Free Desert Noir (9781615952236) by Betty Webb Page B

sssissster Ssserena has one. Come to think of it, Clariccce’sss father hasss a wonderful gun collection, very, very valuable. He even hasss one of Doc Holliday’sss old riflesss, sssupposedly the one he usssed at the OK Corral. He wasss kind enough to ssshow it to me when I wasss redecorating his houssse.” 
    â€œYou were Mr. Hyath’s decorator?” This explained her own relative financial comfort. Decorators to the rich never went hungry in Scottsdale.
    She nodded, then winced and lifted a fluttery hand to an area of her neck covered by her long, blond hair. Not all the damage done by batterers shows, I remembered. “That’sss how I met Jay. He wasss up there taking hisss paintingsss when I wasss ssshowing Mr. Hyath sssome fabric sssamplesss.” 
    Jay frowned. “Those people don’t know good art when it’s all around them. The minute Stephen Hyath found out that Clarice and I were, ah, having our trouble, he made me take my paintings out of his house. I even had to return the money he’d paid me for them, the cheap son of a bitch.” 
    Alison threw Kobe a trembling smile which made her lower lip bleed. “When I met Jay up there it wasss love at firssst sssight.” 
    Jay didn’t smile back.
    My finger itched to make contact with the trigger on my .38. “Look, I’m going to have to ask you both some unpleasant questions about the day Clarice was murdered. I need to know exactly where you two were at exactly what time, and what you were doing. And please don’t lie to me. If you’re really innocent, Jay…” Here I looked right into his drink-bleared eyes. “…the truth can only help you.” 
    He gave me a faint smile. He enjoyed being helped. “I was right here, with Alison, just like I told you. We started partying and then we got into a fight. Alison gets pretty edgy when she’s drinking. Isn’t that right, honey?” 
    She nodded weakly, her hand at her neck again.
    â€œAlison? Are you sure that’s true? You told the police you weren’t certain if Jay left the house or not.” 
    She opened her battered mouth to answer but before she could, Kobe rose from his chair and joined her on the stained couch. As he slipped his muscular arm around her shoulder and gave her a hug, I thought I saw her wince. “Now, honey, you tell Ms. Jones that I was too drunk to leave and that it’s the God’s honest truth.” 
    Alison wouldn’t meet my eyes. “It’sss the God’sss honessst truth.” 
    On a scale of one to ten, I scored the interview somewhere at a two, giving them the higher rating simply because they were both conscious. But Alison was too terrified of Kobe to answer truthfully and Kobe, although no rocket scientist, wasn’t dumb enough to let her see me alone. That could still be arranged, though. The next time I saw her—alone—I’d give her the address of the nearest battered women’s shelter.

    Clarice’s parents lived three-quarters of the way up Camelback Mountain, which afforded them a magnificent view of the Valley of the Sun. While present zoning restrictions protected the remaining part of the mountain, for all intents and purposes, the once-magnificent peak was already ruined. As the heat rose in waves from the desert floor below, the ostentatious mansions clinging to the steep hillside appeared to wiggle in the sun. They looked like gyrating hookers at a Sierra Club dance. The man responsible for most of this vandalism was Stephen Hyath, the most successful developer in Arizona. The rumor on the street was that he had long since stopped being a mere millionaire and had joined the rarified ranks of billionaires.
    The mountain had been raped for its view. Halfway up Camelback I pulled the Jeep off to the side in front of an authentic-looking adobe house that could have been there since Arizona’s old