Moving Target, page 2
part #9 of Ali Reynolds Series
In the intervening time, he had managed to insinuate himself into the very fabric of Ali’s life. He was far beyond what most people regarded as retirement age, but since he lived to work, Ali let him keep on working—up to a point. Out of deference to his age, she hired a crew of gardeners and housecleaners to do the heavy lifting that she considered beyond Leland’s physical capability. In her kitchen—a room designed to Leland’s own exacting specifications—he continued to reign supreme, cooking delectable meals with a practiced ease that always left her in awe.
“I hope we’ll see you again,” the flight attendant said, beaming at Leland as he stepped into the Jetway.
“Next week,” he said.
“Your father is so sweet,” the attendant whispered to Ali as she went past.
Their relationship was far too complicated for Ali to attempt an explanation in passing, so she didn’t. “Thank you,” she replied, and let it go at that.
Leland paused in the concourse and waited for Ali to catch up. Behind them, a flood of business and coach passengers, rushing to appointments or to make plane connections, came surging past them. Not in a hurry themselves, Ali and Leland stood for a moment like an island in a stream while the flood of hurrying people eddied around them.
“Heathrow seems a lot bigger than Sky Harbor,” Leland observed. “And far bigger than I remember.”
“It is bigger,” Ali agreed with a smile, “and this is only one terminal. Let’s get going.” They stepped into the moving current of people, among the last of the passengers to come down the concourse. “I know you said Jeffrey will be meeting us here, at Heathrow,” she said. “Do you have any idea what he looks like?”
Ali had no doubt that Leland was filled with misgivings about meeting up with a relative who also happened to be a stranger among the crowds who would be clustered in the arrivals lounge. Ali sympathized. The idea of finding the right stranger anywhere was something that gave her fits of anxiety as well.
Leland shook his head. “Jeffrey wasn’t born until twenty years after I left home,” he said. “So I’ve no idea what he looks like.”
With some effort, Ali bit back a possibly caustic comment. In the age of the Internet, it would have been easy and thoughtful of Jeffrey to forward a photo of himself. Since he hadn’t done so, there was no point in agonizing about it. “We’ll make it work,” she said determinedly.
The immigration line seemed to take forever. Soon another planeload of hurrying and impatient passengers was lined up behind them. When Leland first went to work for Anna Lee Ashcroft, she had sent him back to the UK to attend a butler training school, where he evidently made no effort to be in touch with his friends and relations. Since then, he had done no traveling outside the U.S. When B. had suggested that Leland might want to visit his family sooner than the planned family reunion scheduled for the following summer, his lack of a current passport had seemed like an insurmountable problem; with the aid of some of B.’s connections inside the federal bureaucracy, Leland’s brand-new passport had arrived in under a week. This was the document he now handed to the immigration official, who smiled at him when she paged through it and saw there were no previous stamps. “First time here?” she asked.
“First time in a long time,” he said.
“Business or pleasure?”
“Pleasure.”
“Enjoy, then,” she said cheerfully, and handed it back. The woman turned to Ali. “Business or pleasure?”
“Pleasure,” Ali told her. “And to buy a wedding dress.”
“When’s the wedding?”
“A little over three weeks now,” Ali answered. “Christmas Eve.”
When B. suggested that she squeeze in taking Leland to England in December, under a month before their scheduled Las Vegas wedding, it had seemed like a bad idea. Later, when she saw how much of an emotional tailspin the wedding had created for her parents, she was more than happy to be out of town for part of the intervening time. Her mother, Edie Larson, was in full meltdown mode, frantically sewing matching ring-bearer and flower-girl outfits for Ali’s grandchildren, twins Colin and Colleen, who would be part of the wedding party.
