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CHAPTER SIXTEEN

SEDONA, ARIZONA

SUNDAY, MARCH 19, 2023

9:00 P.M.

By nine that night, Ali and B. were cozily ensconced in the library, watching PBS. B. may have been watching TV, but Ali wasn’t connecting with what was happening on the screen. Most of the time, there was total transparency between Ali and her husband. Tonight there was an invisible elephant in the room. When they had first heard about Chuck Brewster’s murder, B. had been absolutely adamant about not wanting to be caught up in the drama surrounding his former wife. Now, with Frigg’s assistance, Ali was knee-deep in it.

“What’s going on with you?” B. asked finally. “It’s like you’re on another planet. Are you still worrying about Cami?”

Ali took a deep breath. It was time to come clean. “No,” she said finally. “I’m sure Cami will be in good hands. It’s something else.”

“What?”

“It’s Clarice. She’s been charged with murder. She pled not guilty at her preliminary hearing and was denied bail on account of being a flight risk. Her housekeeper, Donna Jean Plummer, is suspected of being her accomplice.”

For a long moment, B. said absolutely nothing. Finally, he asked, “You know all of this how?”

“Frigg has been looking into it at my request.”

“Why?”

“Because I think there’s a good chance that neither is responsible.”

“Why on earth…?” B. began.

“We’re talking about Edmonds PD,” Ali answered. “That’s the same department that put Mateo Vega behind bars for sixteen years for something he didn’t do. Their investigators had tunnel vision back then, and that may be the case here, too. Chuck’s long-estranged son, Adam, has recently come back into the picture. If Clarice goes down for the murder, he’ll most likely get everything.”

“And deservedly so,” B. said. “I knew Adam from the time he was born. He was a good kid who thought the sun rose and set on his dad. Estranged or not, he wouldn’t do something like this, not in a million years.”

“Well then,” Ali said, “if Clarice and Donna Jean didn’t do it, and if Adam didn’t do it either, then I’d like to be sure that whoever did is held accountable.”

B. frowned. “You’re not going to give up on this, are you?”

“Probably not,” Ali answered.

“Then leave me out of it,” B. said, rising to his feet. “This may be your problem, but it sure as hell isn’t mine! I don’t want to have anything to do with it.”

With that, B. Simpson stormed from the room, leaving Ali sitting alone, stewing in her own juices. She felt as though she had inadvertently crossed some invisible line, and she wasn’t at all sure the damage could be undone.