Trial By Fire

CHAPTER 13

Mark Levy returned to the waiting room carrying a cup of coffee, a soda, and two very sticky Rice Krispies Treats from the latte stand in the lobby.

“I thought maybe you were hungry,” he said. “If you don’t want it, I’ll eat yours.”

It turned out Ali did want it. She had eaten only half the hamburger she had taken to Athena’s place the night before, and that bit of sandwich had long since disappeared.

“Thank you,” she said. “I’m starved.”

She had been listening in on Agent Robson’s interview for some time. All three of them-Robson, Serenity, and Winston Junior-turned to look as Mark delivered his purchases, and then they looked away. As they resumed their conversation, Ali realized Mark had done her a very real favor. Now the three of them most likely assumed that Ali was there with him-that she was part of James’s entourage. That belief rendered her all the more invisible, but eating the Rice Krispies Treat left her fingers too sticky to type. For a time she simply listened.

Robson had evidently been off somewhere overnight tracking the elusive ELF possibility and had not participated in the interview with Hal. Some of the information Ali had already gleaned from Dave, Robson was hearing for the first time.

When Agent Robson raised the ELF question with Win and Serenity, both of them took the position that whatever had happened to Mimi was personal, not political. Robson’s suggestion of Mimi’s possible involvement with environmental issues was met with eye-rolling derision.

“Are you kidding?” Serenity returned. “Mother has enough fur in her closets to send an environut into a spasm. Same goes for global warming. She thinks that’s a load of bull.”

“You don’t believe your mother would have been involved in any form of environmental activism?”

“Absolutely not,” Serenity said.

Her conclusive response made Agent Robson backpedal. “Maybe I’m looking at this from the wrong direction,” he said with a frown. “Maybe the situation is the reverse of what I was thinking. Is it possible she had taken some kind of public stand in opposition to environmental activism? Maybe she wrote a letter to the editor or signed on with some anticonservation group, and that’s what brought her to the attention of some nutcase.”

“My mother isn’t political,” Serenity declared. “As far as I know, she’s never written a letter to the editor in her life. She supports the symphony. She supports the Friends of the Library, but I don’t think she’s ever taken up with any environmental groups, on either side of that question.”

“What about her husband?” Robson asked.

“Exactly,” Serenity said. “What about him?”

“Would he be involved in some kind of environmental activism?”

“No. Hal Cooper is interested in money. Period. He came sniffing around my mother because he figured out she was loaded. If she dies, he’ll walk away with a fortune.”

“What about a prenup?” Robson asked.

“There wasn’t one,” Serenity said. “If Mother dies first, he gets the whole thing, unless he happens to get sent up for murdering her, right?”

Dave had said that Hal had stood up well under questioning the night before. If Agent Robson knew that, too, he didn’t let on.

“It’s true,” he agreed. “Convicted killers generally aren’t allowed to profit from their crimes. Just how much money are we talking about here?”

“When my father died, the galleries were worth about ten million,” she said. “There was only enough insurance for me to buy up Mother’s half. Winston and I split the rest. I’m paying Win off over time.”

“Five million, then?” Robson asked.

“More than that,” Serenity said. “There were a couple of houses, and some rental properties. She sold the houses to buy the new one in Fountain Hills. I believe she owns that one free and clear.”

“It’s more money than I thought,” Robson conceded. “People have certainly been murdered for a lot less. What can you tell me about your stepfather? Do you know anything about his personal leanings?”

“I have zero idea about his ‘personal leanings,’ as you put it,” Serenity replied. “The less I know about the man, the better. He’s my mother’s husband, but he sure as hell is not my stepfather. The only person Hal Cooper is looking out for is Hal Cooper, and nobody else.”

Robson jotted a few words in his notebook. It seemed as though the news that Hal Cooper would benefit greatly from his wife’s demise was causing the ATF agent to at least think twice about the possibility that the attempt on Mimi’s life might be a murder-for-profit plot as opposed to some kind of bizarre political statement.

“We’ll certainly be examining all of Mr. Cooper’s associations,” Robson assured Serenity as he finished making a series of notes. “We’ll also be looking into the possibility that regardless of the motivation in your mother’s attack, the person responsible is actively involved with the Earth Liberation Front.

“The fire in Camp Verde certainly resembles other ELF-related incidents we’ve investigated. It’s not textbook, but close enough to make us think they’re all of a piece. What we need to sort out is your mother’s connection to those people. It’s possible she somehow got too close to an ELF operative and, as a consequence, needed to be gotten rid of before she had a chance to pass any information along. That’s why it’s so important that we talk to her immediately.”

