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CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

SEDONA, ARIZONA

SATURDAY, MARCH 25, 2023

10:00 A.M.

On that sunny and pleasantly warm Saturday morning in late March, Ali awakened to the aroma of baking bread. Tonight was their scheduled dinner meet-up with Alonzo’s new heart-throb Gwen, and clearly he was going all out. He had told Ali that the menu would include a freshly baked French loaf, caprese salad, and lasagna, topped off by limoncello cake. With B. off on a solitary hike through Sedona’s iconic red rocks, Ali headed outside, where, armed with a vase and kitchen shears, she set about creating a suitable centerpiece in honor of the occasion.

Before retiring and returning to the UK, Leland Brooks, Ali and B.’s former majordomo, had created a wonderful English garden in their front yard. It was still too early for most of the flowers to be in bloom, with the exception of the aged wisteria lining the front porch. That was covered with cascades of fragrant flowers, drooping like slender, foot-long bunches of grapes. Ali spent the better part of an hour before she finally had a combination of flowers and greenery that measured up to her specifications.

She had just placed her creation on the dining room table when a text came in from Cami. The message said: This is what I’m doing on my day off. Wish you were here. That was followed by a series of photographs of a grinning Camille Lee standing in front of the massive upright boulders of Stonehenge.

Considering everything Cami had been dealing with recently, it gladdened Ali’s heart to see her smiling and happy.

Looks like fun , Ali texted back. You certainly deserve it.

Over the strenuous objections of her parents, Cami had come to Arizona to work at High Noon as an untried college graduate. Over the years she had matured into the caring, capable young woman she was now, and the blossoming romance between her and Mateo was clearly good for her as well. Ali had never had a daughter of her own, but she liked to think that she’d had the same kind of impact on Cami’s life as B. had had in the lives of Stu Ramey, Lance Tucker, and now Mateo Vega.

Late morning found Ali curled up in her favorite chair in the library with the latest Michael Connolly mystery. That’s when her phone rang with an unknown Seattle area code showing in caller ID.

“Hello?”

“Ms. Reynolds?” someone asked a bit uncertainly.

“Yes, I’m Ali Reynolds. Who’s this?”

“My name is Moesha Jackson with the Seattle branch of an organization called Justice for All, a group that deals with wrongful convictions.”

J.P. Beaumont managed to come through after all , Ali thought. “Yes, of course,” she said aloud. “I’m familiar with JFA.”

“A Seattle resident, one Donna Jean Plummer, has retained me as her defense attorney in a homicide investigation. I understand you’re the one who contacted my colleague Rosalie Whittier, suggesting that we be in touch with Ms. Plummer. Is that correct?”

“Yes,” Ali admitted. “Guilty as charged.”

“I asked my client what her connection was with you, and she told me she had no idea, that she had never met you or even heard your name. What can you tell me?”

For the next few minutes, Ali filled the woman in on the complicated history between B. Simpson and Chuck and Clarice Brewster, including the fact that, in the aftermath of Chuck’s homicide, Clarice had called on B., her longtime ex, for help.

“Did he?”

“Hardly,” Ali said with a short laugh. “In fact, he refused to have anything to do with her. I’m the one who suggested that she find herself a different attorney, which she evidently did. Once Clarice was out on bail, I realized the Brewsters’ part-time housekeeper was also under suspicion. Since I doubted she’d have the kind of financial resources necessary to hire a quality legal defense team, I connected with a friend of mine, a private investigator named J.P. Beaumont. Beau put me in touch with your organization.”

“Why go to so much trouble?” Moesha asked.

Ali laughed again. “If you asked my husband that question, he’d say it’s because I’m totally incapable of minding my own business,” she replied. “I also happen to know someone who was stuck with a public defender back in the day and who did years in prison for a crime he didn’t commit. I guess I was afraid Donna Jean wouldn’t get a fair shake.”

“Given what I’ve seen so far, that was probably the right call,” Moesha said, “and now here we are. The investigators on the case have interviewed most, if not all, of the people who attended Mr. Brewster’s birthday party the evening before he died. Several of them indicated that, at the time Clarice Brewster went to bed that night, she was so inebriated she could barely walk and needed assistance getting upstairs to her bedroom.”

“If she could barely stand on her own,” Ali observed, “how could she possibly be coordinated enough to stab someone to death?”

“Precisely,” Moesha agreed. “And although there’s no evidence that shows Donna Jean was anywhere near the Brewsters’ home at the time of the homicide, the investigators seem to be stuck on the idea that she is somehow involved in what happened, based on the fact that she had unlimited access to the home and also because, due to the terms of Mr. Brewster’s will, Donna Jean benefited financially from his death.”

“To say nothing of her being a repeat offender,” Ali put in.

“You’re aware of her previous conviction?”

“I am,” Ali replied. “I told you I’m incapable of minding my own business. I looked her up.”

“You may be correct in thinking that Donna Jean’s previous conviction is a contributing factor as to what’s gone on with the Brewster investigation so far,” Moesha said, “but since you’ve clearly given this case a good deal of thought, I’m wondering if you have any suggestions that might help me in launching my own investigation.”

Ali paused for a moment, wondering how much she could say without going overboard. Finally she said, “As a matter of fact, I do. Are you aware Chuck Brewster had a son?”

