J.A. Jance's Ali Reynolds Mysteries 3-Book Boxed Set, Volume 2: Trial by Fire, Fatal Error, Left for Dead (27 page)

“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.”

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.”