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CHAPTER NINE

SEDONA, ARIZONA,

FRIDAY, MARCH 17, 2023

8:00 A.M.

Normally Ali gave herself a day off after finishing her tax preparation duties, but not this year. With Lance, Stu, and B. all out of the office, she felt duty bound to be there. Besides, it would give her a chance to catch up on all the things she had put off tending to while focusing on the IRS.

Expecting a call would be coming in from Clarice at any time, she dialed up Frigg on her thirty-minute commute from home to Cottonwood.

“Good morning, Ali,” Frigg greeted. “I hope you have an outstanding day.”

“Me too,” Ali said, “but I’m expecting a phone call from Clarice Brewster later today. Before then, I’d like to have as much information as possible on the Charles Brewster situation. Anything new?”

“Only this: The crime lab has now confirmed that Mrs. Brewster’s DNA was found on the murder weapon. I’ve also tracked down the terms of Clarice’s divorce from Mr. Simpson. Rather than cash in hand, she was given half of Mr. Simpson’s portion of Video Games International, giving her one-quarter ownership in the company. That arrangement, written into a prenup agreement at the time she married Mr. Brewster, remains in effect.

“Investigators have learned that Chuck had recently begun exploring the possibility of obtaining a divorce. Chuck and Clarice’s prenup agreement meant that, in the event of a divorce, Clarice would have walked away with a substantial settlement. Since the two were still married at the time of his death, it’s likely she stood to inherit the whole shebang. That would have been a big payday.”

“No wonder she’s the prime suspect,” Ali murmured.

“Except,” Frigg added, “if she ends up being convicted of committing the murder, she’ll get nothing. And as far as suspects go, she’s not the only one.”

“Wait, are you saying the cops don’t think she acted alone?”

“Based on the interviews they’ve conducted so far, investigators seem to believe that Donna Jean Plummer, the housekeeper, may have acted as Ms. Brewster’s accomplice. For one thing, she was there when the body was found, and she’s also the one who made the 911 call. For another, the whole house was immaculately clean, suggesting that there might have been some effort to clean up and destroy evidence before law enforcement was called to the scene. The housekeeper claims she was at home asleep at the time of Mr. Brewster’s death, but since she’s a widow who lives alone, there may not be a way to verify her alibi. Investigators don’t seem to be looking at anyone else, but I’m beginning to wonder if both women are being trained.”

“Trained?” a mystified Ali repeated. After a moment she made the connection. “Railroaded, you mean?”

“Yes,” Frigg replied. “That is correct. I believe it’s possible neither of them is responsible.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I’ve discovered a puzzling inconsistency. An examination of the murder weapon revealed traces of a substance that turns out to be Nivea.”

“That’s a hand cream,” Ali supplied. “A moisturizer I put on my hands and feet every night before I go to bed.”

“Why would someone intent on stabbing a victim to death cover his or her hands with a moisturizer prior to committing the crime?” Frigg asked. “My understanding is that in the course of bloody stabbings, perpetrators often injure themselves, but that doesn’t seem to be the case here. The only DNA found on the body came from either the victim himself or his wife. However, Ms. Plummer’s fingerprints were also found on the murder weapon.”

“She works there,” Ali objected. “It stands to reason that her prints would be on items found inside the house.”

Suddenly Ali found herself thinking about Mateo Vega, a guy who had spent sixteen years in prison for a crime he hadn’t committed. When his then girlfriend had died after the couple had quarreled during a holiday picnic, the cops had immediately focused on Mateo and no one else. Due to tunnel vision, detectives on the case had failed to do the basic kind of investigation that might have revealed the actual killer to be someone who had attended the same picnic.

Is it possible this is the same thing? Ali wondered.

What if Frigg was right and Clarice hadn’t done it? Everyone else seemed to think so, including Clarice’s defense attorney, to say nothing of B. Simpson, her ex-husband.

Based on what B. had said the night before, Ali thought it unlikely that he would change his mind about that, no matter what Frigg had uncovered to the contrary.

“Go ahead and continue looking into this,” Ali advised the AI at last. “Keep me posted on whatever you find, but I’d prefer that any information on this issue be kept between the two of us.”

“Of course,” Frigg said, “Mother’s the word.”

“That would be ‘Mum’s the word,’?” Ali corrected after a momentary smile. “Mum can mean ‘mother,’ but it also means ‘to keep quiet.’?”

“Of course,” Frigg replied. “Thank you for that useful information.”

Once at her desk, the first email Ali opened was a long one written late at night by a still-giddy Cami Lee giving Ali a blow-by-blow description of her outstandingly successful dinner with the Dozo people. Knowing how much bringing home that new account would mean to Cami, Ali quickly sent back a congratulatory note. Minutes after finishing that, her phone rang. Stu Ramey’s name appeared on caller ID.

“She’s gone,” he blurted as soon as Ali picked up. “Aunt Julia is gone.”

Stu Ramey may have been high functioning, but he was definitely on the spectrum. As far as computers were concerned, he was brilliant. However, interpersonal relationships and emotions, including his own, were a complete mystery to him. Ali could tell from the sound of his voice that he was devastated by the loss. Stu’s mother’s sister, Julia Miller, had been his last living relative.

“I’m so sorry,” Ali said. “Is there anything I can do?”

“I think I need help.”

“Of course. What kind of help?”

“Someone called the funeral home and had them come by the hospital to collect her body. The hearse just left. I’m supposed to go see the funeral director later today, but I’ve never planned a funeral before. I don’t know what to do.”

“Did your aunt leave behind any directives?”

“Directives?” Stu repeated, as though the word was entirely foreign.

“Did she give you any hints about her preferences as far as final arrangements are concerned?”

