by Ann Roberts
Ari retold the story, eliminating the part about her momentary snooping. Molly scribbled, continually nodding throughout the account but watching Ari carefully. Every move Ari made was deliberate. When a strand of her jet black hair fell from the makeshift bun, Ari slowly tucked it back behind her ear with her index finger, a gesture Molly found hypnotic. She tried to focus on Ari’s statement, but she couldn’t stop staring at the real estate agent. She already knew who Ari was—the daughter of a cop legend. It was hard to believe that the beauty in front of her was related to the bear of a man everyone knew as Big Jack.
“Who else has access to the house?” Molly asked automatically, hoping that she hadn’t already asked the question.
“Well, I have a key, there’s a key in the lockbox for other agents and service people, and I really couldn’t tell you how many other keys my clients have.” Molly underlined something in her notebook several times.
“So, tell me about the owners,” she said, flipping back a few pages in her notes. “A Mr. and Mrs. Theodore Watson?”
“Well, they’re very nice. The Watsons are an elderly couple who have already moved to Florida to retire. I’m really working for their son who has been given power of attorney.”
“The son,” Molly murmured. “What’s his name?”
It was like lightning striking Ari’s brain. Molly peered over her notes, conscious of Ari’s hesitation. “His name’s Bob. Bob Watson.”
Molly’s head jerked up. “Robert.”
Ari tried to hide the emotional torment that was welling inside. The idea of Bob Watson being implicated in a murder was absurd. He was an established member of the community, a business entrepreneur and one of her dearest friends from high school. They had briefly dated before she acknowledged the truth about herself. More importantly, Bob stood by her five years later after she’d been disowned by her parents for choosing an “unnatural lifestyle.”
“Ms. Adams, is something wrong?” The detective’s voice drew Ari away from the unpleasant memories.
“I’m sorry,” she said. The pounding in her head was getting worse. “It’s just I know Bob Watson, and there’s no way he could be involved in something like this.”
The detective flashed a sad smile. She heard this line all the time.
“Look,” Ari continued emphatically, “I’m telling you that the message behind the bar is deceptive. It’s not . . .”
Her words trailed off as Detective Nelson’s expression darkened. “And how would you know about that?”
Ari blushed. “Okay, you caught me. I followed the blood and saw the name on the wall.” Molly waited, knowing there was more. Ari wanted to lie, but for some reason, she found she couldn’t. “I did look through the other rooms, just to see how much damage there was.”
“And?” Molly prompted.
Ari shifted uncomfortably. “I accidentally touched the handle on the patio door.” Molly cursed under her breath, sending Ari into a shotgun explanation. “It was dumb, I know better than that, but I can guarantee you my fingerprints will be all over that house anyway.”
“And possibly over the fingerprints of the killer,” Molly interjected. Ari slumped in the seat, her poise abandoned for the moment. Molly watched Ari massage her temples, her cheeks crimson from embarrassment. An apology tried to work its way from Molly’s lips but she swallowed it down. She didn’t have anything to be sorry for. Ari deserved to be chewed out, and if it hurt her beautiful feelings, then so be it. Still, Molly found herself planted to the ground, unable to storm away as she was accustomed. She reached over and touched her arm. “You know, Ms. she observed in a kind voice.
The change in demeanor drew Ari’s gaze back to Molly’s. Ari studied the piercing blue eyes, stern but caring. She stared at Molly a little longer than was polite before smiling. “I don’t know what came over me,” she said. “Natural curiosity.”
“Curiosity killed the cat,” Molly countered, as she involuntarily smiled back at Ari. Someone called her name and the smile faded. She nodded to Ari and turned away, mortified by her own behavior. What was she doing, flirting with a civilian at a crime scene? Where was her professionalism? “Focus now, Nelson,” she whispered to herself.
Ari watched Molly stride away, the smell of musk still lingering in the truck. To clear her head, Ari hopped out and ventured a few feet onto the grass.
