Trial By Fire

CHAPTER 14

By the time Ali returned to the waiting room, Serenity Langley had stopped crying. When her brother emerged from their mother’s room a few minutes later, Serenity had dried her tears, fixed her face, and opened her phone.

“I don’t know where the hell you are this morning, Donna. I’m tired of talking to your answering machine. Call me.”

“Mom’s asleep again,” Win announced, settling down on a chair next to his sister’s. “Hal punched the button on her morphine drip and she was out like a light. They have to give her smaller doses more often. Otherwise it’ll be too much for her system.”

“She looks awful!” Serenity declared. “I couldn’t stand it. Just looking at her made me sick to my stomach.”

It’s a good thing Hal Cooper isn’t so squeamish, Ali thought.

“Who do you think took the painting?” Win asked.

He was as concerned about his mother’s missing piece of artwork as his sister was.

“Let’s hope it’s someone who knows what it’s worth,” Serenity said. “If someone tries to put it on the market, we’ll know about it. No reputable art dealer is going to touch it.”

“What about the not-so-reputable ones?” Win asked.

Serenity shrugged. “Then it’s lost,” she said. “Except since it’s insured, Hal will still end up with the money, damn him.” She sent a dark look in the direction of room 814. “It was Daddy’s,” she said. “Hal Cooper is the last person in the world who should benefit from it.”

Win looked puzzled. “Maybe you’re wrong about him,” he ventured. “It looks like he really cares about her.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Serenity said. “Hal Cooper cares about money. The sooner she dies, the better off he’ll be, and the hospital bill will be that much lower. For all we know, he’s giving that button an extra shove every time he doses her.”

Behind her, Mark Levy had evidently heard enough. With an exaggerated sigh of disgust, he tossed a magazine onto an end table, where it landed with a resounding slap. “I need some air,” he announced to Ali on his way past. “Do you want anything from downstairs?”

“Nothing, thanks,” Ali said. “I’m fine.”

Mark punched the elevator button. When the door opened, Donna Carson, Serenity’s personal assistant, stepped past him into the waiting room.

“There you are,” Serenity said. “I’ve been trying to reach you all morning.”

“I got your message,” Donna said. She nodded in Win’s direction and then took a seat next to Serenity. “How are you holding up?”

Saying nothing, Serenity shook her head.

“I stopped by the gallery on my way here and canceled those appointments. Do you want me to tell the managers that under the circumstances, we’ll be skipping this week’s gallery walk?”

“Good idea,” Serenity said. “I hadn’t thought of that, but you’re right.”

Seeing the two women seated side by side, Ali noticed that their mannerisms were surprisingly similar. They spoke for several more minutes, with Serenity issuing orders and with Donna jotting them down in a leather-bound notebook.

Shortly after that Sister Anselm emerged from Mimi’s room. She looked weary beyond words. “Mr. Cooper will stay here for the time being, Ms. McCann,” Sister Anselm said. “I believe I’m going to return to the hotel for a nap. We’ll have another go at the interview a little later,” she added. “I’d also like to take a look at what you’ve written so far.”

Yes, Ali thought, Sister Anselm is very good at adjusting the truth.

On her way past, Sister Anselm stopped in front of Win and Serenity Langley. “Has anyone asked you to sign your mother’s visitor logbook?” she asked. “I like to keep them for the families of my patients.”

“We are her family,” Serenity replied pointedly. “We don’t need a notebook to tell us so.”

“Very well,” Sister Anselm said, walking away. “As you wish.”

“In all the time you’ve spent with her, has she said anything at all about who did this?” Serenity asked. “Does she remember anything at all?”

Sister Anselm looked at Serenity and shook her head. “My patients tell me things in strictest confidence,” she said.

With that, Sister Anselm left the waiting room. A few minutes later, so did Donna. Once the room was empty, Ali expected Serenity and Win would go right on talking. Instead, Win slouched down in his chair and dozed off. Since he had probably spent most of the night driving from Santa Barbara to Phoenix, that was hardly surprising. With Serenity busy sending off a series of text messages, Ali was startled when her own phone rang.

“Leland here,” Brooks announced, although Ali had surmised as much by looking at her phone. “Do you have any idea when you’ll be returning? I’m going out to buy groceries and was wondering if you’d be home this weekend, and whether you were expecting any company.”

“I can’t say,” she said. “I really don’t have an answer about that.”

