Deadly Stakes (28 page)

“How did that work out?”

“Okay for a while. I think for a long time he managed to pull the wool over almost everyone’s eyes. Then he had a stroke and died. All of a sudden Mom’s condition was out in the open, because she was clearly losing ground. I never quite figured out how it happened, but I ended up being the bad guy in that scenario. People who knew my parents came to the conclusion that I should have done something to help sooner—as though I should have been able to fix it. The problem is, Alzheimer’s isn’t fixable. Besides, given my father’s attitude toward my specialty, he would have eaten ground glass before accepting my help.”

“Did Molly know about your mother’s condition for a long time?”

“I doubt it. She came home when Dad ended up in a hospital with
a stroke, but she showed up armed with the trump card. The folks had given Molly a medical power of attorney for both of them. As soon as she got here, she used it to post the DNR in Dad’s room. And ever since, she’s used it to keep me out of the loop as far as Mom’s treatment is concerned.”

“How do you feel about that?” Ali asked.

“How do you think I feel?” he asked with an edge of bitterness. “At the time, Molly went ballistic right along with everyone else, and blamed me for Mom’s deteriorating condition, although I wasn’t allowed to do anything about it then and haven’t been able to since then, either.”

“So you have no say in decisions about your mother’s care?”

“None whatsoever. I probably could have fought that in the beginning, but I was up to my eyeballs in fighting with Gemma and her attorneys. I didn’t have the energy to wage another war on a whole different front with Molly, especially since Molly, Gemma, and Mom were thick as thieves. My financial life was already spinning out of control. A few months later, it went over a cliff. When I saw I would need a place to stay while I got on my feet, I ended up having to go to Molly, practically on bended knee, for help. She made it clear that I could live in the casita but only so long as I promised not to interfere in any way with how she was caring for our mother.”

“As long as she had the durable power of attorney, she had you over a barrel.”

“In spades,” Chip agreed. “Did then and still does.”

“From what you’re saying, I take it you and your sister aren’t on the best of terms?”

“Molly and I were never on good terms,” Chip replied. “I know there are families where brothers and sisters get along like gangbusters and chum around together. Our family has never been like that. We’re likely to show up for compulsory photo ops on major holidays, but that’s about it. More for show than go.”

“Did you ever tell Lynn what was going on with your mother?”

Chip paused. “No,” he said finally.

“Why not?”

“Because I was ashamed, I guess,” he admitted. “Because I didn’t want her to think I was a hypocrite. Here I am, out at the support group meetings, telling my patients that Alzheimer’s is something that has to be handled as a family, while as far as my own family is concerned, I’m completely shut out from practicing what I preach. So that’s one part of my reluctance to have Lynn involved in my mother’s life. The other part is my mother’s total focus on Gemma. It doesn’t matter if Gemma is dead or alive. As long as Mom maintains that powerful connection to my ex-wife, she’s never going to accept Lynn’s presence in my life. On the one occasion I did try to introduce them—”

“I know. Your mother went ballistic.”

“That’s putting it mildly.”

“How would you characterize your sister’s care of your mother?”

“I’m not privy to everything that goes on, but she seems to be doing a good enough job. For a while there were problems with Mom setting off the alarm system overnight, but I believe they adjusted her meds so she’s sleeping better. At least she was. There’s a chance that the shock of Gemma’s death might spark another crisis. In that case, Molly might end up needing extra help. She might even call Consuelo back.”

“That’s the maid your sister fired?”

“Yes,” Chip said. “I’m sure she could use the work. She was really loyal to my mom. It’s a shame she had to be let go. Molly always claimed it was a matter of saving money.”

“Might the maid have stolen something?”

“Consuelo? Never,” Chip declared. “Why?”

“Your mother said something to Gemma about losing a necklace, a diamond necklace. With your mother’s condition, it’s hard to tell if it’s something that happened recently or a long time ago.”

“Yes,” Chip agreed. “The time lines do tend to get muddled, but I can’t imagine Consuelo ever stealing something from anyone at all, much less from Mother. I think it’s more likely that whatever it is simply got misplaced.”

“Okay,” Ali said. “One last question. Did your ex-wife have a friend or acquaintance named Dennis?”

