Cruel Intent

CHAPTER 5

With both Ricky Farraday and Haley Marsh officially out of the running, Marissa Dvorak was the only remaining candidate for that year’s scholarship. Ali’s appointment with Marissa was scheduled for tomorrow. In the meantime, awash in a sense of failure, she headed back to Sedona. She couldn’t help but contrast the ecstatic, grateful way she had felt when Anna Lee Ashcroft had told Ali about her scholarship with the way Haley Marsh had received similar news.

Ali picked up the phone and dialed Leland’s number. “How’d it go?” he asked.

“Not well,” Ali told him. “Haley Marsh told me to take my scholarship and shove it, then she threw me out of the house.”

“She wasn’t interested?”

“You could say so. She was vehemently not interested. Not interested in going on to school and not interested in receiving a scholarship.”

“That wasn’t the impression I got from speaking with her grandmother,” Leland replied. “It sounded as though she was interested in Haley continuing on to university.”

“You talked to Nelda Harris about the scholarship?” Ali asked.

“Only in the most general terms,” Leland replied. “I led her to believe Haley was being considered for some kind of academic award, but I didn’t mention the scholarship per se.”

“Then grandmother and granddaughter need to get on the same page,” Ali told him. “At this rate, we’ll be lucky if we award an Askins Scholarship this year.”

“Don’t be discouraged,” Leland counseled. “There’s always Marissa Dvorak.”

“She’ll probably throw me out, too,” Ali said despairingly. “What’s happening on your end?”

“Bryan Forester came by and dropped off another load of wallboard,” Leland said. “Dropped it off and unloaded it, too. The crew had run out of materials and gone home.”

“He unloaded it by himself?” Ali asked. “That stuff is heavy.”

“By himself,” Leland confirmed. “And I can understand where he’s coming from. Mr. Forester strikes me as a man of action. Doing some hard physical labor probably did him a world of good. Maybe he’ll be tired enough to sleep. I doubt he did last night.”

Ali doubted that, too.

“Oh,” Leland added, “he wanted me to let you know that he heard from the cabinet company, verifying that the funds had been received and that your order was in process. They told him they have enough material in stock to do your entire order, and they’re getting started on it right away. They’re hoping to ship in two weeks, but that may be pushing it.”

“So much for Thanksgiving,” Ali said.

“What do you mean?” Leland asked.

Now that she had opened her mouth, Ali regretted it. Considering the fact that Bryan’s whole family was coming apart, it seemed incredibly selfish for her to have brought it up. Now that she had started, however, she charged on.

“I was hoping I’d be able to invite people over to the new place for Thanksgiving dinner,” she said. “Even if everything wasn’t quite finished, I figured we’d be able to make do.”

“Does Mr. Forester know about your dinner plans?” Leland asked.

“Not really,” Ali admitted. “I never mentioned it to him. I didn’t want to add any more deadline pressure than there already was. Besides, it’s not that big a deal. I can always invite everyone over to my old house in Skyview. It’s the principle of the thing-and a matter of changing my mind. That’s all.”

“Finished or not, if you’d rather have your guests come here, we’ll have them here,” Leland Brooks declared. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a very capable cook. If I could cook food for the officers’ mess in Korea in the cold and the mud, I’m sure I can manage this. How many people are we talking about?”

“Not that many. My parents, Christopher and Athena, Dave and his three kids, one of my friends from California. Mom probably wouldn’t mind doing the turkey. She usually does, but she and Dad cook every single day of their lives. I wanted to give them a break.”

“Not to worry,” Leland said. “We’ll work it out. You come up with the guest list, and I’ll manage the rest. We’ll make it a memorable occasion. And speaking of occasions, the florist called. They said they tried to deliver your flowers to the gym, but the place was locked up tight. I’m having them deliver them to me here instead. I’ll drop them off a little later myself. That will give me an opportunity to give the lucky couple my own good wishes as well.”

Ali tried to remember if she had mentioned the engagement news to Leland. With everything else that had been happening throughout the day, it didn’t seem likely.