“No,” Hal Cooper declared from the far side of the room. “You’re not going to talk to her. Mimi’s in no condition to speak to anyone.”

Ali had seen Hal emerge from his wife’s room and step into the hallway. After stripping off his layer of antibacterial clothing, he had come silently down the hall to the entrance of the waiting room, where he had stood for some time, listening. Agent Robson hadn’t noticed him, and neither had Serenity and Winston.

“I’ve asked Mimi about what happened,” Hal continued. “So has Sister Anselm. She has suffered a serious head injury. She doesn’t remember anything at all.”

“What if she’s lying about that,” Serenity shot back, “or what if you are? You’ve got everything to gain. Why would you tell the truth about any of it? I want Mother to be able to talk to someone besides you and that nun. What about Agent Robson here? Why not let him talk to her?”

“No!” Hal’s second no was immediate and far more emphatic. “Mimi is not going to spend her last few lucid moments on this earth being interrogated by a cop.”

“Last few moments?” Serenity repeated. “Are you saying she’s dying?”

Hal Cooper met and held his stepdaughter’s questioning gaze. “Yes,” he said finally. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. That’s what the doctors told me this morning when they did rounds. Her organs are gradually shutting down. We’re going to lose her. It’s just a matter of time.”

Serenity was the first to look away. She plucked her cell phone out of her pocket, and the whole roomful of onlookers waited while she placed a call.

“It’s me,” she said finally into what was evidently an answering machine. “I thought you’d be here by now. Mother’s worse. I had several appointments scheduled for today and tomorrow down in Tucson. They’re in the calendar on the network. If you’re not coming here, you might want to drop by the office and cancel them for me.”

While she was speaking, Agent Robson stood up and stepped toward Hal Cooper, flashing his badge. “I’m sorry to hear that distressing news, Mr. Cooper,” he murmured comfortingly. “Believe me, my agency is totally committed to finding out who did this, and why. If we could have access to any information your wife may have given you, or if I could speak with her-”

“I already told you, I’m not giving you access to anything,” Hal responded. “Not to her, and not to me, either. I heard what you said a moment ago about looking into my “associations,” as you call them. I take that to mean I’m now under suspicion.”

Robson said nothing, so Hal continued.

“You’re welcome to your opinion. If you think I did it, fine. Do your worst to try to prove it, but since I was somewhere mid-Atlantic when all this went down, you’ll have a tough time pinning any of it on me. For right now, though, I’m not saying another word to you without an attorney present.”

Serenity had gone pale. “I want to see Mother,” she said. “If she’s dying, I need to see her. It’s not fair for you to lock us out.”

Hal focused his attention on Serenity and Winston. “You’re right,” he said. “I’m not going to deny Mimi the chance to see you, if that’s what she wants. The next time she comes out of the morphine fog, I’ll ask her. It’s entirely up to her. If she’s agreeable, I’ll let you come into the room for a few minutes, but I’m warning you. If either of you hassles her in any way-if you give her any kind of grief-out you’ll go, and you’ll have me to deal with. Understand?”

Winston nodded while his sister stared back at Hal with disdainful defiance. “But we’re her children!” she objected. “You have no right to deny us access to her.”

“I’m not denying you access,” Hal replied, “but I am stating the conditions under which that access will be granted. The decision to see you or not is entirely up to your mother, but once you step inside her room, it’s my call. If you say or do anything to upset her, I’ll send you packing.”

Ali was impressed by Hal’s forbearance and his ability to hold his temper in check in the face of Serenity’s hostility.

Up to now, Winston, apparently the weakest link in this family squabble, had been content to let his sister do all the talking. Now he voiced his own objection. “I was told Mother is on a ventilator. How can she tell you anything about who she wants to see and who she doesn’t want to see, to say nothing of what she remembers?”

“She can answer yes or no questions,” Hal replied. “That’s it.” With that, he turned to the nurses’ station. “I need to go by the hotel to walk my dog,” he said. “I’ve left word with Sister Anselm that no one is to be allowed in my wife’s room until I get back. I’m telling you that, too. That’s an order.”

“Absolutely, Mr. Cooper,” the charge nurse said.

With that Hal walked over to the elevator and pushed the Down button. While he waited for the elevator to arrive, he turned back to the room. “About that missing painting, Serenity,” he said, addressing his stepdaughter directly. “The Klee that was over the fireplace. Mimi has no intention of selling it at this time. If you have it, you’d by God better return it. If I find out that you’ve sold it without being authorized to do so, I’ll sue you within an inch of your life.”

