Point of Betrayal (18 page)

They all looked at her draped over the love seat, her eyes closed. “Probably,” she mumbled.

“What’s wrong with you?” Jane spat. “You’re the PI and you’re not doing anything!”

She sat up on her elbows and scowled. “Jane, I had a horrible night sleeping on the beach after a terrible case. So cut me a little slack.” She rolled off the couch and disappeared onto the patio.

“You need to talk to her,” Jane said to Ari. “Something’s terribly wrong. Rory and I will keep looking through the journals.”

“And we’ll focus on the Garritsons,” Rory said sharply.

“No,” Jane argued. “I’m telling you it’s Bobby.”

Ari slipped out to the patio and shut the door behind her. Biz was gazing at the perfectly manicured interior courtyard that surrounded the suites. The view wasn’t as dramatic as the ocean, but it was beautiful and her thoughts drifted to her garden. Biz’s gaze dropped to the ground and her shoulders fell forward. She was crying.

“Hey,” she said, pulling her into an embrace. “It’s okay.” Biz cried on her shoulder, hugging her tightly. “I don’t know what’s wrong, but I want to help.”

“You are,” she said softly. “This helps. Holding you gives me strength.”

The top of her head was seven inches shorter than Ari’s and fit under her chin. “Tell me what happened,” Ari whispered, stroking her back.

“It’s too horrible,” she whimpered. “Someone died.”

“Oh, God. I’m so sorry.”

She imagined one of Biz’s battered wives had lost her life to an abusive husband or boyfriend after she’d returned despite her pleas to stay away. It wasn’t the first—or second time—she’d seen her cry over a dead client. Her work was so important, and she poured her soul into helping all the women who struggled to break the cycle, many of whom couldn’t. When Biz’s brown eyes gazed up into her own, all she saw was her goodness and the sadness that surrounded her.

The kiss was tentative, and Biz trembled, her vulnerability revealed. Ari hoped her lips offered reassurance and her embrace security. Biz seemed to need both. She pressed against her to silence her quaking body—and released her hunger.

The next kiss was bold and passionate. She flashed back to their tryst on the couch, when Molly caught them.
Molly…

She tried to pull away, but Biz held her tight, reclaiming the moment,
their
moment, demanding she submit to her feelings and acknowledge her loneliness. So when Biz’s fingers grazed her breast, she moaned softly.

“Please,” Biz begged. “I’ve wanted you for so long.”

The shadows made it difficult to read her expression. She couldn’t tell if Biz was angry or upset, but the frustration was apparent. And why shouldn’t she be frustrated? She’d led Biz on for months now, unable to let go of a lover who hated her, but unwilling to dismiss Biz because of the heat she felt whenever they were together.

Shouts came from the suite; Jane and Rory were arguing again. She glanced through the sheer curtains and saw they were facing off. She cupped Biz’s face and kissed her completely.

“Soon,” she said, her voice filled with desire.

A wicked smile crept across Biz’s face and her hands slid down Ari’s buttocks. “Promise?”

She grinned and led her back inside. The fact that they were holding hands wasn’t lost on Jane, who immediately abandoned her confrontation with Rory. “All better, Biz?”

“Much.” Biz pecked Ari on the cheek and dropped into a chair. “Now, why are you ladies arguing?”

Rory picked up Nina’s last completed journal and positioned her reading glasses. “Jane and I have a difference of opinion regarding the interpretation of this entry. I think it makes a lot of sense if you keep in mind Nina was pregnant.” She flipped to the next to last page. “‘Valeria caught in secrets thanks to apothecary. Share with no one except H. Maybe Orlando? Must investigate! Can Benedick be trusted? Will it destroy? Cesario, oh, Cesario… It is Aguecheek.’

“An apothecary was another term for pharmacist, but perhaps in this case it’s a doctor, meaning Valeria is Nina.” Rory glanced at Ari and Biz, who nodded their agreement. She continued to read. “‘Share with no one except H.’ Horatio is Evan since he’s the only one who learned of the pregnancy.”

“Makes sense,” Biz said. “And I don’t think she ever would’ve told him if he hadn’t seen her running to the bathroom all the time.”

“Here’s where Jane and I differ. I think Orlando is Sam and Benedick is Steve. That would leave Georgie to be Cesario.”

