by Ann Roberts
“We need to interview Maria’s friend Selena Diaz as well as Raul Cervantes,” Molly said.
Ms. Preston nodded. Her secretary stuck her head into the room and she excused herself.
“So, what do you make of this?” Andre asked. “Do you really think a gang-banger would take out a little girl over a suspension?”
Molly rubbed her chin and stared at her notes. She guessed that Maria loved to stir up trouble. She seemed fearless, a necessary South Phoenix survival trait but one that could have been her undoing. She pictured her standing up to Raul Cervantes, those brown eyes blazing, ignoring the consequences. Could it have earned her a bullet in the chest? A wave of admiration and fear simultaneously touched her heart.
The conference room door squeaked open again and the principal’s secretary returned. “I’m sorry. Ms. Preston needs to meet with the superintendent. I’m Mrs. Jones and I’ve called Raul down, but Selena isn’t in school today. I’ve left a message with Hector. I’m sure he’ll be here quickly. If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to a quieter area.”
They followed Mrs. Jones through the busy hallways filled with students changing classes. As they passed the rows of lockers, a huge banner hanging from the staircase caught Molly’s attention. The large red letters advertised a city-wide science fair and congratulated Mrs. Stimson’s fifth-grade class for placing first in the competition.
Molly gazed skyward and Mrs. Jones pointed at the banner. “That was Maria’s class. They’re an awesome group and totally devastated by her death. It’s such a shame. They just won last week, and we were going to honor them tomorrow. Now I don’t think anyone wants to celebrate.”
Mrs. Jones ushered them into the library and retrieved Raul. Molly was surprised when a scrawny, short boy with a buzz cut stepped into the room. Wearing a simple white T-shirt that drooped well below his saggy shorts, she concluded that he couldn’t carry the gangster image he was trying to convey.
“Raul, this is Detective Nelson and she needs to ask you some questions.”
“I want my brother here,” he said, his gaze avoiding Molly.
“He’s on his way.”
She motioned to a small table and whispered in Molly’s ear. “I’m sure Hector will be here in a few minutes. He doesn’t work that far away. If you want any information, you’d better get it quick. When he gets here, he won’t let him talk.”
She nodded in appreciation and sat down next to him.
“I’ll go wait for your brother in the office, Raul,” Mrs. Jones said before she left.
Molly watched him, his teeth nervously biting into his lower lip as his left leg bopped up and down. He stared at a shelf of books, reading the spines. She let the silence settle between them, resisting the urge to shotgun a series of questions at him before Hector interrupted the session.
“Have you read any of those books?” she asked. He nodded, totally disinterested in the small talk. Still she pressed on, determined to find a point of interest that might hook him. “Which ones?”
“Just The Outsiders,” he mumbled.
A book about a gang of boys. Not surprising. She’d read the classic years ago, but she couldn’t remember much about it. There were themes about loyalty, friendship and family, all of which she was sure he could relate to.
“Who was your favorite character?”
“Ponyboy.”
“Why?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I just remember that I liked him.”
“That’s cool,” she said, before a long pause. “Raul, I’ve got a murder to investigate, and I need your help.”
“I want my brother,” he said plainly.
“Just chill, kid. You’re not in any trouble,” Andre snapped.
She realized how smart he was, and she wouldn’t be able to blow over him like she could with most other children she interviewed. “It would help me if you’d just tell me what you know about Maria Perez.”
“She’s a snitch,” he blurted. “She got me in trouble.”
He immediately closed his mouth, realizing his brother wouldn’t approve. She could tell he was struggling to control his anger. His knee jerked faster. He wouldn’t look at her.
“Was it really Maria who got you in trouble or did you do it to yourself?”
She posed the question exactly as her older brother did with his own children. His response, though, was much different than that of her niece and nephew. Instead of looking remotely penitent he glared at her. He had his version of the truth, and he wouldn’t be manipulated by child psychology.
“You don’t understand anything,” he said. “Maria was a fake. She wasn’t all perfect, and she was a liar. She just wanted everyone else to get in trouble while she got away with stuff.”
“Like what?” Molly asked.
He shook his head, and his gaze fell to the floor. “I’m not gonna say. I’m not a snitch. I’m not her.”
She watched him closely, his lip quivering. She understood the code of ethics that surrounded most middle school boys. He was nervous, but there was no way he would give anyone up to an adult. “What did your brother think of her?”
“Hector?” He looked surprised. “Hector didn’t care about her.”
“Hector didn’t care that she got you suspended, almost kicked out of school?”
“No, I didn’t care,” said a voice from the doorway. Hector Cervantes swaggered beside his younger brother, placing a protective hand on his shoulder. “Didn’t I tell you to always wait for me?”
“I told her, but she kept asking me questions,” he whined.
He whispered something in Spanish to his brother. Raul nodded and quickly left the room, not bothering to look at her again while Hector lowered himself into the chair his brother had vacated.
“If you want to talk to me, then talk to me. Raul knows nothing to help you.”
Molly held his gaze, well aware that to look away or even blink would be a sign of weakness in the presence of an alleged killer. Perhaps Hector didn’t kill Maria, but the brown eyes that bored into hers were hardened, darkened by the knowledge of death.
