White Offerings (7 page)

“Probably,” Ari said to ease Jane’s anxiety.

“I don’t know what to do. I really don’t want to go out with her, but I’m kinda afraid to say no.”

Ari ran her hand through her tangled hair and felt the beginnings of a tension headache. “Sweetie, you need to accept the possibility that Isabel is responsible for the orchids. She certainly has opportunity, and I’d say she’s definitely infatuated with you, which certainly gives her motive.”

“I don’t know. I was so sure it was a man.”

“Well, you certainly can’t date people out of fear. That’s really warped. I think you need to have a talk with her. Just be honest and tell her that you don’t want to see her.”

“But what if you’re right and she
is
my stalker? She might come after me with a knife or a gun.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, honey. If you’re this worried, you need to hire a professional. Have someone watch Isabel, or watch
you,
to see if you’re being followed.” Ari wandered into the kitchen in search of coffee. Ever a darling, Molly had brewed a pot and left a sticky note with a heart on the carafe. “Have you slept with any private investigators?”

“Very funny, Ari.” Jane sighed. “Actually, I asked the receptionist at work and she gave me the name of a well-respected lesbian who does a lot of work in the community. She hired her when her deadbeat ex-husband skipped out on child support.”

Ari poured a steaming mug of magic and took her first sip. “Who is it?”

“Biz Stone.”

She knew the name. Biz had quite a reputation for enjoying female companionship, and it was very possible she and Molly had spent an evening together at some point in the past. “How well do you know her?”

“If you mean, have I ever slept with her, well . . . maybe. She frequents Hideaway, and I know who she is, but I don’t
remember
ever being with her.”

“Huh,” she added absently between sips.

“I already called her, and she’s meeting me for brunch, so I hope you can join us. I’m spending the morning previewing houses with Aspen. She swears she knows
exactly
what she wants now,” Jane said sarcastically.

“Maybe you’ll get lucky.”

“In what way?”

She laughed. Jane’s mind never strayed too far from the bedroom. “I mean, maybe you’ll find the perfect house and Aspen will want to write a contract.” A thought suddenly occurred to her. “What are
you
talking about?”

“Well . . .” Jane paused. “It’s just that Aspen has been coming on to me—”

“Excuse me? This woman is not the kind of woman you should date. She’s a nut.”

“But she’s a nut who makes an incredible flan. I went over to deliver some more listings, and she was preparing this divine meal. The smells from the kitchen were intoxicating, and she’s really a beautiful woman with an unbelievable body.”

“And how would you know this?”

There was a long pause until Jane finally said, “Okay. We’ve already been to bed. I broke my rule.”

“Again.” Jane had a rule about dating clients, which was as flexible as the Republican Party’s ethics. “So she made flan and you jumped into bed with her?”

“Well, it didn’t hurt that she answered the door in this little panty and bra outfit.”

Ari shook her head and opened the fridge. Inside Molly had left a bag of Einstein’s bagels with another sticky note heart. Her lover was scoring big points now. “Did she know you were coming over?”

“Yeah, I called from my car. You think her little seduction scene was planned? She told me she was just multitasking by cooking and trying on new clothes.”

She chuckled. “Of course it was planned, sweetie.”

“Oh. Well, anyway, what’s done is done. I’ll see you at twelve thirty, okay?”

“Okay. And Jane, are you and Aspen planning on seeing each other more often? What are her expectations now that you’ve slept together?” There was no response from Jane’s end, and Ari realized the list of potential orchid-senders could be growing. “Look, you don’t have to answer that. I’ll see you in a while.”

She hung up, hoping Jane was learning that her casual attitude about sex was probably at the heart of this problem. Sometimes she could be so blind, caught up in the easy world of pleasure. And not to recognize that she’d been set up was disturbing. For someone as experienced as Jane, her naïveté about the conniving demeanor of women was surprising, but then, Jane was exactly the opposite. There were never any hidden agendas or head games. She saw what she liked and took it. If she wanted to spend the night with a woman, she propositioned her, and she was always honest about her unwillingness to commit. Still, if Aspen Harper wanted Jane, how far would she go to have her?

