Shaking her head, Ali managed to laugh off his suggestion. She reached for her now-cold coffee. “No, thanks,” she said. “That’s not necessary. I’ll just sit here for a few minutes.”
“Well, at least let me call and cancel your afternoon appointment,” Leland suggested. “There’s no point in going through with it if you’re not feeling up to snuff.”
At first Ali didn’t remember what appointment he meant, but then she did. As a high school senior, Ali had been the surprised recipient of the very first Amelia Dougherty Askins Scholarship, an award that had made it possible for her to go on to college. Now, over twenty years later and through a series of fluke circumstances, Ali found herself in charge of administering the scholarship program that had once benefitted her.
Rather than being part of the regular financial aid programs, the Askins Scholarship had a somewhat unorthodox selection process. There was no formal application. Early in September, Leland Brooks, after months of investigation, had presented Ali with a list of ten possible candidates. The deserving students were drawn from the Verde Valley’s various secondary schools. Once Ali and Leland had winnowed that list down to three finalists, Leland had gone about collecting as much information as possible on all three. Ali had decided that before making her final decision, she wanted to interview each of the candidates. The first of those interviews was scheduled for later that day.
“So you don’t want me to cancel your meeting with Miss Marsh?” Leland confirmed. Haley Marsh, a seventeen-year-old single mother, was a senior at Cottonwood’s Mingus Mountain Union High School.
“No,” Ali said. “Considering what’s going on around here today, a drive over to Cottonwood would probably be good for what ails me. It’s not until afternoon, though. In the meantime it might be a good idea if I spent an hour or so going over the files on all the finalists.”
Leland nodded. “Very well,” he said.
Just then Bryan emerged from the house. Ali was relieved when he merely nodded in her direction and walked to his pickup without bothering to engage her in conversation. He clambered into the vehicle, wheeled it around, and drove out of the driveway.
What if Dave is right about Bryan Forester? Ali wondered. And what should I do about the cabinet order? She had told Bryan she’d wire the money to get the rush job started, but should she? Wouldn’t that be sending good money after bad?
Ali sat there for some time thinking about it, but then the whining sound of someone installing wallboard screws came to her attention. It was a wake-up call. Regardless of what was going on with Bryan, the job was moving forward. If her remodeling project was ever going to be completed, and no matter who was doing the actual work, Ali would need those cabinets on hand sooner rather than later. She spent the next little while making sure her rush order of cabinets was under way.
She was still at the table and finishing up on the cabinet call when the two cameramen came over to the table and helped themselves to coffee and doughnuts. They seemed surprised to see her.
“I want this morning’s tape,” she said.
“Excuse me?”
Which one is he? Ali wondered. Robert or Raymond?
“The tape,” she said. “The one you were doing this morning when Detective Holman was here. You were hired to film a home remodel. You weren’t hired to film a homicide investigation.”
“But it’s all part of the same-”
“Detective Holman’s visit doesn’t fall under the heading of home remodel,” Ali insisted. “I want whatever film you may have taken of that. I clearly remember stipulating in the contract that I had the right to say what film would be released to the public and what wouldn’t. That means I want a copy of the whole tape. That way, if all or part of it is released to any venue without my express approval, I’ll know where the material came from.”
“But what about the wallboard installation?” Robert/Raymond objected. “That’s on the same set of footage.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, the crew is still hanging wallboard,” she said. “You’ll have plenty of usable footage on that, but the cop stuff is off limits-all of it.”
“Well,” Robert/Raymond said, “I can’t just give it to you. It’s not that simple. This equipment doesn’t create an actual tape, as such. I can send you the file by e-mail, if you like.”
“E-mail is fine,” Ali said. “But I want it today, no later than five. And if I were you, I’d make damned sure that I didn’t accidentally e-mail it to anyone else, either. I’m the one who determines who gets the material and who doesn’t. If you try passing my film along to someone who isn’t authorized to have it, be advised: I have plenty of trial attorneys at the ready who’ll be only too glad to take you to court and hold you accountable.”
The two cameramen walked away, grumbling to themselves, as Leland Brooks appeared with three file folders in hand. “Good,” he said. “The two of them are forever throwing their weight around. It’s about time someone put them in their places.” With a ceremonial flourish, he set the folders on the table in front of Ali. “Here you are,” he added. “The official dossiers, as it were. When I put these together, I always feel a bit like M from the old James Bond movies.”
“Don’t you mean Q?” Ali asked. “He’s the one with the gadgets. Isn’t M a woman?”
“I know,” Leland replied with an impish grin. “I definitely mean M.”
Ali remembered the night Arabella Ashcroft had realized that her long-term butler was gay. She had hit the roof about it. Ali liked the fact that Leland felt free to tease with her about the situation.
Ali spread the folders out in front of her and glanced at the three names. Two of the candidates were female-Haley Marsh, from Cottonwood, and Marissa Dvorak, from Sedona. The male was Ricky Farraday, also from Sedona High School.
Leland reached down and tapped Ricky’s file. “As far as I’m concerned, he’s out.”
In the spring of his junior year, Ricky Farraday had gained some national exposure as the victim of Sedona High School’s first ever documented hate crime when he’d been publicly outed by having his locker filled with swarms of fruit flies. The ACLU had come to his rescue and had obtained an undisclosed monetary settlement. He had also been thrown out of the house by his hard-nosed, homophobic father. Ali knew from things Chris had mentioned that Ricky was now living in an apartment on his own-at his parents’ expense-as a supposedly emancipated adult.
Even though Askins Scholarship winners were traditionally female, Ali hadn’t objected when Leland Brooks had put Ricky’s name on the list. Ricky’s grades up through his junior year had certainly merited that. Then there was the similarity between Ricky Farraday’s background and Leland Brooks’s own family history. After serving with the Royal Marines during the Korean War, Leland had been cast aside by his nearest and dearest because they hadn’t wanted “his sort hanging about.” Being rejected by his blood relations was the real reason Leland had emigrated from the UK to the States. Bearing all that in mind, Ali was somewhat startled to hear that Leland was prepared to kick Ricky Farraday off Scholarship Island.
“How come?” she asked. She more than half expected to hear that since he was living on his own, his senior-year GPA wasn’t good enough. That was what often happened when kids went off to live without parental supervision for the first time.
“Because he’s a fraud,” Leland declared forcefully. “A lying, cheating fraud.”
Ali was stunned. “You mean he’s not gay?”
“He may be gay,” Leland allowed. “Although I’m not sure I’m entirely convinced of that, either. My main problem with Ricky is that I’ve gotten to the bottom of the fruit-fly escapade. He’s a victim of a self-inflicted hate crime.”