“Yes, I am. I believe his name is Adam. My understanding is that he was not included in his father’s will, and as a result, doesn’t have an obvious motive. There was a relatively small bequest made to Donna Jean, which seems to have helped bring her into the picture as a suspect, but that doesn’t quite add up. Seventeen stab wounds is a clear indication of overkill by someone with a powerful motive. That speaks to the wife far more than it does to Donna Jean.”

“As far as the will is concerned, what happens if Clarice is convicted of having something to do with her husband’s death?”

Moesha considered for a moment before she answered. “Under Washington law I believe she would have been presumed to have predeceased him. As the only surviving child of the deceased, Adam would be second in line, as long as there are no other named secondary beneficiaries. Are you suggesting that perhaps my investigation should focus on him as an alternate suspect?”

“Not necessarily,” Ali replied. “Does Justice for All have the ability to access traffic on cell phone towers?”

“Of course. Why?”

“Our own investigation has picked up some troubling information from following the call history of several phones with Southern California area codes that pinged off the towers near the Brewster residence the weekend of Chuck Brewster’s homicide. If I were you, I’d start my cell tower search several days prior to the actual murder. The killers may not have left behind any physical evidence, but as they say, digital footprints are the new DNA.”

“You referred to ‘our’ investigation. Does that mean you’re a private investigator?”

“No, I’m not,” Ali said with a laugh. “I’m just the neighborhood busybody.”

“But you’re suggesting that perhaps Adam Brewster had accomplices?”

“I’m suggesting that Adam Brewster may not have anything to do with it,” Ali replied, “but I believe that his husband, Joel Franklin, does—Joel and probably one of his close associates.”

“What makes you think that?” Moesha asked.

“For one thing, Mr. Franklin is a liar. When Adam’s former partner was diagnosed with ALS, he hired Joel as his private duty nurse. At the time, Joel claimed to be a registered nurse recently arrived from Texas who had not yet updated his credentials. The problem is, Texas has no record of his ever being a licensed nurse in that state. Adam became estranged from his father back when he was in high school, partly due to the fact that Adam was gay. When Joel showed up on the scene, he claimed the same thing had happened to him—that his father had disowned him on account of his being a homosexual, but that his father died prior to their being able to reconcile. That’s why he lobbied so hard for Adam to reconcile with his father before it was too late. The problem is, Joel’s father is still alive and well and living in Hammond, Indiana.”

“Being a liar doesn’t make him a killer,” Moesha suggested.

“It doesn’t mean he isn’t one,” Ali countered.

“You do realize this sounds completely far-fetched, don’t you?” Moesha asked.

“Yes, I do,” Ali said, “but nonetheless it may still be true.”

“Can I ask how you happened to come by this… shall we say theory?”

“You can ask, but all I’m willing to say is that it came from a confidential source.”

“What a surprise,” Moesha said with a laugh, “but you’ve certainly given me some possible leads. You really can’t mind your own business, can you?”

“Nope,” Ali agreed.

“Thank you, then,” Moesha said. “I really appreciate the help.”

The call ended then. Relieved that she had done everything she could to help Donna Jean Plummer, Ali put down her book and headed for the master suite. She figured that, before B. came home from his hike, she had just enough time for a quiet visit to her soaking tub.

When Alonzo and Gwen showed up at the door, both Ali and B. went to greet them. After making the introductions, Alonzo announced, “Guess what? We got the apartment. The landlord is doing some painting and installing a new carpet. We get the keys two weeks from today.”

Things were certainly moving faster than Ali had anticipated when she had been attempting to sort out housing arrangements for her Amelia Dougherty Scholarship nominee, Susan Rojas, but she had no complaints about that.

As Ali escorted the couple into the living room, she caught the sparkle of a diamond on Gwen’s finger. “Does that ring mean congratulations are in order?” she asked.

Gwen responded with a beaming smile. “Indeed it does,” she said.

“When’s the big day?” Ali asked.

B., who hadn’t managed to catch sight of the ring, seemed taken aback by the question. Alonzo was not.

“We’re planning a Cinco de Mayo wedding in Las Vegas,” he said. “You guys want to come?”

“We’ll be happy to. Have you booked a hotel?”

“Not yet. That’s next up,” Gwen said. “Any suggestions?”

Ali sent a smile in B.’s direction. “Treasure Island certainly worked for us,” she said. “And whichever hotel you decide, our wedding gift will be chipping in on the wedding package.”

Dinner was a joyous affair. During the course of it they learned more about Gwen’s history. Alonzo, who had spent twenty years as a submariner for the U.S. Navy, had never been married. It turned out, neither had Gwen. She had been engaged once, in her early twenties, but her fiancé had perished in a car crash weeks before the wedding.

“I always believed he was the one, and I never even looked at anyone else,” Gwen told them over Alonzo’s limoncello cake. “Then, at my niece’s birthday party, there was Alonzo, holding court at his Aunt Rose’s barbecue grill. As soon as I tasted his medium-rare rib eye, it was love at first bite.”

After an enjoyable evening, when bedtime came around, Ali noticed that she hadn’t mentioned anything about her long conversation with Moesha Jackson to B., and she decided that was just as well. In this instance, what her husband didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.