Paid in Full

by Ann Roberts

  “Lily, I remember how often Bob used to disappear. He’s been leaving rooms since high school. It’s his mode of defense.”

  “Not anymore,” Lily disagreed.

  “Do you think there’s any possibility—”

  “No!” she shouted. “Don’t even say it! You know him, Ari. Bob could never kill anyone. It’s not in his nature.”

  “Lily, I believe in Bob’s innocence,” she said calmly. “But there had to be a reason his name was written behind the bar. He did threaten Thorndike, right?”

  Lily’s face darkened and she shook her head furiously. “Those were only words. They didn’t mean anything. Do you know what he did the next day? He called Michael and apologized.” She leaned across the patio table for effect. “He apologized to the man who’d screwed his wife. Can you believe it?”

  Ari switched topics, not knowing what else to say. “Tell me more about your relationship with Michael Thorndike.”

  Lily shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “There’s really nothing more to tell. Michael pursued me. I hadn’t been looking to have an affair, but it just happened. We were co-chairs of a fundraising luncheon at the Phoenician. Everyone had left and he invited me to take a stroll around the resort. I didn’t realize he had a room.” She stopped abruptly and blushed.

  “How long did the affair go on?” Ari asked.

  “You mean before Bob caught us? About six months. We’d meet at different places, but never at our homes. Sometimes hotels, sometimes offices that he owned. One time we even did it in a public bathroom.”

  This was more information than Ari needed to know. “So, after Bob discovered the two of you, then you just broke it off?” Ari had trouble believing Lily could so easily dismiss a man she loved so much.

  “Of course. Bob is my husband, and we’re married.” But that didn’t stop you from bedding Michael Thorndike, Ari thought, remembering Molly’s comment from the night before. “In the last two years I’ve only seen Michael a few times at different charity functions,” Lily added.

  “And you’ve never been alone with him?”

  Lily’s eyes turned cold. “What are you implying, Ari?”

  “I’m not implying anything. I’m trying to establish that your relationship with Michael Thorndike is totally and completely over.”

  “It’s over,” Lily said, rising from the chair. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need a shower. Between you and that Detective Nelson, I’ve been quizzed enough.”

  “Did she come by this morning?” Ari asked innocently.

  “She comes by every morning, just to bait me. She asks me these questions, actually it’s the same question over and over in a different way. Trying to see if I’ll change my story.”

  “What does she want to know?” Ari asked, already knowing the answer.

  Lily wiped some perspiration from her brow and closed her eyes. “She implies that I know where Bob is.”

  “And you don’t?” Lily’s nostrils flared, and Ari knew she’d asked one question too many.

  “Show yourself out,” Lily growled. She stomped back into the house while Ari finished her mineral water and thought about Lily’s conflicted emotions. She said it was over, but when she spoke of Michael Thorndike, there was a dreamy quality in her eyes that betrayed her true feelings. If indeed she was still in love with Thorndike, then something happened and she killed him, or she must be devastated by his death.

  The family room was empty when Ari went back inside. She could hear the shower down the hall. Ari dropped her water bottle into the trash, noticing Lily’s large bag on the counter, the edge of her planner protruding from the top. She knew Lily kept everything of value in that book. It was her life. She glanced once more down the hall, the sound of the water still going.

  Carefully pulling the leather book from the bag so as not to dislodge the multitude of paper scraps that were jammed in between the pages, Ari flipped through the months, starting at the beginning of the year. By March, she noticed a pattern. Every Wednesday, the same time was penciled in—no name, just a time. She paged ahead to June and found the seventeenth. Lily had planned nothing on the day of Michael Thorndike’s death. Ari rifled through the blank months yet to come, finding nothing except a cleaning at the dentist. She fingered the papers behind December, a sticky note stuck to the back cover. There in Lily’s unmistakable handwriting, MICHAEL 6/10 @ 2:00 P.M. She reopened the planner and looked under June tenth. The square was blank.