“So you know about that?” she asked.

“Oh, yes,” Leland Brooks replied. “Mr. Reynolds came to me a couple of weeks ago with some concerns about where to take the ring to have it redesigned and resized. I sent him to see the man who used to handle all of Miss Arabella’s work. I hope he was pleased with the results.”

“I’m sure he was,” Ali said. “And I’m sure Chris appreciated having the benefit of your advice.”

Ali couldn’t help feeling slightly left out. Yes, she knew that Chris and Athena had wanted to surprise her, but her folks had both known about Chris’s engagement well in advance of last night’s ring unveiling. Obviously, the same was true for Leland Brooks.

I always tried to raise him to be independent, Ali thought ruefully. I may have succeeded too well.

When Peter woke up, he needed to pee like a racehorse and was astonished to see that he had slept for the better part of ten hours. When he was younger, he had been able to manage on far less sleep than that. It was, he supposed, part of getting older rather than better. He fixed coffee and some toast. Then he uploaded the memory stick from his camera and, after deleting some of the less-well-thought-out shots, added the remainder to his DVD.

Scrolling through them, he congratulated himself on the fact that the crimes were all different. Morgan, still dressed, lay half in and out of the swing with her face battered and bloodied beyond recognition. He had arranged Candace so she lay on the ground with her various pieces put back together in all the wrong places-like a macabre human picture puzzle gone horribly wrong. He had heard that a novice FBI profiler had claimed this indicated a highly disorganized killer. Peter had laughed outright when he heard that; he was anything but disorganized. Melanie Tyler had been shot to death with her husband’s.38, while Debra Longworth had been stabbed to death before being the victim of a vicious postmortem sexual assault. And that was another part of being smart. Never do it the same way twice.

The pictures were fine, but Peter was feeling vaguely displeased with himself as he stowed the DVD in his safe. He spent some time examining the diamond he had removed from Morgan’s finger. It was large and showy, though Peter understood enough about diamonds to know that it wasn’t as flawless as it should have been. But then Morgan hadn’t been flawless, either. With a sigh, he returned the precious diamond-loaded key ring to its customary hiding place.

After one of his exploits, Peter usually spent the next day patting himself on the back. After all, who else was going to tell him “good job”? This time he couldn’t quite manage it. Yes, by trying to track him down, Morgan Forester had posed a threat to him. As a result, she had gotten exactly what she deserved. But had it been worth it? Usually, he came back from a kill with a euphoric sense of accomplishment. Today he was left with a lingering sense of forboding.

When Rita had fallen off the mountain, he had been right there with her. Naturally, he had been a person of interest in that case, but the cops had never charged him. With the others, he had managed to make sure his name had never surfaced in the resulting investigations, and all those cases had gone cold without ever being solved. This time he worried that he might have made a mistake. He couldn’t get that asshole from Hertz out of his mind.

One of the things Peter counted on in life was that worker bees would function that way-as miserable drones who collected their paltry paychecks without caring that much about doing their job. Peter’s big problem with the guy running the Hertz check-in line was that he hadn’t just been doing his job. He had actually been paying attention. How carefully had he been watching, and if questions were raised, how much would he remember?

For the first time, Peter realized that he might have made a slight miscalculation. He had used Matthew Morrison’s name for car-rental purposes because he could. Because Matthew Morrison was convenient. Because he was as good a fall guy as any.

People said that being a doctor let you play God. That was especially true in the ER. Patients came in. Peter sewed them up and patched them up. Some lived; others died; and after Peter was done with the ones who survived, he turned them over to other doctors who helped them go on with the messy business of living. But what he did and didn’t do with his patients in the ER was nothing compared to the havoc he could wreak in people’s lives when, as Internet puppet master, he could run them up and down a flagpole at will-as he had with Matthew Morrison.