Serenity looked genuinely stunned. “Mother’s Klee is gone? Are you kidding? That thing is worth a fortune.”

“Yes,” Hal agreed. “It is worth a fortune. I know that and you know that. It’s also very interesting to note that one painting is the only thing missing from the house.”

The elevator door opened. Hal Cooper stepped into it and was gone.

“What painting?” Agent Robson asked. “Something’s missing from the house? What is it, and why am I hearing about it now for the first time?”

Ali knew that the missing painting had been mentioned several times, but since a possible art theft didn’t fit in with Agent Robson’s preconceived notion about the crime, he had most likely disregarded it.

“I’ve been telling Mother for years that painting belonged in a museum somewhere and not in her living room,” Serenity fumed. “Most especially in the living room of a house where they leave the alarm off as often as it’s turned on.”

“What painting?” Robson asked again. “Is it valuable?”

Serenity gave him a scathing look. “It’s a Paul Klee,” she told him disdainfully. “Of course it’s valuable. It’s been in the family for years.”

“What’s a Paul Klee?” Robson asked.

Shaking her head impatiently at his apparent stupidity, Serenity continued. “Klee was a well-known Swiss-born painter-a cubist. He was born in the late nineteenth century and died in the early forties.”

“Never heard of him,” Robson said.

“He taught art at the Bauhaus,” Serenity added, warming to the topic. “Mother’s picture is one of his so-called Static-Dynamic Gradations. He did several during his years of teaching. The best known one is dated 1923. It’s in the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Mother’s version is somewhat earlier than that. For some reason, he wasn’t thrilled with it. He signed it and then gave it to one of his students, an American girl named Phoebe Pankhurst.”

“Your parents bought it from her?” Robson asked, making notes as he tried to follow the story.

“More or less,” Serenity allowed. “That happened years later. Phoebe’s widowed mother became ill. Phoebe had to drop out of school and return to California to care for her. The mother eventually died, and Phoebe spent the next fifty years living alone in what had been her parents’ home and teaching art to generations of kids.

“Her house in Santa Barbara had a glassed-in sunporch. That’s where she taught her art lessons. For years and years, no one ventured any farther into her house than that sunporch area. When she died, her only living cousin flew out from New York to attend the funeral. He went to the house and was shocked by what he found there. Every room was piled shoulder-high with old newspapers, books, and garbage. The load was so heavy the floor was in danger of collapsing. The cousin had no idea where to start on cleaning up the mess.

“That’s when my father stepped in. My grandfather was a banker. He and my dad offered to buy the house and all its contents as is, with no contingencies. They also agreed that they would be responsible for all necessary cleaning. The cousin was delighted. He didn’t want to be stuck overseeing the work, much less doing it. He took what they offered, washed his hands of the whole mess, and flew back to New York as soon as the funeral was over. My father told me later that buying Phoebe Pankhurst’s house was the best investment he ever made.”

“Why was that?” Robson asked.

“Cleaning it out was a challenge,” Serenity said. “Daddy had to look through every single book and newspaper. Phoebe’s art students had always paid in cash. She had a fortune in ten- and twenty-dollar bills tucked away everywhere, but the money was the least of it.”

“The painting?” Robson asked.

Serenity nodded. “That one and several others,” she said. “There was a Degas sketch, a Renoir, a Matisse, and a few others I don’t remember-all of them originals. Dad told me he got enough cash from selling those, and from selling Phoebe’s house, to bankroll his first gallery. He kept the Klee, though. He gave it to my mother and told her it was a little bank account.”

“How much is it worth?” Robson asked.

Serenity shrugged. “I believe it’s insured for seven hundred thousand, but it’s probably worth more than that. As I said before, it belongs in a museum somewhere. If it were to go on sale, however, it might provoke a bidding war, which is why it’s so ridiculous that my mother left it hanging over her damned fireplace for everyone to see. And now it’s gone. I can’t believe it.”

Ali was struck by the fact that Serenity Langley seemed far more concerned about the missing painting than she was about her dying mother. It was easy to see why Hal Cooper regarded his stepdaughter with such contempt.

James’s mother exited her son’s room and came into the waiting room. Walking past the others, she made her way to her still sleeping former husband, sat down next to him, and gently touched his shoulder. He came awake with a start.

“What is it?” he wanted to know. “What’s happened?”

