Point of Betrayal

by Ann Roberts

  She grabbed her purse and walked away.

  * * *

  Molly sat outside Ari’s house, the truck’s engine idling, studying the keychain shaped like a real estate sign, the words National Title Company stamped across it. She imagined it was a cheap souvenir Ari had received at some convention.

  She glanced at the red front door that led into Ari’s new life. She’d not yet returned Ari’s spare key to Brian, and he hadn’t asked for it. She guessed he was conveniently forgetting since he’d been by the house to work on the plumbing, probably using a key Ari kept hidden for emergencies.

  She needed to return Biz’s key before Ari returned from California, but she couldn’t get out of the truck. The day before, she hadn’t given a second thought when she’d hurried into the house and up the stairs on her mission to destroy Biz. The fact that she was technically breaking and entering didn’t cross her mind, but for a reason she couldn’t determine, entering Ari’s house this time seemed more dangerous, as if there were more at stake.

  Because I want to linger inside. If I can’t be near her, I want to be near her things, and I really want to find that picture.

  She killed the engine and hopped out of the cab. She strolled casually to the front door and slipped inside. The tile was dry and Brian had removed his equipment from the foyer. In the kitchen new plasterboard covered the site of the burst pipe. She guessed that the beautiful oak floors could be saved, but they would need to be refinished. Ari would be greatly relieved since it was the original hardwood.

  She went into the solarium and gazed into the beautiful backyard, picturing her bending over to plant a flower, her cute little bottom tilting toward the sky. She blinked and took a deep breath. Maybe Sienna was right.

  She scanned the room and noticed a small credenza in the corner. She searched through both drawers carefully, finding some old real estate awards, several knickknacks that she must have pulled out of storage and the framed certificate she’d received when she graduated from the police academy.

  She headed upstairs and immediately returned Biz’s key to the pigeonhole above Ari’s desk. She opened all the drawers and chuckled at the superior organization. Every pencil, sticky note pack and paperclip was housed in some type of container and sat inside larger containers. She thought of her own desk and the middle drawer that wouldn’t open because so many papers had been crammed inside. Ari wouldn’t approve. She stepped back. There was nothing personal anywhere in the loft. It was her home office and nothing more.

  She imagined she would find boxes in the guest room full of the things she hadn’t had time to unpack, as well as the items that just hadn’t found the right spot yet. So she was surprised when she opened the door to an inviting four-poster bed with complementary cherry wood furniture. She shook her head. Already she was ready for company. A few blankets were stacked in the closet, but the dresser was empty. She sat on the edge of the bed and plucked the maroon throw pillow from the pile against the headboard. She pressed it tightly against her chest. Ari had kept it on her living room sofa when she lived in the condo and would tuck it under her head when they lounged in front of the TV.

  She contemplated whether Ari would really miss it if she took it, considering it was practically buried underneath two giant shams in a room that was hardly used. She rolled her eyes at her unbelievable thoughts. I’m resorting to pillow theft. She centered it on the pile and closed the door behind her.

  All that remained was Ari’s bedroom. She already knew there wasn’t anything in one nightstand, so she checked the other one for good measure, finding only a stack of Sudoku books. The closet contained a modest collection of dressy clothes and very few pairs of shoes by most women’s standards. She couldn’t resist gazing at a few of her favorite outfits—the short pink miniskirt, the striped silk dress blouse Ari wore with her gray suit and her personal favorite, the black leather jacket.

  A stack of large red IKEA boxes sat in the corner with neatly printed tags on the front. She knew their contents, which had been a discussion point at various times during their relationship. Ari saved all memorabilia, believing every experience deserved to be chronicled. The first box was simply labeled “Cards” and contained every greeting card she’d ever received, but she hadn’t included the ones from Molly. Underneath was a box labeled “Entertainment,” followed by“Photos,” then “Letters,” and the most interesting one in her opinion, “Miscellaneous.” Inside were the screwiest of the odds and ends she’d acquired throughout the years, including weird pencils, her pressed corsage from her senior prom and her first baby tooth. But there was nothing from their relationship.