“We never talked about things like that,” Stu said. “I guess I thought she would live forever.”

“Did she have an attorney?”

“Yes,” Stu replied. “I know I met her once, but I don’t remember the name.”

Ali could tell Stu wasn’t firing on all cylinders. “How much sleep have you had?”

“Not much,” he admitted. “I’ve been spending most of my time in her room here at the hospital until…” The remainder of that sentence went unfinished.

“Do you have a hotel room there in town?” Ali asked.

“No. I’ve been going back and forth between the ranch and hospice.”

“Get a room in Payson. After you let me know where you’re staying, try to rest,” Ali advised him. “I have some things I need to clear up here first, but once I’m finished, I’ll head over to Payson to help sort things out.”

“Thank you, Ali,” Stu murmured. “I really appreciate it.”

Once the call ended, Ali sat for a moment puzzling over the issues involved. She and B. had met Stu’s Aunt Julia on occasion and had made several tax-deductible donations to Racehorse Rest, the shelter Julia Miller had established to care for retired racehorses. Qualifying as a 501(c)(3) organization would have required the services of an attorney, so Ali turned back to Frigg.

“Is there something more you need on the Charles Brewster situation?” Frigg inquired.

“No,” Ali answered. “This is something else. Stu’s Aunt Julia passed away earlier today. He’s at a loss concerning her final arrangements, which means I need your help.”

“How can I be of assistance?”

“We need the name of Julia Miller’s attorney. Stu doesn’t remember the attorney’s name, but it should be on the legal documents surrounding the formation of Racehorse Rest.”

“The ranch located in Gila County, correct?” Frigg asked.

“Yes.”

“One moment, please.”

There was a pause of only a minute or so before Frigg’s voice came back online. “Racehorse Rest was incorporated as a 501(c)(3) charitable organization on May 6, 2007. The attorney who prepared the documents on Ms. Miller’s behalf was one Louise Corman of Corman Law LLC, located on West Main Street, in Payson, Arizona. Would you like the phone number?”

“Please,” Ali said.

Ali dialed the number as soon as the call to Frigg ended. “Corman LLC,” a voice answered. “How may I help you?”

“I’m looking for Louise Corman,” Ali answered.

After a slight hesitation the voice on the phone said, “I’m sorry to have to inform you of this, but Ms. Corman passed away from Covid in 2022. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

Ali swallowed her disappointment. “I believe she had some dealings with a woman named Julia Miller in the past. Julia passed away earlier this morning. I’m calling on behalf of her nephew, Stu Ramey.”

“Oh, my goodness,” the woman said before Ali could continue. “I’m so sorry to hear this. Of course I knew Ms. Miller. We all did. She’s a longtime client. She and Louise were friends from grade school on. Would you like to speak to Karen?”

“Who’s Karen?”

“Louise’s daughter. She’s taken over the practice now. I assume you’re looking for documents concerning Ms. Miller’s final arrangements?”

Ali was relieved beyond words. “Exactly,” she said.

“One moment, then.”

A few seconds later another voice came on the line. “Karen Corman speaking, and you are?”

Ali introduced herself and explained the situation.

“I had no idea Julia was even ill,” Karen Corman said. “I’m surprised no one let me know. And yes, we have the originals of all the documents her nephew will need. Just have Mr. Ramey stop by our office at his convenience.”

“He’s a bit overwhelmed at the moment,” Ali said. “Would it be all right if I accompany him?”

“Of course,” Karen said. “Julia told us that he’s very smart but that he has some social challenges. If he has no objection to your coming, I certainly don’t.”

The fact that Karen was so knowledgeable about Stu’s situation made Ali realize that there was a much closer connection here than she had anticipated.

“I take it you knew Julia Miller, too?” she asked.

Karen laughed. “She and my mother were thick as thieves and more like sisters than friends. Although we may not have been blood relations, Julia always seemed like my Aunt Julia, too.”

Somehow knowing that made Ali feel better, and she suspected Stu would agree.

“When I spoke to Stu a little while ago, he was worn out. I suggested he rent a hotel room and try to get some sleep. He’s staying at the Payson Inn. I’m in Cottonwood at the moment and have some things to clear up here before I can head over. Once I get there, Stu and I will stop by your office to touch base, but probably not until later this morning.”

“My morning is completely booked,” Karen said, “but my afternoon is relatively open.”

“Good,” Ali said. “See you then.”

Off the phone, Ali went out to the front desk to let Shirley know what was going on.

“Poor Stu,” Shirley said. “Is he okay?”

“Not really.”

“Please tell him that he has my condolences.”

“I will,” Ali said.

Forty-five minutes later, Ali headed out. She had just passed Cordes Junction when the phone call she had been dreading came through.

“I have a collect call from Clarice Brewster in the King County Correctional Facility in Seattle, Washington. Will you accept the charges?”

Ali took a deep breath. “Yes, I will,” she answered.

“Why am I still talking to you instead of B.?” Clarice demanded. “Doesn’t he want to talk to me?”

That was precisely the case, but Ali didn’t want to go into any of that. “He’s on an airplane right now.” That wasn’t true. B.’s flight from DC wasn’t scheduled to depart for several hours yet, but the ploy worked.

“There’s no point in talking to you,” Clarice said.

“B. thinks you need to be sure you have a top-drawer defense attorney.”

“Really?” Clarice asked. “You mean he believes I didn’t do it?”

Not exactly , Ali thought. “He just thinks you need more effective representation.”

Of course that wasn’t true, either. B. didn’t believe anything of the kind.

“All right, then,” Clarice said. “That’ll be my next call. I’ll fire my first attorney’s ass and go looking for someone whose first advice isn’t for me to plead guilty to a murder I didn’t commit.”