by Ann Roberts
She stormed out of the office and drove to the bowling alley. Her accidental detour to avoid Hideaway might well be blossoming into a hobby. While she enjoyed hiking with her brother, she had found the feel of the ball flying from her hand and destroying the perfect array of pins completely satisfying. As a child she’d loved her family’s monthly trips to the bowling alley, mainly because she regularly beat her older brother by twenty or thirty points. It was the only thing she could do better than Don, Jr.
Ari had turned her nose up at bowling the one time she’d tried to get her to go. They’d just left a birthday party at Hideaway and she’d spotted the enormous pin glowing in the darkness. She’d started in that direction and Ari had protested, saying it was too late and insisting she wouldn’t be any good. She’d pulled Molly back toward the parking lot and they’d stumbled—or rather, Molly had stumbled—and they’d both fallen to the pavement. The bowling idea was abandoned when Ari cried out, having twisted her ankle. She’d been unable to stand and for some reason Molly couldn’t help her. Why was that? Somehow Jane had appeared, found them sitting on the curb and taken them home.
She parked behind a ’66 Mustang which she instantly recognized as Biz’s car. She imagined Biz was in Hideaway, probably putting the moves on another woman while Ari vacationed in California with Jane. She resisted the urge to throw her truck back into drive. It would be horrible to rear-end such a beautiful classic, even if it did belong to Biz.
As she got out, Biz emerged from Hideaway and saw her. She slowly sauntered across the parking lot wearing a friendly expression. She’d won, after all. Molly guessed she wanted to gloat.
“Hey, Molly.”
“Hey.”
“You’re looking great.”
“Thanks.”
Biz glanced at Hideaway. “I’m a little surprised to see you here. I thought you’d given it up.”
She stiffened and her hands balled into fists. “I have, but it’s none of your damn business.”
“That’s true, but I still care about you.”
She laughed heartily and shook her head. “You care about me? What you cared about was stealing my girlfriend!”
“I didn’t have to steal her,” Biz said with a wicked smile. “She crawled right into my arms.”
“You bitch!” she spat and took two steps toward her.
Standing toe-to-toe she towered over Biz, but the PI held her ground and said, “Besides, you’d already cheated.”
The truth stunned Molly into silence. Biz climbed into the car and leaned out the window. “It was only a matter of time before everyone knew, Molly, including Ari. You and the blonde put on quite a show in the backroom that night. Are you still seeing her?”
Biz drove away and she leaned against the side of her truck, staring at Hideaway. Her body was too weak to pick up a bowling ball, but she wasn’t too weak to lift a shot glass.
Chapter Thirteen
Biz edged the Mustang into a parking space at the other end of the strip mall to watch Molly, who was leaning against her truck and staring at her hands. It was clear she was on a precipice, debating whether or not to enter Hideaway, the place that had essentially ruined her career. She was hunched over almost as if she were praying.
Biz bit her lip. Don’t do it, she thought, though in the next moment she realized if Molly fell off the wagon it would be one more piece of insurance. Ari would never reunite with her as long as she was drinking. But what if she stayed sober?
She’d never looked better. She looked nothing like the haggard and slightly overweight detective Biz had known for years. Of course, she had always been attractive. Long ago, in fact, they had spent a few wild nights together. Molly was an exceptional lover who’d had her pick of women every night she partied, despite the slight flaws in her appearance and character. Now, though, the woman was drop-dead gorgeous. Freed of a stressful job that most likely had been the primary reason she drank and the cause of her weight struggle, she seemed like a completely different person.
For the first few months, thinking of Molly’s destroyed career and her role in its demise had sent Biz into a funk that usually lasted a few hours. She’d drop to the nearest couch or chair and wait for it to pass. Eventually she decided to focus her energies on winning Ari, erasing Molly from her mind, and forgetting all about Vince Carnotti and Sol Gardener. It had worked for five months—until Wanda’s blackmail note arrived and she was yanked back into the past.
