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CHAPTER SIX

SEDONA, ARIZONA

THURSDAY, MARCH 16, 2023

4:00 P.M.

Ali Reynolds filled in the last line of the pdf she was working on and hit save. Then, with another few strokes on her keyboard, she flattened the document, typed in the CPA’s email address, and pressed send. With that, and more than an hour before the five o’clock deadline, the most onerous task of her CFO job at High Noon Enterprises was done at last. The tax documents were out of her hair and in the hands of their CPA. As the whoosh of sent mail sounded in her ears, she leaned back in her chair, closed her eyes, and allowed herself to relax, seemingly for the first time in weeks.

With B. away in DC for the next two days, she fully expected to go home and reward herself by spending some quality time in her soaking tub before heading out to watch her granddaughter’s basketball game later on that evening. Because she’d been so focused on getting the package off to the accountant, her office door was still closed. Now a light tap on the door roused Ali from her momentary reverie.

“Come in,” she said.

The door cracked open, and Shirley Malone, High Noon’s longtime receptionist/secretary, poked her head inside. Ali could tell at a glance that the woman was upset.

“Is something wrong?” Ali asked.

“There’s an operator on the phone saying that someone named Clarice Brewster is calling collect from the King County Correctional Facility in Seattle, Washington,” Shirley said.

Ali’s whole body snapped to attention. Clarice Brewster wasn’t someone Ali knew personally, but she certainly recognized the name. Clarice had been B.’s first wife.

Why would she be calling here? Ali wondered. What the hell is going on?

“Thank you, Shirley,” Ali replied aloud. “I’ll take the call in here, but please close the door.”

Ali’s voice may have sounded unruffled, but as she picked up the receiver, her hand was trembling.

“Yes,” she said to the operator. “I’ll accept the charges.” Then, when the call went through, she added, “This is Ali Reynolds speaking. How can I help you?”

“I asked to speak to B.”

“He isn’t here at the moment, but I’m his wife,” Ali replied calmly. “What seems to be the problem?”

“My husband’s dead, and I’m in jail, suspected of first-degree murder,” Clarice shot back. “That’s the problem!”

Ali allowed herself a moment to process that information. As far as she knew, Clarice’s second husband was Chuck Brewster, B.’s former partner at VGI—Video Games International, a company the two of them had founded together years earlier. Ali knew about B.’s first marriage, of course, but it wasn’t something he dwelled on. So, although Ali was familiar with the broad strokes of what had happened, she was thin on details. The marriage had ended and his partnership with Brewster had been dissolved when B. discovered that Chuck and Clarice had been carrying on an affair behind his back. But all that had happened years earlier. Why would Clarice be reaching out to B. now?

“Where is he?” Clarice continued. “He’s the one I need to talk to.”

Ali remembered B. telling her once that Clarice had always been pushy. Seemingly that was still the case, but if the woman was calling looking for someone to post bail, Ali was the person she needed to talk to.

“Unfortunately, B.’s out of town on business and currently unavailable,” Ali replied calmly. “What exactly is your situation?”

“Didn’t you hear what I said?” Clarice responded. “I’m in jail and charged with a murder I didn’t commit. I pled not guilty at my preliminary hearing, but the judge refused to grant bail. My attorney suggested that if they offer me a plea deal down to murder in the second degree, that I might be better off taking it than rolling the dice with a jury. That’s why I need to talk to B.”

“As I said,” Ali responded, “he’s out of town at the moment, and I won’t be able to speak to him until later tonight.”

“Give me his number, then,” Clarice said. “I’ll call him directly.”

Like hell you will , Ali thought. No way am I passing his number along to you!

“I’ll discuss your situation with him later,” Ali repeated firmly. “Please call back tomorrow and ask for me. My name is Ali.”

“But…” Clarice objected.

“Sorry,” Ali said. “I have another call coming in. We can speak again tomorrow.”

Needless to say, there was no other call. Once the receiver was back in its cradle, Ali sat staring at the phone on her desk as though it had suddenly turned into a coiled and lethal reptile. It took several minutes for her to pull herself together.

With Clarice in jail and accused of murder, this was indeed something she needed to discuss with B. sooner rather than later, but not until she knew a whole lot more about the situation than she did right now. It was 6:00 p.m. in DC. She knew that B. and Lance had plans for that evening. Rather than call B., she picked up her cell phone and keyed in the code that offered her direct access to Frigg, Stu Ramey’s pet AI, still operating out of the vast array of GPUs that occupied most of the floor space in Stu’s Village of Oak Creek bachelor pad.

“Good afternoon, Ali,” Frigg said when she came on the line. “I hope you’re having a pleasant afternoon.”

Not exactly , Ali thought. “Thank you,” she said aloud, “but I could use some help.”

“How can I be of assistance?”

“I’d like you to research the homicide of someone named Charles (Chuck) Brewster somewhere in the Seattle area.”

“Date of death?” Frigg inquired.

“No idea, but it must have occurred fairly recently. Clarice Brewster has just been arrested and charged with murder.”

“Her relationship to the deceased?”

“She’s his wife.”

