by J. A. Jance
Shirley nodded.
“Ask him to come here, too.”
When Shirley ushered the detective into Ali’s office, she rose to greet him. “I’m Ali Reynolds, Mateo Vega’s employer. If I may ask, what does this concern?”
“As I told the lady out front, this is a private matter that needs to be discussed with Mr. Vega himself.”
Mateo appeared in the doorway. “Whatever it is, you can talk about it with Ali here in the room. What’s this all about?”
The detective, seated in front of Ali’s desk, looked uneasy. “I believe you’re acquainted with a gentleman named Henry Johnson, sometimes known as Pop.”
Mateo nodded.
“I regret to say that I’m here to deliver some bad news,” Detective Margate said. “Mr. Johnson died early today. He was badly injured yesterday morning in a riot at the Monroe Correctional Facility. He was airlifted to Harborview Medical Center in Seattle, where he underwent emergency surgery for a stab wound to the abdomen. Unfortunately, he did not survive. Prison records list you as his next of kin, so I’m here on official business. We located you by contacting your parole officer.”
“What kind of a riot?” Mateo wondered. “Pop wasn’t the kind to get himself into any kind of trouble.”
“From what I’ve been told, Mr. Johnson was the instigator of the violence. He attacked a fellow inmate from behind and fatally stabbed him.”
“Which inmate?” an ashen-faced Mateo asked.
Margate pulled out a notebook and examined his notes. “One Josiah Young,” he answered.
Mateo’s knees buckled under him. He staggered forward and dropped heavily onto the nearest chair. At last he got a grip on himself.
“Are you saying they think I had something to do with it?”
Margate seemed genuinely surprised at that. “Why, no,” he said. “Did you?”
“No,” Mateo said. “Pop and I were friends. Once I was released on parole, I started sending him money every month for his commissary account, but that’s all. We’ve not been in touch otherwise.”
“Very well,” said Margate, rising to his feet. “Sorry for your loss,” he added. “I’ll show myself out.”
Once the detective was gone, Mateo remained where he was for a long moment. When he came to himself, he saw that Ali was studying him intently.
“Pop was my friend,” Mateo said. “We were cellmates for five years. He must have heard about Josiah’s confession to Emily’s murder and—” He broke off, unable to continue.
“If I were you,” Ali said kindly, “I believe I’d give Chloe Bannerman a call.”
|CHAPTER 68|
SEDONA, ARIZONA
Ali and B. were at home that night and sorting out their day when Ali’s mom called.
“I know you need to work,” Edie said, “and if this is too much to ask, please tell me, but I was wondering if you could do me a favor tomorrow?”
“Of course, Mom,” Ali said, “whatever you need. Where and when?”
“Could you pick me up tomorrow morning around ten? I need you to drive me somewhere. It’ll probably take a couple of hours—three, maybe four.”
“Happy to, Mom,” Ali said. “See you in the morning at ten o’clock sharp.”
Ali arrived at the appointed hour, pulled up under the Sedona Shadows portico, and then texted her mother to say she was there waiting. It was the first time Ali had seen Edie since the day of the funeral. When she came through the double doors, she walked with a firm step, carrying a shopping bag in one hand, with the polished pine box tucked under her other arm. As soon as Ali saw the box, she knew where they were going.
“Up to the rim?” she asked as her mother climbed into the Cayenne and fastened her seat belt.
Edie said nothing. She simply nodded.
Once Edie was inside the vehicle, Ali identified what was in the bag, because the spicy aroma of a Sugarloaf Café sweet roll soon filled the air. While Ali was growing up, that scent had been an integral part of her existence. Happily, the café’s new owners continued to use Edie’s standout recipe.
“I take it we’re having a picnic?” Ali asked.
Edie nodded again.
As they pulled away from Sedona Shadows and turned onto the highway, Edie seemed disinclined to speak, so Ali kept quiet as well. That didn’t mean it was a lighthearted drive, however. There was something heavy looming in that lengthening silence, and Ali worried about what it would be.
It wasn’t until after they turned north on I-17 that Edie finally spoke. “I understand why Bobby did what he did,” she said, “but I’m not sure I can forgive him for it. I believe he wanted to spare me, but he never bothered to ask if I wanted to be spared. I wanted more time with him, Ali. That’s all I wanted—more time.”
Ali considered saying something about quality of life or self-determination. Since those weren’t words that would soothe her mother’s aching heart right then, she didn’t mention them.