Molly remained in a trance, leaning against her truck. Biz sighed. As much as she wanted Ari, she couldn’t wish any ill will toward Molly and her courageous fight against her alcoholism. “C’mon, don’t do it. Go home.”
Molly jumped and fumbled for her phone. She listened and gestured while she talked just like a cop. When she disconnected, she climbed back into the truck and pulled away quickly. Biz swallowed a knot in her throat, wondering if the phone call had anything to do with the past she was so desperately trying to erase.
* * *
Gaining access to Wanda’s fourth-story balcony wasn’t hard. Biz had picked locks since high school, and she had found it a necessary skill in her quest to incarcerate abusive boyfriends and husbands. Often she left illicit drugs or weapons in their homes, and when the cops searched the closets or under the bed after receiving an anonymous tip, the enraged batterer would usually take a swing at the cop, accusing him or her of planting the evidence. Then the scum had another charge to face, assaulting an officer.
The apartment complex was a virtual ghost town on a late Monday morning. Everyone was at their jobs, laboring for that next paycheck to support weekends of clubbing and partying. She’d checked Wanda’s parking space, verifying that the old Honda was gone and Wanda was busy greeting customers at the bank where she worked.
Recognizing she was fairly conspicuous, she slipped through the complex carefully, avoiding the handful of groundskeepers who were busy trimming the hedges and cleaning the pool. She glanced up at the eight apartments that formed Wanda’s building. Each floor held two units, the front doors facing each other. All of the blinds were closed and she saw no signs of life. She quickly circled the perimeter and checked the shed, finding its padlock still secured. She guessed it housed the riding lawnmower. Monday must not be mowing day. She certainly didn’t want a groundskeeper to see her up on Wanda’s balcony.
Seeing no one, she quickly ascended the steps to Wanda’s door, her lock picking set in her hand and a tool belt over her shoulder. Dressed in gray coveralls and a cap, she looked like any other workperson who might fix a light socket or change a filter. That was going to be her story in the event a nosy neighbor stopped her.
She rang the bell for good measure, just in case Wanda had acquired an overnight guest. When no one answered, she jimmied the bottom lock, which gave in an instant. The deadbolt was trickier. She threw a glance toward the sidewalk, willing it to remain empty.
It took nearly a minute, but she managed finally to finagle the tumblers and slide the deadbolt free. She quickly entered the apartment and locked the door behind her. She didn’t blink an eye at the clutter that covered most of the surfaces and the laundry that was strewn everywhere. Dozens of one-night stands had taught her women were just as slovenly as men; they just wouldn’t admit it.
She went to the sliding glass door and found it unlocked. Clearly Wanda felt unthreatened by hovering four stories above everyone else. She studied the cheap metal railing that separated her from a fifty-foot drop onto the concrete sidewalk. The railing was like every other one she’d ever seen. Four cement screws held the top and bottom crossbars in place.
She went to work and unscrewed the railing. She’d reasoned that the murmur of the electric drill was worth the risk if it meant finishing the job in less than an hour. She prayed no tenants would jog past and the workmen wouldn’t go to the shed.
Removing the screws consumed only a few minutes. It was harder to clean out the plaster holes that had held them in place. She went through three drill bit
s as she enlarged each one of the sixteen holes. By the time she finished the last one, sweat dripped down her face. She remounted the railing, satisfied. It looked exactly the same as when she’d arrived, but the first time Wanda leaned on it, as she had done the night before, the loose screws would pop out of their holes and she would careen over the side and down onto the pavement.
Biz closed her eyes for a moment, sickened at the thought. But it was the only way.
She swept away the plaster dust and collected her tools. It was nearly one. If she hurried, she could make a late afternoon flight and be with Ari by nightfall. She didn’t need to seeWanda fall to her death. In fact, she couldn’t see her fall. It would be too hard. It would be bad enough to read about it in the paper.
She hustled out the door—and stopped two flights down. Standing in front of her was a huge man with bulging biceps. He stared at her with a thin smile.