Edie was making her own mother-of-the-bride dress while Ali’s father, Bob, was in a funk over the prospect of having to show up in a rented tuxedo. The more momentum the planning gained, the happier Ali was to escape some of the pressure, to say nothing of her parents’ next “will not wear a tuxedo” battle; as far as Ali was concerned, her father could show up in a pair of OshKosh overalls. The trip had given Ali an excuse to step away from the circus atmosphere, as well as the opportunity to shop for her dress in privacy rather than with a band of too eager assistants, her mother included.
The immigration officer stamped Ali’s passport and handed it back. “Enjoy your stay,” she said. “And congratulations.”
Moments later, Ali and Leland stepped through the glass door and into the terminal at large. Just as she’d anticipated, there was a large crowd assembled in the arrivals area outside immigration. Ali paused, looking around and trying to imagine how they would recognize Jeffrey Brooks in that crush of people. Leland, however, didn’t hesitate. He strode forward with his hand outstretched and a broad smile on his face, aiming for a tall, spare young man—a thirtysomething with thinning hair—who stood front and center. Moments later, the two men were clasped in a tight embrace.
Ali arrived on the scene as Leland escaped the hug. He stood staring in wonder at his great-nephew and shaking his head. “I would have recognized you anywhere!” he exclaimed. “You look just like my father as I remember him.”
“DNA will out,” Jeffrey replied with a grin, “and you’re not the first person to mention that. My great-aunties are forever saying the same thing.” Noticing Ali’s arrival, Jeffrey turned to her. “You must be Ms. Reynolds.”
“Call me Ali,” she said, holding out her hand and replying before Leland was able to say otherwise. In the departure lounge at Sky Harbor, Ali had elicited Leland’s grudging agreement that for the duration of the trip, he would address her by her first name rather than by something more formal.
Jeffrey grinned back at her. “Ali it is, then,” he said. “Now, what about your luggage? Shall we go pick it up?”
“We’re only here for a week,” she said. “We’re making do with carry-ons.”
“Very good, then,” Jeffrey said. “I’ve hired a car and driver. Shall we go?”
He led the way through the terminal. When they reached the proper transportation door, he went out to locate the vehicle while Ali and Leland took the opportunity to don their coats.
“So Jeffrey looks like your father?” Ali asked.
“Very much so,” Leland answered.
“If you’ll pardon my saying so, he bears quite a resemblance to you as well.”
Leland nodded. “Jeffrey looks the way I remember my father. He wasn’t much older than Jeffrey is now when I left home, and I never saw him again after that.”
Ali heard the wistfulness in Leland’s voice. Only Jeffrey’s return, as he was blown back inside with a blast of cold air, caused her to stifle a sympathetic comment that, under the circumstances, she doubted would be welcome.
Jeffrey ushered them out to the curb, where a distinctive London-style cab waited. The driver loaded the luggage in front while the three passengers piled into the back with Jeffrey facing them on the fold-down seat.
“That’ll be the Langham?” the cabbie asked, confirming what he’d already been told.
“Yes, please,” Ali said.
“So how was your flight?’ Jeffrey asked once they were settled. “I hope you were able to get some rest. Since you’re here for such a short time, it would be a shame if you lost a whole day to jet lag.”
“The flight was quite comfortable,” Leland said, “and I was able to sleep on the plane with no difficulty.” Since he didn’t mention that they had traveled in first class with a full-length flat bed to sleep on, Ali didn’t mention it, either.
They left the airport in a whirling shower of snow. It was falling but not sticking.
“Are you sure you want to drive to Bournemouth tomorrow?” Jeffrey asked. “I have a court appearance then; otherwise I’d be more than happy to drive you there. If you take the train, I can come down and fetch you at the weekend.”
Ali and Leland had discussed that and come to the conclusion that they wanted their own wheels available so they wouldn’t be dependent on anyone to take them where they wanted to go. To that end, Ali had used B.’s platinum Hertz card to rent a Land Rover that would be delivered to the hotel by ten the next morning. “No, thanks,” she said. “We’ll be fine on our own.”
“You’re from Arizona, aren’t you?” Jeffrey asked. “If it’s still snowing, will you be able to manage the drive?”