“All right. I can get perishables at the last minute anyway,” he said. “What about your room at the hotel? Is it satisfactory?”

There was no doubt about that. “Absolutely,” she said. “How’s Sam?”

“She appears to be managing without you, madam,” Leland said, “but I believe she’s a bit lonely. She even ventured into the kitchen this morning while I was making breakfast.”

“Obviously you’re winning her over,” Ali said.

“I hope so.”

“If you’d like for me to bring anything down to you,” Brooks added, “all you need to do is call. I can be at the hotel within a matter of hours.”

“Thanks,” Ali said. “If I need anything, I’ll let you know.”

A text message came in from B.

Check your e-mail.

“I need to go,” Ali told Leland. “Thanks for staying in touch.” She logged in to her e-mail account and found a new message from B. Simpson.

This is too much to text. And I’m going to give you a summary rather than sending you to all the sites I used-proprietary information and all that.

There hasn’t been a Paul Klee available in the open market for a number of years. If it’s signed and in good condition, it would probably be worth well over a million bucks.

Winston Langley Galleries seems to be in a world of hurt. Two of the locations are running in arrears on rent and utilities. Serenity seems to have an IRS problem as well, so having access to money from the sale of her mother’s painting might help bail her out of her financial troubles.

Winston Langley Jr. looks like something of a cipher. Can’t seem to keep a job or a wife. He’s on marriage number three at the moment. Foreclosed on his last house. Lives in a town house owned by his mother and stepfather. Drives a four-year-old car that was his mother’s.

So far nothing on that art collector, but I’m still looking.

Both Serenity, née Sandra Jean, and Winston Junior received money from their father’s estate, all of which seems to have disappeared. I think Junior had a gambling problem. I’m not sure about Serenity, but I think it’s safe to say that she didn’t put any of her share back into the business.

You might mention some of this to Dave. Seems to me that taking a good look at where the son and daughter were at the time of the incident might not be such a bad bet.

All for now. Hope this helps. If you need anything more, call. I’m at your service. And if you’d like me to be at your service closer at hand, all you have to do is say the word.

B.

That last aside made Ali smile. Despite being turned down, B. was still hanging around and letting her know he was available. Obviously he hadn’t taken her most recent no as her final answer on the subject.

She sent off an immediate reply.

Thanks. This is a great help. If I need more, I’ll get back to you.

The information B. had given her was more than interesting. Nothing in Serenity Langley’s demeanor had hinted that she was having any kind of financial difficulty, but running behind on rent for her various galleries was not a good sign.

Ali took the time to scroll back through her notes to verify what she had been told before. Yes, there it was. According to what Serenity had said, Winston Langley Sr. had been worth a cool ten million bucks at the time of his death. Presumably half of that had gone to Mimi, and a quarter each to Winston’s two children.

Much of Mimi Cooper’s portion of that estate was evidently still intact. Upon her death, five million more or less, with or without the missing painting, would go to Hal Cooper. Upon Hal’s death, whatever remained would go to the two children, and Hal was still a relatively young man.

No wonder Serenity despised Hal so. As far as she was concerned, he had waltzed onto the scene and was in the process of making off with half of her birthright.

It was while Ali was reviewing her notes that she noticed something odd. Hal had clearly mentioned the missing painting to Donna Carson, Serenity’s personal assistant, but today, when he had mentioned the Klee’s disappearance to Serenity, she had acted as though it was all news to her.

Ali had regarded Serenity’s hysterics after leaving Mimi’s room as phony and over the top. Was this more of the same? Had she been putting on a show about the painting’s having gone missing when she already knew exactly where it was and what had happened to it?

The other possibility was that Donna had either forgotten to mention it or had deliberately neglected to pass that information along to her boss. Why would she do that?

Ali was sure that by now any number of officers would have interviewed Donna to see what, if anything, she knew. After all, since she had stopped by the house on the day Mimi disappeared, that meant Donna was one of the last people to see her. Had she noticed anything out of the ordinary at Hal and Mimi’s Fountain Hills home? Had she seen someone hanging around who didn’t belong there? Ali wished she could have somehow been privy to that interview, but she wasn’t. Most likely no one else at the Yavapai County Sheriff’s Department had been informed about it, either.

