Point of Betrayal

by Ann Roberts

  “Maybe,” he said simply. “C’mon, hang out with your old man for a while.”

  She rubbed her temple and stared at the yard longingly. All she wanted was peace and quiet, but if she didn’t say yes to him, she realized her friend Jane would be calling shortly and making her own offer. And she knew Biz would eventually call. She always called.

  Everyone was worried about her since the breakup with Molly. Ironically Ari was far more worried about Molly, who’d lost the only job she’d ever wanted. She’d vanished. Ari imagined only her family knew where she was and no one would tell Ari.

  “Okay, Dad,” she relented. “I’ll go.”

  “Great, sweetie. I’ll pick you up at two thirty.”

  She could hear the enthusiasm in his voice. She knew he equated each visit as a step closer to filling the gap in their relationship, but while he saw that gap as a gopher hole in the backyard, she envisioned the Grand Canyon. Still, she appreciated him trying and she knew it was important.

  She glanced into the solarium, toward the two photos sitting on the built-in bookcases—one of her mother and the other of her with her brother. Both were dead. That meant Big Jack Adams was the only family she had left.

  The lump that filled her throat whenever she thought of family returned and she wiped away tears. It was harder now since she’d lost Molly and her wonderful family, who’d enfolded Ari into the clan immediately. That was the worst part about breakups. You lost everything, not just your lover.

  After she’d read the paper and finished her tea, she headed for the nursery. Glancing at the holes and stains that covered her shorts and T-shirt, she couldn’t believe any man or woman would find her attractive, yet Kip Harper, the owner’s son, was at her side less than two minutes after she arrived, suggesting several types of rosebushes and showing her the array of vegetables she could plant in late fall.

  “This is my favorite,” he said, stopping in front of a beautiful bush covered in fuchsia-pink petals that turned apricot at the center. “It’s quite colorful and hardy enough for the heat.”

  She nodded her agreement and bent down to smell the blooming flower, cognizant that his gaze was most likely on her derriere. When she stood up, he was grinning.

  He was buff with a short crew cut that made his ears stand out. She guessed he was at least ten years her junior, and when he smiled his gleaming teeth only made him look younger. She enjoyed walking through the nursery and talking with him since he was quite knowledgeable about horticulture even if he was entirely clueless about her lesbianism. He flirted with her as he loaded her cart, dismissing the questions of other customers with only a quick answer or pointing down an aisle toward another employee. He was helping her and wouldn’t be pulled away to heft mulch into a car or explain the water needs of desert plants.

  She knew he gave her extra attention in the hopes that she’d pick up on his interest, and she felt slightly guilty about withholding the truth but not enough to do anything about it unless he formally asked her out. Then she’d tell him and things could become horribly awkward, so she kept him talking about gardening.

  When he loaded her car and waved goodbye, she thought he looked glum, as if he’d missed an opportunity.

  She sighed, thankful she’d avoided a conversation about dating, which was the last thing she wanted to think about. Even her shrink knew to leave it alone for now, allowing her the space to sort out her own feelings and discover why she’d allowed Biz into her life at the expense of her relationship.

  After nine months she had no answers. She had just let it happen. Maybe she knew it wouldn’t work with Molly, who was an insecure, jealous, raging alcoholic. She was also the most amazing woman she’d ever met.

  As she turned onto her lovely street, she saw Jane’s Porsche sitting in front of her house. My intervention group needs to communicate better, she thought. There was no reason for Jane to babysit since her father was already on her agenda.

  She pulled into the driveway and Jane traipsed across the lawn. She wore pedal pushers and a smart purple blouse that exposed much of her cleavage. She always looked sexy even when she wasn’t trying. Her dark brown hair was pulled back in a gold clip. Ari couldn’t tell if she was dressed for work or play. It was often that way with her. Whenever she left the house she looked chic, regardless of whether she was grocery shopping, clubbing or previewing houses. Ari knew she was the opposite; no one would ever confuse her errand attire of jeans and T-shirts with the power suits she wore for clients.

