Deadly Intersections

by Ann Roberts

  Her nails pressed against Molly’s pants, leaving scratch marks on the fabric. She could only imagine what her thighs looked like, and she hoped she wasn’t bleeding. After her lecture to Ari about Biz, the last thing she needed was to be clawed like an animal.

  Molly grasped her hand but didn’t let go. She needed to let go. She knew that. But the image of Biz’s name on the file folder, written in Ari’s careful, meticulous script, wouldn’t allow her to release the soft hand she now held.

  “Come with me,” Lola said, sliding off the stool and heading for the back room.

  She followed, her gaze darting around the bar until she was certain that Jane wasn’t there. They found a plush sofa in a dark corner. Lola pressed against her, and Molly inhaled her scent, so different from Ari’s. Lola wore heavy cologne that smelled like a bouquet of flowers, and her lips ravaged Molly’s neck, smothering her willpower.

  She closed her eyes as Lola unbuttoned her shirt, exposing her flesh to the cool air conditioning of the back room. The purple nails wandered across the hills of her breasts, and she threw her eyes open in panic, picturing deep scratches that she couldn’t hide from Ari.

  Lola grinned, obviously reading her mind. “Do you know why I keep my nails so long?”

  “No,” Molly whispered.

  “Because I never use my hands. That’s what my tongue’s for.”

  Her eyes widened at the surprising response. She was too stunned to move and did nothing when Lola climbed on top of her and began rocking her hips.

  “C’mon, Detective, let’s get to third base. Then you can drive me home.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Ari yawned repeatedly as she headed for Biz’s office. She should’ve known that dinner with her father and Jane would be a five-hour affair, ending with a quick trip to the Ak-Chin Casino and Jack’s favorite game—blackjack. While he and Jane amassed a small fortune, she continually slipped outside and tried to reach Molly who never answered.

  She returned her attention to Biz’s address and pulled into a small parking lot in front of a quaint old building. Her office was part of a converted farmhouse which included several businesses under one roof. She parked her SUV next to Biz’s Mustang and entered through the main door. A maze of hallways tunneled through the house. She only made one wrong turn before she found the door with a simple gold placard announcing, Elizabeth Stone, Private Investigator.

  She opened the door to find Biz and a young woman in the midst of a passionate kiss. They quickly broke apart at the sight of her, the young woman blushing and reaching for her purse. She bolted out of the room as Ari offered an apology, but the woman’s face remained downward, unwilling to look at her.

  When the door quickly slammed shut she turned to Biz. “I’m sorry. I do know how to knock.”

  Biz smiled and shrugged, unembarrassed. “Not a big deal. That was Callie. She was just delivering my lunch.” She picked up a brown bag, the name of a local deli emblazoned across the side.

  “Is that your girlfriend?”

  “No.”

  She raised a cynical eyebrow. “Really? That was quite a kiss.”

  Biz motioned for her to sit on the couch and dropped into an old wooden chair, propping her cowboy boots up on the desk. “Thanks for the compliment, but that was just a fortunate moment.”

  Her office had few furnishings—her desk, a filing cabinet, a back table stacked with papers and the couch Ari sat upon. No pictures or art adorned the tan walls, only a printed piece of paper that she’d tacked above her desk. It read simply, It is what it is, you get what you get, and whatever happens, happens.

  “It’s good to see you,” she said cheerfully.

  “I’m glad to see you, too,” Ari said. She so enjoyed her genuine friendliness. It was unusual and refreshing. “I’ve brought the contract, which is really a formality since you’re not negotiating the price and you’re dealing with a company.”

  She moved from the clunky office chair to the sofa next to her. She listened attentively as Ari explained the details, and unlike many of her clients who merely nodded during her standard contract spiel, she asked several questions about the passages and clauses, often testing her broader knowledge of several topics. By the time she was ready to sign she’d given Ari a professional workout.

  “There. It’s done,” Biz pronounced, holding out the pen and contract to her.

  “Do you feel any different?”

