Deadly Stakes

Afterword

By the time they got home that evening, they had decided on and arranged for a Christmas Eve wedding in Las Vegas. Stuart Ramey would be the best man. Sister Anselm would be the matron of honor. The twins, Colin and Colleen, would be ring bearer and flower girl, respectively.

Back at home, still feeling more than a little stiff, Ali put her Googling skills to work and located Scott Ballentine at his office in Newport Beach, California. She used the old freelancer ruse to get past the corporate gatekeepers.

“You’ve heard what happened?” she asked once Ballentine knew who she was and why she was calling.

“Yes,” he said. “I heard he was murdered, and most likely over the money. Jimmy told me he was ill and that he didn’t have much time, but I feel sick about it. I don’t know what I should do. I thought about sending Sylvia and A.J. a sympathy card, but I’m not sure how it would be received.”

“Let me make a suggestion,” Ali said. “Sylvia called late last night. They’re going to have a private service at a funeral home in Phoenix on Monday of next week. She invited me to come, and I’m inviting you.”

“You don’t think she’ll throw me out?”

“No,” Ali said. “I think she’ll be glad to see you, and I think A.J. will be delighted to meet one of his father’s friends.”

“I’m willing,” Scott Ballentine said. “But do me a favor. Check with Sylvia first. Make sure it’s okay with her. I’d rather not be an unwelcome surprise.”

Which was how, on Monday of the following week, Ali and B. accompanied Scott Ballentine to James Sanders’s very small and very private funeral. Among the twenty or so people in attendance, Ali was introduced to several, including A.J.’s vivacious girlfriend, Sasha, her parents, and her three sisters; Maddy Worth, Sylvia’s lifelong friend and A.J.’s boss; two of A.J.’s teachers from school; and a number of people from Sylvia’s workplace. When Ali introduced Scott Ballentine to Sylvia, she didn’t hesitate. She grabbed the man, hugged him, and said, “Thank you. I thought all of James’s friends deserted him. I’m so glad you didn’t.”

In those few words, Ali heard a world of forgiveness.

Beatrice Hart had sent Ali a message asking her to stop by, and after the funeral was the first opportunity to make that visit.

When Ali rang the bell, Lynn Martinson was the one who answered. She smiled broadly as soon as she saw Ali and B. standing there. “Hey, Mom,” she called over her shoulder. “I believe the woman of the hour has arrived. Come on in. Mom’s making spaghetti. You’ll never guess who’s coming to dinner.”

“Who?”

“Chip and his mother.”

“How is Doris?”

“Amazingly better,” Lynn said. “I know about the Alzheimer’s now. But it turns out you were right. Molly had been dosing her with scopolamine for months, so her Alzheimer’s hasn’t progressed nearly as far as Chip feared. Her big problem right now is dealing with her husband’s death. Now that she’s detoxed, she’s having to deal with the grief of losing him. She’s also grieving for Molly and Gemma and her beloved house. It’s tough. My heart goes out to her.”

“Chip’s helping her with all that?” Ali asked.

Lynn nodded. “He’s got an attorney working on dragging the money back from Belize. He’s also made some progress on retrieving some of Doris’s keepsakes, things that were stolen and pawned.”

“The missing necklace, for instance?”

“Yes,” Lynn said. “That was one of the first items he found. He isn’t as focused on getting back things like oil paintings and china, because there won’t be any place to put them. He’s taking the insurance settlement on the house and using some of that to move Doris into an upscale assisted-living place that specializes in the care of Alzheimer’s patients. There are gradually increasing levels of assistance, so as Doris’s symptoms worsen, she won’t have to move on to some other place.”

Beatrice came into the living room, wiping her hands on an apron and beaming. “There’s going to be plenty of food,” she said. “Would you like to stay for dinner?”

“No, thank you,” Ali said. “We told people we’d be back home for dinner. We’re having company.”

That’s a white lie, Ali thought. Leland is only expecting us, and he’s grilling lamb chops for two. “Let’s get the official business out of the way,” she added, holding out a file folder.

“Your written report?” Beatrice asked.

Ali nodded.

“Excellent,” Beatrice said. “The check is written and waiting.”

She bustled over to a nearby table and retrieved a personal check. It was made out to the Amelia Dougherty Scholarship Fund in the amount of ten thousand dollars.

Ali looked at it and attempted to hand it back. “Thank you, but this is far too generous.”

“No, it’s not,” Beatrice Hart said with a smile. “You gave me back my daughter. You also gave Lynn back her shot at happiness. As far as I can see, I’m still in your debt, and I’ll probably be making another contribution next year.”

“Thank you, then,” Ali said. “I thank you, and lots of deserving students will be thanking you as well.”

Ali and B. left soon after that. “Yes,” B. said as he buckled up and put his new Audi R8 4.2 in gear. “Dave Holman got it right the other night.”

“Dave got what right?”

“When he said you’re not bad for a girl.”

Ali reached over and gave B. a playful whack on the shoulder. “And you’re not bad for a boy,” she said. “So I guess that makes us even.”