“Statistically speaking, that’s not surprising,” Frigg reported. “As far as homicides are concerned, spouses are often found to be the perpetrators. Where do you wish me to send the material?”

The last thing Ali was interested in right then was hearing more statistical information on spousal homicides.

“Please forward the information to my cell,” Ali said. “But don’t send it along until I give you the go-ahead. I’m going to a basketball game tonight, and I don’t want my phone blowing up while I’m sitting in the gym.”

“Very well,” Frigg replied. “Go Scorpions.”

That made Ali laugh. The AI had only recently become aware that human beings often took a personal interest in school sporting events and rivalries. While sorting through applicants for two open positions at High Noon, the individuals Frigg had unknowingly placed at the top of her list—and the ones who were now High Noon’s newest employees—happened to come from schools that were longtime athletic rivals—Arizona State University and the University of Arizona. When the outcome of their traditional Thanksgiving game had caused some uproar in the lab, Stu had directed Frigg to do a quick study into both the histories of enduring collegiate and high school sports rivalries in the U.S. As a result of that latest bit of deep learning, the AI was now aware that athletic teams at Sedona’s Red Rock High School were referred to as the Scorpions.

“Thank you,” Ali said. “I’ll be there cheering them on.”

A few minutes later and in somewhat better spirits, Ali turned off the lights in her office and left. It was late enough in the day that Shirley’s desk was already empty. That was a relief. Until she knew more about the situation in Seattle and had brought B. into the picture, Ali was happy to escape without having to provide any further information about that unsettling phone call.

After parking in the garage at their home on Manzanita Hills Road, Ali let herself into the kitchen and was struck by the dreadful silence that greeted her. Ten years earlier, during the lead-up to B. and Ali’s wedding in Vegas, Ali’s twin grandkids, Colin and Colleen, had been instrumental in rescuing a stray dog found wandering in the casino’s parking lot, a long-haired miniature dachshund they had subsequently named Bella.

For the past decade, Bella’s scampering paws clicking on the kitchen tile had welcomed Ali every time she returned home. Two weeks earlier, at an age estimated to be sixteen or seventeen, the dog’s genetic back deterioration had suddenly left her a paraplegic, and Ali and B. had been forced to make the difficult decision to have their beloved pet put down. Her cremated remains were now in an urn and tucked into the corner of their garden Bella had loved the most—a shady spot under the gnarled trunk of the aged wisteria that covered their front porch.

With B. out of town, Alonzo Rivera, their majordomo, had asked if he could take a few days off to visit relatives in Phoenix. As a result, Ali had the house completely to herself. She made her way into the home’s master bath and turned on the faucet in the soaking tub. A few minutes later, as she eased herself into the steamy water, it wasn’t quite the relaxing, soothing experience she had anticipated. Instead, she spent the whole time puzzling over the call from Clarice.

Being arrested for murder was certainly serious, but she and B. had been divorced for ages, so why would Clarice be calling him for help? Ali knew for sure that B. regarded his failed marriage and the simultaneous loss of his best friend as one of the worst disappointments of his life, but as far as Ali knew, her husband had had nothing to do with his former wife for years. If B. had wanted Clarice to be able to contact him directly, he would have given her his number. But before Ali mentioned anything about the situation to B., she wanted to have Frigg’s assessment of the situation in hand.

After the tub water cooled, rather than reheating it, Ali climbed out, dried off, and got dressed, topping her outfit with a purple, silver, and black Red Rock High signature sweatshirt. As she headed for the gym, Ali was determined to put the issue of Clarice Brewster out of her head for the time being.

Once grandkids had shown up in her life, Ali had done her best to be part of their lives, and that included attending school and sporting events whenever possible. Colleen was the athlete in the family. Although only a freshman in high school, she was already the star for Red Rock’s varsity girls’ basketball team where her mother, Athena, was head coach.

When she was little, Colleen had served as the team mascot for the girls’ basketball program. She’d even had her own uniform—number 000, but she didn’t remain a bystander for long. By the time she was in fifth grade, Colleen could dribble as well as any of the girls on the freshman team. Once her dad put up a hoop in their driveway, she spent hours every day shooting baskets.

Colleen’s twin brother, Colin, was her exact opposite and didn’t have an athletic bone in his body. He preferred hanging out around his father’s art studio to playing ball of any kind. The eight-inch-tall metal dinosaur that stood in pride of place on Ali’s desk at work was a creature Colin had crafted out of leftover bits of metal he’d gleaned from the floor of his father’s studio.

That night, while Athena’s husband, Chris, and Colin did their best to keep Colleen’s five-year-old little brother, Logan, from racing out onto the court, Ali sat there enjoying the game without giving Clarice Brewster a single thought. The game turned out to be a nail-biter. Sedona won by a single point when Colleen sank a three-pointer from mid-court in the last two seconds of the game. Once the game was over, and Colleen finished being hugged by her ecstatic teammates and shaking hands with her opponents, she trotted over to the sidelines to hug Ali.

“Thanks for coming, Gram,” she beamed. “You’re the best.”

There were a lot of things Ali Reynolds was thankful for, and being somebody’s beloved “Gram” was very close to the top of that list.