  She knew time was running short. A quick check through the bag revealed nothing unusual. Ari picked up the heavy planner to set it back as she’d found it, when she noticed a small, bulging zippered pocket attached to the wall of the purse. Inside were half a dozen condoms. Anyone who didn’t know the Watsons might just assume they had an exciting love life, but Ari knew many important and intimate facts about both of them, one of which was Bob’s sterility.

  The shower abruptly stopped and silence filled the house. Ari dropped the planner into the bag and darted into the nearby laundry room. She pressed against the wall, her face peering around the corner as Lily entered the kitchen clad only in a towel. The significance of what she was doing suddenly hit her. She would have a very difficult time explaining this to Lily, and if in fact Lily was the killer, then Ari had a much larger problem.

  The phone rang. Lily glanced at it and hesitated before answering. Ari was sure everyone from close friends to nosy reporters had rung the phone off the hook. On the fourth ring she finally answered.

  “Hello? Where the hell are you! The police are looking for you . . . Bob, please.” Lily’s voice rose in frustration. There was a long pause. “Bob, listen to me . . . Bob! . . . Shit! Hold on a sec . . .” Ari heard Lily fumbling around in the drawers, looking for a pen and then writing down information. “All right, I’m coming . . . I’m coming!” she shouted and hung up the phone.

  Ari heard footsteps rush down the hallway and the bedroom door clicked shut. Ari retreated to her SUV and drove around the corner, knowing Lily would have to pass her. Feeling safe in her own vehicle, the panic she had experienced just five minutes before dissipated, replaced by another rush of adrenaline. She clicked the CD changer and the Indigo Girls filled the truck, while she enjoyed the surge of emotion. She hadn’t felt this alive in a long time. While she loved real estate, the endless paperwork was mind-numbing, and the lack of respect pummeled her self-esteem on a weekly basis.

  Her cell phone rang. She fumbled for it in her bag, her gaze focused on the tip of the Watsons’ driveway.

  “Yeah,” she answered, sounding annoyed.

  “Well, yeah to you, too,” Jane said, matching her tone. “Where are you?”

  “I’m out previewing houses.”

  Jane roared with laughter. “Sure you are. So what are you really doing?”

  “I’m about to tail Lily. I think she’s going to visit Bob.” Ari couldn’t hide the excitement in her voice.

  “You’re tailing Lily,” Jane repeated. “Ari, maybe you’ve forgotten, but you gave up that career, and if you haven’t noticed, your SUV isn’t equipped with lights and a siren, and you don’t get to wear those sleek black uniforms.”

  “Very funny, Jane.” Suddenly Lily’s Miata pulled out of the drive. “I’ve got to go.” Jane started to make another crack, but Ari flipped the cell phone closed.

  Lily rounded the corner quickly and headed to the stop sign. When she turned on to Camelback Road, Ari shot to the sign and made a quick left, staying a safe distance behind Lily as the two vehicles wound around the base of Camelback Mountain. Named for its appearance, it really looked like a camel’s back, but this camel carried the most expensive real estate in the city. The homes on the mountain housed sports figures, celebrities and countless other power brokers, all of whom enjoyed the desert views.

  They continued west toward the freeway. The beautiful east side homes lining the busy thoroughfare gave way to the tall buildings of the Central Corridor and the business section of Phoenix. The landscape
morphed the further they drove, and the housing prices plummeted. The west side had always struggled with poverty, and the decrepit storefronts, low budget mini-malls and street people increased in numbers as they approached the freeway entrance.

  Although the morning rush hour was ending, Ari knew it would be easy to lose Lily in the heavy traffic, which never ceased at any time of day. Phoenix had indeed become a second Los Angeles, Ari thought, only hotter. For six miles, Ari strained to keep Lily in view as she maneuvered in and out of lanes, hurrying toward Bob. Just as the traffic was starting to thin, she abruptly put on her blinker and sped off the freeway. Ari signaled and moved right, noticing the east side of the freeway was lined with upscale accommodations, the kind Bob would choose. Cheap motels were not his style.

  Lily continued down the freeway access road and turned into a place that looked more like a condo complex than a motel. Ari drove past the street and entered through the parking lot, threading her way through the cars. Once she rounded the corner, she stopped, not wanting to come upon the Miata suddenly. In the bottom of her stomach, she still had this nagging feeling she would be caught, that Lily would appear at any moment, tap on her window and end the pursuit.

