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Michael's face paled as he turned to his daughter. "We agreed never to tell anyone."
"What's the use, Dad? When the police check your story, someone will remember seeing me there."
"No one will remember. That's why Joey picked the Sizzler in the first place."
I looked from one to another, not knowing whether this development exonerated both father and daughter or implicated them further. "Would one of you tell me what's going on?"
"First of all," Betsy said, "let me assure you that Dad really did go to Tucson on Saturday night, and he intended to return here late on Monday."
"I had doubts about leaving Betsy alone, but she said she wanted to get used to it gradually."
A spontaneous spasm of pity gripped me and, for the first time, I felt more than superficial identification with Betsy. I remembered the indescribable loneliness of those first weeks and months of widowhood, and I wanted to comfort her. Now I understood that trip to the toy store. If buying a stuffed elephant for the expected baby provided a few moments of solace, Denise and I were wrong to criticize.
"If only I hadn't told him about Joey's call when Dad phoned Sunday morning to see how I was doing," Betsy said.
"Joey called you?"
"He said he had something to tell my father."
"But who suggested dinner? Joey was comfortable talking to people, but I can't see him inviting Michael to dinner at the Sizzler."
"Why not?" Michael asked.
"For one thing, he didn't know you." I said lamely.
Betsy laughed. It was a musical laugh with an underlying sweetness that destroyed once and for all the golddigger image implanted by Denise. I knew I was foolish to judge her by that sound and the brief change in her expression. But I suddenly thought that Betsy could have been my daughter, mine and Michael's. Fighting a sadness that threatened to overwhelm me, I asked as calmly as I could, "Did the two of you know the Franklins socially?"
The musical laugh was softer this time. "That's a tactful way to phrase the question. No, I didn't even realize who he was when he phoned." Her face became serious now. "When he said he was the pharmacy technician, I thought he meant at the hospital down in Tucson. I was terrified that something had happened to Dad."
Ashamed of my suspicions, I decided to listen without comment. Surely, Betsy would not be telling all this to me if she or Michael had anything to do with Joey's death. It seemed absurd to link either of them to the murder. Yet someone had killed Joey and, because of the Stokes connection, the chances were that I knew the person. I could not eliminate Betsy or Michael or Denise from suspicion just because I liked them.
"Joey said he wanted to meet my father at seven-thirty Sunday night, and he repeated that he had something very important to tell Dad and only him."
But Michael was already in Tucson, I thought, and nearly interrupted to ask why Betsy hadn't postponed the dinner appointment until his return. Betsy answered my unspoken question.
"I was afraid to tell Joey that Dad was away, so I said I'd give him the message. Actually, I was going to meet Joey instead."
"Then I called and hit the ceiling when I heard about it."
I was outraged. "Surely Joey wasn't one of your suspects, Michael."
"You have to understand that I didn't really know Joey. At that point, I suspected everyone until I could logically eliminate them."
"Joey was eliminated all right," I said bitterly. "Do we all have to be killed before we get off your list?"
"And what about your list?"
"Truce," I said. "I promise to listen quietly from now on."
Betsy continued. "I refused to break the appointment, so Dad insisted on joining us."
"Tucson is not in outer space," Michael said. "It took less than two hours to race back up here."
"Dad told me he'd meet us at the restaurant and I shouldn't leave before he turned up no matter what happened."
This reminded me of those suspense novels where the murder suspect gets the heroine to rendezvous in some dark, forbidding place without letting anyone else know. But in this case, the person who was killed was the one who arranged the meeting. If Betsy and Michael were telling the truth, I reminded myself. Their story sounded plausible so far; I would try to reserve judgment until I heard it all.
"The truth—and we are telling you the truth, Ruthie—is that I wanted to give them a chance to sit down and start eating before I appeared. Betsy was going to assure him that I'd be there any minute."
"What did Joey say?"
"That's the problem," Michael said. "He dropped hints, but he didn't reveal much. "He told me Detective Moreway was his brother-in-law, so he knew all about the case. That's what he called Harry's death—the case." Betsy's voice was tightly controlled. I guessed from the quick glance she gave her father that she was more concerned about worrying him than breaking down in front of me.
"Joey was only twenty years old," I said. "To him, the drama and mystery overshadowed the human beings whose lives were touched."