“One of the doctors just called the room,” she said. “They want to talk to us about-”

Breaking off, she leaned against his shoulder and sobbed.

“What?” he said. “They need to talk to us about what?”

“About scheduling surgery.” She choked on the words. “Surgery and skin grafts. He’s going to be scarred for life, Max. Our poor handsome boy.” With that, she began weeping, while he gave her heaving shoulder a series of awkward but comforting pats.

For the better part of two days, the warring couple had waged a very public battle. For now hostilities seemed to have subsided.

“It’s okay, Lisa,” he murmured over and over. “It’s okay. We’ll get through it somehow.”

For a time their family drama took center stage. When Ali looked away, Serenity was back on her phone.

“It’s me again,” she said. “My mother’s Klee seems to have gone missing. See if you can find out if anyone is offering a new Static-Dynamic Gradations for sale. Whatever’s become of our Russian friend, Yarnov? He’s a great fan of Klee and he’s not fussy about provenance.”

As in someone willing to buy stolen goods? Ali thought as she typed the name Yarnov.

Serenity was clearly upset to learn that her mother’s painting had disappeared, but Ali couldn’t help wondering if the woman didn’t know far more about it than she was letting on. The painting had come into the family under less than honest circumstances. Serenity had no qualms about what her father and grandfather had done in cheating Phoebe Pankhurst’s relatives-to say nothing of the IRS-out of what was rightfully theirs. Ali suspected that Serenity Langley had firsthand knowledge about Mr. Yarnov’s lack of concern about provenance.

James’s mother had finally quit crying. Once she dried her tears, she and her husband went to confer with their son’s physician. For a time after they left the only sound in the room was the clatter of Ali’s keyboard. Suddenly, Winston turned around and glared at Ali over his shoulder.

“What the hell are you doing?” he demanded. “It sounds like you’re writing down everything we say. Are you?”

Caught red-handed, Ali was groping for an appropriate response when Sister Anselm arrived at the waiting room entrance and came to Ali’s rescue.

“She’s working for me,” the nun explained. “I’m tired of having other people write whatever they want about me. I asked the diocese for permission for an authorized biography, and I’ve asked Miss McCann to write it. I find it convenient to have her come to the various hospitals when I’m in the city. That way she can interview me during my off-hours, and we save a fortune in long-distance telephone charges.”

Having thus quashed the Ali discussion, Sister Anselm looked around the waiting room. “Has anyone seen Mr. Cooper? I expected him back by now.”

As if on cue, the elevator door opened and Hal stepped off. “There you are,” Sister Anselm said. “Your wife is starting to wake up again. If she’s going to see her son and daughter, now would probably be a good time.”

Hal nodded. “I’ll see what she wants me to do. And thanks for your suggestion. The concierge says not to worry. He’ll send a bellman up to the room every couple of hours to take Maggie for a walk, and they’ll feed her later this afternoon. I’d hate to be gone when…”

He left the rest of the sentence unsaid. Setting his jaw, he marched past Agent Robson and his stepchildren and made straight for Mimi’s room, followed by Sister Anselm.

His arrival had been enough to take the focus off Ali and her computer.

“Can you think of anything else?” Agent Robson asked Serenity.

She shook her head.

“What about you, Mr. Langley?”

“Nothing to add,” Winston Junior responded. “I think that just about covers it.”

“All right, then,” Robson said, pocketing his notebook. “I need to make a few calls, but if your mother is able to give you any information…”

Serenity patted the pocket where she had stowed the business card Agent Robson had given her. “Yes,” she said. “We’ll call you immediately.”

Ducking her head, Ali resumed typing.

Before, she had fought desperately to wake up. Early on, opening her eyes was the only thing that had allowed her to escape the nightmare of flames. Now, though, she would have preferred to stay dreaming and asleep instead of having to return to this stark hospital room with its humming machinery and this strange bed.

This time Mimi had found herself walking along a sandy beach with her mother. Moments later her mother disappeared from the beach, but Mimi was still there, playing ball with her dog, her first dog, Rover. That had to be more than sixty years ago now, but in her dream, her bluetick hound had been alive once more, bringing the grubby sand-covered tennis ball back to her time and again so she could throw it. When he looked up at her with his soulful brown eyes, Mimi stretched out her hand to pet him. His long black ears were soft and silky to the touch, just the way she remembered them.

“Mimi,” Hal said from somewhere close at hand. “Are you awake?”

She was awake and yet she wasn’t. She didn’t want to leave Rover behind. Would she ever see him again?

