Hand of Evil Read Free Page B

dribbling any tea down the front of her new silk blouse.
    “But just because my daughter and I don’t have the benefit of a higher education,” Anna Lee continued, “doesn’t mean we think it’s unimportant, right, Arabella?”
    Arabella nodded but said nothing. Sipping her tea, she seemed content to let her mother do the bulk of the talking, but there was something in the daughter’s wary silence that made Ali uneasy.
    “You must be wondering why you’ve been asked to come here today,” Anna Lee continued.
    “Yes,” Ali said. “I am.”
    “This is the first time I’ve done this,” Anna Lee said, “so it may seem a bit awkward. I’ve been told that most of the time announcements of this nature are made at class night celebrations or at some other official occasion, but I wanted to do it this way. In private.”
    Ali was still mystified.
    “I’ve decided to use some of my inheritance from my mother to establish a scholarship in her honor, the Amelia Dougherty Askins Scholarship, to benefit poor but smart girls from this area. You’ve been selected to be our first recipient—as long as you go on to school, that is.”
    Ali was stunned. “A scholarship?” she managed, still not sure she had heard correctly. “You’re giving me a scholarship?”
    Anna Lee Ashcroft nodded. “Not quite a ‘full ride’ as they say,” she added dryly. “What you’ll get from us is enough for tuition, books, room, and some board. If your parents really can’t help, you may need to work part time, but you shouldn’t have to put off starting. In fact, you should be able to go off to school this fall right along with all your classmates.”
    And that’s exactly what Ali had done. The scholarship had made all the difference for her—it had made going on to college possible. And everything else in Ali’s life had flowed from there.
    So Alison Larson Reynolds owed the Ashcrofts—owed them big. If Arabella Ashcroft wanted to summon her to tea once again some twenty-five years later, Ali would be there—with bells on.

{ CHAPTER 2 }
     
    I t was late morning when Phoenix PD homicide detectives Larry Marsh and Hank Mendoza arrived at the crime scene in South Mountain Preserve. “What have we got?” Hank asked Abigail Jacobs, the patrol officer who along with her partner, Ed Whalen, had been the first officers to respond to Sybil Harriman’s desperate call to 911.
    “We’ve got a dragger,” Officer Jacobs told them. “From what I’m seeing it looks like somebody slammed this poor guy’s left hand in a car door and then dragged him for the better part of a mile—through the parking lot and over several speed bumps. The bloody trail starts way back there by the park entrance.”
    “Any ID?”
    “Not so far. From what’s left of his clothing, it looks like maybe he was out jogging. We’ve got no ID and no cell phone, either.”
    “Too bad,” Hank told her. “These days cell phones work better than anything. Any idea when it happened?”
    “The witness found him here about ten A.M .”
    “You’re sure it’s a him?”
    “Yes, and whoever he is, he’s wearing the remains of a fairly expensive watch,” Abbie Jacobs replied. “A Patek Philippe, and that’s still working.”
    “A what?” Larry Marsh said.
    Hank Mendoza laughed. “The poor guy’s beaten to hell but the damned watch is still running. But then again, you wouldn’t know a Patek Philippe from a hole in the ground. You’re still wearing your Wal-Mart special Timex.”
    “It works,” Larry replied. “And nobody’s tried to steal it.”
    “Turns out nobody tried to steal this one, either,” Abbie said, looking down at the mangled hand. “And I for one don’t blame them.”
    “Blood’s all dry,” Hank observed. “My guess is this happened sometime overnight. Isn’t the park supposed to be closed at night?”
    “Supposed to be,” Officer Jacobs agreed with a shake of her head that left her thick, braided ponytail swinging back