Deadly Intersections

by Ann Roberts

  Ari nodded and retreated to the bedroom, feeling a door close between them. Lately more and more doors seemed to close, and she didn’t know why. She had thought that once they declared their love Molly’s anxieties would lessen, but often she seemed more uncomfortable whenever they talked about love. She’d told her she needed more time and all Ari could do now was be patient. But once in a while, when she thought of the future, Molly wasn’t there.

  She pushed the doubts from her mind and reached for her cell phone, neglected for the last twelve hours. She had five messages—from Jane, two clients, her father and Lorraine. Feeling slightly guilty over missing Lorraine’s call, she quickly punched the speed dial.

  “Hola, chica.”

  “Hey, Lorraine. What’s going on?”

  “When are you coming in? I’ve got big plans for us today.”

  “I should be there in an hour. I’ve got to stop by my place and change.”

  “Does this mean you got some quality time with the detective this weekend?”

  Ari smiled. It was so nice to work for someone who didn’t care that her lover was a woman. “It does. We spent half of Sunday together.”

  “Good for you. Okay, I’ll see you when you get here. ‘Bye.”

  “Wait!” Ari blurted. “You can’t leave me in suspense. What’s the big news?”

  “Only the greatest deal of your life.”

  She pulled into the driveway of Southwest Realty, parking behind Lorraine’s Lexus. A converted bungalow from the 1920s, Lorraine had bought the run-down property for a song, refurbished the entire interior and established her business in an area of town that few saw as having any promise, including her family who lived a mile away.

  Ari’s office was a guest room in the house’s previous life, with two beautiful picture windows that welcomed sunlight against the brightly painted yellow walls. She dropped her briefcase on the antique desk and pulled up the blinds.

  “Good morning, chica!”

  Lorraine popped her head in the doorway. She sported her usual tailored suit that accentuated her curvy figure and fine jewelry that matched perfectly. She was elegant and Jane lusted after her regularly—much to her delight.

  “Sorry I’m late.”

  She shook her head. “You’re not late. In fact you’re just in time.” She checked her watch. “We need to go in a few minutes. Get yourself organized and grab a coffee if you want. I’ll fill you in while we drive.”

  She disappeared and Ari tackled the contents of her briefcase. She withdrew the files she’d finished on Saturday and arranged them alphabetically on her desk by client name. She attached sticky notes to paperwork that still needed her attention, and she sighed with relief as she stuck a file into her out basket, for it meant that a deal had closed and she could expect a check soon. Her cell phone chirped just as she was organizing her to-do list for the day. She didn’t need to check the caller ID to know it was Jane.

  “Hey Janie.”

  “Let me guess. It’s nine forty-two, so you’ve just finished prioritizing your phone messages, right? Or have you redone your entire filing system? Perhaps you’ve solved the issue of world peace?”

  She laughed. “Even I couldn’t handle that before noon.”

  “Why was your phone off last night? You should never turn it off.”

  She blushed at the thought of her cell phone ringing during her passionate evening with Molly. It would have entirely ruined the mood. “I wasn’t accepting calls,” she said simply.

  “Oh, so you and your girlfriend were incognito. I see. I’ll never understand you, Ari.”

  “What? Don’t you ever turn off your cell?”

  “No, I don’t. You never know when you’ll miss a deal. But that’s not what I’m talking about. I’ll never understand the girlfriend part.”

  She could hear the disapproval in Jane’s voice. “Not all of us like the free life, honey.”

  “I know. You and Molly are destined for each other.”

  She sighed. “I don’t know about that. It seems lately we aren’t communicating very well.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Ever since we said the L word it’s been more difficult, or at least it seems that way. Every time I say I love her she tenses up, and her face freezes like I’m telling her about a plane crash.”

  Jane chuckled. “Honey, you’re being a little dramatic.”

  “I know.” She noticed some stray specks of dust on her blotter and reached for a tissue. “So what’s up? You need to talk fast because we’re heading out in a few minutes.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “I don’t know. She’s being very mysterious.”