“Dad loved you, Mom,” Ali said simply. “And he thought that what he was doing was a reflection of that.”
“Well, he was wrong,” Edie asserted.
The same brooding silence settled back over them.
“I liked what you said about him in your eulogy,” Edie said after another long pause. “Bobby was a good man. I’m going to miss him terribly, even though he could be incredibly annoying at times—for all the reasons you mentioned. He was always looking out for others and not necessarily looking out for us.”
Ali nodded. “In the past few days, I’ve found out more about that than I ever imagined.”
“So I’m proud of him and mad at him at the same time,” Edie said. “Does that make any sense?”
“It makes perfect sense.”
“He always said that if he went first, he wanted me to go on living,” Edie continued. “So that’s why we’re scattering his ashes today. If he’d been buried instead of cremated, they would have taken him straight from the funeral to the cemetery. So it seems to me the sooner the better, right?”
“Mom, what’s important in this moment is doing what’s right for you as opposed to what might have been right for him or anybody else.”
“Thank you for saying that,” Edie said. “It’s almost the same thing Betsy said to me this morning at breakfast. And in terms of moving on, she’s my role model.”
No argument there, Ali thought. Athena’s grandmother was the poster child for reinventing herself in the aftermath of a spouse’s death.
“And why the sweet roll?” Ali asked.
“The two best things Dad and I ever did were having you and inventing that sweet-roll recipe. I wanted you here with me so we could toast him with a sweet roll before we open the box.”
“If that’s what you want, that’s exactly what we’ll do.”
Again quiet settled into the vehicle, only this time it wasn’t quite as heavy. Minutes later, when Ali glanced toward the passenger seat, she realized her mother had quietly nodded off. Ali didn’t awaken her. She didn’t know for sure that her mother wasn’t sleeping well, but she guessed that to be the case. As the Cayenne turned off I-17 at the exit to Schnebly Hill Road, Edie jerked awake.
“I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” she said.
“It’s fine, Mom. Don’t worry about it.”
Half an hour later, after threading their way through the homeless encampment, they pulled over to a spot where Edie said she knew there was a path out to the edge of the rim. Ali kept her mouth shut and let her mother lead the way to their intended destination. It was a small clearing with a breathtaking view over the edge into the Verde Valley far below. Obviously, other people had found this spot to be enchanting, too, because someone had gone to the trouble of constructing a rustic split-log bench. That’s where they sat.
Edie opened the bag and pulled out a pair of paper plates, napkins, some plastic knives, and a small disposable container filled with butter.
“Bobby always said it was criminal to eat one of these witho
ut butter.”
“Agreed,” Ali said.
She sat quietly while her mother sliced the single roll in half and then placed one of the pieces on the plate she passed to Ali, who immediately slathered on a layer of butter.
“Bobby and I worked on this recipe for weeks,” Edie remarked. “When we finally had two candidates we thought would work, we left it up to Evie to decide, and this is the one she chose.”
Evie had been Edie’s twin sister, and she, too, had been a partner in the restaurant.
“Good choice,” Ali said.
“I always thought so.”
They sat in silence, this time savoring the sweetness.
“Thank you for driving me up here. I could have done it on my own, I suppose, but I was afraid I would have cried the whole way.”
“You didn’t,” Ali observed.
“No, I didn’t,” Edie agreed.
By the time they finished their snack, a stiff wind was blowing out of the east. As they cleaned up their mess, both women were feeling the chill, but Edie was determined to forge ahead. Taking a deep breath, she reached for the box. Ali was surprised to see that it was more of a freestanding drawer than it was a box. A push on the top caused the drawer to slide out into the open. Seeing the gray contents inside, Ali swallowed hard, but Edie was determined.
Extracting the drawer from its frame, she straightened up and walked toward the cliff. Following behind, Ali couldn’t help herself. “Careful,” she warned.
“Don’t worry,” Edie replied, suddenly sounding more like her old self. “I wouldn’t want you to lose both your father and me at the same time.”
As they stood on the edge of the precipice, a steady breeze continued to blow behind them.
“Are you ready?” Edie asked.
“Ready,” Ali said.
“Good-bye, Bobby,” Edie said after a pause. “I miss you so much.”
With that, Edie Larson heaved the contents of the drawer into the air. Mother and daughter stood side by side watching as the cloud of ashes, borne on the breeze, drifted out of sight, disappearing into the distance far below.
