Ali had made arrangements to have brunch in the hotel dining room with her parents and Chris. To get there, she had to make her way through the lobby. Once again there was a gaggle of camera-and microphone-wielding reporters waiting for her.
"Ms. Reynolds, Ms. Reynolds," one of them shouted as Ali exited the elevator. "Are you all right? Is your mother okay?"
Ali started to walk past without answering, but then, remembering they were only doing their jobs, she relented and decided to get it over with. She stopped and spoke directly into one of the cameras. "My mother is fine," she said. "So am I."
"At the time April Gaddis was holding you and your mother at gunpoint, did either of you suspect that she intended to commit suicide?" another reporter wanted to know.
"I did everything in my power to keep it from happening," Ali answered. "A troubled young woman died unnecessarily. So did her baby. This is a very unfortunate situation for all concerned, including April Gaddis's grieving family. I'd appreciate it if you'd all respect our privacy. I have no further comment. Neither does my mother."
"But"
"No buts," Ali replied firmly and walked away, leaving a flurry of unanswered questions echoing behind her. She was relieved when she finally made it into the dining room, where the others were already gathered and where her father was perusing the menu.
Edie took one look at her daughter's face and was immediately on the alert. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," Ali said. "Just that bunch of reporters outside."
Edie nodded. "Such pushy people," she said. "You didn't used to be like them, did you?"
"I hope not," Ali said, "but I probably was."
She sat down next to her father, who was still engrossed in the menu. "The prices here are higher than a cat's back," he announced. "This is highway robbery."
Bob's customary grousing was exactly what Ali needed right then. It took her mind off the reporters milling in the lobby.
"Don't worry about it, Dad," Ali said. "You're not paying."
"I don't care," her father returned. "It's the principle of the thing. The food better be top drawer, or I'm going to have a long chat with the manager."
As it turned out, the food was fine.
"So when can we go home?" Bob asked, settling in to mow his way through a plate of eggs Benedict that he pronounced almost as good as his.
"Mom won't be able to leave for a while," Ali told him. "The three of usMom, Dave, and Iare going to need to be available for the next several days while the investigation continues. And I still have to give my deposition for the wrongful dismissal suit."
"You don't need to hang around for any of that, Robert," Edie said. "Someone should be home minding the store. I don't like having the Sugar Loaf running on automatic with both of us out of town."
"You wouldn't mind if I went home?" Bob asked his wife. Then he turned to Ali. "And what about Paul's funeral? Won't you need me here for that?"
Ali was having a difficult time imagining how she was going to manage her estranged husband's funeral, but having to do it under the watchful eyes of both her parents would make it that much harder.
"You and Chris can go home, Dad," Ali told him. "Mom and I will be fine."
"I'm not going," Chris said. "Gramps and I already talked it over. I'll stay here for a couple more days and drive home with Grandma."
"Good," Edie said. "I'm glad that's settled, as long as you promise you won't drive the whole way without stopping to rest. You're not a spring chicken, you know, Bob."
During breakfast, Dave seemed far quieter than usual. At the cafe in Sedona, he and Bob teased each other constantly, but this morning Dave didn't participate in any of the hijinks. When Chris bugged out to go visit some friends and Bob and Edie went in search of the dessert buffet, Ali turned to Dave. "What's wrong?"
"I don't like being told to buzz off," Dave replied.
"Who told you that?" Ali asked.
"My good friend Easy. According to him, it's hands off at the Pink Swan. He says the DEA is involved in some kind of complicated, long-term investigation going on over there. That means the Feds will take a very dim view of anything that upsets their apple cart."
"But if they're investigating the place, isn't there a possibility that they might have surveillance records that would show exactly what happened the night Paul disappeared?" Ali asked.
"They might," Dave agreed. "But good luck laying hands on them. The Feds aren't going to lift a finger to help anyone, including LAPD homicide, if they're running an undercover operation and helping out would tip their hand prematurely."
"How can that be?" Ali objected. "Paul was murdered. It makes no sense that the DEA won't help us."
"That's where you're wrong," Dave told her grimly. "The Feds don't have to make sense."
By then Bob and Edie were returning to the table with their dessert plates piled high. When Helga Myerhoff called a few minutes later, Ali excused herself. Avoiding the hotel lobby, she ducked into the nearest restroom to take the call.
"I heard all about what happened from Victor," Helga said. "Thank God you and your mother are okay."
Ali couldn't help wondering if Victor would be charging Ali for calling Helga and if Helga would be charging Ali for taking the call. As far as Ali could see, in this game the only ones coming out ahead were the lawyers.
"Yes," Ali agreed. "Thank God."
"As far as Roseanne Maxwell is concerned, I've been asking around," Helga continued. "If there's a divorce in the offing at the Maxwell household, nobody I know has heard word one about it. And nobody knows where Roseanne's disappeared to, either. That includes her best friend, who hasn't had a call from her. She says Roseanne isn't answering her phone and that her voice mail message box is full."
To Ali's way of thinking and with everything else that had happened, this sounded ominous. Especially for Roseanne.
"Jake told us she was in New York shopping for clothes."
"That doesn't compute," Helga replied. "The friend I just told you aboutthe one who complained about not hearing from Roseanneis also the friend Roseanne usually does her NYC shopping junkets with. Since Jake hasn't done so, the friend is actually thinking of turning in a missing persons report."
"I hope she does," Ali said.
"Anything else you need from me right now?" Helga asked.
"You'll let me know if you hear anything?" Ali asked.
"Definitely."
Ali ended the call and returned to the dining room, where she discovered her father had managed to pay for brunch after all.
"Thanks, Dad," she told him.
"Thanks for letting me go home," he said. "L.A. isn't for me. It's too big, too crowded, and way too expensive."
"Too expensive is right," Edie agreed. "It doesn't make a bit of sense for us to be staying at a place like this at whatever king's ransom they charge per night when a perfectly good house is sitting empty just a few miles away."
"The house on Robert Lane is still considered a crime scene," Dave pointed out.
"But for how long?" Edie wanted to know. "With April dead and Ali and me both safe, I don't see why that's necessary."
"It's a crime scene until LAPD releases it," Dave told her. "The detectives need to determine exactly what happened to Monique Ragsdale and also what happened to you."
"But April told us what happened to her mother," Edie objected. "That's what I told that first detective who interviewed me this morning. I'm sure it's what Ali told them as well."
"The problem," Dave pointed out, "is that you happen to be Ali's mother. As far as the investigators are concerned, one or both of you could be lying to protect the other. And until there's some forensic evidence to back up the story that April is the one who pushed Monique down the stairs amp;"
"What about the scratches I saw on April's arms?" Edie asked. "Can't they be matched up with scrapings taken from underneath Monique's fingernails?"