  “Poorer,” Biz laughed. “But this place is home, you know? I’m sure I won’t regret it.”

  A touch of jealousy pulled at her heart. She had yet to really find a home. She double-checked the contract while she chatted with Biz. “I’m glad you feel that way. It’s tough dealing with clients who get a large dose of buyer’s remorse. When I turn this contract in to the company, it’s binding.”

  Biz waved her hand unfazed by the commitment or the legal obligation. “That won’t happen. In fact if you’ve got the time, I’ll go down there with you right now and turn it in, and I can show you what my contractor is going to do to the kitchen. How about it? Then I’ll take you to lunch.”

  “What about your lunch from Callie?” Ari asked, motioning to the bag. “Won’t she be disappointed if you don’t eat it?”

  Biz slowly turned her head and concentrated on her expression. “I’m not particularly worried about Callie’s feelings. I’d rather have lunch with you.”

  She swallowed hard. “I can’t. I’m meeting my father for lunch. But I promise I’ll get the contract in today.”

  Biz accepted the rejection with a nod. “Ari, I have a question for you. Are you and Molly a couple?”

  “Of course. We’ve been together for several months. Why do you ask?”

  Biz stared at the floor. “It’s just that…”

  “What?”

  There was a sharp edge to her voice that came out accidentally. When Biz looked up seriously, she knew what she was going to say. Molly hadn’t returned any of her phone calls the night before and when she’d finally called Andre in a flurry of paranoia and concern, he’d hesitantly confirmed that she’d left before six. She knew where she’d gone and so did Biz.

  Biz sighed. “It’s nothing.” She shifted on the sofa. “Hey, when I called you yesterday why did you ask me about Edgington?”

  “I was just curious.”

  She flashed a knowing smile and leaned back on the sofa. “I’m not going to believe that so why don’t you tell me the truth?”

  She gazed into her eyes, lost in the fascinating gold flecks. “I hardly know you.”

  “But you can trust me,” she whispered.

  Her voice was almost hypnotic, and her eyes didn’t lie. Ari immediately understood why so many women sought her help. It was her sincerity and definitely her eyes. She swallowed hard and leaned back on the sofa. “If Warren Edgington’s wife is correct about him being murdered then I think one of my clients or his secretary are prime suspects.”

  Biz listened carefully as Ari outlined her suspicions, including the fight at the luncheon, Edgington’s affair with Candy and the mysterious Hometown Center location.

  “Everything you’ve got is entirely circumstantial,” Biz said.

  “You’re probably right. I just think the whole thing is really coincidental. I saw them arguing and then Edgington winds up dead. Wertz’s secretary provided an alibi, but she wasn’t at the office. I looked up the doctor she visited. Biz, he works for Planned Parenthood. I’m rather certain that Candy went to get an abortion.”

  “You said Candy and Edgington were lovers. Do you think it was his baby?”

  “Maybe,” Ari said, “or it was Wertz’s. I’m rather certain they’ve hooked up.”

  Biz rubbed her chin. “None of this makes any sense, but I’ll do some digging.”

  “No,” Ari disagreed. “I need to know whether my client is a murderer. You can help me, but I’m looking into this myself.”

  Biz smiled seductively. “So if I agree to help you, does that mean
you and I can spend the afternoon together?

  Biz insisted on driving. With her hand slung out the open window, cigarette in hand, and her dark shades a perfect match for her black outfit and hair, she truly looked dangerous—and very appealing.

  “What?” Biz asked, her eyes on the road.

  “What do you mean, what?”

  “You’re staring at me, Ari. Do I have some sort of disgusting thing coming out of my nose or are you debating whether or not monogamy with your girlfriend is a good thing?”

  “You’re pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

  “Well, I’m really hoping that a booger isn’t dangling out of my nostril.”

  “Gross!” she laughed.