  “Sounds potentially lucrative. Well, I just wanted to call and see how the reunion went with your father. Did the two of you make up?”

  She smiled at Jane’s simplistic view of the world where every problem should be solved immediately or no longer than it took to work out in a thirty-minute television show. “We made a start. We’re going to have dinner tonight. Can you come?”

  “No. I’d love to play Switzerland, but I’ve got a hot date.”

  “With whom?”

  “Oh, just someone I met online.”

  She closed her eyes. Jane knew enough women without meeting more in cyberspace. She had recently brushed against death because of her loose ways.

  “Don’t tell me that you’ve started dating online.”

  “No, no. This is just a friend and maybe a potential client. Gotta go.”

  Before Ari could comment Jane disconnected. She frowned and cradled the receiver. Jane didn’t have any true female friends except her. Everyone else was a conquest, business associate or potential lover.

  “Ari, let’s go!” Lorraine called.

  She quickly grabbed her bag and headed out the door. Jane would do whatever she wanted, and Ari would inevitably pick up the pieces.

  Ari followed Lorraine’s directions into the Day Arbor neighborhood, one of the most prestigious historic districts in the heart of Central Phoenix. Day Arbor offered eclectic architecture, sprawling lawns and unique floor plans that featured dumbwaiters and secret passageways. The fact that the neighborhood sat next to a golf course only added to its appeal.

  They drove through the secluded residential streets until Lorraine directed her to stop in front of an incredible two-story Spanish colonial revival, and in Ari’s opinion, the nicest house on the block. The recently clipped grass and hedges nestled against the ground floor windows were trimmed perfectly straight. A Romeo and Juliet balcony perched over the mature chili pepper trees which dotted the yard and a red brick walk trailed through the plush Bermuda to an emerald green front door.

  “A new listing?” she asked, following behind Lorraine, studying every inch of the house in admiration.

  “We’ll see,” Lorraine said with a grin. “You remember Stan Wertz from that terrible luncheon?”

  She rolled her eyes and sighed. “You’ve got to be kidding. He hit on me.”

  Lorraine held up her hands. “Listen, chica, I know it’s not right. He’s probably a sexual harasser, but this is big money and I know we’ll get the buyer’s and seller’s commissions if we work it together. Sweetie, we’re talking a six figure commission potentially.”

  She gritted her teeth. There was more to life than money, but she could definitely endure a little butt-leering and ogling if it meant that much money.

  “Fine.”

  A woman in a crisp grey uniform answered their ring. The turned-up lace cuffs of her short sleeves matched the apron that she wore. She was an older Hispanic woman who tried to hide her tired eyes behind a cordial expression.

  “May I help you?”

  Lorraine flashed her ultimate power smile. “Absolutely. And you are…?” She stuck her hand out in greeting, and the woman graciously took it, obviously a bit surprised that a guest would actually introduce herself.

  “I’m Dora, Mr. Wertz’s domestic.”


  Ari suppressed a giggle at the expressions of the rich. She looked back down the street and wondered if everyone had a domestic.

  Lorraine continued to shake the woman’s hand furiously. “I’m Lorraine Gonzalez and this is my associate Ari Adams. We have an appointment with Mr. Wertz.”

  “Please come in.” Dora gestured toward the long entryway.

  Ari lingered behind, admiring the antiques and wall hangings that surrounded them. Her jaw dropped as she passed what she thought might be a real Chagall, but Lorraine never commented. They stepped through an archway as she noticed the amazing patterns embedded in the tile—the reds, turquoises and browns swirling in a bold circular design. Dora deposited them in the living room and Ari marveled at the stained glass window across the room. The place was highly inviting, its wooden beams spanning the cathedral ceiling.

  “I smell money,” Lorraine whispered.