“What I don’t know about my ex’s affairs, romantic or otherwise, would fill volumes—for all I know, there could have been a dozen Dennises in her life, but I don’t remember hearing that name mentioned. Ever.”

“I take it there’s still no word from Cap Horning?”

“Not so far. Anything else?”

Ali’s phone buzzed. Stuart Ramey’s name and number appeared on the screen. “Thanks for your help, Chip. I have to run. I’ve got another call.”

25

H
ey,” Stuart said when she switched over. “How are things?”

“It’s been an interesting morning.” While she put the Cayenne in gear and eased out of the parking lot, she gave Stu a quick summary of her day so far. She finished by saying, “Now I’m on my way to Doris Ralston’s house to have another chat with her daughter about Monday night. Our interview last night ended abruptly. I know a little more about their situation now, and I have a few more questions. What about you?”

“After you told me about Sanders giving that chunk of change to his son, I went digging in the Mission’s finances and picked up an interesting tidbit. Contributions are down across the board, and so is fund-raising. As a result, the Mission coffers have been running on empty. Until this week, they were three months behind on their lease and behind on payments to suppliers. They’ve evidently been using rent money to make payroll and pay their food vendors. As of Wednesday of this week, their lease is current. It looks like an anonymous forty-five-thousand-dollar cash donation came in at the end of last week. I’m guessing they used some of that to bring their rent up to date and get caught up with their suppliers.”

“Let me guess where this sudden windfall came from,” Ali said. “Would this anonymous benefactor happen to be James Sanders, aka Mason?”

“That’s what I’m thinking,” Stuart replied. “According to my math,
we’ve accounted for all the money Scott Ballentine handed over to Sanders in gambling chips.”

“But why would he give the whole sum away?” Ali asked. “Why not keep it?”

“I don’t know,” Stuart said. “I’ll keep digging on that. As for what you asked me earlier? I’ll keep looking, but so far, I’ve come up empty on the Dennis situation. Anything else?”

“Just for argument’s sake, I’d like you to take a look at Molly Handraker.”

“Why? What am I looking for?”

“Just background material,” Ali said. “There’s something about Gemma, Valerie, and Molly that doesn’t ring true. So far, I’ve discovered that at least two of these so-called best friends are underhanded backstabbers who maintain a wonderfully goody-goody public persona. As far as the world is concerned, Molly is the downtrodden younger sister bravely assuming the entire burden of caring for an aging mother.”

“You’re thinking appearances might be deceiving?”

“Maybe. Just let me know what you find. Molly’s been married three times. She’s still married to a guy named Barry Handraker. They used to live in Minneapolis, and I’m assuming he still does. Gemma and Valerie Sloan have a very low opinion of the guy and were counseling Molly to dump him.”

“Okay,” Stuart said. “Will do. Call me back when you get out of your interview.”

By then Ali had arrived at the Ralston residence and parked in the driveway just outside the front entrance. It was much easier to find the second time, in bright November daylight, rather than in the dark. Everything about the place was impressive, from the red-tiled roof to the lush green lawn edged with beds of newly planted petunias and pansies. Ali knew that maintaining that kind of landscape didn’t come cheap in terms of water or labor. In fact, as she watched, a yard guy wearing an immense white Stetson and pushing a lawn mower emerged from the side of the house. Seeing her, he tipped his
hat in her direction. Then he turned on the mower and went to work as Ali rang the bell.

No one answered on the first ring or the second, but the house was large enough that Ali waited a minute and then tried a third time. That was when she heard Molly’s voice from somewhere inside.

“I’m coming. I’m coming.” There was a pause and the sound of something being slammed shut in the entryway. “Where’s the damned deadbolt key?” Molly muttered. “Somebody must have moved it. Wait just a minute. I’ll be back.”

Long seconds passed. Eventually, Ali heard the sound of a key scraping in the lock, and the door was flung open. An angry Molly Handraker stood in the doorway. Though it was early afternoon, she had clearly just stepped out of the shower. Barefoot and wearing nothing but a terry-cloth robe, she had a damp towel wrapped around her head.

“You again?” she demanded irritably, peering first at Ali and then glancing around the rest of the yard. “Couldn’t you at least have called first?”