Like many people who had never visited Arizona, he most likely envisioned Arizona as a vast, cactus-dotted wasteland. During Ali’s years at Northern Arizona University in Flagstaff, where the elevation was close to seven thousand feet, and while she had been living in Chicago and on the East Coast, she had done more than her share of winter driving.
“Don’t worry about that,” Ali assured him. “I’m fine in snow. I’m more concerned about driving on the left side of the road.” She didn’t add that she was also concerned about being in the car with Leland in a reversal of roles. At home in a vehicle, Leland was generally at the wheel. Now that he was beyond the age where rental companies would allow him to drive, Ali would be driving him. Leland had almost balked at going on the trip when he learned about that unwelcome bit of age discrimination. It had taken a good deal of cajoling on Ali’s part to bring him around.
“Do you have plans for dinner this evening?” Jeffrey asked. “If not, my partner and I would be delighted if you’d come to our place. Charles is the most marvelous chef.”
He made that statement tentatively, as though unsure what Leland’s or Ali’s reaction would be to the telling admission. Ali wasn’t privy to all the gory details, but she knew in general that Leland’s homosexuality was the reason his older brothers, Langston and Lawrence, had prevailed on their father to disown him. He had been run out of town in disgrace when he returned home to Parkstone after his stint with the Royal Marines during the Korean War. Now, it seemed, his great-nephew was following in Leland’s footsteps.
Ali stole a quick glance in Leland’s direction. Nothing in his demeanor indicated that he had known anything about Jeffrey’s sexual preference in advance of their arrival.
“I’m sure we’d be delighted,” Leland replied, “unless . . .” He paused. Ali realized that he was struggling to resist calling her Madame Reynolds. “Unless Ali here isn’t feeling up to it,” he finished finally.
It was touching that Leland was concerned about Ali’s welfare while she, in turn, worried about his. “How far is it from the hotel?”
“We’re just in Knightsbridge,” Jeffrey said. “Not far at all.”
Ali nodded. “As long as it’s not too late. I suspect we’re going to be ready to bail pretty early.”
Jeffrey frowned briefly, struggling with her American usage, and then he brightened. “Oh,” he said. “I see. You mean you’ll want to make an early night of it. Of course. Time zones and all that. Perfectly understandable.” He pulled out his mobile phone and punched in a number, then spoke into it. “It’s a go. They’ll come to dinner. As long as it’s early. Seven?” He raised one eyebrow questioningly in Ali’s direction.
As far as she was concerned, six would have been better, but she wanted to get off on a good foot with all these folks. Earlier she had e-mailed the hotel with a request for an early check-in. The staff had not yet responded, but if they could get into their rooms, perhaps there would be time for a quick nap before dinner. She nodded. “Seven will be fine.”
She glanced down at her watch. Ali had switched it to local time when the flight attendants made the time announcement on the plane. Once they got to the hotel, she’d try to be in touch with the important people in her life. She thought it was most likely late at night in Tokyo, where B. would be for the next three days, and it was sometime in the early morning back home in Sedona, where wedding planning was no doubt going on apace. On her iPhone, Ali had a world-clock application that would translate London time to Tokyo time or Phoenix time. The problem was that until she had a chance to exchange the SIM card for the one B. had given her to use on the trip, the phone was virtually useless.
Jeffrey interrupted her thought process. “Charles needs to know if either of you has any food allergies or objections to Chinese food. That’s his specialty, you see, and it’s also what he serves in his restaurants—Charlie Chan’s. He has three restaurants scattered around London. He also owns a catering company that specializes in hosting those campy murder-mystery dinners, complete with trunks full of fabulous period costumes. They’re great fun.”
When Ali looked at Leland, she saw that he had dozed off with his chin resting on his perfectly knotted tie. Consequently, she answered for both of them. “No food allergies at all,” Ali replied. “Chinese food will be perfect.”