  “Hi, honey,” Jane called.

  She offered her a peck on the cheek and carefully avoided the twenty-pound bag of manure Ari lifted into the wheelbarrow.

  “You know, there are people you can hire to do that for you,” she said, her nose crinkled in distaste.

  “But I like doing it myself,” she replied. “I feel like I’m one with the earth.”

  “Truly the sign of a sick mind. I’m one with the earth as well, just not the dirty part.”

  She laughed. “Then I guess you won’t stay and help.”

  Jane shook her head. “I’m meeting a date for brunch. I just stopped by to show you this.”

  She handed her a printout of a news article from the Laguna Beach Independent with the headline: “Local Woman’s Death Ruled Homicide.” Surrounded by the story’s text was a headshot of a woman Ari vaguely recognized but couldn’t place. She glanced at the caption beneath the photo—Nina Hunter. Nina was Jane’s first love and one of the few women who’d ever turned her down.

  “Oh, Jane. I’m so sorry.”

  “I’m okay, I think. We really weren’t that close anymore, just Facebook buddies, but I can’t believe she’s gone. Who would kill such a nice person?”

  She skimmed the article, which provided few facts about the murder. She quickly learned that Nina was a social worker at an elementary school in Laguna Beach. Teachers, parents and the administration sung her praises for her dedication to children and families. Initially the police thought she’d accidentally fallen over a railing at a scenic spot, but for a reason that was not disclosed, they had changed their minds.

  “How could someone so admired be murdered?” Jane asked.

  She shook her head. “There’s obviously more to her life than what you know from Facebook. It says the prime suspect is Sam Garritson, the former boyfriend whose father is a city councilman.”

  “They’d broken up recently, but Sam swore to me that he didn’t have anything to do with it. He’s terribly distraught. He still loved her.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “And how do you know all this?”

  Jane took a deep breath as if she was preparing for a speech. “Don’t say no.”

  “Jane,” she said sternly. “What’s going on? You spoke with Sam?”

  “He called me. He friended me a few months ago when we both commented on one of Nina’s posts and then he poked me.”

  She nodded, well aware of the Facebook lingo. As a real estate agent, she’d learned to navigate Twitter and Facebook in order to survive with the under-thirty crowd, but Jane was the queen of social networking. She boasted two thousand Facebook friends and nearly as many followers on Twitter. And I’d have that many too if I was willing to discuss my sexual activities in a hundred and forty characters, she thought.

  “So what am I not supposed to say no about?” she asked as Jane followed her into the backyard.

  When Jane didn’t answer right away, she dropped the wheelbarrow and faced her. “What did you do?”

  Gazing down at the manure in the wheelbarrow, Jane pulled a tissue from her purse and wiped the smudges from the face of the bag. “It’s just so dirty.”

  “Honey, focus. Why are you here?”

  She set the tissue in the wheelbarrow and fished two airline tickets from her purse. “I think we should take a little vacation.”

  “A vacation? Now? I just moved in.”

  “Yeah, but you need a little time away. You never really took a break after everything that ha
ppened, and the last time you took a vacation was at least five years ago.”

  “That’s not true,” she argued. “Molly and I went away on long weekends a few times.”

  “That doesn’t count. It’s not a vacation if you don’t cross state lines. That’s a fake vacation that people call a staycation. That’s B.S. I’m proposing that we get out of town, but in deference to your fragile state, I promise we won’t go too far.”

  “Like Laguna Beach,” she said dryly.

  “Okay, that’s a great idea! Let’s do that.”

  She narrowed her eyes and resumed her wheelbarrowing. “I need to stay here and work. I’ve just started planting.”

  “God, honey, you make it sound like you’re a farmer and the crops will die if you don’t make the harvest. You can plant anytime. I really could use your help with Sam. You could put all of those great former cop instincts to work. The family wants someone else to look into the case, somebody who isn’t local and won’t arouse suspicion. Sam’s dad, Steve, has to keep a low profile. This could hurt his chances for a political appointment with the governor. It would mean a lot to me, and I know you don’t have any clients to woo right now.”