“Ms. Stone, Mr. Carnotti would like a word with you, please.”
* * *
She followed him out an employee gate and into a small parking lot. A black Escalade with tinted windows sat in the far stall, and she wasn’t surprised when the wise guy opened the back door. She would be getting in but he would not.
She took a deep breath and realized she might crumple to the ground. She’d only met Vince Carnotti twice. Usually she had dealt with middlemen like Sol Gardener, a situation that suited her just fine. Vince was scary, freaky scary.
He was staring out the opposite window. He wore an expensive dark suit and his white hair curled over his collar. Her gaze reflexively dropped to his enormous hands. He was rumored to have killed a snitch by squeezing the guy’s head between those hands.
“Join me,” he said softly.
She climbed into the buttery leather seat, avoiding his stare.
“I like you, Elizabeth,” he said. “You do good work.”
“Thanks.”
“No, I mean it,” he said more emphatically. “You’re one of the good guys, really. You take no-good sons of bitches like my daughter’s ex and you make them pay. I like that. You’re like me.” She glanced at him, surprised by the compliment, as his black eyes bored into hers. “I know what’s happening. I know why you’re here. My people have been following Wanda ever since that night. More than once I thought about popping her myself, but…” His voice trailed off as he smoothed the crease of his pants. “She’s not my problem, she’s yours. Right?”
She nodded.
“Unfortunately, I’ve come to the same conclusion. My contacts in the department are telling me that Jack Adams’s task force is being disbanded in a few days by the new hotshot chief. Wanda is the only lead they have. If she doesn’t disappear before they discover her or before the task force dies, we’ll all be in trouble. You understand that?”
She nodded again.
He checked his watch. “I have a busy schedule today, so I’ll be blunt. Your little plan won’t work.” She gave a surprised look, and he squeezed her shoulder, offering a fatherly grin. “People only fall over railings in the movies, kiddo.” His face hardened and her skin went cold. “She’s going to need a push.”
Chapter Fourteen
“What are you doing here?” Jane asked Rory. “I thought you taught college?”
She crossed her arms. “I do, but I also volunteer by working with some third-grade reading groups. I’m very altruistic,” she said slowly.
“I know what that means,” Jane hissed, “and altruistic people are usually not ostentatious about their activities.”
“Enough,” Ari barked. “A woman has died and you two are engaging in some sort of vocabulary foreplay, which I really don’t need to see.”
“This is not foreplay,” Jane disagreed, shooting Rory a distasteful glance. “That woman is the last person in the world I’d want to sleep with.”
“Right back at you, sister,” Rory replied. “Now, what are you two doing here?”
Ari held up the key and said, “We’ve figured out where Nina kept her journals.”
“Where?”
“Here at the school,” Jane said. “In one of the lockers.”
Rory stared at the key and slowly nodded. “That actually explains a lot. Once when I was here in the evening, I saw Nina coming out of the locker room. She said she’d been interviewing students, but I knew it was too late for any kids to be around. I wondered if maybe she wasn’t having a walk on the wild side with the girls’ P.E. teacher, but I never said anything. I’ve seen her going into the gym during the school day, but I didn’t think anything of it.”
“Isn’t that pretty risky?” Jane asked. “I mean keeping your personal journals in a school locker?”
“Maybe Evan or the gym teacher knew about it,” Rory offered.
“Can we get in there now?”
Rory looked doubtful. “I don’t think I’d chance it during class. Coach Case is pretty tough.”
Jane flicked some lint from her blouse. “She plays for our team?”
“Yeah,” she said suspiciously. “What are you thinking? I don’t want to get Coach in trouble. She’s good people.”
Jane waved her off. “I wouldn’t dream of annihilating her career, but a little distraction wouldn’t hurt. Where’s the gym?”
They followed Rory to a tall building just behind the school. Instead of heading through the front entrance, they walked to the side, where the words “Girls Locker Room” were spray-painted on a gray door. Three bursts from a sharp, high-pitched whistle told them class was in session. Ari cracked open the door and they listened as the coach gave the girls directions and ordered them into the gym. When they were certain the students had filed out, the three of them moved inside.