  Biz flashed a megawatt smile, punched a button on the dash and filled the car with Katy Perry’s latest song. Ari leaned back and ran her fingers through her hair. Her life was in chaos, and everything was out of place. Her relationship with Molly was in shambles, her father wanted to start over and her most prominent client could possibly be a murderer. She glanced through the window at the cars speeding by, refusing to focus on any details. Maybe it would all work out. Ironically it was her father who proved to be the most reasonable person. He’d accepted her lunch cancellation graciously. He was really trying which was more than she could say for Molly, who wouldn’t return her calls. She was either still royally pissed about Biz or she was ashamed because she’d had a one-night stand.

  Biz exited the 101 and they cruised down Elliott to Alma School. “Let’s hit the strip mall first.”

  Instead of driving around the front Biz went behind the stores, slowing the car to a crawl. It looked quite standard to Ari. Each business had a back entrance. The furniture store was equipped with a large loading bay that was presently being used by three delivery men loading up their truck. Biz stopped ten feet away and they watched various sofas and loveseats disappear inside.

  “That’s odd,” Biz said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “They’re only loading couches and sofas.”

  Ari shrugged. “Maybe that’s all anyone’s bought. Maybe they’re having some sort of sale.”

  Biz leaned forward against the steering wheel. “But what are the chances of that happening? If you go to a furniture store, isn’t it likely that you’d buy at least one other item? Maybe a lamp or a coffee table? There’s more furniture in a living room than the couch.”

  They continued to watch the transfer of furniture as more sofas made their way onto the truck. Biz was right.

  “Where do you think they’re taking all of it?” Ari finally asked. “It looks like they’ve emptied out the whole department.”

  “It seems that way,” Biz agreed. She put the car into drive, and they continued to cruise behind the strip mall. “Wait a sec,” she said, stopping the car suddenly.

  She headed to the back door of a vacant store, leaning over to read the property manager’s sign. Ari followed and scanned the fine print. The property management company was Cardiff industries, a division of EPI.

  “What’s EPI?” she asked Biz, sensing it must be important.

  She cracked a grin. “EPI stands for Edgington Properties International. Cardiff is a subdivision of Warren Edgington’s parent corporation.”

  “That can’t be a coincidence,” Ari said.

  She nodded. “I think we’ve learned what we need to know.”

  “Which is?”

  Biz crossed her arms and glanced back at the truck now rumbling away. “There was some sort of deal between Edgington and your guy, Stan Wertz—”

  “Please don’t call him my guy.”

  She laughed. “Understood. Anyway, I think they made a deal on this property, but the only tenant who knows is the furniture store owner. He’s got an inside track, and he’s cleaning out.”

  “Why does he know and nobody else?”

  “Hard to say. He’s either moving to another location or to a storage facility. Either way it takes time.” She took Ari’s hand and squeezed. “It doesn’t matter. Look, you need to be careful, okay? I don’t know what’s going on, but this connection between Edgington and Wertz…”

  She didn’t finish her sentence. Ari knew what she meant and nodded.

  Biz pulled her close and whispered, “Be careful. I couldn’t stand it if anything happened to you.”

  Ari ducked out of the embrace and headed for the car, certain that Biz wanted to kiss her. As they drove across the street to the Victorian house she wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

  When they entered the smoke shop her senses were assaulted by twenty odors hovering in the small lobby. The pungent smells of the stogies behind the glass case combined with the wafting smoke from the back parlor room where men enjoyed their recently purchased cigars reminded her of a barnyard. The look on her face must have telegraphed her obvious displeasure.

  “Not a fan?” Biz asked.

  “No. What about you?”

  “I’ve smoked a few cigars in my time, but it’s not my vice of choice.”

  No one had yet appeared to help them so they looked around at the displays, all of which were affiliated with smoking, drinking and gambling. Laughter erupted from the back room and she could hear the distinct baritones of men bonding together beyond the brown curtain. She made a mental note to remember this place as her father claimed all three activities for his favorite pastimes—after fishing. She pulled out the receipt and noticed the purchase was for thirty-five dollars so whatever Candy had bought for Wertz was somewhat expensive.

