Point of Betrayal (3 page)

“God, honey, you make it sound like you’re a farmer and the crops will die if you don’t make the harvest. You can plant anytime. I really could use your help with Sam. You could put all of those great former cop instincts to work. The family wants someone else to look into the case, somebody who isn’t local and won’t arouse suspicion. Sam’s dad, Steve, has to keep a low profile. This could hurt his chances for a political appointment with the governor. It would mean a lot to me, and I know you don’t have any clients to woo right now.”

“Don’t remind me,” Ari hissed. She dropped the bag into an empty flower bed and ripped it open. If Jane insisted on having a conversation with her, she’d have to endure the
dirt
.

“It sounds like Sam needs a private detective. You should ask Biz, not me.”

“I thought about that and I’m guessing that if I invited her, she’d be happy to accompany us to California.”

“Why would she do that? She’s got a lot of clients who need her.”

She snorted. “Honey, if we called her right now, she’d run over her own mother in that cute little Mustang if it got her here faster. She’d do anything to be close to you. Besides, I thought she was the reason you broke up with Molly.”

She winced, but fortunately Jane couldn’t see the tears in her eyes as she spread the manure with a rake, her mind wandering back to last Valentine’s Day and the look on Molly’s face when she’d found her lying in Biz’s arms.

“I’m sorry I mentioned her,” Jane said quietly.

“Have you heard anything lately?” Despite Jane’s strong ties to the lesbian community, she hadn’t been able to learn of Molly’s whereabouts for the last nine months. It was as if she’d dropped off the face of the earth.

“Actually I just heard she went into a facility after she recovered from the gunshot and now she’s out.”

“What’s she doing?”

“I think she’s working for her dad.”

Nelson Plumbing was the family business, but Ari couldn’t imagine Molly would be happy repairing toilets or installing sinks. Her life was police work, and she’d been an amazing detective until she’d investigated the death of an informant and inadvertently stumbled into the crosshairs of a Mafioso with ties to the police department. She’d been forced to resign and Ari’s father had essentially taken her place in the department and her office. Her career was over.

“I’m glad she got help.” Ari dropped her rake and stared at Jane. Until she left, Ari couldn’t enjoy her gardening. It was a solitary experience, as was most everything in her life now, and she relished being away from people, a fact her shrink found disconcerting.

“I don’t want to go to Laguna,” she said. “I’ll be happy to call Biz if you want. She can probably help Sam in some way.”

Jane rubbed her arms, and Ari imagined she was removing the imaginary dirt that clung to her two-hundred-dollar blouse. She hated the outdoors, and Ari knew she was at her personal tipping point.

“Okay, never mind,” she said, defeated. “I might call her if Sam wants me to.” She started up the brick path and added, “I’m using your bathroom before I go.”

She smiled slightly. She was glad Molly was okay. Her dozen emails had been met with some harsh words and she’d given up. She’d worried Molly might commit suicide over everything that had happened. Ari was certain her brother Brian had saved her. She’d called him the day after Molly had resigned, begging his forgiveness, which he gave, and he promised to help Molly through what was undoubtedly the worst part of her life. For old times’ sake, Ari had insisted Brian be hired to do the plumbing work on the house, but she was careful to be conveniently absent whenever he was on the job. She hoped he’d eventually call again, but it hadn’t happened. She imagined Molly had forbidden him from keeping in touch. She understood why.

“Um, Ari, sweetie, you need to come inside
now
,” Jane shouted from the back door.

She dropped the rake and wiped her feet on the mat before stepping across the threshold—into a puddle. Jane held up her red Manolo Blahniks with two bright pink lacquered fingernails and pointed to the water dripping from their pointed toes.

“I’m not happy.”

Molly pulled up behind the Nelson Plumbing van. “Your Expert Plumbers!” The letters were fading from the harsh weather and the van needed a paint job. Her fingers were clamped around the steering wheel as if she were suspended in midair and hanging on for life.

Wasn’t she?