Much as Peter despised cheating women, that was nothing compared to his overriding contempt for weak-willed, pussy-whipped men like Morrison. Peter had created Suzie Q-her name, her profile, her e-mails, her everything. He had penned every word of Susan’s half of the e-mail correspondence, and it had amused him to see how smitten Matt had been, how he had fallen under the faux Susan’s spell. In return, Matt had poured out the details of his miserable, boring life-his deadly dull job and his loveless marriage to the appalling Mrs. Morrison, the loathsome Jenny.

As far as Peter was concerned, Matthew was less than nothing. Peter had used the man’s hijacked identity for the car rental without the smallest concern that anyone would notice. And even if someone did notice, Peter couldn’t help wondering how Matthew would manage to talk his way out of that. The man was utterly petrified of losing his job. It didn’t seem likely that he would have the balls to tell someone that he couldn’t possibly have murdered Morgan in Sedona, since at the time she died, he was down in Red Rock waiting to get it on with some hot-to-trot sexy babe named Susan-who didn’t, in actual fact, exist.

Peter had looked forward to watching Matt squirm, but because of the guy at Hertz, he’d have to deny himself that pleasure. He scanned through a couple of the thirteen plaintive, groveling, apologetic e-mails Matt had sent to Susan in the course of the last twenty-four hours. Too bad there was no time to reply. With a few clicks on his keyboard, Peter closed the e-mail account. Then he went to Singleatheart.com, found Suzie Q, and deleted her so thoroughly that no one but the most determined of hackers could have found the smallest cyber trace of her.

That done, Peter turned his attentions to Matt Morrison’s hapless computer. Peter had kept his file-eating Trojan lurking undetected in the background of Morrison’s HP for a very long time. Again, all it took was a few keystrokes to bring the worm to life. When Matt came home from work that afternoon and tried to log on as he usually did, the worm would destroy his hard drive. He wouldn’t be able to boot up. The only thing left on his desktop would be the blue screen of death.

Taking out Matthew’s computer meant that Peter would no longer have an unauthorized window into the man’s pathetic life. Though Peter had enjoyed the game as long as it lasted, now it was over.

So long, Matt, Peter thought as he typed in the command. It’s been good to know ya.

And then, having set the worm in motion on Matt’s computer, Peter turned his attentions to those that belonged to the Foresters. Through spying on Morgan’s files, Peter had managed to gain unlimited access to Bryan’s computer. Peter hoped that by waiting this long he had given cops ample opportunity to find the bloodied hammer in Bryan’s truck and that they would now be focusing their investigation in that direction. He was certain that the homicide detectives involved would take a very dim view of having their prime suspect’s files suddenly disappear from the family’s computers. Forester could shout to all the world that someone else had destroyed the data, but under the circumstances, who would believe such a story? The missing files would make him seem that much more guilty.

With a few masterful key strokes, Peter launched that destructive process as well, then he turned off his computer and headed for the gym. What he needed before work was a good workout and a nice lunch or dinner.

With Morgan gone, he was once again ready to go on the hunt for a new woman. He knew he was blessed with relatively good looks. When it came to attracting women, that always helped. So did good muscle tone and properly defined abs and biceps. This time, though, he hoped he’d find someone who didn’t ask so many questions.

Peter remembered his mother telling him once that curiosity killed the cat. He had been a little boy at the time, only seven or eight. He had wondered about the statement, trying to figure out exactly how it worked. He no longer wondered about it because he knew it was true.

So did Morgan Forester.

Ali was back home by four-thirty. After showering, still wearing her robe, she turned on her computer and logged on to the Internet. She had been reassured by Leland Brooks. Now, regardless of whether or not her stalled home remodel would be finished in time for Thanksgiving, Ali was determined to start issuing holiday invitations. To that end, she was relieved to see Velma Trimble’s screen name, VelmaT, on her buddy list.

Velma T, an eighty-six-year-old widow from Laguna Niguel, had started out as a fan of Ali’s blog. Over months of regular correspondence, a friendship had grown up between them. When Velma was diagnosed with cancer, both her son and her doctor had been more than willing to write her off. Ali had been the one who had stepped up and encouraged Velma to seek a second opinion. With that dire second opinion, Velma, too, had been willing to give up. She had gone off on what was to have been a final splurge, an all-first-class, round-the-world tour. Much to Ali’s surprise, Velma had returned from the trip determined to undergo treatment.

