wrong for a change—but for today eggs, bacon, and biscuits were what she actually wanted. She loved her parents dearly, but there were times when she could have used more distance.
Edie tore Ali’s order off her pad and slapped it on the wheel in the kitchen pass-through. After delivering someone else’s breakfast, she returned to Ali. “Have you talked to Bryan yet?” she asked.
Ali shook her head. “No,” she said. “Under the circumstances, I don’t really expect to. I’m sure he has plenty of other things to deal with.”
“Dave’s on the case?”
Ali nodded. In the old days, when Dave Holman had been an almost daily visitor at the Sugarloaf, Edie wouldn’t have needed to ask that question. She would have had the answer straight from the horse’s mouth. Now that Dave had his girls with him, he was evidently eating most of his breakfasts at home.
“People are really up in arms about what happened,” Edie said. “The idea that someone could be murdered like that in broad daylight in her own front yard is appalling. And having those poor little girls be the ones who discovered their mother’s body…” Edie clicked her tongue and shook her head. “Sedona is supposed to be a nice place. Things like that don’t happen here.”
Yes, they do, Ali thought. Things like that happen in all sorts of places.
“They’re all saying Bryan did it,” Edie Larson continued. “Although how a man could do something like that to the mother of his children is beyond me!”
“Mom,” Ali objected. “Wait a minute. What makes you think Bryan is responsible for what happened?”
“I didn’t say I thought it, but it’s what people are saying. The husband is usually the responsible party.”
Ali was taken aback. The article she had read online a few hours earlier had stated that investigators had yet to establish a person of interest in Morgan Forester’s death. In the meantime, the good citizens of Sedona were already declaring Bryan Forester guilty before even being charged.
“What people?” Ali asked.
“Cindy Martin, for one,” Edie said. “She works at the Village of Oak Creek salon. She’s the one who always did Morgan’s nails.”
Ali sometimes forgot that her mother’s unfailing ability to see all and know all was based in large measure on the fact that Edie Larson was tuned in to an intricate network of small-town gossip.
“According to Cindy, Morgan was tired of doing all the behind-the-scenes paperwork for her husband’s construction company and was ready to do something else. I can certainly understand that,” Edie added. “Not everyone can handle working in a family-owned business. When you spend every minute of every day with someone, it can turn into way too much togetherness. It’s not easy, you know. There are times when I think I need to have my head examined for spending my whole life putting up with your father’s foolishness on a day-to-day basis.”
The Sugarloaf had been started by Ali’s grandmother, who had eventually handed it over to her two daughters, Edie and her twin sister, Evelyn. Up until Aunt Evie’s death, the two sisters had waited tables and managed the front of the house while Ali’s father had done most of the cooking. Edie’s current complaints notwithstanding, Ali knew that neither one of her parents would have wanted it any other way.
“And then there’s the boob job,” Edie went on, lowering her voice.
“What boob job?” Ali asked.
“Morgan had one a couple of months ago,” Edie said. “When a woman signs up for a surgical enhancement, you can usually bet that she isn’t doing it for the poor dope who happens to be her current husband.”
In southern California, where Ali had lived previously, that hadn’t been her experience. From Ali’s point of view, lots of women had breast augmentation, many of them with their husband’s encouragement and approval. That Morgan had joined ranks with other consumers of enhancement surgical
Edie tore Ali’s order off her pad and slapped it on the wheel in the kitchen pass-through. After delivering someone else’s breakfast, she returned to Ali. “Have you talked to Bryan yet?” she asked.
Ali shook her head. “No,” she said. “Under the circumstances, I don’t really expect to. I’m sure he has plenty of other things to deal with.”
“Dave’s on the case?”
Ali nodded. In the old days, when Dave Holman had been an almost daily visitor at the Sugarloaf, Edie wouldn’t have needed to ask that question. She would have had the answer straight from the horse’s mouth. Now that Dave had his girls with him, he was evidently eating most of his breakfasts at home.
“People are really up in arms about what happened,” Edie said. “The idea that someone could be murdered like that in broad daylight in her own front yard is appalling. And having those poor little girls be the ones who discovered their mother’s body…” Edie clicked her tongue and shook her head. “Sedona is supposed to be a nice place. Things like that don’t happen here.”
Yes, they do, Ali thought. Things like that happen in all sorts of places.
“They’re all saying Bryan did it,” Edie Larson continued. “Although how a man could do something like that to the mother of his children is beyond me!”
“Mom,” Ali objected. “Wait a minute. What makes you think Bryan is responsible for what happened?”
“I didn’t say I thought it, but it’s what people are saying. The husband is usually the responsible party.”
Ali was taken aback. The article she had read online a few hours earlier had stated that investigators had yet to establish a person of interest in Morgan Forester’s death. In the meantime, the good citizens of Sedona were already declaring Bryan Forester guilty before even being charged.
“What people?” Ali asked.
“Cindy Martin, for one,” Edie said. “She works at the Village of Oak Creek salon. She’s the one who always did Morgan’s nails.”
Ali sometimes forgot that her mother’s unfailing ability to see all and know all was based in large measure on the fact that Edie Larson was tuned in to an intricate network of small-town gossip.
“According to Cindy, Morgan was tired of doing all the behind-the-scenes paperwork for her husband’s construction company and was ready to do something else. I can certainly understand that,” Edie added. “Not everyone can handle working in a family-owned business. When you spend every minute of every day with someone, it can turn into way too much togetherness. It’s not easy, you know. There are times when I think I need to have my head examined for spending my whole life putting up with your father’s foolishness on a day-to-day basis.”
The Sugarloaf had been started by Ali’s grandmother, who had eventually handed it over to her two daughters, Edie and her twin sister, Evelyn. Up until Aunt Evie’s death, the two sisters had waited tables and managed the front of the house while Ali’s father had done most of the cooking. Edie’s current complaints notwithstanding, Ali knew that neither one of her parents would have wanted it any other way.
“And then there’s the boob job,” Edie went on, lowering her voice.
“What boob job?” Ali asked.
“Morgan had one a couple of months ago,” Edie said. “When a woman signs up for a surgical enhancement, you can usually bet that she isn’t doing it for the poor dope who happens to be her current husband.”
In southern California, where Ali had lived previously, that hadn’t been her experience. From Ali’s point of view, lots of women had breast augmentation, many of them with their husband’s encouragement and approval. That Morgan had joined ranks with other consumers of enhancement surgical
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