“And I think Cesario is Sam,” Jane said. “Look at the way she keeps saying Cesario. It’s like she’s sad. I can’t imagine Nina ever being sad about Georgie.”

Ari stared at the journal entry. “She says she needs to investigate. Why? My guess is she learned something after she found out she was pregnant, something about the family, something that could damage their reputation.”

Biz touched her hand. “The part where she asks if Benedick can be trusted could indicate that he’s Steve because it sounds like she trusts Orlando more than Benedick, which would be Sam. Nina would’ve trusted Sam before she trusted Steve.”

“
If
you’re reading the context correctly and that’s why this is difficult,” Rory stated. “And the last part is also important. She says, ‘It is Aguecheek.’ There’s no doubt in her mind. She’s learned something about him and she’s absolutely positive—”

“But she needs proof, so she’ll investigate,” Jane said, finishing her thought.

Rory looked at her with admiration. “Whatever she discovered and investigated was the cause of her death. Excellent postulation, Jane.”

The sexual energy had increased in the room again. Ari wasn’t sure if it was the sparks between Jane and Rory or between her and Biz, who had taken her hand again.

Jane looked at Biz and scowled. “Hey, PI! Quit making googly eyes at my best friend and tell us what to do. Where do we go from here?”

Biz pulled her gaze from Ari and cleared her throat. “Well, I think we need to divide and conquer. There are still too many damn suspects, especially if you count Bobby Arco, and I think we should. We need to split up and watch them before they arrest Sam for murder.”

The full moon bathed the employee parking lot outside the Bliss resort, making it easy for Jack to review the files he’d brought with him. The Honda that Margarita Escolido had driven to work on the night she was murdered had been parked one spot over. It wasn’t her regular car, which might have been a reason the security guard had had it towed so quickly. He hadn’t recognized it.

She’d parked underneath one of the enormous lights, which suggested she might have been security conscious. The lot sat on the edge of a ravine forming a natural property line. There was only one way in or out, meaning that her attacker had passed through the main gate half a mile away, under the watchful gaze of the security cameras. However, the detectives had reviewed hours of footage and found nothing useful. He glanced up at the lone camera that scanned the hundred spaces, installed two weeks
after
Margarita’s murder. Apparently she regularly parked in this small overflow lot, most likely because it was only a short walk up a hill from there to the restaurant where she worked as a waitress.

He reread the statement made by Ian Patton, the waiter who’d escorted her to the main path. Although her purse had not been found with her body, Patton clearly remembered her holding a key ring that included a can of pepper spray. Jack pictured a cautious woman advancing to her car in the wee hours of the morning without the benefit of a full moon, her finger poised on the trigger of the spray. The killer would’ve been waiting in the lot or he might have followed her out. Still more likely, her attacker was someone she knew and she didn’t feel threatened. A note had been attached to Patton’s statement, verifying his dozen sessions with a therapist after the murder when he was consumed by guilt for letting Margarita go to her car alone. He’d been ruled out as a suspect when a mini-mart security camera showed him buying a six-pack of beer just ten minutes after he’d left Margarita.

Jack shone his flashlight into the ravine, picturing Margarita tumbling through the desert brush to the bottom. The killer had followed her down and attacked her under the cover of darkness, leaving after he raped and strangled her. He’d had the sense to wear gloves and a condom, and he’d dusted his footprints away when he climbed out of the ravine.

He grabbed the scattered files from the hood of his Prius and walked up the sidewalk to the major path that circled the resort. It was here that Ian Patton had said goodnight and headed west toward the larger employee lot, leaving Margarita to make the short walk to her car by herself. It was later than usual, about one thirty, since Ian and Margarita had stayed to help restock the bar.

He gazed at the restaurant’s patio as a few employees hurriedly stacked the patio furniture, clearly motivated to go home after the one a.m. closing. He followed the path another hundred yards to a set of steps that led down to the west lot, which was much bigger and more secure than the tiny overflow lot Margarita used. He frowned, sorry that she had sacrificed safety for convenience.

He checked the file notes again. Dozens of people had been questioned. Jack noted several places where follow-up interviews should’ve been conducted, but the two detectives assigned to the case weren’t that experienced so it hadn’t occurred.
David Ruskin wasn’t known for his thoroughness
, he thought. Jack doubted he’d even read most of his detectives’ reports.