“That’s what Maddy Watkins told me,” Velma had said, referring to the retired schoolteacher from Washington State who had been her traveling companion on the trip. “Anyone who’s tough enough to go see Mount Kilimanjaro is tough enough to fight cancer.”

Now that Velma was finishing her second round of chemo, Ali wanted her to come to Sedona for Thanksgiving dinner. She immediately sent an instant message to that effect and received an almost instantaneous reply:

Velma T: I couldn’t possibly. I’m bald as a billiard. I look a fright. Ghastly.

Babe: I’m inviting you to come have dinner. It’s not a beauty pageant.

Velma T: Who all would be there?

Babe: My parents. My son and future daughter-in-law. A few friends.

Velma T: But how would I get there? You know I don’t have a car. Don’t drive.

Babe: Just say you’ll come. Let me worry about getting you here.

Velma T: It’s so close. You probably wouldn’t get a very good fare.

Babe: See reply above. I’ll worry about that.

Velma T: I already told my daughter-in-law that I was booked. That was a lie. Now it could be true.

Babe: Is that a yes?

Velma T: Even if I’m bald?

Babe: Especially if you’re bald.

Velma T: Fair enough, then. It’s a yes.

Babe: Okay. Details to follow.

Ali’s phone rang as she was signing off. Her parent’s number showed on the caller ID screen, but since her father avoided using the telephone as much as possible, there wasn’t much chance Bob Larson would be calling.

“Hello, Mom,” Ali said. “What’s up?”

“Nothing much,” Edie said. “I was just worried about you, that’s all.”

“Why?”

“Because of all this business with Bryan Forester. What’s going to happen to your house? What if he gets thrown into jail and your job doesn’t get finished?”

This was probably not the right time to mention the cabinet order for which, if things fell apart, Ali would be paying 50 percent more for than the original agreed-upon price.

“It’ll be finished,” Ali declared with more confidence than she felt. “I’ve definitely decided to go ahead with Thanksgiving dinner. Please mark it on your calendar.”

“And where do you plan to have it?” Edie wanted to know. “In the driveway? I heard they were just installing wallboard today. You’ve got a long way to go before the place is going to be ready for occupancy.”

“Turkey dinner is at my house,” Ali said. “If not that one, then this one, and that’s final.”

“What do you want us to bring?”

“Nothing,” Ali said. “I’ll handle it.”

The long silence that followed meant that Edie wasn’t entirely convinced. “All right, then,” she said. “But have you ever cooked a turkey before?”

“Don’t worry,” Ali said. “I’ll figure it out. I can read a recipe.” And so can Leland Brooks, she thought.

“Is Dave coming to Chris and Athena’s get-together at the gym tonight?” Edie asked, changing the subject. “He loves my pumpkin pies. I’ve made one especially for him.”

When it came to Dave Holman, Edie and Bob Larson were absolutely transparent. Ali’s parents really liked the guy and were lobbying to the best of their ability for Dave and Ali to land in some kind of permanent arrangement. Ali had attempted to explain the changed dynamics in the relationship, but it made no difference. Bob and Edie’s minds were made up. They weren’t listening.

“He may be coming,” Ali said. “He was here at the house for a while last night. I know Chris invited him tonight, but I don’t know if he’ll be there.”

“Well, then,” Edie said determinedly. “I’ll bring his pumpkin pie to the gym along with everything else, just in case.”

“Everything else?” Ali echoed. “I thought Athena said Hawaiian Punch and storebought cookies.”

“Christopher is my grandson!” Edie said indignantly. “You don’t suppose I’d let him celebrate his engagement with a batch of storebought cookies, do you?”

“No,” Ali agreed with a laugh. “I don’t suppose you would.”