Ben Hastings rounded the corner and called, “You still here?” Ari grinned conspiratorially. She loved joking with Ben. He was a second father to her and the only person who understood why she had left the Tucson Police Department after one short year.
Ben fished a handkerchief from his pants pocket and wiped the sweat from his leathery face. “So did you talk to Nelson?”
“Uh-huh. She took my statement and scolded me for snooping.”
Ben wagged a knowing finger and shook his head. He knew Ari would never change. He also noticed her blush when he mentioned Molly Nelson. She was staring at the grass, using the toe of an expensive loafer to pock the ground and avoid his eyes. Ben watched her struggle with her feelings. He loved Ari dearly. She had endured more in her thirty-two years than most people did in an entire lifetime. Everyone had abandoned her in one way or another, but he would always be there. And if anyone deserved an opportunity to find happiness, it was Ari. “Yes,” he said plainly.
“What?” Ari asked, only slightly puzzled.
“Yes, she’s your type. She’s thirty-five, born and raised here, moved away for a while, really good at her job. That’s about all I know.”
Ari’s cheeks flushed. Why did she care? She was in absolutely no position to want any woman. Her career was her life, at least that’s what her last lover had believed. She stared down at the large divot and pushed dirt back in the hole. “So who was the guy inside?”
Ben sighed. “You’re gonna get me into a lot of trouble, Ari.”
“C’mon, Ben,” she said, using her voice from childhood, the voice that had always won Ben over, whether it was for another game of checkers or another push on the swing.
Ben scowled and looked around. “Michael Thorndike.”
It took only a second for the name to register. “The guy who renovated most of the downtown area? The leader of the Phoenix League?”
“Shhhh.” Ben cautioned. “Yes, that Michael Thorndike.”
“So how did he die?”
“Two shots from a thirty-eight caliber. One to the chest and one to the gut.”
“Any theories as to how it happened?”
“Estimated time of death is somewhere between eight and ten last night. He probably got shot while he was standing behind the bar, wrote his killer’s name on the wall and tried to drag himself out toward the door. Got as far as the living room.”
“That’s an awful lot for a dying man to do,” Ari muttered. “Are they sure he wrote it?”
Ben nodded. “According to the coroner, that name was written by Michael Thorndike himself. They got a nice clear fingerprint at the top of the b. Matched his bloody right hand.”
Ari exhaled. If that were true, then it meant Michael Thorndike had used the last of his strength to identify his killer. Bob would be questioned and probably arrested before nightfall. eyes shifting from Ben to Ari, who pretended not to notice. She turned away, just as she had done throughout most of her life, every time a guy had come on to her. Except for Bob. Bob had been different.
Ben nodded to Ari and wandered back to the front door with the young cop while Ari took a few steps away and surveyed the crime scene. Things were starting to wind down. The body was being removed and some of the techs were packing up. Ari spotted Molly across the lawn talking to a young black detective. There was no question about who was in charge as Molly pointed at the ground and barked an order. Ari guessed this was Molly’s partner and clearly he hadn’t done his job correctly. She held up fingers, ticking off a list of things while the man wrote furiously in his notebook. She yelled, “Get it done!” before stomping toward Ari.
Something gnawed at Ari. Once a cop . . .
“Detective,” Ari called. Molly stopped and turned abruptly, impatience written into her expression. “Why would Michael Thorndike bother to drag himself out from behind the bar after he wrote Bob’s name? It’s not like there was a phone out there. And why would he write Robert? Most everyone calls Bob Watson, just that, Bob.”
“We don’t know the answer to those questions, Ms. Adams, but I’m sure we’ll figure it out. Now, I am going to ask you to leave the crime scene. I know your father is a friend of just about everyone here, but that doesn’t give you the right to stick your nose in my investigation,” Molly said.
Ari’s defenses rose at the mention of Jack Adams. “I think you’re forgetting something, Detective. I’m the agent on this house, and I’m legally responsible for this property. My clients are going to want an explanation as to what happened and why part of their five thousand dollar floor must be replaced again.”