Then there was Serenity’s mysterious client, Mr. Yarnov. Ali had been unable to provide B. with any pertinent information other than the man’s last name. Consequently, it was hardly surprising that B. had come up empty, but the Mr. Yarnov in question had to be worth big bucks. Obviously Serenity had a clear idea of exactly how much the missing Klee was worth, but she also seemed to think it might well be within Mr. Yarnov’s price range. That meant the guy had plenty of spare change-petro-dollars, perhaps?-clinking around in his pockets. Although Yarnov seemed like a common enough name, Ali doubted there were all that many Yarnovs running around with art money to burn.

Ali did some Google searching of her own but came up empty as well. None of the Yarnovs she found seemed likely to be art-collector types. Gradually the room filled up as James’s assortment of concerned relatives reassembled. Ali recognized some of them, but not all. Since Lisa and Max had buried the hatchet for the time being, the relatives did the same. This time they didn’t divide up into warring camps, but in the midst of all that activity, Win Langley continued to sit in the center of the room, sound asleep and snoring.

Time passed, and finally Win awakened. After a brief discussion, he and Serenity decided to go to lunch. Ali was thinking about the possibility of lunch herself when Mark Levy returned. He dropped a small rectangular box on the table in front of Ali. Inside she found two pieces of pepperoni pizza.

“Hope you like pepperoni,” Mark said.

“Thank you,” Ali said, gratefully grabbing one of the slices. “I adore pepperoni. Can I pay you for this?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I couldn’t stand to listen to any more of their B.S.” Mark nodded toward the two empty chairs where Win and Serenity had been sitting. “I had to go sit in the lobby for a while just to cool off. With their mother in the other room dying, you’d think those jerks would start to figure out what’s important. Besides,” he added, “I think they’re wrong. That Hal guy loves his wife. I don’t think he gives a damn about the money.”

It was interesting that both Mark and Ali had sat on the sidelines in the waiting room and had come away with the same impressions-that Mimi’s kids were a pair of greedy opportunists while Hal Cooper was the genuine article. Sister Anselm, too, seemed to be of a similar opinion.

Ali was just finishing the second piece of pizza when a nurse stopped in front of Mimi’s door long enough to post a bright red sign. Ali didn’t need to be told what it was-a DNR designation. Do Not Resuscitate. That meant that somewhere along the line Mimi Cooper had drafted a living will. Hal had most likely asked the attorney’s office to fax it over to the hospital.

Moments later a new patient arrived, an older woman. As the burn-unit staff swung into action, the gurney was wheeled into room 812. The door had barely closed when her relatives churned out of the elevator and into the waiting room.

“I told Carol a thousand times that those damned cigarettes would be the death of her!”

The speaker was a silver-haired lady who moved with the aid of a walker and had to be well into her eighties.

“She told me over and over to mind my own business. Now look what’s happened. I’ll never be able to forgive myself.”

She burst into tears and sank into the nearest chair, the one formerly occupied by Serenity Langley. She reached into a large purse that was perched in a basket between the handles of the walker. Pulling out a lace-edged hanky, she gave her nose a noisy blow.

“Now, Sarah,” an elderly gentleman said, patting her knee. “What’s there to forgive? This isn’t your fault. You know as well as I do that if you had tried to take your sister’s Camels away, she would have made both your lives a living hell. Alva’s ninety-three, for Pete’s sake. That’s a good run for anybody. If she wants to burn herself up along with that old recliner of hers in front of reruns of Dr. Phil, so what? God love her. If it kills her, let it. If you ask me, dying that way is better than dying of lung cancer anyday.”

“But what’s Carol going to think?” Sarah asked, sniffling. “You know how she is. She always blames me for everything. She’s going to say I should have done something to prevent it.”

“Let her harp at you as much as she wants,” the old man advised. “Just don’t pay any attention. Besides, I didn’t see her stepping up to the plate when Alva showed up in Phoenix needing a place to live.”

“She’s so much younger than Alva and I are, Roy.”

Roy was already shaking his head.

“Maybe, at her age, it’s about time she got over being the baby of the family,” he said. “When Alva ended up on your doorstep, did Carol offer to help out? Nosiree! She didn’t lift a finger. As far as she was concerned, Alva’s problems were your problems and nobody else’s.

“As for the cigarettes? If Carol says word one to you about that, I hope you call her on it. If she expects you to be able to take Alva’s cigarettes away, maybe she should take a look in the mirror. What do you think would happen if you suggested she should give up her blasted Captain Morgan? That’s not gonna happen, never in a hundred years!” He snorted. “And speaking of which,” he added. “If you ask me, anyone who would swill down rum and coke night after night, year after year doesn’t have much room to talk. That’ll kill her just as dead as Alva’s cigarettes are killing her.”