  “Don’t remind me,” Ari hissed. She dropped the bag into an empty flower bed and ripped it open. If Jane insisted on having a conversation with her, she’d have to endure the dirt.

  “It sounds like Sam needs a private detective. You should ask Biz, not me.”

  “I thought about that and I’m guessing that if I invited her, she’d be happy to accompany us to California.”

  “Why would she do that? She’s got a lot of clients who need her.”

  She snorted. “Honey, if we called her right now, she’d run over her own mother in that cute little Mustang if it got her here faster. She’d do anything to be close to you. Besides, I thought she was the reason you broke up with Molly.”

  She winced, but fortunately Jane couldn’t see the tears in her eyes as she spread the manure with a rake, her mind wandering back to last Valentine’s Day and the look on Molly’s face when she’d found her lying in Biz’s arms.

  “I’m sorry I mentioned her,” Jane said quietly.

  “Have you heard anything lately?” Despite Jane’s strong ties to the lesbian community, she hadn’t been able to learn of Molly’s whereabouts for the last nine months. It was as if she’d dropped off the face of the earth.

  “Actually I just heard she went into a facility after she recovered from the gunshot and now she’s out.”

  “What’s she doing?”

  “I think she’s working for her dad.”

  Nelson Plumbing was the family business, but Ari couldn’t imagine Molly would be happy repairing toilets or installing sinks. Her life was police work, and she’d been an amazing detective until she’d investigated the death of an informant and inadvertently stumbled into the crosshairs of a Mafioso with ties to the police department. She’d been forced to resign and Ari’s father had essentially taken her place in the department and her office. Her career was over.

  “I’m glad she got help.” Ari dropped her rake and stared at Jane. Until she left, Ari couldn’t enjoy her gardening. It was a solitary experience, as was most everything in her life now, and she relished being away from people, a fact her shrink found disconcerting.

  “I don’t want to go to Laguna,” she said. “I’ll be happy to call Biz if you want. She can probably help Sam in some way.”

  Jane rubbed her arms, and Ari imagined she was removing the imaginary dirt that clung to her two-hundred-dollar blouse. She hated the outdoors, and Ari knew she was at her personal tipping point.

  “Okay, never mind,” she said, defeated. “I might call her if Sam wants me to.” She started up the brick path and added, “I’m using your bathroom before I go.”

  She smiled slightly. She was glad Molly was okay. Her dozen emails had been met with some harsh words and she’d given up. She’d worried Molly might commit suicide over everything that had happened. Ari was certain her brother Brian had saved her. She’d called him the day after Molly had resigned, begging his forgiveness, which he gave, and he promised to help Molly through what was undoubtedly the worst part of her life. For old times’ sake, Ari had insisted Brian be hired to do the plumbing work on the house, but she was careful to be conveniently absent whenever he was on the job. She hoped he’d eventually call again, but it hadn’t happened. She imagined Molly had forbidden him from keeping in touch. She understood why.

  “Um, Ari, sweetie, you need to come inside now,” Jane shouted from the back door.

  She dropped the rake and wiped her feet on the mat before stepping across the threshold—into a puddle. Jane held up her red Manolo Blahniks with two bright pink lacquered fingernails and pointed to the water dripping from their pointed toes.

  “I’m not happy.”

  Chapter Two

  Molly pulled up behind the Nelson Plumbing van. “Your Expert Plumbers!” The letters were fading from the harsh weather and the van needed a paint job. Her fingers were clamped around the steering wheel as if she were suspended in midair and hanging on for life.

  Wasn’t she?

  She couldn’t get out of the truck. She couldn’t even look over her shoulder at Ari’s new house. She’d been here once before—to investigate a murder on the last day she was Ari’s girlfriend and the last day she was a cop. Valentine’s Day.