“Well, all I know is that your friend Mr. Watson better have a good alibi,” Molly retorted, her cell phone ringing in her pocket. She scowled as she retrieved it. Beautiful or not, Molly hated amateurs. “If we need anything else we’ll be in touch, Ms. Adams,” she said before she flipped open the receiver and walked away.
Ari headed to the SUV, Molly’s words ringing in her ears. She had no idea how Bob could be implicated in the murder of a Phoenix power magnate, since it was absolutely unbelievable. Yet, it was also too coincidental. Somehow Bob was involved.
She pulled away from the house, a house she had visited hundreds of times during her teenage years. Images of Michael Thorndike’s body and the bloody message clouded her mind. She pushed them away, unwilling to contaminate the memories of her youth.
Bob had been the most important person in her life for a long time. They met when he was a high school junior and she a sophomore. They were both on the track team, only mildly aware of the other’s existence, until the day they shared a seat on the team bus and became fast friends. Bob wanted more, but Ari brushed him off, like every other guy. He persisted, and Ari finally went out with him a few times and even agreed to go steady. Kissing him had been a chore, but at least with a boyfriend, it was as if a “No Trespassing” sign had been posted on her body, and the boys left her alone. No surprise, really. Bob was the state’s number one shot putter—no one would dare mess with his girl. Still, it wasn’t right. Ari knew he deserved better.
It amazed her that Bob’s manhood remained intact when three months into the relationship, she confessed her suspicions about her sexuality. Most guys would have thrown a fit, blamed her, or played it cool. Instead of destroying their bond, Ari’s announcement actually brought them closer, as Bob transformed from boyfriend to counselor. They stayed in touch during college, even though they went to different schools, and Bob married Lily during his senior year. The true proof of friendship, though, came two years later. It was Bob who offered Ari his guest room the night her father disowned her, and it was Bob who had saved her from the biggest mistake of her life.
Chapter Two
Sunday, June 17
6:38 p.m.
Ari accelerated and pulled ahead of the Sunday traffic winding around the base of Camelback Mountain. She was speeding, consciously rushing to Bob before the police could get there. Detective Nelson would not be pleased, but Ari needed to talk to him, not to warn him, but to read his initial expression before he had time to create any facade or erect his defenses. She was Bob’s oldest friend, and if anyone could tell if he was lying, it would be Ari.
She glanced in her rearview mirror. The sun was finally setting, and the mountain was awash in red and yellow. This was her favorite time of day. It was still light out, but the burning heat had retreated. The afternoon still didn’t seem real, finding Michael Thorndike’s body and now Bob possibly accused of murder.
And then there was Molly Nelson, complete with the typical tough cop demeanor Ari thought most of the female cops wore like armor. She had so much to prove and had to be twice as good, probably more so if she was already a detective. Ari admitted she was drawn to her, and she tried to bat the feeling away, but like a pesky fly it kept circling, and she found herself thinking about the tall blond for the third time in an hour. It wasn’t just a physical attraction, although Molly was very much Ari’s type. No, Ari was drawn to powerful women. She didn’t mind that Molly had spoken sharply to her, in fact she knew she deserved it. She got the feeling Molly didn’t take any crap from the male officers, but there was something else—she’d seen it in the way the woman had smiled at her when they were alone. There was another side to her, or perhaps many sides and Ari loved women who were complex.
As the SUV drew within a mile of her destination, her thoughts drifted to Bob, a friend who had been there for her during the absolute worst of times. She needed to focus on him, not on her love life.
She turned right on Weatherview and entered the exclusive Arcadia area. Sprawling ranch houses that covered large lots filled with citrus trees, these stately homes were usually owned by doctors, lawyers or CEOs. They were well preserved with manicured yards and good schools—all factors necessary for a quick sale. The competition for these high-priced listings was brutal; everyone who lived there knew a real estate agent and had two or three others soliciting them per week. Obtaining a listing in Arcadia, one of Phoenix’s oldest and most prestigious neighborhoods, was quite a coup. Ari had been fortunate to sell a few of these homes during her career, but she knew it was basically a matter of luck and nepotism.