It could have been a comedy routine, but it wasn’t. This elderly couple and the woman’s even more elderly sister were here in the hospital dealing with their own set of life-and-death issues, just like James’s family and friends, and Mimi’s.

They were all asking the same questions. Who would live? Who would die? Why? And who would be left to shoulder the blame? Ali didn’t know the severity of Alva’s wounds, but her age, like Mimi’s, would count against her survival. James had youth on his side. That might mean he had a better chance of surviving, but there was no way to tell how he would be affected long-term.

As Ali silently mulled over the blended fates of the people in the room, Win and Serenity returned from their lunch break.

Noticing that a pair of new arrivals had taken over the chairs she and Win had previously occupied, Serenity gave the old folks a hard-edged stare calculated to let them know they had blundered into reserved seating and they ought to move along.

Serenity’s reproof was relatively ineffective due to her stepping off the elevator with her cell phone glued to her ear. Sarah and Roy, oblivious to what Serenity considered an error in judgment, remained where they were, both of them engrossed in watching a televised baseball game on a set where the volume was now turned as high as it would go.

“I remembered something else,” Serenity said into her phone as she flounced into another chair. “Call me back when you can.” She closed her phone and looked at her brother. “I swear, half the time Donna doesn’t seem to have her mind on the job, and I’m really tired of it. Yes, I know she’s been around for years. She’s familiar with the clients and she knows the business, but it’s about time she figured out that she isn’t indispensable. I’ll bet I could find someone else to do her job in no time, and I wouldn’t have to pay that new person nearly as much as I’m paying her.”

“So do it,” Win said, shrugging. “If Donna’s not pulling her weight, get rid of her. You don’t owe her anything.”

The door to Mimi’s room opened and Hal burst into the hallway. His face was flushed. His hair stood on end. Looking distraught, he hurried over to the nurses’ station. “Where is she?”

“Who?” the charge nurse asked.

“Sister Anselm. I called the hotel to ask her to come back to the hospital. The person at the front desk told me that she never came back there after she left to go to the hospital last night.”

“I’m sorry. I haven’t seen her, either. Is there something I can help you with?” the nurse asked.

“It’s the pain,” Hal said. “It’s getting worse. That one dose of morphine doesn’t seem to be doing the trick, but I’m afraid to give her more than that.”

“Come on,” the charge nurse said, hurrying out from behind the counter. “Let me see what’s going on.”

They started for Mimi’s room, but Serenity sprang to her feet and blocked their path.

“Don’t you dare let him go back in there!” Serenity shrieked at the nurse. “Don’t you see what he’s doing? He’s claiming she’s in pain so he can slip her an overdose. You’ve got to stop him. Don’t let him do this. He’s killing her right here in front of everybody, and you’re going to let him get away with it.”

“Out of my way!” Hal Cooper growled. “Now!”

“Then I’m going inside, too,” Serenity said.

“No,” Hal replied. “You’re not.”

His fists were balled. He looked as though he was ready to deck her. Pushing past her, Hal and the nurse disappeared inside. Serenity seemed ready to follow, but before she could, Mark Levy left his spot in the corner and put a restraining hand on her shoulder.

“I think you need to stay out here.”

“Let me go,” she said furiously, trying to shake his grip. “What are you doing? Who the hell do you think you are?”

They had been in the same waiting room for hours, but Mark’s presence hadn’t penetrated Serenity’s armor of self-absorption. From the surprised expression on her face as she peered up at him, Ali was sure she was seeing the young man for the first time.

“I’m nobody,” Mark said, letting go of her arm and shrugging his narrow shoulders. “Just a friend of the family.”

Ali knew that was true. He was a longtime friend of James’s family, and now a very new friend of Hal Cooper’s family, too. But he was a long damned way from being a nobody.

As Mark stepped away from Serenity and returned to his seat, Serenity caught sight of the bright red sign. “What’s this?” she demanded.

A second nurse hurried to the door to join the one who was already there. “It’s a DNR,” she said. “It means no heroic measures.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Serenity retorted. “What it really means is you’re going to let him kill her.”