  Ari used a dumpster for camouflage and watched Lily stroll to the last building. She paused for a second, gauged her surroundings and disappeared. Ari edged the SUV to the end of the building just as Lily ascended the stairs to a second story unit. She knocked once, and the door opened swiftly and shut twice as fast.

  Ari debated what to do. Lily could be in there for hours. Ari could leave and come back, now that she knew where Bob was staying, but that seemed risky. What if Lily was there to help him pack? Ari decided to wait it out. She drove around to the other side of the parking lot, placing her under Bob’s window and in the opposite direction for Lily’s eventual departure.

  Within an hour, Ari’s resolve was wavering, bored with the task and concerned by the ominous clouds starting to form. Soon the sky would turn a violent black-and-blue and the sky would open with lightning and downpours. She thought of her date with Molly and hoped the storm would push through before their scheduled hike.

  Despite the cloud cover, it was still hot, the temperature inching up every minute. In Phoenix, monsoons only added to the misery by increasing the humidity. She’d turned the engine and air conditioning on and off three times, but it didn’t help. She checked her watch and toyed with the idea of confronting them together, but she would feel outnumbered. She wanted Bob alone. Even during the course of their friendship, Lily had remained somewhat of an outsider, once describing herself that way to Bob. She would give Lily fifteen more minutes, and after that, she would retreat from the heat for an hour, heading over to a coffee shop she’d passed on the access road. Hopefully Bob wouldn’t disappear again while she was slurping down a Diet Coke.

  Just as she made the decision, the door opened and Lily emerged. Judging from her animated gestures, Ari could tell she was upset, waving her arms, pointing to the parking lot. Bob stroked her shoulders and kissed her forehead. Ari assumed Lily was trying to talk him into going back, but it didn’t work. She tore away from his embrace and walked away, her arms hugging her chest. Bob watched her go, and Ari watched Bob until he went back into the room and slowly shut the door.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Wednesday, June 20

  11:18 a.m.

  The first monsoon of the season swept through the Valley of the Sun, causing multiple accidents, flooding low-lying areas and knocking out power lines. Molly knew someone would likely die during one of nature’s most unpredictable storms. Monsoons appeared with little warning, even on clear days. Hikers started up Camelback Mountain and were stranded by the time they reached the top. U. S. 60 crawled to a halt as Phoenicians, paranoid about any rain whatsoever, became overly cautious in the downpour.

  Molly marveled at the charcoal colored haze, lightning stabbing the skyline every few seconds and thunder roaring in the distance. From inside the Emporium, the show was even more incredible, viewed through the expansive skylight and glass walls, the sounds of the storm echoing through the empty building. Molly had never seen the Emporium before, and the only word she could find to describe it was spectacle.

  Even without the usual interior design touches like greenery or sculptures, wealth oozed from the baseboards to the cathedral ceilings. Tenants and clients would be immediately impressed by the immense black marble reception counter that stood as a sentry facing the front doors. If one were lucky enough to pass muster, she could advance to the bank of four shiny elevators waiting to take passengers upward to places of success and power. Should she have to cool her expensive loafers on the Italian tile, she could relieve any accumulated stress of the day by watching the indoor fountain, complete with waterfalls and koi pond.

  A loud ding filled the lobby as the elevator closest to Molly opened. She hesitantly stepped on, aware that the building was like a Beverly Hills version of a ghost town, and she was completely alone.

  She pressed four and ascended quickly and smoothly to the top floor, instantly understanding why only the truly lucrative and cash rich businesses could have afforded the Emporium’s exorbitant rents. The investors had assumed every powerful Scottsdale firm would flock to the plush carpets, thick oak doors and prime location.

  But no one came. A few egotistical status seekers weathered the first year, but when no one joined them to fill the dozens of offices, they too abandoned the Emporium and sought more affordable quarters. Maybe that was why the rich kept getting richer, Molly thought, as she wandered down corridors large enough to park a semi. They didn’t want the best—they wanted a deal.