  She chuckled as clipped heels drew closer. Stan Wertz emerged through another archway carrying a putter over his shoulder. He was dressed in golf shorts and a polo shirt, a white visor with a designer logo hiding much of his black and silver hair. He epitomized a rich, powerful man, and she found herself slightly intimidated in his presence. Lorraine on the other hand seemed entirely at ease. Ari found it ironic that a woman who had grown up with nothing so easily acclimated to another social class.

  “Mr. Wertz,” Lorraine gushed, “It’s wonderful to see you again. I’m sure you remember my associate Ari Adams.”

  “Absolutely.”

  He dropped her handshake quickly as his eyes settled on Ari’s figure. He held her fingers longer than necessary, and she understood why Lorraine wanted her there. She would close the deal—or rather her looks would help ensure that by the time they left, a Southwest Realty sign would be sitting in his driveway ready for the post to be placed in his yard.

  “I’m so glad you called me. I’d love to show you what we can do. I know we can move your house quickly,” she added.

  At the mention of a quick sale his glance shifted back to her. “And what would you do to sell my house fast?” he asked skeptically.

  Ari doubted they were the first agents he’d interviewed.

  Lorraine smiled broadly and looked around. “A house like this sells itself. We just have to give it the right PR—an open house, a mailing, some phone calls to key buyers that I know and most importantly a well-worded listing in the service.”

  He seemed impressed by her confidence and nodded his head in agreement.

  “Why don’t you show us around?” she suggested.

  “Of course,” he said, dropping the putter into a corner and leading them to the back of the house. Ari lost her breath as they entered a solarium. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the southern exposure, the source of light for the entire room. Large beveled glass panes stood side by side, affording an exceptional view of the lush backyard. A window seat ran the length of the wall, and she pictured herself curling up with a good book. She would have quite a selection of titles from which to choose since the adjoining wall housed rows of books in the floor-to-ceiling built-in shelves. Couches and chaise lounges were scattered about, creating conversation niches that would be perfect for a party. A Steinway grand piano sat in a corner away from the direct sunlight. She immediately thought how much Molly would love this space.

  “What an exceptional room,” Lorraine gushed. “It has so many uses.”

  He snorted. “This was my wife’s. She insisted we buy that monstrosity,” he said, pointing at the piano, “and then she never played. After she left I’d thought about turning the place into a game room, but I’m rarely home.”

  Lorraine shook her head. “That’s too bad. I’m sure you could use the relaxation. I can’t imagine how hard it must be to run a grocery store chain.”

  “I’ve always got to stay ahead,” he said as they moved back down the hall.

  Ari lingered in the solarium a moment longer, gazing at the piano. She crossed the living room and entered the den which reeked of macho man. A plasma TV covered one wall and animal heads stared at each other from around the room. A poker table sat in a corner and Ari could smell the faint odor of cigars. She blinked twice before she understood the setup in the opposite corner. Parquet flooring and stage lighting illuminated a long slender pole that extended from ceiling to floor.

  “Unbelievable,” she muttered in disgust.

  Of course the room wouldn’t be complete without a fancy bar—the array of liquor suggested Wertz could create any drink ordered. She noticed a decorative shelf lining the top of the bar. He’d chosen to display a collection of antique bottles and flasks, and she noticed one that looked quite similar to the silver flask found inside Warren Edgington’s car.

  “Ari, where are you?” Lorraine called. “We’re going upstairs.”

  She tore her gaze away from the flasks and found them at the base of a winding staircase. They climbed to an open loft that Ari thought would be a great office space. The two second floor bedrooms were contemporary, painted in rich earth tones with deep rust accents around the windows. The floors had been redone in bamboo, her favorite look. By the time they returned to the living room, she was in love with the home and wondered how she could afford a seven-figure price tag.

  “So how much can you get for my house?” he asked.

  “We can do well, Stan. I know you want top dollar, but the house must appraise,” she said plainly. “I’ve done a comparative market analysis, and I’m sure we could get over a million.”

