The other thing the words didn't do justice to was the frantic lifesaving effort that had ensued. Dave had been in the thick of the action and only his knowledgeable application of pressure to the wound had saved his gravely injured friend's life. Ali's last glimpse of a blood-spattered Dave had been as the EMTs helped him into the waiting ambulance along with Easy.
A little past noon Edie Larson emerged from the pool house. Carrying a cup of coffee, she set it on the patio table next to Ali's computer and then she sat down next to her daughter.
"How are things?" Edie asked. "Any word about Dave's friend?"
"No," Ali said. "At least they're not updating his condition anywhere here."
"And you haven't heard from Dave?"
"Not so far."
"You will," Edie said confidently.
Ali studied her mother. Edie's face looked far more worn than usual. "You never let on that you knew about the whole thing when I was talking to you on the phone," Ali observed.
"No, I didn't," Edie agreed. "I was afraid I might give something away. I knew Dave and the others were working hard with Dad and Chris to get the two of you out of there, but I wanted you to hear the sound of my voice. I wanted you to know that you weren't all alone out there."
Ali had pictured her mother standing outside the gate of Robert Lane during what she had thought might be their last-ever phone call. Now she knew that, in actual fact, Edie had placed the call from the safety of an LAPD squad car.
Ali reached out and covered her mother's hand. "Thank you," she said.
"You're welcome," Edie returned. "But knowing you were out there with all those bullets flying amp;" Edie shook her head. "Oh, my. I was terrified."
"So was I," Ali admitted. And with good reason, she thought.
Edie stood up. Her freshly poured cup of coffee was already gone. She could drink coffee hotter than anyone Ali knew.
"Is there any food in the house?" Edie asked, nodding toward the big house where none of them had stayed. "The pool house fridge has coffee and a bottle of ketchup but that's about it."
"Probably," Ali said, "but I don't know for sure."
"I'll go check," Edie said. "Chris was still asleep on the couch when I came through the living room, but I know we'll all feel better if we have a decent breakfast under our belts."
Vintage Edie Larson, Ali thought.
Once Edie was in the house, Ali continued scanning the various online news Web sites. There were three that included pictures of Dave dragging her away from the Alero during the rest area confrontation. The captions on two of those identified her as an "unidentified carjacking victim." In the third, the usual suspect and journalistic busybody LMB, the blogger at socal copshop.com, identified her by name in the caption of a particularly unflattering photo. In it, Ali looked downright ghastly.
Knowing that some of her cutloose fans were bound to see the photo and worry, Ali decided it was time to face up to her blog and write something about what had been going on.
CUTLOOSEBLOG.COM
Tuesday, September 20, 2005
Years ago I remember reading a poem by Rudyard Kipling in which he said "the female of the species is more deadly than the male." In the last few days, I have seen this statement borne out on several different fronts.
In recent days I had the misfortune of seeing my former husband's fiancee choose to end her own life and that of her unborn child rather than face the consequences of her own murderous actions. April Gaddis took her mother's life. Then she threatened my life and my mother's as well. Days earlier, someone had referred to me as a "Black Widow." April Gaddis may not have been married prior to her death and she may not be directly responsible for Paul Grayson's murder, either, but I still believe the term appliesto her.
Yes, my husband, Paul Grayson, was murdered, and it turns out his death was merely the tip of the iceberg. Because there's been another Black Widow at work in Southern California for a very long time. Lucia Joaquin was in fact a widowthe widow of a known drug kingpinand a successful drug trafficker in her own right. I'm not sure how Paul got caught in her web of evil, but he did. She's dead now, too, as is her only granddaughter. They both perished when the helicopter in which they were attempting to flee crashed and burst into flames.
I owe the fact that I am writing this today to the heroic efforts of a friend of mine, a guy named Dave Holman, who has come to my rescue more than once in the last few days. Dave is a police officer in Sedona, Arizona. He's also a member of the Marine Corps Reserves. Last night I watched him work frantically to save the life of a friend of his, a wounded DEA officer, who is also in the Marine Reserves. In the past I don't believe I've ever spent much time wondering about the Marine Corps motto Semper fidelis. Now I've seen it in action.
I've looked at my new e-mail list. It's stuffed to the gills. In fact, my server is probably rejecting e-mails as I write this, claiming my mailbox is full and my bandwidth is over its limit. As I've indicated, I've had my hands full for the last few days. I'll get around to answering the mail when I can. Please be patient.
Posted 1:05 P.M., September 20, 2005 by Babe
P.S. Amazing!! My attorney just called. My former employers have settled my wrongful dismissal suit! For an undisclosed sum. The terms of the settlement dictate that I'm not allowed to discuss the amount. What I can say, though, is that it's generous enough that I won't be having to look for a day job anytime soon. cutlooseblog.com will continue indefinitely.
Ali was starting to slog her way through the mail when Chris, still limping, ambled out onto the patio. His hair was standing on end. The way he looked reminded her so much of how he had looked as a child that it made her heart melt, and it took real effort on Ali's part to keep from leaping up and hugging him.
"Where's Grandma?" he wanted to know.
"Making breakfast," Ali answered.
"Great. I'm starved."
Chris stretched and headed for the kitchen. As soon as he opened the back door, Ali caught a whiff of her mother's baking coffee cake wafting through the air. Ali followed her son's lead. Then, once she was inside the house, she heard the sound of a hair dryer coming from the living room, and she followed that as well.
Wielding a whining hair dryer, Edie stood over the bird's-eye maple credenza in the front entryway. Nearby, a mound of bulging black plastic bags lay stacked by the front door.
Ali spoke to her mother three times before Edie noticed her. She switched off the noisy hair dryer and then turned her hearing aids back on.
"What are you doing?" Ali asked again.
"I asked your father what to do about this water mark," Edie said. "Someone must have put a vase down without wiping off the bottom. Dad says to try the hair-dryer routine first. If this doesn't work, he says I should bring it home and he'll refinish the top for you there. Or else Kip will. Dad says he's pretty good with his hands."
As far as Ali could see, the ring wasn't getting much better, but she appreciated her mother's effort more than she could say.
"And I got rid of the old dead flowers," Edie added. "They were falling all to pieces, dropping petals everywhere, and stinking up a storm. Hope you don't mind."
Ali didn't mind at all. She was delighted to find that the bouquets that were to have marked Paul and April's wedding had been swept away in the flower-clearing operation along with all the condolence bouquets. The catering tables and chairs had been collected and stacked at one end of the living room.
"Your yard man," Edie said, nodding toward the chairs and tables. "He helped me with that. What's his name again?"