Where’s Hal? Why isn’t he here? And where’s the nun? Or a nurse? Or a doctor? I need them. I need someone to punch the button. I need it. Please.

“I’m here,” Hal was saying overhead. “I’m sorry. I had to go get someone. I was afraid to push it again so soon. I was afraid I’d give you too much.”

There’s no such thing as too much, she thought. No such thing.

His face looks funny. Like he’s going to cry. He doesn’t know what to do, and that’s the thing. Hal always knows what to do. The right thing to do.

Please. I want to go away. I want to go into the fog. The fog doesn’t hurt like this. The fog doesn’t hurt.

Hal is crying. Why? Oh wait, that’s right-I know. It’s because he’s afraid he’s going to lose me. Doesn’t want to lose me, and I don’t want to lose him, either. But he knows, and I know he knows. This time when I go into the cottony cloud, I may not be coming back. I’ll fall into the dream and the dream will have me. Even now, it’s starting. I can feel it.

But then, for only a few brief moments before the morphine took hold, she had one last glimpse of clarity, and that was when she remembered some of what had happened. She couldn’t quite grasp all of it, but somehow she knew who had done this. In knowing who, she also knew why. What didn’t make sense to her was that she had forgotten. How was that possible?

She knew she needed to tell someone, but in order to do that, they would have to ask her. They would have to ask the right questions, ones she could answer with a yes or a no, with one blink or two. But not right now. She was going. The fog was coming again, and she needed it. She really needed it.

Maybe later she could tell Hal what she remembered. If she still remembered.

Before the door to Mimi Cooper’s hospital room closed completely, Ali had her phone in hand. She sent a text message to Sister Anselm:

Where are you? Hal Cooper is looking for you. Things are bad here. I think we’re losing Mimi.

Once Ali pressed Send, she sat with her phone open in her hand, waiting for a response, but none came. Sister Anselm had told them she was leaving for the hotel. If she had never arrived at the hotel, where was she? An uneasy feeling washed over Ali. Something was wrong. Sister Anselm was a woman of her word. If she said she was going there, that’s what she would do, and she most especially would not go missing in action when a dying patient needed her.

When there was no response to her text message, Ali tried calling Sister Anselm’s cell. The call went straight to voice mail. With everyone listening in, she didn’t leave a message, but the fact that Sister Anselm hadn’t answered either the text message or the voice call was even more worrisome.

Seeing Mark observing her, Ali closed her phone. “I’m going back to the hotel to see if I can locate Sister Anselm,” she said. “In case she turns up here while I’m gone, please ask her to give Cecelia a call.”

Mark nodded. “Sure thing,” he said.

Ali’s computer was still open and still plugged in. Knowing that carrying that and the heavy briefcase would slow her down, she turned to Mark again. “I’ll only be gone a few minutes. Do you mind watching this?”

“Not at all.”

Making her way through the hospital lobby, Ali was relieved to see that it was empty of media folks. The reporters and cameras had evidently moved on to the next hot story. That would change, however, once Mimi Cooper did succumb to her injuries. Then the reporters would all come surging back.

Outside on the sidewalk the early afternoon heat was appalling. Earlier in the morning, the waiting room’s droning television set had carried a local weather report. Ali seemed to remember that a smiling weatherman had reported that afternoon temperatures in the Phoenix area were expected to cross the 110-degree mark. As she hiked along the sidewalk on Camelback returning to the Ritz, Ali suspected that had already happened, and she regretted her early-morning decision to leave her Cayenne in the hotel parking lot. She wouldn’t make that mistake again.

Sister Anselm can walk back and forth as much as she likes, Ali told herself. When I go back this time, I’m bringing the car.

By the time Ali reached the hotel entrance, rivers of sweat were dribbling into her eyes and her head felt like it was about to explode. The wig seemed to attract and hold the heat like fake grass. Ali was tempted to peel it off and leave it in her room, but she couldn’t do that, either. She’d be going back to the burn unit eventually, and she couldn’t afford to ditch her disguise prematurely.

Once inside the hotel, she realized that afternoon tea at the Ritz was well under way. Ali paused and looked around hopefully, thinking that perhaps Sister Anselm had simply stopped off for a bit of refreshment. There was no sign of her anywhere.

Turning on her heel, Ali approached the concierge’s desk. “I’m looking for Sister Anselm,” she announced.

Frowning, the concierge gave Ali an appraising look. “Who might I say is asking?”

