too. Given her history with her parents, I was a little surprised that her father gave her a durable medical power of attorney, but he did. And that’s why, once he was gone, Molly took over as Doris’s caregiver on a twenty-four/seven basis.”
“From what you’ve said, I take it Molly has a history of troubled relations with her parents?”
Valerie nodded. “Chip wasn’t the only kid who disappointed the Ralstons, although Molly went off the rails a lot earlier than Chip did. She was the wild one in the family—the rebel, the one who got bad grades and partied way too much.”
“What do you mean, partied?” Ali asked.
“What do you think I mean? Booze and drugs. She managed to get accepted to ASU, but by the end of our freshman year, she was on academic probation. She dropped out after the first semester of our sophomore year and eloped with her then-boyfriend, who by that time was a senior at NAU up in Flagstaff. For years after that, Molly was completely estranged from her parents. They didn’t see her for several years and probably wouldn’t have for a lot longer than that if Gemma hadn’t insisted that she come home and be in the wedding.
“Molly’s first marriage lasted five years. Number two less than that. She’s still married to number three, a guy named Barry Handraker. He’s currently an out-of-work pharmacist in Minneapolis. Their marriage was on the rocks when she came home for her father’s funeral, and she didn’t bother going back. She stayed on to help with her mother.”
“So during the time Molly was off living her life and running through less than wonderful husbands, Doris was busy turning all her motherly focus on Gemma.”
Valerie nodded. “Gemma and Doris were always birds of a feather, almost from day one. I’m sure all of Doris’s constant harping about Gemma is tough on Molly; hurts her feelings. I know I’d probably resent the hell out of it if my mother decided she liked my brother’s wife better than she liked me. But what can Molly do? I can understand why she’s resigned to her fate. She’s dead broke. If she weren’t staying with Doris Ralston and looking after her, she
wouldn’t even have a roof over her head.”
“She and her husband lost their house?” Ali asked.
Valerie nodded. “Foreclosure.”
“They’re not divorced?” Ali asked.
“Molly’s emotionally stuck,” Valerie said. “That’s one of the things Gemma and I were trying to encourage her to do—cut her losses and dump the guy while she still has her looks and a chance of hooking up with somebody decent.”
Ali glanced around Valerie’s cluttered living room, and the words “the blind leading the blind” came to mind. It occurred to Ali that Molly Handraker wasn’t the only one who was stuck.
“Tell me about Molly and her brother,” Ali said. “How do they get along?”
“Not well,” Valerie said. “Think fire and water. When they were growing up, Chip was definitely the favorite, the apple of his mother’s eye and his father’s pride and joy. He was the true-blue honor student, the one who could do no wrong. I think they rubbed Molly’s nose in that a lot. Later on, though, the worm turned. By the time anybody knew Doris was sick, James Ralston was at war with his beloved son. I think giving Molly the power of attorney and making sure she’d be the one calling the shots was their father’s way of getting back at Chip once and for all.”
“This doesn’t sound like a warm-and-fuzzy family. So how did Chip end up going back home to live?”
“He went around Molly and asked his mother,” Valerie said. “Doris may have said yes, but Molly is the one who dictated the terms, and she had him over a barrel. She agreed that he could live in the casita, but only on one condition—that he stay out of her way.”
“He has no say in his mother’s care?”
“None. If it were up to me, I’d be going around looking for help from whoever was available, but Molly’s not me. So Chip lives in the casita, and his new girlfriend stays over more nights than not.”
“I got the feeling Doris doesn’t approve,” Ali offered.
Valerie laughed. “Yes,” she said, “and never the twain should meet. Well, they did once, sort of. Lynn came up the driveway just as Molly and Doris were coming home from a concert. Chip came out and tried to introduce Lynn to his mother, but Doris went completely nuts. She may not remember much of anything else, but she’s still all Gemma, all the time. Doris went into a screaming fit and tried to go after Lynn with her cane. She ended up having to be physically restrained. I don’t think they’ve crossed paths since. Chip’s made sure of it.”
“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?”