Sunday, October 15th

10:10 AM

Sundays were always busy at Sky Harbor International Airport, particularly Terminal Four, where US Airways and Southwest Airlines shuttled all of the Zonies from Phoenix to Las Vegas or California destinations. The parking garage was full, all of the weekend vacationers still enjoying the San Diego weather or playing the slots on the Vegas strip. Phoenix officers and FBI swarmed the area, and the poor beat cop assigned to crowd control had his hands full with some irate fliers who wanted their cars back. Molly and Andre flashed their badges and ducked under the tape, watching the crime scene personnel assess the situation.

Connie Rasp stood with the medical examiner, past the open trunk of a dark blue Hyundai Sonata. Molly avoided the car, unsure of what she would see, and instead joined Rasp. “Detectives Nelson and Williams, I assume you know Dr. Haynes?”

“Good to see you again, detectives,” Dr. Haynes said.

Molly glanced at the balding man and nodded. It was certainly unusual to have an M.E. present at a crime scene, but the FBI involvement probably accounted for his presence. “Likewise,” Molly replied. She had worked several cases with Fred Haynes and found him to be highly competent and thorough. “So what happened?”

“The better question is what didn’t happen,” Rasp said. “Dudley Moon was shot, stabbed and beheaded. Somebody was definitely trying to make a point.”

Molly felt the guilt wrap around her, threatening to suffocate her. She should have insisted that she tail Itchy. She knew his habits, and he trusted her. That was part of his mistake, apparently.

“How long has he been dead?” Andre asked.

Fred Haynes narrowed his eyes and looked toward the trunk. “I’d say two days, but I’ll need to do a full autopsy first. Do you want to see the body before they remove it?”

Andre looked to Molly and she nodded slowly.

“Nelson, it’s okay to skip it,” Rasp said gently.

Molly could hear the kindness of her words, and she was sure Rasp noticed her reaction to Itchy’s death. Yet she didn’t want Rasp to think she was weak. “It’s no problem.” She went to the trunk, steeling herself for the worst, which until that moment had been the hanging of a small child by his meth-addicted father.

What she saw would stay with her for the rest of her life. Itchy’s beheaded body had been stuffed in the trunk, his head sandwiched between his legs, a clean bullet hole through his skull. His entire head was the color of an eggplant, and his mouth was open, as if he were trying to laugh. His face was bloated, but she could make out a distinct indentation on his left cheek. She pulled her gaze away from Itchy’s face—to the knife plunged through his heart. A piece of paper rested on his chest, the blade fastening the paper against him. In a sick way it reminded her of a child with a note pinned to his shirt coming home from school. A single word written in blood told them everything they needed to know—
TRAITOR
.

Sunday, October 15th

10:30 AM

Before trekking out to Greenlawn Cemetery, Ari stopped at Trader Joe’s and picked up two beautiful bouquets of carnations, her mother’s favorite flower. She had no idea what Richie’s favorite flower had been since he had died so young and such subjects were not part of any discussion with a nine-year-old. She knew, though, that Richie had adored his mother, and most likely, if he had been asked, he would have turned to Lucia
Adams and parroted any response she gave.

Her monthly visit to their graves wasn’t born of respect or guilt, but rather for the sake of connection, a bond that she cherished since she had no one else. She would never forgive her father—not completely. He had pushed her away into an abysmal pocket of fear by disowning her at twenty-one, abandoning her because she was gay. Her mother had been nearly helpless at the time, lost in one of her “episodes,” unclear of anything around her. Her entire mental state focused on controlling the pain from the cancer. Her mother had told her it was like staring at the head of a pin, where the slightest shift of attention caused her to fall back into the constant ache raging through her body. Such was her condition when Jack Adams told Ari to leave one evening. It wasn’t until three days later that her mother
realized Ari was gone. She demanded to see her daughter, who refused to return home. As a result, when Lucia felt strong enough, she divorced Jack Adams and moved to Tucson to live with her sister and reestablish her relationship with Ari, who worked for the Tucson P.D. There she spent the rest of her days until she was returned to Phoenix to lie next to her son.