She couldn’t get out of the truck. She couldn’t even look over her shoulder at Ari’s new house. She’d been here once before—to investigate a murder on the last day she was Ari’s girlfriend and the last day she was a cop. Valentine’s Day.

When she’d strolled through the destroyed rooms with Andre that day, it had been with an enormous sense of relief: Ari was unharmed and justice had been served in a most efficient way. She’d had no idea what would happen a few hours later. It had actually been her suggestion that Biz drive Ari home. The images of them together filled her head, and she licked her lips.

I want a drink.

For the first time in nearly a month she needed a scotch. She tried to see the positive side, just as Linda, her mentor, had advised. She’d been sober for two hundred and sixty days, and the cravings had lessened. She fumbled in her pocket for the smooth stone with GRACE etched across its face. She rubbed her thumb against the word. She didn’t need to stare at it anymore as she had during the first few weeks. She’d memorized its shape and the rounded script. Linda had taught her that control was about visualization—first the stone, then the moment and, finally, the desired outcome.

Her phone rang. She knew it was Brian. He’d tried to talk her out of coming, but she’d insisted since he was shorthanded on a Sunday. He’d done so much for her during her recovery; she was certain she could do this for him.

“Hey,” she said.

“It’s too much, huh?”

He was probably watching from the front window. She slinked down in the seat.

“Look, go home,” he said in his casual voice. “I’ve got this covered. It’s not half as bad as I thought. Water’s only an inch deep. She might lose some of her flooring, but she did the right thing by turning off the water so fast…”

He stopped himself, realizing
she
was his sister’s ex-lover.

“Go home, sis. You don’t have anything to prove.”

He was wrong. She had plenty to prove. For years she’d shown the entire Phoenix Police Department she was a great cop. Through her skills and detective work she’d amassed hundreds of collars and reversed the general prejudices about women and lesbians. She wasn’t weak—even in her personal life.

“I’m coming in now,” she said with determination.

I want a drink.

She didn’t recognize the house. Without the address she probably would’ve driven right by. That day had been a hysterical nightmare, and she was much too focused on the job to notice the chili pepper tree in front or even the red door Brian had left slightly ajar.

Only a half-inch of water had scaled the Travertine tile step that separated the foyer from the rest of the downstairs. The living room was empty. She knew Ari didn’t own a lot of things and she probably had just moved in. She imagined the renovation had been massive; much of the western side of the house had been gutted in the fire.

She found Brian wading through the flood in the kitchen, setting up various pumps to extricate the water. She grabbed a hose and started for the back door, all the while studying Ari’s home, the choices she’d made and the colors she’d favored.

“Don’t go out there,” he said. “Take it through the front. She’ll kill me if anything happens to the garden.”

She stared at the paradise outside the kitchen window. “My god.” The twisting brick walkways, large wooden planters and marble fountain reminded her of an arboretum. Everything was in bloom and the petals and buds blended like a large color wheel. She was enchanted and fascinated at the same time. She knew the yard had been nothing but a flat space of grass six months before. The metamorphosis was Ari’s doing.

“You have your therapy and she has hers.”

She offered a sharp glance and pulled the hose through the front door. Wherever Ari was, she would return to a muddy bog for a front yard. She cracked a smile at the thought of her distress.

“Serves her right,” she said.

Instead of returning to the kitchen she wiggled out of her waders and gloves and climbed the winding staircase to the second floor. She told herself she was just curious about the renovation.

The loft area was Ari’s tidy office where everything had its place. She’d raided IKEA for boxes and plastic bins to store her supplies, which were labeled and organized on a shelf. Only her laptop sat on the desk, along with a mouse placed perfectly in the center of its pad.

Skipping the guest room, she crossed into the bedroom. She was surprised to see new furniture, although it was arranged exactly as it had been at her condo. The dark pine bed frame faced east while her dresser faced west. An old rocking chair her mother Lucia had used at the end of her life remained in the corner with her lace shawl draped over it. Next to the dresser was the antique wood and brass umbrella stand that had belonged to her dead brother Richie. It held his sports equipment—street hockey stick, bats and tennis racket. His baseball mitt was looped through a bat handle so he wouldn’t forget it when he ran out of the house for the next game.