“You two find the locker,” Jane directed, “and I’ll make sure the coach doesn’t wander back here until you’re done.”
“What are you going to do?” Rory asked in an annoyed tone.
“Don’t worry about it,” she said with a smile.
She sauntered out and they studied the lockers. There were different styles and sizes, all with combination locks that had a keyhole in the center that gave the school the option of a combination or a key.
“Try one of those,” Rory said, pointing to a large set of blue lockers. “Those are the ones for the athletes. There’s always going to be one or two that’s empty, so maybe Nina commandeered one of them.”
The key slid into the first lock Ari tried, but it wouldn’t turn. “You’re right. It’s one of these,” she said, moving from locker to locker with little luck.
Ari heard Jane’s cackle a few times amid all of the teenage girls’ chatter. Rory peeked out a window and groaned. “Unbelievable. Your friend has absolutely no boundaries.”
“That’s Jane,” she agreed. “What’s she doing?”
“Well, she’s not really doing anything except distracting Coach from supervising the students. They’re standing off to the side laughing and carrying on. She keeps touching Coach’s arm and flicking her hair back.” She paused and added, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Coach Case laugh.”
“Got it,” Ari said, pushing up the handle. A gym bag filled with sports clothes and toiletries took up most of the space inside.
“She and Evan sometimes played racquetball together,” Rory said.
Pulling the gym bag out, Ari discovered the locker was deeper than it appeared. A large metal box filled the rest of the space. She surmised the box would go unnoticed by most people. Inside it was a pile of journals and spiral notebooks. She grabbed the top journal, a beautiful leather-bound book, and flipped to the last page.
“This is her last journal,” she said.
Rory grabbed one of the spirals. “This belonged to a kid named Devon, but it’s from last year.
“I don’t think these are in any particular order,” Rory said.
“We’ll need to take all of them.”
“How are we going to get them out of here?”
Ari’s gaze settled on the large d
uffel bag. “We need to make a swap.”
They’d just finished the transfer when they heard the rush of students returning to the locker room. They scooted outside and waited for Jane.
“Did you find them?”
“Yes, and what did you learn?” Rory asked pointedly as they started back toward the parking lot.
“Well, your friend Melinda is quite a talker. I pretended I was from the district trust and I needed to examine her safety features.”
Rory rolled her eyes. “She fell for that?”
“Hey, it’s the best I could think of,” Jane snapped. “Are you always so negative?”
“Are you always so slutty?”
Jane whirled and faced her. “How dare you call me that!” Her open palm flew toward Rory’s cheek, but she deflected the blow. “Ow!” Jane cried. She rubbed her wrist and stared at Rory. “You hurt me.”
“I barely touched you.”
Ari dropped the heavy bag. “I can’t deal with this. Rory, I could use your help, but this isn’t going to work. You bring out Jane’s inner child. Sorry.” She picked up the bag and walked away. “Let’s go, Jane.”
* * *
Jane was still prattling about Rory’s uncouth demeanor when they returned to the resort. “She’s horrible!”
Ari hefted the duffel onto the dining table. “For god’s sake,” she shouted. “Just sleep with her!” Jane gasped. “This is what happens when you don’t act upon your lust,” Ari explained. “You can’t bottle up your libido. It controls your personality and when it’s not satisfied, we all suffer!”
Realizing she was shouting, she took a deep breath and fell into a chair. She rubbed her temples, wishing she were home in her garden—alone. She was tired of people and problems. Jane’s optimistic attitude was what she loved about her, and she couldn’t stand it when Jane was as negative as everyone else.
“My libido doesn’t control my entire personality,” Jane announced, “but I see your point. I am a very sexual being and my passion is at my center, literally. But there’s no way in hell Rory’s getting a key to the kingdom. I’ll just have to stay away from her.” She opened the duffel and picked up a handful of journals. “Let’s focus on Nina.”