“I’m sorry if it’s inconvenient,” Ali said placatingly. “I was in the neighborhood. I just have a few more questions.”

“All right, all right,” Molly said impatiently. “Come in.”

As Ali stepped into the entryway, she saw a stack of luggage sitting near the front door as if waiting to be loaded into a vehicle. She waited while Molly slammed the door shut, then stomped around the luggage and through the entryway, leading the way into the living room.

“Is someone taking a trip?” Ali asked, pulling out her iPad and opening the lid.

“Not that it’s any of your business,” Molly replied, “but I’m going to drop Mother off in Palm Springs and let her spend a couple of days with Jack and Gloria Manning, some friends of my father’s. All the emotional turmoil with Gemma and Chip is too much for her. As you saw last night, she can’t remember from one moment to another if Gemma’s alive or dead, and it’s too hard on both of us for me to keep
telling her what’s what over and over. I’ve decided it’ll be easier if she’s out of town, at least until after the funeral.”

“Wouldn’t participating in a funeral help her?” Ali asked, talking as she typed “Jack and Gloria Manning” and “Palm Springs” into her iPad. “I mean, maybe the formal mourning rituals would help clarify the situation for her.”

“I’ll take care of my mother,” Molly said. “Now what do you want?”

The night before, Ali had come away with the impression that Molly Handraker was close to saintliness as far as her dealings with her ailing mother were concerned. This morning the saintly mask had slipped a little, and Molly’s mean-girl tone and manner were more in line with what Ali might have expected from one of Gemma Ralston’s and Valerie Sloan’s “best friends.”

“I just wanted to clarify one or two things. I understand that you and Gemma had a disagreement of some kind the other night—the night she went missing. I wondered if it might be important.”

Molly seemed to consider her answer before she spoke. “You know that old saw about people who live in glass houses not throwing stones?”

Ali nodded. “What about it?”

“I got tired of being the target of all that stone throwing,” Molly said. “I mean, here’s Gemma busily telling me ‘What you need to do is this’ and ‘What you need to do is that,’ when her own life isn’t exactly a model of perfect relationships. I figured she didn’t have much room to talk, and I told her so. Then I left, came home, and went to bed. That’s all there was to it.”

“Then there was that odd moment when your mother said something about Gemma being asleep in the car.”

“You may have noticed, my mother gets confused on occasion,” Molly said. “Things that happened months ago seem like yesterday to her. You have to know that Gemma was known to have a few too many now and then. A couple of months ago, when she was in no condition to drive, we brought her home from the club and left her in Mother’s car long enough to sleep it off. Once she sobered up, I took her back
down to the club to pick up her car so she could drive herself home.

“The whole episode offended Mother’s tender sensibilities and, like everything else to do with Gemma, it’s stuck in her very random access memory. At the time, she thought I should have brought Gemma into the house and put her to bed properly, in one of the guest rooms. Of course, Mama didn’t bother considering the physical impossibility of my being able to get a sleeping drunk up the stairs and through the house single-handed. That was all my problem, not hers. So periodically, Mama goes off on one of those ‘Gemma’s sleeping’ rants, just like she did last night. When that happens, I try to consider the source and ignore it.”

Having heard what Luis had to say about Gemma’s drinking habits, Ali was tempted to accept Molly’s explanation at face value. Still, something about the supposedly plausible answer jarred. It was a little too smooth, too pat—as though it had been rehearsed or delivered before, verbatim.

“What about your mother’s missing necklace?” Ali asked.

That one caught Molly off guard. Her cheeks paled. “What missing necklace?” she asked.

“You know,” Ali said with a careless shrug. “The one Gemma offered to come help find.”

There was a momentary silence. Gradually, color seeped back into Molly’s face. Ali knew something important had just happened, though she wasn’t sure what.

Shaking her head, Molly regrouped. “Oh, that,” she said offhandedly. “Same thing. As I said before, Mother gets confused from time to time. She had told Gemma that morning on the phone that she had lost her favorite necklace, one Daddy gave her for their fiftieth wedding anniversary. Turns out Mama had it put away in an old jewelry box instead of the one she usually uses, so the necklace was never lost in the first place.”