"A nice enough young man, but at that age they think everyone over thirty is too old to feel anything," Michael said drily.
"I know you've heard all this already, Dad, but let me tell it to Ruthie from the beginning. Since she knew Joey so much better than we did, maybe she can figure out what was behind it all.
"Joey was in cutoffs and a T-shirt, but so were half the people in the restaurant. We went up to the salad bar first, and he filled his plate with spaghetti and meat sauce. No salad. I tried to make a joke about it, asking didn't his mom ever tell him salads are healthy. He was very polite, but I could see he didn't appreciate the remark.
"Joey said he wanted to talk to Dad first and then his brother-in-law. He explained that if he told everything to Detective Moreway, he was afraid it would become part of the official record. He didn't want to get anyone in trouble, but something was bothering him.
"Then he began a long explanation about how helpful Denise had always been to him. I guessed the two ideas were connected and it was Denise he was afraid of hurting.
"He asked whether I knew that Denise had wanted my husband to finance her education. Actually, I'd never heard that, but I tried to be noncommital. I was embarrassed to have him think Harry kept things from me."
"Denise told me all about it," I said, figuring there was no longer any reason to keep quiet. It could be important to emphasize that Denise herself had told me, that it was not a secret. I didn't like what I was hearing, and I wanted to balance the scales. "It wasn't the way it sounds. Denise wants to become a dental hygienist; she would have drawn up a promissory note and started paying him back as soon as she got a job."
"She had a job," Michael said in that cold voice that made me so uncomfortable.
"Everyone has dreams," I said. "Maybe Denise had unrealistic ones, but I don't believe she'd ever harm anyone."
"Joey said she was furious when Harry turned her down."
"Are you trying to say that Joey implicated Denise?" I felt queasy, almost as sick as when I first heard from the Franklins about Joey's dinner appointment with Michael. "Let's be logical about it. Why would she kill Joey if he'd already told you what he knew about Harry's death?"
"That's the problem," Michael said. "He didn't reveal what he knew. When I joined them that night, my daughter insisted on hearing what he had to tell me, and Joey wouldn't say another word."
"Did you ask Denise about it?" I turned to Betsy, hoping for a negative response.
"Yes," she said, looking miserable. "The same night. The night Joey was murdered."
"What are you talking about? Denise didn't know anything about his death until Monday afternoon." She couldn't be that good an actress, I thought.
"Don't you see the point we're making?" Michael asked. "We were in the Sizzler with Joey until about nine o'clock. Since Betsy and I'd come in separate cars, she drove home from the restaurant and I rushed right back to Tucson."
"Dad wanted to follow me home to make sure I got there safely. But I told him I'm a big girl now." She smiled at her father.
"And then Harry's children came here that night and started playing their little games with Betsy. When the neighbors, and that includes Denise, tried to help her, it must have been close to eleven."
I didn't want them to know the Brandens had already told me it was ten-thirty. And who knows? That nosy couple could have been outside this house listening to the argument for some time.
"Denise and I talked for a while. I told her everything Joey had said, as tactfully as I could. She seemed embarrassed, but was very kind and walked me back to my front door to make sure the others hadn't returned."
"And that must have been around midnight," Michael said.
I knew what he was implying. According to the TV and newspapers, Joey had been killed between midnight and five-thirty in the morning. Reporters had gotten to the man who'd been on duty at the guard gate that night. In response to their questions, he said he'd walked past the fountain just before his shift began at midnight. "Everything looked the same as always," he said. "The fountain was still lit up—it's on a timer—and I could see it was okay."
During the summer, like many people who had to work outdoors in the Arizona heat, the groundskeepers for the complex began work at five-thirty. Probably the medical examiner could narrow the time, but I no longer had a pipeline to information from Frank Moreway. Poor Joey, I thought. I wonder if those insider details he got from his brother-in-law somehow led to his death.
The timing didn't eliminate anybody. If Michael really had left for Tucson at nine, he wasn't a suspect, but we had only his word for it unless someone in that city corroborated his story. A painful possibility leaped into my mind. Was Michael living with someone in Tucson? Would she vouch for his arrival there and give him an alibi for the early morning hours that followed? I certainly couldn't ask Michael, but the police probably had already done so.