  Ari listened as Lorraine explained the role of the seller’s agent, keeping her eyes squarely on her boss. She knew he was staring at her despite Lorraine’s efforts to engage him in conversation. He interrupted twice to ask questions, but when she presented the contract to him, he signed and initialed at the appropriate places, not bothering to read the ten pages of small print.

  “So, now what?” he asked.

  “I’ll put it in the listing system as soon as we get back to the office,” she assured him. “I imagine that you’ll have an offer soon.”

  “I hope so. I’m dying to get rid of this place. I’ve fallen in love with golf, and I’ve got my eye on Desert Mountain.”

  She joined in his enthusiasm, clearly sensing an opportunity to help him find his next home. “Without a doubt that’s the premier spot,” she agreed. “Have you played Verde Lobo?”

  He nodded, a huge grin spreading across his face, the expression of a golf junkie. “My favorite is Desert Vista.”

  She laughed. “Johnny Wilson, the club manager, is a personal friend so let me know if you ever need a favor. I’d be happy to look up listings for you as well.”

  His eyes shifted to Ari. “Actually, Lorraine, I want you to devote your entire attention to removing this albatross from my back. I was hoping Ari would act as my buyer’s agent. What do you say, Ari?”

  “Sure,” she replied slowly.

  Although he was incredibly distasteful, the paycheck would be worth enduring several hours with him as they drove around in her SUV previewing houses. She’d investigate the area thoroughly and hopefully they would find something quickly.

  He walked them to the door and took her hand. “I’m looking forward to working with you. Both of you,” he quickly added for Lorraine’s benefit.

  Ari nodded weakly before he closed the enormous front door.

  “I think I need a shower,” she murmured.

  Chapter Seven

  Molly motored through the most depressed residential area of the city. Once the urban center of the valley, South Phoenix harbored the most notorious gangs, served as the epicenter for crack houses and sheltered the city’s poor, the majority of whom were Hispanic. Most Phoenicians only saw South Phoenix from the inside of their cars as they motored down I-10 or SR-202, gaining a bird’s eye view of the decrepit houses and rundown backyards that stretched across the landscape to the base of South Mountain.

  She handed a steaming cup of coffee to Andre, who pored ove
r her spreadsheets looking for the answer to mystery of 6815. Since he had a minor in finance he stood the best chance of finding the answer.

  “I’ve checked out at least fifty of the addresses and nothing jumps out. They all seem legit.” He tossed the spreadsheets onto the floor and sipped the coffee. “You know, Mol, I’m happy to help, but you need to realize that if these numbers are an address, whoever owns the place has probably hidden it really well behind shell corporations and false names. We may look right past the answer and not know it.”

  She nodded. “I get that. But the idea of a dirty cop makes my stomach turn.”

  “I hear ya.”

  She slowed as she passed a group of children playing in one of the dirt front yards. No foliage grew anywhere, the residents unable to squander precious water on landscaping. Large trees planted after the Depression once inhabited all of the yards, but when the neighborhoods spiraled downward, the trees like everything else went untended and eventually met a whirring chainsaw. The owners passed the ramshackle places from heir to heir, each one caught on the economic downslide and unable to make any improvements to the property.

  “Reminds me of Philly,” Andre said. “We had a ton of neighborhoods like this.”

  “It makes me want to cry,” Molly added.

  She turned right on Eighth Street and entered a media circus. TV vans lined the sides of the road while reporters and cameramen clustered in front of a drab house and searched for the best shot. The muted green paint had faded from the masonry block, revealing patches of a dusty rose underneath. Probably the original color from sixty years ago.

  She pulled up in front of a fire hydrant, something a news crew wouldn’t dare do. A strip of red against the house caught her eye. It was one of those festive flags people hung on their porch that celebrated or honored nothing but proclaimed cheerfulness about the owners. Emblazoned with a yellow daisy, the banner wasn’t the only noticeable difference that separated this house from those of its neighbors. Someone had attempted to create order from chaos—all of the toys and bikes were lined up neatly near the porch.