  “May I help you?”

  They turned to see a middle-aged Indian man dressed in a button-down shirt and sweater vest emerge from behind the curtain. His bushy mustache hid his mouth, and Ari wasn’t sure if he’d actually spoken the words to them.

  “Yes,” Biz answered. “I was hoping you could help us. My uncle Fred made a purchase here about a week or so ago, and I don’t know if you were the gentleman who helped him. Would there be someone else who works here, too?”

  “I am Rudy. My brother is Natel.”

  Biz snapped her fingers in fake recognition. “Yup. I think that was him. Anyway, Uncle Fred bought something and got this receipt.”

  She handed the copied receipt to Rudy, who studied the purchase.

  “No refunds,” he barked and thrust the paper back at her.

  “Oh, I’m not looking for a refund. See, Uncle Fred has dementia. He doesn’t remember much. He can’t remember what he bought, and I know this will sound ridiculous but my mom, his sister, keeps track of his money and the way he spends it. It’s for the government and his social security. My mother would most appreciate it if you could perhaps tell us what he spent the money on in your store.”

  He narrowed his eyes, and Ari didn’t know if he saw through Biz’s story or if he believed that men were entitled to their secrets from womenfolk. Without giving him much time to think, Biz leaned over the counter and looked at the receipt. “He didn’t spend it on cigars, did he?”

  He shook his head. “No, they would ring up differently. He purchased a single item, but it could have been a variety of things, such as a pipe, a flask, even a solid pewter mug. There are many possibilities.”

  “Oh,” Biz said dejectedly.

  “I cannot help you anymore. I advise you to leave your poor uncle alone. If he has the Alzheimer’s, you should let him enjoy the little pleasures that he can afford.”

  The phone rang and Rudy busied himself with a client, working the computer next to the cash register. Ari started for the door but Biz stopped her before she could open it. Rudy had his back to them, still on the phone. When he hung up he headed to his friends in the back room. Biz’s eyes lingered on the bright computer screen.

  “No,” Ari cautioned, but Biz was already moving behind the counter, the receipt in her hand. She found the inventory icon and tapped the item number into the search. The computer slowly processed the request. Ari noticed the men’s laughter had receded—they were talk
ing as if they were preparing to leave.

  “Biz, they’re coming.”

  “I know, just a few more seconds.” The computer made a slight groan before a beep signaled the information was retrieved.

  They watched as the item name appeared on the screen. Candy had purchased a silver flask. The men’s voices were right behind the fabric curtain and Ari quickly pulled her out from behind the counter. There was no time to escape. When Rudy emerged, leading his friends out of the back room, he came upon the two women, their lips locked in a steamy kiss.

  “Oh, shit!” Rudy screamed. “Get out of my shop!”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The search for Juan Benjarano proved fruitless. Molly and Andre checked with countless law enforcement agencies and searched multiple databases with no luck. They even scoured the surveillance cameras at Sky Harbor Airport hoping to ascertain whether he’d hopped on a plane in the last few days.

  “He’s probably long gone,” Andre said. “And I’m sure he had an escape route planned. He’s a professional.”

  Molly could hear the frustration in his voice. She was tired and her head ached. She’d had one too many last night and hadn’t slept at all, her mind filled with Ari and Lola. Ari was dangerous, uncharted territory, while Lola, a complete stranger, represented comfort and familiarity. How ironic.

  They’d indeed gotten to third base in the back room. It was as far as they could legally go in a public place, and Molly had driven her home while she whispered all the delectable things she wanted to do with her when they got there. But she couldn’t get out of the truck. Her fingers gripped the steering wheel and wouldn’t let go even when Lola playfully tried to pry them off. She just shook her head until the passenger’s door slammed shut and Lola disappeared.

  She imagined Ari would call her a cheater and now she didn’t know what to do. Andre had confessed that Ari had called and she’d grilled him until he admitted she wasn’t at work. Ari was too smart not to know what had happened. And she was too ashamed to call her.