Just then her e-mail announced the arrival of a new message. And there, moments before the five P.M. deadline she had given them, was a video-bearing e-mail from Raymond Armado. Once Ali got off the phone with her mother, it took her a while to download the attached file. When she finally opened it, she fast-forwarded through the parts that consisted of Billy Barnes and the other guys dutifully hanging wallboard. Boring. Steady. Absolutely unexciting. Toward the end of the film segment, however, Dave Holman, notebook in hand, appeared on the scene. That sequence began with Billy Barnes glancing at his watch and with Ali exiting the frame.

“What can you tell me about Bryan Forester’s situation yesterday?” Dave asked on the video without preamble.

“He was here from around ten A.M. on,” Bryan answered. “We had a problem with a building inspector. Once he got here, he was here for the rest of the day.”

“He didn’t come and go?”

“Nope,” Billy said impatiently. “I already told you. He was here all day long.”

“Did he seem upset to you?”

Billy made a face and shrugged, but Ali knew the answer to that was yes. When she’d had dealings with Bryan herself on Monday, he had appeared to be distracted and off his game. She had assumed it had something to do with the building inspector or with the slow progress of construction or even the missing cabinets. Now it seemed possible that something else had been bothering him.

“Were you aware of any difficulties he and his wife might have been having?” Dave asked.

“What husband and wife doesn’t have difficulties?” Billy returned. “Of course they were having difficulties.”

“Do you know what kind?”

“I’d rather not say,” Billy said.

“Look,” Dave said. “This is a homicide investigation. I need you to answer.”

“Bryan Forester is a nice guy-a regular straight arrow. You’d think a woman would appreciate having a guy like that around, someone who goes to work every day in all kinds of weather, brings home the bacon, and turns the money over to her so she can spend it however she likes, and spend it Morgan did. I never heard the woman say a kind thing about him. All she ever did was gripe, gripe, gripe. Nothing was ever good enough for her, but still, finding out that she’d signed up for an Internet dating site. That just about corked it.”

Dave consulted his notebook. “This Internet dating site. I believe Bryan mentioned something about that. That would be Singleatheart.com, right?”

“I guess,” Billy conceded with a shrug. “Something like that.”

“And Bryan told you about it?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Yesterday morning,” Billy said. “We were out at the picnic table having a smoke. He was fit to be tied. It was his first cigarette in three years, at least.”

“You’re sure it was yesterday that he mentioned it to you? He talked about it on Tuesday, not Monday.”

“I’m sure,” Billy said.

“Did Bryan mention to you how he found out about it or when?”

“The kind of woman she was, I wouldn’t be surprised if she came right out and told him about it herself. Probably wanted to rub his nose in it. Morgan was like that. He did say that they’d fought like cats and dogs all weekend.”

“About?”

“He didn’t say.”

“So they fought like crazy all weekend, and Morgan ended up dead on Monday morning,” Dave muttered, more to himself than to anyone else. “How very convenient.”

“He didn’t kill her,” Billy insisted. “Even if she deserved it, he wouldn’t.”

“Did he say that-that she deserved to die?”

“Bryan never said any such thing,” Billy replied. “I’m the one who said it. As far as I’m concerned, Morgan Forester was bad news. Her family used to be dirt poor, and all she ever wanted was a meal ticket. I don’t think she even liked the guy.”

“You seem to know quite a bit about it,” Dave said.

“You think so?” Billy answered. “Bryan and me go way back. We’ve been friends since high school. Once Morgan turned up on the scene, you could see she thought she was really hot stuff-like she was something special-but she wasn’t. You don’t have to take my word for it. There are plenty of guys around who can tell you Morgan Forester was a good-for-nothing tramp and that Bryan was way too good for her.”

“Sounds like you didn’t care for her much.”

Billy simply shrugged.

“So where were you yesterday morning?” Dave asked.

Billy bristled. “So now you’re accusing me of having something to do with what happened? For your information, I was right here on the job. Had to go out for supplies for a while early in the morning. We were running short on wallboard screws. Other than that, I got here at seven-forty-five and left at four. You can ask anybody. Try Leland Brooks, for starters. He’s usually right outside.”