But Hal was speaking to her insistently, and she needed to listen. She needed to pay attention. Struggling, she finally managed to open her eyes. Hal stood above her, smiling. He looked a little better. His hair was combed. He had shaved.

“I just got back from feeding Maggie,” he was saying. “If I’m gone for very long, the concierge says he’ll make sure someone walks her and feeds her.”

The concierge. What concierge? Our house doesn’t have a concierge. What is he thinking? But Maggie? If someone is walking her and feeding her, that must mean she’s all right. That means she didn’t die. They didn’t hurt her. Thank you, God. Thank you.

Hal was speaking to her again. She concentrated on the words coming out of his mouth, trying to make sense of them.

“Win and Serenity are outside,” he was saying. “Do you want to see them?”

See them? Of course she wanted to see them. Serenity could be a bitch at times, and there were occasions when Win looked and sounded so much like his father that she wanted to haul off and hit him. She sometimes wondered if he was like his father in other ways besides looks and voice. Was Win faithful to his new wife, or did he cheat on her the same way his father had cheated on Mimi? And what was her daughter-in-law’s name again?

Try as she might, Mimi couldn’t quite dredge it up. She knew the two of them were expecting a baby sometime soon, and that the baby was a boy-would be a boy. This would be Mimi’s very first grandchild, but she still couldn’t remember Win’s wife’s name.

Why are names so tricky? Why was it she knew Rover’s name so well, but not her daughter-in-law’s or, for a time, not even her own?

But yes, these were Mimi’s children, warts and all. Despite Serenity’s and Win’s shortcomings and despite their disagreements, she still loved them. She wanted to see them. One blink for yes. One blink for yes, absolutely.

“Sister Anselm says it might be better if you see them together,” Hal went on. “She’s afraid seeing them one at a time will tire you too much. I’m worried about that, too. So is it all right to have them both in at the same time?”

What Mimi wanted to do right then was to close her eyes and listen to the comforting sound of Hal’s voice. She loved his voice. Sometimes he sang in the shower, and she liked that, too. His solid baritone. Maybe he would sing to her here, if she could just ask him.

But he wasn’t singing right now. He was patiently asking the same question in a different fashion. A yes or no fashion. “Together?” he repeated.

One blink for yes. For together. Because after that, after they left, Hal would still be here, talking to her and pushing the button. Because Mimi knew it was almost time for that. She knew it and so did he. She wasn’t sure how. It had something to do with that little thing that Sister Anselm carried around in her pocket. When it made that funny noise, they all knew it was time for someone to push the button.

“All right, then,” Hal said. “I’ll go get them. It’ll take a moment for them to get dressed. Don’t go away.”

Was he kidding? Where would she go? Of course she wouldn’t go away. How could she?

Mimi drifted for a time. The pain was there and getting stronger and pulling her toward it. Into it. They needed to hurry, otherwise…

She heard the door swing open. Win came first. She saw the shocked expression on his face. It must be terrible for them to have to see me this way.

Mimi’s son made a brave attempt at a cheerful smile. “Hi, Mom,” he said. “How’re you doing?”

Mimi couldn’t answer. It wasn’t a yes or no question. She wanted to say that she was fine, even though she wasn’t. That’s what you told your kids-that you were fine, even if you were dying. Suddenly that idea came home to her. Maybe that’s what this was all about. Maybe she was dying. If that was the case, would someone tell her, or would they leave her to figure it out on her own?

But she couldn’t tell Win that she was fine.

Win stepped to one side and Sandra… Not Sandra, Mimi reminded herself firmly. Serenity. We’re supposed to call her Serenity now!… Serenity moved into Mimi’s field of vision. The horrified look on her daughter’s face didn’t leave much to the imagination.

“Oh, Mother,” she wailed, and then she turned away, collapsing, sobbing, into Hal’s arms. Mimi saw the momentary shock on Hal’s face; then he put his arms around Serenity’s quaking shoulders and led her from the room.

That’s good, Mimi thought. The fact that Serenity had turned to Hal for help surprised her. Pleased her. But what was even more surprising was how very much Serenity had looked like her grandmother just then. She could have been a twin to the woman Mimi had been walking with on the beach a little while before Hal woke her up.

Serenity was what, thirty-nine now? Forty? However old she was, she looked like her grandmother, And probably like me, too, Mimi thought.

“Amy sends her love,” Win said.

Amy. That was Win’s wife’s name-Amy. Win stood there looking down at her, as if he was waiting for Mimi to say something, waiting for her to respond.