The mat of red hair might be hot as blue blazes, but it worked-too well at times. This very same concierge had addressed her by name yesterday as her blond self. Today, as a redhead, she was a stranger and suspect.

“I’m Ali Reynolds,” she said quickly, fumbling her hotel key out of her pocket. “Room three oh one. Sister Anselm is a friend of mine.”

“Oh, yes, Ms. Reynolds,” he said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t recognize you, but yes, now I remember. You and Sister Anselm joined us for tea yesterday afternoon. I’m afraid she’s not here at the moment.” He glanced at his watch. “I haven’t seen her since yesterday, when she left for the hospital. Have you tried calling her room?”

“She left the hospital a while ago and said she was coming back here.”

“On foot?” the concierge asked.

Ali nodded. The concierge smiled and added, “Of course, she always walks, summer or winter. She doesn’t seem to mind. Perhaps she walked past me while I was busy with someone else. I can try calling her room, if you like.”

“Please,” Ali said.

The concierge smiled. “It’s my pleasure.”

When he dialed the room number, however, there was no answer. Ali turned from him and went to check with the front desk. No one there had seen Sister Anselm, either.

The worry that had been niggling at the edge of Ali’s consciousness blossomed into full-blown fear. Something bad had happened to Sister Anselm on her mile-long walk from the hospital back to the hotel.

Ali turned back to the concierge. “I’ll need my car right away,” she said. “I don’t have the ticket with me.”

“It’s the blue Cayenne, correct?” the concierge asked.

“Yes.”

“I’ll have them bring it around immediately.”

Ali hurried back outside to where the parking attendants waited in the shade with a cooling mist blowing down from the ceiling of the porte cochere. She turned to the uniformed attendant who seemed to be in charge. “Did you see Sister Anselm come or go a little while ago?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “I did. She was just coming in the back way when a car stopped beside her. The passenger window rolled down. She spoke to someone inside the vehicle. Then she climbed inside, and they drove away.”

“What kind of vehicle?” Ali asked.

“One of those new crossovers. A Honda, I think. Bright red.”

“Was there a man driving, or a woman?”

“I couldn’t tell. There may have been two people in the car when it stopped. Sister Anselm got in the front seat, but I think someone else was in the back.”

“Which way did they go?”

“They pulled a U-turn and then left the back way. Going west toward the hospital it’s easier to turn left on Twenty-fourth than it is to cross all six lanes of traffic on Camelback.”

The attendant had made it all sound so routine, as though having someone drop by to give Sister Anselm a ride was an everyday occurrence

But this isn’t every day, Ali thought grimly. Sister Anselm may have thought she was getting a ride back to the hospital, but she never made it.

When Ali’s Cayenne showed up, she clambered into the driver’s seat. Not wanting to betray the emotions that were roiling around inside her, she left the hotel the same way the unidentified Honda had-through the driveway at the back. Stopping at the light, Ali looked up and down Twenty-fourth. She knew that the first thing to do was go back to the hospital to make sure Sister Anselm hadn’t shown up there, but if she hadn’t-if someone had made off with her against her will-whoever it was had at least a forty-five-minute head start.

A few blocks to the west, just beyond Saint Gregory’s, speeding traffic on Highway 51 ran north and south at sixty-plus miles per hour. If the Honda had made for that, it could be miles away from here by now, and there was no way of guessing which direction the vehicle had gone.

The light changed and Ali moved into traffic. As for who might have been at the wheel, it must have been someone known to Sister Anselm or she wouldn’t have gotten into the vehicle. Or would she? Had she been forced? And if so, by whom?

That wasn’t hard to figure out. Sister Anselm had spent the better part of two days with a dying woman. Hal Cooper himself had said that Mimi had moments of clarity when she emerged briefly from her morphine-induced sleep. The people who had done this were probably terrified that during one of those lucid moments Mimi might have passed the identity of her attackers along to Sister Anselm.

And there are most likely at least two of them, Ali reminded herself, because there were two people in the vehicle that dumped Mimi’s Infiniti in Gilbert.

As Ali waited impatiently for the left-hand turn signal to allow her onto Camelback, she realized there was a fallacy in her reasoning.

It doesn’t matter if Mimi told her or not, Ali realized. If they think Sister Anselm knows, they need to get rid of her before she has a chance to pass that information along to someone else.

“Damn!” Ali exclaimed aloud. “What the hell am I supposed to do now?”