Someone spoke to Billy from off screen. He nodded, then turned back to Dave. “Look, they need me. I’ve got to get back to work. You’ve got a job to do, and so do I. I’ve wasted enough time answering your damned questions. Now get the hell out of here.”

Dave studied his notebook for a moment before pocketing it and walking away. The camera continued to roll, following him through the house and out the front door. Moments later, he seemed to notice the trailing film crew for the first time and ordered them to stop filming. Seconds later, Ali’s voice said the same thing. Only then did the film fade to black.

When the clip ended, Ali sat staring at the screen. Morgan’s neighbors had thought of her as the perfect stay-at-home wife and mother. But her husband suspected her of embezzling funds, and now it turned out that she’d been prowling the Internet looking for greener pastures while her husband was hard at work.

What kind of perfect wife does that? Ali wondered. And what kind of place is Singleatheart? The name implied that it was a hookup tool for people who were married but who wanted to carry on as though they weren’t. The way Bryan had told the story to Ali, he hadn’t looked at Morgan’s computer files and learned about Singleatheart until after his wife was already dead. But what if that wasn’t true?

What if he learned about it earlier? Ali wondered. What if that was what Bryan and Morgan fought about over the weekend? If that were the case, it made sense that Dave Holman would have settled on Bryan as the prime suspect in his wife’s murder. And maybe the item Ali had witnessed Dave removing from Bryan’s pickup would further implicate Morgan’s widower. From the way Dave had rushed away after finding it, Ali suspected that to be the case.

Still, there was something about the interview she’d just witnessed that gave Ali pause, something that bothered her. Why was it Billy Barnes happened to know so much about everything that was going on with Bryan and Morgan? Were Bryan and Billy really close enough friends that Bryan would have confided in Billy about Morgan’s infidelity and her involvement in Singleatheart? That struck Ali as odd. Most betrayed husbands wouldn’t have admitted such things to anyone, not even their best pals.

And what about Morgan? Ali recognized that she must have been dreadfully unhappy to have risked everything-including life itself-to go shopping for romance on a dating website.

Without really thinking about it, Ali typed “Singleatheart” into her computer’s search engine. Just then Chris came trotting upstairs from his basement studio. “It’s my night to cook. I thought I’d fix some grilled-cheese sandwiches before we go.”

Guiltily, Ali closed her computer before Singleatheart’s home page appeared on the screen. On the night they were due to celebrate her son’s engagement, she didn’t want to spoil his happiness with tales of other marriages that had foundered and come to grief.

“Don’t bother,” she replied. “I’m sure there’s going to be plenty of food at the gym.”

“What kind of food?” Chris asked. “I thought we were just doing cookies and punch.”

Ali laughed. “Guess again,” she told him. “You invited your grandmother, remember? Just plain cookies and punch won’t cut it. They aren’t in Edie Larson’s vocabulary.”

In terms of the abundance of food, Ali’s prediction proved absolutely on the money. Out of deference for the hardwood floor, the engagement party wasn’t in the gym proper but in the tiled lobby right outside. A cloth-covered table inside the door sagged under a load of goodies. The centerpiece was a decorated white sheet cake. Bright red frosting roses were stationed on each corner, while in the middle, resting on a red frosting heart, were a pair of entwined frosting wedding rings.

That eye-stopping cake was only part of Edie Larson’s caloric overkill. There was a tall German chocolate layer cake and a seven-layer straight chocolate cake along with six homemade pies-two each of lemon meringue, pumpkin, and pecan-without a single “storebought” cookie in sight. Those showed up a few minutes later, when Athena arrived followed by a young woman Ali didn’t know. The newcomers came into the room carrying several brimming grocery bags. Ali caught the look of momentary shock on Athena’s face as she took stock of the overloaded table. After some quietly exchanged words, Athena and her friend removed plates, napkins, and plastic forks from the bags and then tactfully stowed everything else under the table.

Once the storebought foodstuffs had disappeared, Athena went over to Edie Larson and gave her a hug. “You shouldn’t have,” she said.