Jeffrey heaved a relieved sigh before passing along her message. When he ended the call, he turned back to Ali. “So glad you said yes,” he said. “Charles makes the most marvelous Peking duck. He was already cooking up a storm—a busman’s holiday, as it were—with the expectation that you’d come to dinner, but we had agreed in advance that if it turned out you hated Chinese, we’d eat the duck as leftovers and take you somewhere else.”
Ali looked fondly at Leland, who was still dozing. If the other relatives turned out to be this pleasant, this trip would be a walk in the park.
Traffic was barely moving, and it took a long time to reach the Langham. As Ali and Leland stepped out of the cab, Jeffrey joined them in the driveway while they unloaded their bags. “Do you want me to come back for you this evening?” he asked.
“No,” Ali said. “That’s not necessary. Just give me the address. We’ll call a cab.”
She ended up walking away with a handwritten note that the doorman jotted on a pad he pulled out of his pocket. Their early check-in arrangements still held, although the slow trip through traffic had rendered them unnecessary. Once they’d been delivered to their adjoining rooms, Ali stripped out of her clothes and took a leisurely shower. Then she put on the pair of lounging pajamas handed out by the flight attendants to passengers in the first-class cabin.
Ali was about to address the SIM card issue when the landline phone rang on the writing desk. When she answered, she was surprised to hear B.’s voice. “What are you doing still up?” she asked, glancing reflexively at her watch. “Isn’t it the middle of the night there?”
“Good call,” B. admitted. “It is the middle of the night. I can’t sleep, so I thought I’d see if you and Leland got checked in to your rooms all right.”
That was unusual. B. was someone whose work took him across multiple time zones and the international date line with wild abandon. Most of the time, he did so seamlessly and without seeming to suffer from jet lag or sleep-related problems on either end of his travels.
“My room is great, and I’m sure Leland’s is, too,” Ali told him. “Leland’s great-nephew Jeffrey met our plane and rode in the cab with us as far as the hotel. We’ll be joining him and his partner for dinner at their place a little later this evening. But what’s going on? Why can’t you sleep? You usually fall asleep the moment your head hits the pillow. Pre-wedding jitters got you down?”
“It’s not about the wedding,” B. said gloomily. “I’m not worried about that at all. I’m upset about a kid named Lance Tucker.”
Ali had to think for a moment before she remembered hearing B. mention the name previously. Lance was some kind of juvenile computer wunderkind who had gotten himself into major difficulties when he managed to hack into his school system’s server. High Noon had been called in by the school district’s systems manager to consult on tracking down the culprit and plugging the resulting security breach. Ali knew that B. had come away from the incident with a more than grudging respect for the kid’s computer abilities.
“I remember,” Ali said as the pieces slipped into her mind. “Wasn’t he the kid from Texas who broke into the local school district’s computer system?”
“That’s the one,” B. answered. “He shut down the school district’s server as a protest because they were instituting a program that would require everyone in the school district—students, teachers, and employees—to wear tracking chips that would allow them to be located on or off campus. Lance was part of a group of activists who claimed their constitutional rights were being violated. When the courts found against them, Lance took it upon himself to shut down the district’s server.”
“All that happened months ago,” Ali observed. “Why are you worrying about it now?”
She heard B. sigh into the phone. “Because Lance Tucker is in Austin Memorial Hospital with two severely broken legs and second- and third-degree burns over half his body.”
Ali knew something about burn injuries. They were ugly and terrifically painful, and recovery was a long and difficult process. “That’s terrible,” she said. “How did it happen?”
“The local sheriff’s department has been investigating the incident,” B. replied. “At first it was assumed this was an inmate-on-inmate attack, and the facility was put on lockdown. Yesterday afternoon investigators released a report saying they’ve determined that Lance’s injuries were self-inflicted. They claim Lance sprayed himself with some kind of aerosol and then used a cigarette lighter to set himself on fire.”
“Why on earth would he do that?” Ali murmured.