  The only place left to look was the dresser. Her hope faded as she realized the unlikelihood of Ari relegating the mementos of their relationship to a dresser drawer. Still, she needed to find that photo and anything else Ari may have kept since she had never put her “Molly Things”in the IKEA boxes.

  She pulled open the drawers one after the other, her disappointment growing with the revelation of each drawer’s contents: sweaters, T-shirts, socks and, as titillating as it was, underwear. Six drawers and no mementos and no photo.

  She sat on the edge of the bed and shook her head. What was she thinking? Why was she here? Her phone fell from her pocket to the floor. She leaned over to retrieve it and her gaze settled on a long plastic box under the bed. She got down on all fours and pulled it out, expecting to find all of her gift wrapping supplies, probably color-coded by hue. Instead several memories burst forth at once and competed for her attention, each triggered by an object in the box.

  She immediately reached for the framed photo, the one she’d been hoping to find. She smiled at the significance of it being on top. They had been so happy. Ari had protested when Jane asked for a picture, insisting that her hair was a mess. She’d pulled it up with a clip and several strands had escaped throughout the day as they’d trolled the antique shops and taken a short hike. She looked so fresh and alive. She was the most beautiful in her most natural state.

  Molly inhaled to ward off the tears and the urge for a scotch, which suddenly overwhelmed her. She thrust her hand in her pocket and clutched the familiar stone, her lifeline to sanity. She closed her eyes and waited for the moment to pass, willing herself forward as if she were passing through a mountain tunnel. She visualized the exit and saw the continuing highway at the end. Light appeared and she rounded the corner. She opened her eyes and dropped the stone back into her pocket.

  “Great,” she whispered, reaching for a scrapbook with a nondescript black leather cover.

  A newspaper article was glued to the first page. It was the coverage of her first big case, the murder of a prominent businessman. One of Ari’s best friends had been accused; it was the case that brought them together and ignited their relationship. She flipped the pages and read the headlines of subsequent articles that created a timeline of the case and its eventual closure, which included Ari being shot.

  She noticed all of her important cases, the ones worthy of news coverage, were chronicled in the scrapbook. Although her name was never mentioned specifically, Ari was cataloguing her career. Interspersed were several articles about crimes the police suspected were the work of Vince Carnotti, the man most likely to have been behind the end of her career.

  A lump formed in her throat as she glanced through the pages devoted to the last murder she’d investigated, the one that ended with a terrible explosion only a dozen yards from where she was. No one had been arrested in the end. No one needed to be.

  The rest of the pages were blank like a story with no ending.

  She put everything back inside carefully and shoved the box under the bed. She stood, full of resolve, marched into the guest room and yanked the maroon pillow from the bed.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Cars lined the Garritsons’ driveway and Jane brazenly pulled the rental up next to the fountain creating her own makeshift parking space. “I doubt anyone will tow it,” she said.


  Music and boisterous laughter rolled through the open front door. “This is quite a party,” Ari murmured as they headed up the walk.

  “They’re celebrating,” she replied. “Wouldn’t you? I’m sure they want everyone who is anyone to know Sam is innocent. Steve’s appointment to the task force depends on it.” They had barely stepped across the threshold before a waiter presented a tray of champagne. Jane handed her a flute. “I’ll hand it to Biz. She got the job done.”

  Jane raised her glass in salute, and she met her toast silently. Laguna’s A-group milled about the great room in expensive suits, fine jewelry and designer dresses. She spotted Steve and Georgie greeting people near the French doors. Both wore broad smiles as they accepted the congratulations of their friends and admirers. Georgie constantly dabbed the corners of her eyes, unable to control her emotions.

  Sam approached with his arms outstretched. “I’m so glad you came.” He hugged both of them and said to Jane, “I owe you so much.”

  “Not us,” she corrected. “Biz. She’s the one who got you out of this.”