“Mr. Cervantes, I’m Detective Nelson and this is Detective Williams. Okay, I’ll ask you. What do you know about Maria Perez’s murder?”
He folded his arms, elaborate gang tattoos peeking out from under his mechanic’s work shirt. He was much more muscular than Raul and Molly guessed—no fighter would ever get the best of him. His slicked back hair and sculpted Van Dyke only added to the tough image and the typical look of a warlord.
“I know she took one in the chest at the drugstore.”
“The drugstore? Is that Washington School?”
The corners of his mouth lifted into a slight smile. “Ain’t no schoolin’ going on there anymore. Just lots of buys.”
Her anger surfaced as she pictured a giant wrecking ball crashing into the structure. Nothing good would ever come of that place again.
“Is that where you deal?”
He laughed. “Detective, I am a law-abiding citizen.”
“So you don’t know anything about this little girl’s murder?” Andre asked impatiently.
He tapped his fingers against his workpants, ignoring the question. It was clear he wasn’t afraid of their badges in the least. He propped his feet up on a nearby chair and stretched back. “I’m not saying anything to you. You know nothing about what goes on down here.”
“So educate us. Tell us why anyone would want to kill a ten-year-old girl in cold blood?”
He snorted and shook his head. “It happens all the time, lady.”
She leaned closer. “Well, you obviously knew about her murder or you did it yourself.”
He scowled and sat up in the chair. “Why do cops always assume that Latino men are responsible for crime if it occurs in the barrio?”
“Because they usually are,” she shot back.
He stood and headed for the door. “Maria Perez was a troublemaker, and I’m not surprised she got popped.”
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“So can I assume Raul didn’t like her?” she called.
He let out a sound of disapproval. “Detective, if I were you, I’d stay away from Raul.” His voice was cold and soft and she felt a shiver down her back.
“Are you threatening me?”
He grinned slightly. “Of course not, Detective. Like I said, I’m a law-abiding citizen.”
He walked out of the room, his relaxed saunter mocking her.
Chapter Nine
It was late afternoon by the time Ari returned to her office after previewing several houses in North Scottsdale for Stan Wertz. She immediately headed for the refrigerator, hoping to find two of Lorraine’s famous tamales for lunch. Dinner with her father and Sol wasn’t scheduled until eight, and she imagined her stomach would be growling fiercely.
She wolfed down the tamales and powered up her computer, attempting to learn more about her new client. She downloaded several articles from a Google search and learned Wertz had spent his entire life in the grocery business. He’d risen from the bottom of the ladder, beginning as a bag boy at the first Hometown Grocery. When he finally broke into management and purchased the small company, he saw the possibility of expansion and bought land for a second store. A second led to a third and eventually there were Hometown Groceries all over Phoenix.
She scrolled through a story detailing how he’d forced a family restaurant out of the location it had enjoyed for twenty years to acquire the land for one of his stores. Despite the pleas of the communi, and even some nasty editorials in The Arizona Republic, he’d had the sheriff’s office escort the patriarch off the property, drawing negative publicity and picketers on the sidewalks outside the other stores.
His mettle continued to be tested by the presence of FoodCo, the mega-conglomerate that gobbled up all of the other grocery chains. There were now only two food companies in Phoenix: FoodCo, whose storefronts bore many names, and Hometown Grocery. He refused to sell to FoodCo despite numerous offers.
The final article was only three days old and announced an opening of another Hometown Grocery in Gilbert. She scrolled through the particulars but found no connection to Warren Edgington. In the article Wertz boasted that he had every intention of keeping his foothold in the Phoenix grocery competition and his bigger plans included a store that could rival any big box store.
She leaned back in her chair and tented her fingers under her chin, thinking about what she had learned about him. He was obviously powerful and ruthless, not afraid to achieve his goals at the expense of others. She wasn’t surprised that he’d confronted Edgington in public. But what were they talking about?
She typed in Edgington’s name and found his website. He was a commercial real estate investor and speculator. After she clicked on all the links she’d still learned very little. He’d created a teaser, a website designed to give prospective clients a preview but not much real information. Anyone interested in Mr. Edgington’s services would need to call. When she scrolled to the bottom she found a message from his wife, thanking his clients for their past business and notes of condolence.
She closed the articles and began writing her thoughts into the file. A knock drew her eyes to the doorway. A slash of dark hair leaned casually against the jamb, her thumbs looped into the front pockets of her jeans. The visitor smiled broadly at Ari.
Ari swallowed hard at the sight of Biz Stone, a private investigator who’d helped save Jane’s life recently. “Hello, Biz,” she said.
“Hey.” Biz motioned behind her. “There wasn’t anybody in the lobby so I came on through. I hope I didn’t scare you.”
“No, of course not. I’m sorry there wasn’t anyone to greet you. Our receptionist leaves at four.”
Biz shrugged, bypassing the client chairs and strolling to the couch with a sense of familiarity. She sat down and stretched her legs. Ari noticed that today she wore a Joan Jett and the Blackhearts T-shirt with her tight jeans. She looked incredibly sexy. That’s why you need to stay away from her.