  By the time she returned to the lobby, her jaw hurt from gaping at the size of the place, and she was convinced Michael Thorndike was right. She was certainly not a contractor, but with some renovation and changes, the Emporium would have made a great museum.

  “Pretty spectacular, huh?” the voice called out from the second floor balcony. She looked up and saw Felix Trainor leaning against the railing. He bounded down the spiral staircase, his silk tie flapping back and forth. He looked more like a young college student than a savvy millionaire. Molly glanced at her watch, actually glad that he was fifteen minutes late and not present for her little self-guided tour.

  Standing next to her he looked even younger, and he was definitely shorter by nearly half a foot. They both turned their heads upward as thunder crashed around them, the monsoon engulfing the building. “It’s extraordinary,” Molly admitted.

  “Too expensive,” Trainor commented. “To a businessman, it’s all about profit-and-loss margin. They don’t care much about how anything looks except the bottom line.”

  Molly felt a lecture coming on. “Mr. Trainor, you’re the one who asked me to meet you out here, and I hope it wasn’t just to look at architecture.”

  He nodded and pressed his lips together. “I wanted to talk to you alone, away from the other partners. What you saw and heard at that meeting was controlled civility. None of those people cared much for Michael, especially Florence Denman.”

  Molly sifted through her list of alibis, and Denman had a solid one: the guest speaker at a business dinner. Two hundred sets of eyeballs could verify her whereabouts during the time Michael Thorndike was shot. Still, she could have hired someone. “Was she jealous?”

  Felix snorted. “Absolutely. Michael was the head of the League, the founding member. He got all the press, and he was the most creative and innovative, the golden boy.”

  “So they all envied him,” Molly summarized.

  “Yes,” Trainor agreed, “but Florence had a more personal reason for disliking Michael Thorndike. You see, they had an affair, and he dumped her for someone else.”

  “Someone else besides his wife,” Molly clarified.

  “I think his wife was probably the one woman he wasn’t sleeping with in this town,” he cracked.

  Molly was surprised at Trainor’s change of attitude.
“Okay, so Florence Denman had a personal reason to dislike Michael Thorndike, but you’re suggesting the other partners disliked him, too?”

  “Absolutely. They hated the fact that he was the most powerful.”

  “Except you.”

  The statement didn’t faze him as it would most. He stuck his hands in his expensive pants pockets and looked her in the eye. “I respected Michael immensely. Some people even spread trash that I was in love with him—which I wasn’t,” Trainor quickly added.

  “But the fact is, Michael had an incredible knack for making money. Every project he undertook made me very wealthy. I don’t have a problem with that, and I don’t have a problem giving him the credit for it,” he said with a self-deprecating gesture. “I’m thirty-eight years old and a multimillionaire.” His face flushed against his deep tan and humility returned. “My point is, for the other partners, wealth wasn’t enough. They couldn’t be grateful. They were jealous of his power and abilities.”

  “But is jealousy enough of a reason to kill?” Molly interjected. She didn’t need a speech on the great Michael Thorndike.

  Trainor smiled condescendingly, as if Molly was a child about to learn a lesson. “Detective Nelson, do you think fifty million dollars is a lot of money?”

  Molly checked the dark sky above and her growing impatience. She had a pile of reports to read and several other things to do, and the drive back to Phoenix would consume another precious thirty minutes of her evaporating day. “Mr. Trainor, I’m really not in the mood for games,” she said curtly.

  He looked downward. “Sorry, stupid question.” He shifted his feet and changed his expression. “Michael wanted to save the Emporium. The price tag was fifty million dollars. Spending that much would have greatly compromised the League’s cash flow.”

  “You mean bankrupt it?” Molly clarified.

  Trainor’s eyes narrowed, doing the mental calculations. Molly could tell he wasn’t prone to exaggeration. “Parting with that much money would have made us very vulnerable.” Molly nodded. “Cy and Flo didn’t want to spend it, but it didn’t matter. Michael is”—he corrected himself—“was the head of the League. He had a vote and Sorrel and I agreed with him.”