  He looked around. “Where is she?”

  “She had to get back to Phoenix. She said to tell you good luck with the rest of your life.”

  Tears filled his eyes and he couldn’t reply. She imagined he was thinking of the life he wouldn’t have—the one with Nina and his child. His expression fortified Ari’s resolve to do what needed to be done.

  “Come say hello to my parents,” he said, guiding them toward the French doors. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen them so happy.”

  Georgie flew into Jane’s arms while Steve pumped her hand vigorously. “You two are the best friends Sam could ever have!” she exclaimed. “I had my doubts…”

  “Hey, what are friends for?” Jane asked, still caught in Georgie’s strong embrace.

  “Well, you always are welcome to visit Laguna,” Steve said. “I’m sorry Evan isn’t here,” he added.

  “Dad, don’t start,” Sam warned. “It’s going to be a long time before he’s forgiven. If he’d told me about the baby, none of this would’ve happened. Nina never would’ve been out jogging alone—”

  “Sam, your voice,” Georgie said in a harsh whisper. “This is a party. Let’s not discuss such tragic things today.”

  His face filled with contempt. “If not now, when, Mother?”

  He stalked off and Georgie sighed. “It’s going to take a long time for him to get over this, I’m afraid.”

  Ari realized Sam still had no idea that Georgie had known about the pregnancy before Nina’s death. “I don’t know if he’ll ever get over it,” she said. “I have some disturbing news, unfortunately. They’re dropping the murder charge against Bobby Arco this afternoon.”

  “They’re what!” Steve shouted. Everyone turned toward him, but he quickly regained his composure.

  “How can they do that?” Georgie asked. “He’s a horrible human being.”

  “He is,” she agreed, “but like Sam, he didn’t kill Nina. Her killer is still at large.”

  A commotion at the front door caught their attention. Scott stood between an angry Sam and Evan, who was pleading for forgiveness. Standing together, she saw the uncanny resemblance between the three of them…and her mistake.

  “You have no right to be here!” Sam shouted. “You as much as killed her yourself!”

  “Don’t say that, Sam! I loved her too!”

  “You son of a bitch!”

  Sam went for Evan and several well-dressed men pulled them apart.

  “I need to find the bathroom,” she whispered to Jane, who only grunted a response.

  Mesmerized by the confrontation between the two brothers, no one noticed her slip down the main hallway. Evan and Sam’s shouting was barely audible as she entered Georgie’s studio. She headed to the closet where Georgie kept the smocks, aprons and old dress shirts, no doubt cast-offs from Steve’s closet. She remembered wearing one of Big Jack’s shirts in kindergarten during art class. It was the cheapest and easiest way to protect her school clothes.

  She pulled out the three Oxford-cloth button-downs, only one wasn’t so old, and it was missing a pocket. Whereas the other two were covered in paint and seemed threadbare at the neck and sleeves, the third was perfect except for the missing pocket.

  “How did you know?” Steve asked from the doorway.

  “I didn’t at first. I thought it was Georgie. She was the one I’d seen wearing the shirt.”

  “No, she would never stoop to such levels.” He puffed out his chest and pointed his index finger in the air. “Preserving the family name, Steve,” he said, mimicking her. “It’s all about the family.”

  “That’s why Sam dumped Nina.”

  “Of course.”

  “When I saw Scott, Sam and Evan standing together at the door, I knew you had to know that Scott was their father. How could you not?”

  He didn’t answer, which was an answer in itself. She gauged his casual stance. She was safe—at least for the moment.

  “So if you thought Georgie was the killer, how did you jump to me?”

  “Actually it was something Detective Justice said to me today. Some people might keep a dress shirt that was missing the pocket, if it was their only dress shirt, but you have several. I realized this shirt, though, was too new. I can see you typically give Georgie your old shirts, but this one is fine, and when I saw her wearing it, I noticed it didn’t have any paint on it.”