In the old days, Michael's deep blue eyes had often seemed to penetrate my thoughts. He hadn't lost the knack. "If you're wondering whether anyone saw me in Tucson that night," he said, "no such luck. So if you're still suspicious of me, I have no alibi until the next morning when I popped into the hospital pharmacy where I work. And, of course, that doesn't mean anything. I could have driven there directly from Scottsdale that morning instead of spending the night at my home in Tucson."
I found I was more interested in the fact that he lived alone than in the lack of corroboration for his story. This won't do, I told myself, and was about to try to find out the details of Michael's interrogation when the doorbell rang. Betsy went to answer it. I half expected to see Denise follow her into the living room, but the newcomers were Sheila Stokes and her fiancé, Scott Robbins.
Sheila was wearing the "Scotty's Groupie" T-shirt again, but the letters were an iridescent green this time. I wondered if she had a whole wardrobe of shirts proclaiming her status as Scott's girlfriend.
Michael was on his feet, a torrent of angry words beginning to erupt, but Betsy took his arm and quieted him with a look. "Dad, Sheila and Scott came to apologize for Sunday night."
"That's right," Sheila said. "We didn't want you to think we agreed with Richard."
"It took you long enough to decide. Why didn't you support Betsy when she needed you?"
Sheila stood in the middle of the living room, looking awkwardly from Betsy to Michael. No one had invited her to sit down and, considering that she must have grown up in this house, I thought it an unfortunate oversight. "I've known since childhood it's no use reasoning with my brother when he's in that kind of mood."
"And he ignores me," Scott added without a trace of embarrassment. He was wearing black bicycle shorts that left nothing to the imagination and a Hard Rock Café T-shirt. "He won't even give me credit for trying to better myself. Why does he think I'm over there in Tempe every day, taking classes at the University?"
"I told you not to take it personally, Scotty," Sheila said. Their exchange reverberated with the echo of countless repetitions. I didn't want to miss the confrontation that was about to take place but felt I had to be polite. As I was the only one still seated, I got up and mumbled something about leaving.
"You sit right down, Ruthie," Michael said loudly. "You're the only one who was invited here."
"Dad!"
"I'm tired of being courteous to people who've treated my daughter shabbily from day one."
Sheila looked as if she'd been slapped. "I didn't mean to be rotten to Betsy. It was the shock of Dad marrying again. And someone so young."
"You're trying to tell me that an older stepmother would have been all right. Don't make me laugh! It's been the money all along."
"He was my father," Sheila said.
"And I'm Betsy's father, and no one is going to hurt her again."
"Now just a minute," Scott said. "Sheila is not out to hurt anyone. She cares about people, not money."
"You think we don't know how much Harry gave his children. A hundred and fifty thousand to each of you over the last few years, and still you and Richard always had your hands out for more."
"Richard thinks we deserve what's in the trust. I'm sure my father didn't want to cut us out. Why, there's more than two million."
"And a good part of that is tied up in this house. You're not going to get your hands on it. Betsy and the baby need a place to live."
"Dad, please." Betsy was tugging Michael's arm, trying to get him away from Sheila and Scott.
Sheila looked as if she were ready to cry. "You heard what Richard said. We wouldn't touch the house. It's the rest of the money."
"Oh, yes, you want my daughter to turn everything but the house over to you."
"That's what Richard wants. I think we should divide it three ways."
"How generous of you," Michael said, and I could hear the sarcasm in his voice.
"Hey, man, there's enough for everyone," Scott said.
"Evidently one hundred and fifty thousand dollars wasn't enough for Sheila or Richard."
"Money goes fast when you're out of a job; my brother has to have enough to tide him over until he finds something else. If Betsy would only be fair, Richard might even be able to start his own business."
"Just like me," Scott said.
"Look, Scott, I remember you from Tucson. You've never kept a job for more than two or three months."
"And I remember you from Tucson, too. I remember how you talked your daughter out of seeing me, and how you objected to Tim and everyone else she ever dated. You always treated her like a princess. No one was good enough for Betsy Loring."
He turned to Sheila. "You know what, I'm going to talk to that cop about him. He probably killed your father so his own daughter would get all the money."
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