Ari pulled the SUV to the shoulder and walked down three rows to the matching headstones. She gently placed the pink carnations beneath the markers and stepped back. Although she had memorized the inscriptions long ago, she read the etched words as if they were new, as if they might have changed since her visit last month. Her gaze drifted to the empty marker on the other side of Richie. It bore her father’s name, date of birth and, “Love conquers all,” a quotation her parents clearly had selected during happier times. All that was missing was her father’s date of death, and she knew that as her parents’ relationship fell into ruins, her mother would have gladly picked up her and Richie’s plots and moved them halfway across the cemetery if it were possible. When her cell phone rang and she saw her father’s name on the display, her eyes widened. For the second time in two days he had called her just as she was thinking of him.
Weird,
she thought.

She flipped the phone open and sighed before she held it to her ear. “Hello?”

“Hi,” he said. The hesitancy in his voice told her that he was still uncomfortable, but he wanted to be familiar, and he wanted her to treat him as she treated others who knew her intimately, the way a relative or a close friend should be. “Am I catching you at a bad time?”

“No, I’m just out here visiting Mom,” she said casually.

“Oh . . . well.”

Her lips formed into a slight smile, one she couldn’t help. He was flustered and she was happy about it. He had treated both of them so poorly that he deserved whatever he got. “I always visit Mom and Richie once a month.” She took great pleasure in uttering Richie’s name to her father, since she knew remorse and regret instantly slit his heart. He had never found Richie’s killer despite an extensive investigation.

“That’s nice,” was all he could say. After a long pause he added, “I think it’s good you visit.”

His sincerity and gentle tone disturbed her, and a pang of remembrance touched her heart, something she did not want to feel. “Why did you call, Dad?”

“Well, I just wanted to check in with you, and say that I didn’t like the way our conversation went yesterday. You seemed upset that I wasn’t coming.”

“I’m not upset.”

“Are you sure? You sounded disappointed and I was worried. If it means that much to you, I could come.”

“No,” Ari said abruptly, thinking of the likely activities that would take place at Hideaway. “Really, Dad. It’s okay.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive. Look, just send me whatever you want to get me, and I’ll call you next week after I get it. Okay?”

There was a long pause. “Well, I’ll think about it some more. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“ ’Bye, Dad.” Ari clicked the phone shut and frowned. She felt out of sorts and couldn’t decide if she was upset, sad, disappointed—or ashamed.

She glanced down at the headstones and realized that she was uncomfortable standing in front of her mother’s grave while she tormented her father. Despite their divorce, her mother would never approve.

“Sorry,” she whispered and quickly walked back to the SUV. She climbed in and leaned against the headrest. She closed her eyes and pushed the feelings away, certain that when she left the cemetery she would no longer be wrapped in the cloak of her family, which up until a few minutes ago had been pleasurable and soothing.

When she reached Smiley’s, she knew she was early and the brunch crowd had not yet claimed the best tables around the large picture windows. She found her favorite one, away from the kitchen and the front door. She ordered an iced tea and looked over her shoulder to find a young woman staring at her from the bar. The woman nodded at the bartender and slid off the stool, heading toward her. She dropped into the opposite chair, placing a messenger bag on the floor beside her. Ari smiled at a soft butch with close-cropped brown hair. She found her attractive but not in a noticeable way. She would easily blend into a crowd and never turn heads. Ari guessed she had not turned thirty, and she was blessed with youthful features. She wore a tight, black Led Zepplin concert T-shirt tucked into her jeans, and she noticed a tattoo on the inside of her forearm, a Chinese symbol. Her overall effect telegraphed danger, but Ari guessed such a judgment would be inaccurate. Her intensity was palpable, and she made no effort to immediately introduce herself, quite comfortable violating standing rules of etiquette.