That was how she’d landed Bob and Lily. They already knew her, and they knew they wanted to live in Arcadia, both for the view of Camelback and the status that the name implied. Ari remembered the day Bob and Lily had purchased their house. It had been a series of firsts for both of them—they were her first clients, and this was their first home, bought with Bob’s first million. Now, twelve years later, there had been many more millions for Bob, who had a chain of copying centers all over Phoenix.
She wound around the long circular drive, which almost seemed like a trip through a desert garden, and parked next to Bob’s Porsche. The woman who answered the door was slim and muscular, her jeans and Oxford cloth shirt outlining her slight frame. “Ari, what a surprise! Please come in,” Lily Watson said, flashing a sincere smile.
Ari could hear the NBA commentators as they entered the family room. Bob was glued to the Suns game and didn’t notice them at first. “Look who’s here, Bob!” Lily announced, her voice competing with the big screen TV.
Bob’s attention drifted from the game. When he saw Ari, he lifted his huge frame from the recliner and gave her a bear hug. At thirty-seven, while most of his contemporaries were going to seed, Bob still had the body of a twenty year old. Only his receding hairline betrayed his age. In a moment of vanity on his thirtieth birthday, he’d gone to a hair implant center and asked for plugs. Ari and Lily had arrived just in time, convincing him he would wind up looking like a Seventies lounge lizard. “So, do you have a contract on my parents’ house?” he asked playfully.
Ari paused. There was no easy way to say this. She wanted to be sensitive but there wasn’t time. “No, Bob. In fact there’s a problem. I had a showing this afternoon, and when I walked in, there was a dead body on the floor.”
“What?” Lily shrieked.
Bob laughed heartily. “You’re joking, right, Ari?”
“No.” She watched them closely. They both looked genuinely shocked, unable to process the information. Lily covered her face, and Bob started pacing, his trademark sign of nervousness.
Finally he looked up and asked, “Was it anyone we knew?”
Ari shrugged. “I don’t know if you knew him or not. The victim was Michael Thorndike.”
Lily gasped and Bob exploded. “Jesus! What the
hell is this, Ari?” Her eyes widened in surprise. Lily attempted to rest her hand on Bob’s shoulder, but he pushed her away. “What was Michael Thorndike doing in my parents’ house?”
Ari shook her head. “I don’t know. Is he a friend of yours?”
Bob shot his wife a look of contempt. “Not likely.” Silence filled the room and the blaring TV seemed to mock the situation. Bob grabbed the remote and clicked the off button. “I hate that guy. I was going to put a Speedy Copy in this great downtown location, but he caused some major problems and nearly convinced the partnership to lease the property to one of my competitors. If Russ hadn’t worked some of his magic on Thorndike, we would have lost the deal.” Ari knew Bob’s business partner, Russ Swanson, to be extraordinarily diplomatic and level-headed, a nice contrast to Bob’s hot-tempered personality.
As if reading her thoughts, Bob added, “That SOB.” His face shifted as he realized he was defaming a dead man.
“Bob,” Ari interjected, “there’s more. Thorndike used his own blood to write your name on the living room wall before he died.”
“Oh my God,” Lily cried, sinking to the couch.
Total bewilderment covered Bob’s face. “Jesus Christ!” Bob boomed. “Why the hell did he do that? The police are going to think I killed him.” Bob leaned against the stone fireplace for support, wiping his face with a huge hand. “I just can’t believe this!” With one sweeping motion, Bob cleared the mantel, sending pictures, candles and knickknacks to the floor. Lily cried out as glass shattered against the tile.
Ari stepped back, suddenly afraid of Bob’s rage. For a moment, all she could see was his size and how easily he could overpower someone like Thorndike. She watched as he turned slowly around, his fists clenched. He stared at the floor, reached down and picked up his wedding photo, the glass cracked in half. Using every ounce of composure he could find, Bob placed it gently back on the mantel. His back still to her, Ari watched the huge man’s shoulders move up and down with each breath. She was no longer afraid. He was Bob again.