“I couldn’t help it.” Edie was beaming. “I wanted it to be a real party.”

Athena turned questioningly to Ali. “Don’t look at me,” Ali said. “It’s not my fault. I’m responsible for the flowers, and that’s it.”

As the festivities got under way, they soon turned into a real party, starting with a series of Hawaiian Punch toasts. After that, by mutual consent, community-league basketball was canceled for the evening while the erstwhile players swilled punch or coffee and filled up on Edie’s scrumptious collection of sweets. Someone found folding chairs in a closet and set those around the room so people had somewhere to sit while they juggled plates and paper cups. Toward the end of the evening, Ali wandered into a conversation where the young woman who had helped Athena bring in the groceries was speaking with her and two other high school teachers, Lois Mead and Gail Nelson.

“The whole thing just breaks my heart,” the young woman was saying. “Lindsey will be fine, but what about Lacy? She’s already so…breakable. I can’t imagine that she won’t shatter into a million pieces.”

“Lindsey and Lacy?” Ali asked. “You mean the Forester twins?”

The young woman nodded. She seemed close to tears.

“I’m sorry,” Athena said. “Have you two met?”

Ali shook her head. “I don’t believe so.”

“This is my roommate, Mindy. Mindy Farber,” Athena said. “She teaches second grade over in the village. The mother of two of her students was found murdered yesterday. And this is Ali Reynolds, my future mother-in-law.”

Mindy mumbled a polite acknowledgment and then went on talking. Ali already knew more about the situation than she cared to admit, but she stayed on, listening to what Mindy Farber had to say.

“Lacy has issues,” Mindy said. “She’s afraid someone might touch her books, so she carries all of them back and forth with her every day. She never leaves anything in her desk. She doesn’t talk, either, not at all. Maybe she talks at home, but not in school. Last year the principal separated the two girls for first grade. He thought that would force the issue, but it turned into a complete disaster. This year they put them both in my room. Most of the time it’s not a problem. Lacy may not say anything, but Lindsey more than makes up for it. That girl never shuts up. But they’re both smart. And as long as Lacy can write out the answers instead of responding orally, she’s a straight-A student.”

“I heard they’re the ones who found their mother’s body,” Lois Mead commented.

Mindy nodded. “It’s true. They found the body on the front porch after the bus driver dropped them off at the end of their drive. Lindsey was smart enough to call nine-one-one and report it.”

“Do the cops know who’s responsible?” Gail Nelson asked.

“If they do, I haven’t heard,” Mindy said.

“I’ll bet it’s the father,” Gail said. “Isn’t that usually how it turns out? The mother gets murdered, and the father or boyfriend ends up going to jail.”

“If the father did do it, what will happen to the two little girls?”

Mindy shook her head. “I have no idea,” she said. “They’re so young to lose both their parents. Maybe there are other relatives who can step in and help out, but the whole thing makes me sick to my stomach.”

Me, too, Ali thought. Excusing herself, she wandered back over to the table where her mother was sorting leftover cakes and pies into a collection of Styrofoam take-home containers she had brought along from the restaurant.

“Aren’t they a lovely couple!” Edie exclaimed, beaming at Chris and Athena, who were across the room bidding departing partygoers good night.

Ali nodded.

“And I hope they’ll be very happy.”

“So do I.”

“Have they said anything to you about setting a date?”

“Not to me,” Ali replied.

“June is very nice,” Edie observed. “I think we could have a very nice June wedding. If we wait until July or August, it’ll be way too hot.”

Ali knew that her mother had a weak spot for weddings, and it was sounding as though, after turning Chris and Athena’s “intimate” engagement party into a major function, she was determined to do the same thing for their wedding.

“Shouldn’t we leave that up to them?” Ali asked circumspectly.

“Absolutely not,” Edie declared. “We have way more experience with these things than they do. By the way,” she added, “here’s Dave’s pie. Make sure he gets the whole thing. I wouldn’t put it past that son of yours to try stealing a piece.”