  When she’d strolled through the destroyed rooms with Andre that day, it had been with an enormous sense of relief: Ari was unharmed and justice had been served in a most efficient way. She’d had no idea what would happen a few hours later. It had actually been her suggestion that Biz drive Ari home. The images of them together filled her head, and she licked her lips.

  I want a drink.

  For the first time in nearly a month she needed a scotch. She tried to see the positive side, just as Linda, her mentor, had advised. She’d been sober for two hundred and sixty days, and the cravings had lessened. She fumbled in her pocket for the smooth stone with GRACE etched across its face. She rubbed her thumb against the word. She didn’t need to stare at it anymore as she had during the first few weeks. She’d memorized its shape and the rounded script. Linda had taught her that control was about visualization—first the stone, then the moment and, finally, the desired outcome.

  Her phone rang. She knew it was Brian. He’d tried to talk her out of coming, but she’d insisted since he was shorthanded on a Sunday. He’d done so much for her during her recovery; she was certain she could do this for him.

  “Hey,” she said.

  “It’s too much, huh?”

  He was probably watching from the front window. She slinked down in the seat.

  “Look, go home,” he said in his casual voice. “I’ve got this covered. It’s not half as bad as I thought. Water’s only an inch deep. She might lose some of her flooring, but she did the right thing by turning off the water so fast…”

  He stopped himself, realizing she was his sister’s ex-lover.

  “Go home, sis. You don’t have anything to prove.”

  He was wrong. She had plenty to prove. For years she’d shown the entire Phoenix Police Department she was a great cop. Through her skills and detective work she’d amassed hundreds of collars and reversed the general prejudices about women and lesbians. She wasn’t weak—even in her personal life.

  “I’m coming in now,” she said with determination.

  I want a drink.

  She didn’t recognize the house. Without the address she probably would’ve driven right by. That day had been a hysterical nightmare, and she was much too focused on the job to notice the chili pepper tree in front or even the red door Brian had left slightly ajar.

  Only a half-inch of water had scaled the Travertine tile step that separated the foyer from the rest of the downstairs. The living room was empty. She knew Ari didn’t own a lot of things and she probably had just moved in. She imagined the renovation had been massive; much of th
e western side of the house had been gutted in the fire.

  She found Brian wading through the flood in the kitchen, setting up various pumps to extricate the water. She grabbed a hose and started for the back door, all the while studying Ari’s home, the choices she’d made and the colors she’d favored.

  “Don’t go out there,” he said. “Take it through the front. She’ll kill me if anything happens to the garden.”

  She stared at the paradise outside the kitchen window. “My god.” The twisting brick walkways, large wooden planters and marble fountain reminded her of an arboretum. Everything was in bloom and the petals and buds blended like a large color wheel. She was enchanted and fascinated at the same time. She knew the yard had been nothing but a flat space of grass six months before. The metamorphosis was Ari’s doing.

  “You have your therapy and she has hers.”

  She offered a sharp glance and pulled the hose through the front door. Wherever Ari was, she would return to a muddy bog for a front yard. She cracked a smile at the thought of her distress.

  “Serves her right,” she said.

  Instead of returning to the kitchen she wiggled out of her waders and gloves and climbed the winding staircase to the second floor. She told herself she was just curious about the renovation.

  The loft area was Ari’s tidy office where everything had its place. She’d raided IKEA for boxes and plastic bins to store her supplies, which were labeled and organized on a shelf. Only her laptop sat on the desk, along with a mouse placed perfectly in the center of its pad.

  Skipping the guest room, she crossed into the bedroom. She was surprised to see new furniture, although it was arranged exactly as it had been at her condo. The dark pine bed frame faced east while her dresser faced west. An old rocking chair her mother Lucia had used at the end of her life remained in the corner with her lace shawl draped over it. Next to the dresser was the antique wood and brass umbrella stand that had belonged to her dead brother Richie. It held his sports equipment—street hockey stick, bats and tennis racket. His baseball mitt was looped through a bat handle so he wouldn’t forget it when he ran out of the house for the next game.