When Edie finally turned to face Ali, they both burst into tears and then retreated to the bench together.
Eventually, when their tears abated, Edie fit the loose drawer back into its frame. Then, picking up both the box and the bag, she led the way back to the car.
“What are you going to do with the box?” Ali asked once they were back inside the Cayenne with their seat belts fastened.
“Reuse it, of course,” Edie said. “These things don’t grow on trees, you know.” Then, after a pause, she added, “Come to think of it, I guess wood does grow on trees. But there’s no reason to spend just for the sake of spending. I looked these up on the Internet. It turns out a box like this is way more expensive than one of those tacky urns. When it’s my time to go, you can reuse the same box, and I want my ashes scattered in the same place. Got it?”
This was so like Ali’s parents—so like both of them—and in that moment she felt bathed in their love.
“Got it,” Ali replied. “I hear you loud and clear.”
More from this Series
Web of Evil
Book 2
Hand of Evil
Book 3
Cruel Intent
Book 4
Trial by Fire
Book 5
Fatal Error
Book 6
Left for Dead
Book 7
|ABOUT THE AUTHOR|
J.A. JANCE is the New York Times bestselling author of the Ali Reynolds series, the J.P. Beaumont series, and the Joanna Brady series, as well as five interrelated Southwestern thrillers featuring the Walker family. Born in South Dakota and brought up in Bisbee, Arizona, Jance lives with her husband in Seattle, Washington, and Tucson, Arizona. Visit her online at jajance.com.
FOR MORE ON THIS AUTHOR:
SimonandSchuster.com/Authors/J-A-Jance
SimonandSchuster.com
@GalleryBooks
ALSO BY J.A. JANCE
ALI REYNOLDS MYSTERIES
Edge of Evil
Web of Evil
Hand of Evil
Cruel Intent
Trial by Fire
Fatal Error
Left for Dead
Deadly Stakes
Moving Target
A Last Goodbye (A Novella)
Cold Betrayal
No Honor Among Thieves (A Novella)
Clawback
Random Acts (A Novella)
Man Overboard
Duel to the Death
The A List
Credible Threat
JOANNA BRADY MYSTERIES
Desert Heat
Tombstone Courage
Shoot/Don’t Shoot
Dead to Rights
Skeleton Canyon
Rattlesnake Crossing
Outlaw Mountain
Devil’s Claw
Paradise Lost
Partner in Crime
Exit Wounds
Dead Wrong
Damage Control
Fire and Ice
Judgment Call
The Old Blue Line (A Novella)
Remains of Innocence
No Honor Among Thieves (A Novella)
Random Acts (A Novella)
Downfall
Field of Bones
Missing and Endangered
J.P. BEAUMONT MYSTERIES
Until Proven Guilty
Injustice for All
Trial by Fury
Taking the Fifth
Improbable Cause
A More Perfect Union
Dismissed with Prejudice
Minor in Possession
Payment in Kind
Without Due Process
Failure to Appear
Lying in Wait
Name Withheld
Breach of Duty
Birds of Prey
Partner in Crime
Long Time Gone
Justice Denied
Fire and Ice
Betrayal of Trust
Ring in the Dead (A Novella)
Second Watch
Stand Down (A Novella)
Dance of the Bones
Still Dead (A Novella)
Proof of Life
Sins of the Fathers
WALKER FAMILY MYSTERIES
Hour of the Hunter
Kiss of the Bees
Day of the Dead
Queen of the Night
Dance of the Bones
POETRY
After the Fire
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Gallery Books
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2021 by J.A. Jance
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First Gallery Books hardcover edition June 2021
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Interior design by Erika R. Genova
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication
Data Names: Jance, Judith A., author.
Title: Unfinished business : an Ali Reynolds mystery / J.A. Jance.
Description: First Gallery Books hard cover edition. | New York : Gallery Books, 2021. | Series: Ali Reynolds series
Identifiers: LCCN 2020051383 (print) | LCCN 2020051384 (ebook) | ISBN 9781982131111 (hardback) | ISBN 9781982131128 | ISBN 9781982131135 (ebook)
Classification: LCC PS3560.A44 U54 2021 (print) | LCC PS3560.A44 (ebook) | DDC 813/.54—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020051383
LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020051384
ISBN 978-1-9821-3111-1
ISBN 978-1-9821-3113-5 (ebook)