“It’s been a while, Biz.”
Biz glanced at her watch. “Three months, nineteen days and nine hours.”
She smiled weakly. “You’re very precise. What are you doing here?”
Biz sat up and rested her hands on her knees. “Actually I’m here on business. I’m looking for a real estate agent. I want to buy a place.”
She shifted in her seat while warning bells went off in her head. She knew if she joined Biz on the couch and stared into her brown eyes with the gold flecks, she would become confused again, lost in dangerous feelings. That couldn’t happen. She raised her head with complete resolve. “I can’t help you, Biz. You know that. You need to ask Lorraine.”
Biz held up her hands. “Why do I need Lorraine? I thought we were friends.”
“We are friends, but you know as well as I do that our relationship is complicated.”
“Complicated? Complicated by what?”
Ari glared and Biz feigned recognition. “Oh, you mean Molly. It’s complicated because she has a problem with me being in your life and you don’t want to upset her—”
“No, that’s not it at all. You’ve summarized everything incorrectly. Molly doesn’t have a problem—”
“So, you do?”
She sighed in exasperation. “No, I don’t have a problem.”
Biz jumped up and started pacing. “Well, I don’t have a problem. Maybe it’s Jane. Maybe she has the problem or maybe it’s the waiter at Oregano’s. Maybe he has the problem.”
“Stop,” she said.
She looked at Biz, totally dejected. She couldn’t explain her feelings. She knew helping her was wrong. It was a risk that would jeopardize her relationship with Molly. It was irrational, but it was the truth.
“I can’t,” she said simply.
Biz strolled behind her chair and hovered over her. She said nothing for a long time, allowing their nearness to wash over her.
“I don’t want to ask Lorraine or Jane,” she whispered. “If we’re truly friends then this shouldn’t be a problem. And if your relationship with Molly can’t endure a business client, who also happens to be attracted to you, then it’ll never last with her.”
She returned to the other side of the desk and dropped into a client chair. “Besides I’m going to make you a ton of money.”
The money is the last thing I care about.
But Biz was right. What would happen the first time an attractive lesbian client hit on her? Was Molly going to be jealous of every single woman in her life? This shouldn’t be an issue. She’d just have to figure out a way to tell Molly.
Ari looked into her incredible eyes. “Okay, here are the ground rules. No flirting. No touching. No passes. Strictly professional. Does that work for you?”
She grinned. “Not really, but I’ll work it out in therapy.”
Ari suppressed a smile and picked up a pen. “Fine. Tell me what you’re looking for.”
She took a deep breath, as if she was preparing to make a speech. “I’m not sure what I want but I’m sick of renting. I want to own something. That whole American dream crap.” She leaned forward on the desk. “Don’t you ever want that?”
She shrugged. “Sometimes. But for now I rent.”
“Alone?”
Suddenly she felt uncomfortable. She knew Biz was only half joking and the comment unnerved her. “For now,” she replied simply. “So what do you picture when you see yourself sitting at home?”
Biz stared out the window. Her unruly hair dropped back over her eyes, adding to her sexiness. “Well, I want many things, but I guess I’m looking for a loft, something that reminds me of New York. Maybe downtown. I know I don’t want anything remotely close to suburbia. I can’t stand the cookie-cutter look.”
“Me either,” she agreed. “So you want something urban. What about a converted industrial place?”
Biz’s face brightened. “That would be great. With lots of windows and open space. Do you know anything like that
?”
“Yes, there’s a new development near Chase Field. It was a factory and they remodeled each floor into four separate lofts. I’ve seen the website and it looks fantastic.”
“That sounds perfect. Can you show me?”
“Sure. I’ll pull it up for you.”
She clicked through a series of screens while Biz pulled her chair around next to her. “It’s called Trombetta Dwellings and it’s a relatively new developer who wants to come in and save the inner cities. It’s got a ton of amenities including a fitness center and a spa. And they’re opening retail shops down in the lobby for the residents. Places like a dry cleaners and a pharmacy.”
“That would be so convenient,” Biz murmured as she studied the plans. “I hate to shop.” Ari giggled and they faced each other.
“What?” Biz laughed.
She shook her head and gazed into the brown eyes—but only for a second. She felt heat flow through her body. “I hate shopping too. I’d have everything delivered if I could.”
“Errands,” Biz whispered. Ari felt her breath float across the top of her ear. “The enemy of Saturday morning.” They both chuckled while Ari clicked through the pages of the website. When the interiors appeared on the screen, Biz leaned forward and studied the layout. “This looks great. When can I see it?”
“I could call them tomorrow morning and make an appointment, but they’re very expensive.”
She grinned. “What? You don’t think I can afford it? Make the appointment.”
“When are you available?”
“Any time. Let me know.”
She was staring into her eyes, lost. When Biz moved closer, Ari jumped. “I’ll set up the appointment as soon as possible and call you. And I’m sorry if I sounded like I was judging you,” she added, as she walked her out to her car, a ’67 Shelby 350.
“Don’t worry about it,” Biz said. “I consider it a plus that in my profession I get to wear my entire collection of concert T-shirts. The downside is that people usually think I’m homeless and unemployed.”