He chuckled, remembering Ruskin’s response when he’d asked him to come along for his one a.m. field trip. Although Chief Phillips had ordered him to help, Ruskin had quickly declined, stating it wouldn’t do any good to see the crime scene in the middle of the night. Jack thought otherwise. It was important to observe the surroundings through the eyes of the killer.

“May I help you?” a voice called.

He looked over his shoulder and saw a lanky security guard strolling down the path.

He pulled out his badge and showed it to the young man, who couldn’t have been more than twenty-two. “Sergeant Jack Adams. I’m investigating the Margarita Escolido murder. Do you know about that?”

The guard’s eyes widened and he swallowed hard. “Yes, sir. Terrible tragedy. I was on duty that night.”

He raised an eyebrow and opened the case file. “What’s your name, son?”

“Dean Horn, sir.”

“Did you speak to the police, Dean?”

“Yes, sir, I did.”

He found a copy of Horn’s statement. “Tell me what you remember.”

He cleared his throat before he said, “Well, I’m assigned to Area Three, which includes the restaurant and the lot where Margarita was…well, killed.” His voice trailed off and he stared at the ground guiltily.

“Go on, son. What happened?”

“Well, at approximately one thirty I was patrolling near the restaurant since my orders are to be nearby when the employees get off work. You know, to help them feel safe as they go to their vehicles.”

The last words trailed off into a whisper, and he guessed Horn felt responsible for Margarita’s death.

“Um, I really didn’t see anything specific. Most of the employees were already gone. I saw a few people leave, but I didn’t know Margarita so I’m not sure if she was one of them. I heard she left with a waiter. I might’ve seen that.”

“So how long did you stay near the restaurant?”

He looked puzzled. “Pardon, sir?”

“I assume your job is to patrol an entire area and make rounds so I’m wondering when you moved out of the restaurant’s vicinity.”

“Ah, gotcha.” He bit his lip in thought. “Probably five minutes. I probably moved on around one thirty-five. Sometimes I come over this way, you know, to check on the big lot.”

Jack looked down at the rows of cars in the subterranean lot, which included a guard shack at the front.

“Is there someone on duty?” he asked, throwing a nod toward the small building.

“Uh, yeah, that’s Lisa inside. Great lady.”

Even in the darkness he noticed Horn’s blush. “Was she on duty that night?”

His gaze shot up, and he looked worried, as if Jack might be accusing her of wrongdoing. “Yeah, but she didn’t have anything to do with what happened.”

He held up a hand. “I know, son. I wasn’t suggesting she did, but I’d like to ask her a few questions anyway.”

“Oh,” he said, relieved.

They crossed to the shack, and a voluptuous woman, her black hair tied up in a bun, emerged from inside.
Definitely one of the few people who look good in tan polyester
, thought Jack. He glanced at Horn, whose tongue was practically wagging.

“Hello,” she said.

He again flashed his badge. “Sergeant Jack Adams with Phoenix PD. I’ve been assigned to the Margarita Escolido murder, and I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

“Sure,” she said, her brown eyes curious. “Lisa Moore. But I don’t really know anything.”

Horn hovered over them like a protective lover. Jack turned his stare on the kid and said, “Why don’t you go patrol for a few minutes so I can speak with Lisa alone?”

His face fell at the dismissal. “Oh, okay.”

He hurried away and Lisa shook her head. “He’s a nice guy, but he tries too hard.”

“He seems very concerned about you.”

She shrugged. “Like I said he’s a nice guy, but I’ve been telling him for months that I’m not interested.”

“Is he harassing you?”

“No, no,” she said quickly, “nothing like that. He’s like a puppy dog, totally harmless, but definitely persistent,” she laughed.

“So why would anyone park in the other employee lot? This one seems much more secure.”

“It is,” she agreed. “But there are times during the day when there are too many employees on the premises at once. The other one is for overflow. Some people just go there anyway, because it’s easier to find a space. And for people who are traditionally late for work, it’s faster.”

“Did you know Margarita Escolido?”

Her face grew somber. “Not really. Just a hi or hello. She was one of the people who usually parked in the other lot because it was closer to the restaurant.”