The fact she’d kept such personalbelongings in her bedroom had always bothered Molly, but she’d never said anything, not thinking it was her place and certainly not understanding what it was like to lose a parent and a sibling. Despite the amount of bluster the Nelson clan could generate during a dinner discussion, she knew she was lucky to have her family intact. And she knew Ari had loved them. She imagined it had pained her to lose that connection, perhaps even more so than their relationship. She added a point to the scorecard in her mind. Ari was still ahead, but she was gaining ground.

She realized there was something missing from the bedroom—a framed photo of the two of them, the one that usually sat on her nightstand.

She chewed her lip and resisted the temptation to look for it. Was the picture put away in a convenient location where she could reach it handily, or had she tossed it into the garbage? She really wanted to know, but her cop instincts told her she didn’t have a warrant or any right to search Ari’s things.

She split the difference and only opened the nightstand drawer. When she found nothing but the usual detritus of nail clippers, bookmarks, scissors and safety pins, she was disappointed. She sat on the bed, certain she could smell Ari’s strawberry shampoo wafting from the pillow.

The whirr of the sump pump sent her back down the stairs, and she joined Brian in the kitchen.

“Find anything?” he asked with a crooked grin.

She ignored him and straightened the hoses to increase the flow while he examined the wall behind the kitchen sink, the source of the burst pipe. Her gaze strayed to a doorway and the solarium beyond it.

She sloshed to the center of the room, noting the built-in bookcases and vaulted wooden ceiling. She imagined Ari curled up on the window seat, her gaze alternating between the pastoral garden and a good book. If they were still together, the far corner would be perfect for Molly’s piano. It would be just out of reach of the strong rays of the sun. She wondered for a fleeting second if Ari had thought the same thing.

The bookshelves were filled with all of her books, many of which Molly had never seen because they’d been kept in storage. It was one of the reasons she’d wanted a bigger place, to have a library. On a middle shelf were two framed photos Molly had seen hundreds of times, one of Lucia and one of Ari with Richie a few weeks before he was murdered. Nowhere was there a suggestion of her father’s existence in her life.

“Okay, I think we’re done for a couple hours. Fortunately she doesn’t own any rugs and only a few pieces of furniture. Let’s move those outside and then we’ll go.” He glanced at Molly, still lost in the beauty of the room and the depth of her musings. “Thanks for all of your help,” he added sarcastically.

She looked away, embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I just…”

“I know. Let’s get this done so you can go home and change. I’ll pick you up in a few hours for our workout.”

He grinned and she groaned.

Biz read the scrawled message for the tenth time. “Pay me or you’ll be sorry.”It wasn’t signed, but that didn’t matter. She’d found it under her office door that morning. She was surprised it had taken so many months for it to arrive. She didn’t need her private detective skills to know who wrote it or what it meant. She smiled wryly. The lady got points for being succinct.

She’d worried this might happen. She hated employing amateurs, and the woman who called herself “Lola” and whose real name was Wanda, had helped Biz end Molly Nelson’s career and contributed to Molly and Ari’s breakup. Biz couldn’t have scripted a better ending, but it had been so easy. Ari was so vulnerable and once she started drinking…

She smiled, remembering Ari’s soft lips. Now that Molly was gone, she knew it was only a matter of time before she could win her affections. Ari would belong to
her.

She’d given Wandamore credit, figuring she would realize Biz’s situation was precarious and she was vulnerable since she was the only remaining link to Vince Carnotti, the crime boss who’d infiltrated the police department. Fortunately, Biz’s police connection, Sol Gardener, was dead. As long as Wanda stayed quiet, she knew Jack Adams and his task force would never know her name. She’d broken no laws in the downfall of Molly Nelson, except using illicit drugs, but whatever. Everybody did that.

Wanda
had
to stay quiet. She tapped the blackmail note on her desk, wondering how much money it would take for Wanda to leave Phoenix permanently.

“She’d always want more,” Biz whispered, voicing the truth.