Someone needs to give him the code, Mimi thought. One blink. Two blinks. But if Win didn’t know the code of yes and no, had anyone told him about the button? It was almost time now. Mimi wanted it. She needed it.

Then Hal was back, standing looking at her over Win’s shoulder. “She’ll be all right,” he said.

At first Mimi thought he was talking about her-that she would be all right-but then she realized that wasn’t true. Hal was talking about Serenity. She would be all right. Mimi would not.

“Do you want me to push the button?” he asked.

Now he was talking to her. About her. One blink for yes. One blink for push the button.

Please.

For a moment after Hal led Serenity and Win Langley into their mother’s room, the waiting room was perfectly quiet. It seemed to Ali that she had the place all to herself. Then Mark spoke up. James’s friend was sitting behind her and off to one side, just out of her line of vision.

“He’s right, isn’t he?” Mark said accusingly. “That is what you’re doing-you’re taking down everything they say.”

Ali had paid the bill, but she still owed the young man something for the kindness of that cup of coffee and the Rice Krispies Treat, so she told him the truth.

“Yes, I am,” she admitted quietly, “but don’t tell them that.”

“Why?” Mark asked. “Is it because you and that nun think one of them did this?”

Obviously Ali wasn’t the only person in the room who had taken an interest in what was going on around him. Ali turned to face him. At first she wasn’t going to answer, but then she did.

She nodded. “Maybe,” she said.

“That’s what I’m thinking, too,” Mark Levy said. “I was listening the whole time that cop was asking them questions. That woman seemed a lot more upset about someone stealing her mother’s painting than she was about what happened to her mother.”

That had been Ali’s impression as well. Just then the door to Mimi Cooper’s room swung open, and Hal led Serenity out into the waiting room. She was leaning against him and sobbing hysterically. He eased her into a chair.

While Hal went in search of a box of tissues, Ali wondered if Serenity’s tears were real or if this was more a performance than anything else.

Ali glanced from Serenity back to Mark. He replied to that look with a small shake of his head that seemed to confirm that, he, too, thought Serenity’s tears were entirely fake. And why would Serenity pretend to be grief-stricken if she wasn’t?

Maybe she knows more than she’s telling, Ali concluded.

For a time Ali sat there with her computer open on her lap and thought about what she was feeling. She was suspicious about Serenity, but there was nothing more to it than that-suspicion. There was no solid information Ali could pass along to either Sheriff Maxwell or Dave Holman. With Dave involved in a criminal trial, Ali was sure if she ran up the flag to the sheriff, he’d most likely pass her off to someone else-like Holly Mesina, for example.

What Ali needed was another kind of help. She punched in a text message to B.

Anyone available to do some discreet hacking today?

B.’s response was immediate:

Always. What’s up?

So was hers:

Not texting. I’ll call in a few minutes.

Again, only seconds passed before he responded:

Sounds serious.

Over in her chair, Serenity Langley was still sobbing. Closing the screen and leaving her computer where it was, Ali took her phone and walked down the hall to Sister Anselm’s favorite window. There, looking out on Camelback Mountain, Ali punched in B. Simpson’s number.

“What’s going on?” B. asked at once, sounding concerned. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Ali said, “but there’s a woman at a hospital here in Phoenix who isn’t fine. Before I say anything to Sheriff Maxwell or Dave Holman about this, I’d like to know a little more about her. You know, get my ducks in a row and all that kind of thing.”

“I’m great at lining up ducks,” B. told her with a laugh. “Just tell me what you need.”

“Nothing illegal,” Ali said quickly. “Nothing that would require a search warrant, and no information that isn’t readily available in public records. It seems likely that you know a lot more about where to search than I do.”

“What?” he asked.

“Everything there is to know about Winston Langley Galleries.”

“With an S?” B. returned. “As in ‘galleries,’ plural?”

“Yes. I’d also like to take a look at whatever you can find on Serenity Langley, Winston’s daughter,” Ali told him. “And also on Winston’s son, Winston Junior. The daughter lives in Phoenix. I believe the son is from Santa Barbara.”

“Anything else?” B. asked.

“Yes, I’d like to know what you can find out about a Russian guy named Yarnov who’s into art in a big way. I’d also like to know when the last time a Paul Klee painting went on sale, and what one would most likely be worth in today’s market.”

“I’ll send you the information as I get it,” B. said. “How soon do you need it?”

“The woman I told you about is dying,” Ali said urgently. “The sooner the better.”