  He chuckled and shut the door behind him, locking it. “You’re more observant than the police. When they came to search the house she was wearing the damn thing under her smock, but no one noticed.”

  “Why didn’t you get rid of it? Throw it in a Dumpster or burn it?”

  He shook his head. “I didn’t realize the pocket was gone. I was just too shaken up when I got home…afterward,” he said slowly. “I just changed and threw it in the hamper. Next thing I knew, Georgie was wearing it two days later. The housekeeper must have decided I wouldn’t want it anymore so she put it there.” He motioned to the closet. “When they searched the house later that day, I couldn’t understand why they kept looking in odd places like the cedar chests and the dryer. It all made sense when I heard Nina had been discovered with something in her hand.”

  “But yet, once you figured it out, you still didn’t run up here and take it. Why?”

  He stared at her blankly. “I figured the danger was past, and then Bobby Arco was arrested…” He sighed. “I don’t know. Why didn’t Nixon burn the tapes? Maybe I wanted to get caught. I’m not a killer.”

  “Yes, you are,” she said as gently as she could.

  Rage crossed his face and she saw a different man. The affable city councilman with a smart, sensitive nature vanished. “Only because I had to! I’ve put up with my coward of a wife loving another man for our entire marriage and never having the decency to come clean about it. How many holidays and barbeques have I sat through with our good family friend or, as the boys call him, Uncle Scott? Would you like to take a guess? And those pretend weekend trips to San Diego to check out the inventory,” he said sarcastically. “I know what inventory she’s checking on. Our whole marriage is a sham! And then when Nina got pregnant the thought of having to stare at Scott’s grandchild while everyone congratulated me and called me Pops?”

  She couldn’t believe it. “Georgie still thinks you don’t know? She’s spent your marriage letting you think youwere Sam and Evan’s biological father? How can that be? Anyone who looks at them has to know.”

  He laughed out loud. “Oh, Ms. Adams, you are naïve and obviously not wealthy. Let me explain everything to you.” He strolled to a patio door that opened onto a small balcony. “Money smothers common sense, and you will believe anything if it protects your status, your home and your career.”

  “So essentially she blackmailed you. You said nothing and got to keep all this.”

  “And a spot on the city council,” he added. “Don’t forget that. Politic
s is all about money.” He flung the door open and the sea breeze wafted into the studio. “I’m not a fool, Ms. Adams. I know my limitations. We needed each other. Georgie’s powerful father never would have tolerated her loving the lowly pool boy, who was underage, by the way. But she got to have it all by marrying a hardworking Yale graduate and shtupping the pool boy on the side. It worked out for both of us. If we hadn’t married, I’d be some mid-level manager for a mediocre company having a turkey on rye for lunch and planning Saturday barbeques. Yale can’t change a man’s personality. I’m not what you would call executive material.” He paused and added, “My only regret is that we never had another child. Georgie always said two was enough.” He gestured to the open door and the small balcony. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance you’d join me out here? The view is lovely. Georgie calls it ‘inspirational.’”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I guess my reputation precedes me,” he said with a crazy laugh. He raked his hand through his hair and paced nervously.

  “Does Scott know?”

  He snorted. “I’m sure he does now. Back then he was just a kid. Young people notice so little.”

  “But Nina’s pregnancy was about to ruin everything and expose your family secret,” she said. “I spoke to her doctor this morning. She was Rh negative and there was a concern about incompatibility if Sam was Rh positive. It could be dangerous to the baby. She found out through the tests that the baby was type A, and Sam had told her he was type O, like her. It was a complete impossibility for her baby to be type A if both of them were O.”

  He offered her a little round of applause. “Give the lady a prize. I’m type O, as is Georgie, but good old Uncle Scott is AB positive.” He grew wide-eyed and blurted, “Do you know how freakin’ rare that is? He’s like the blood bank’s wet dream! Only something like nine percent of all white men are AB positive. He’s a damn rock star! No wonder Georgie’s always wanted him so bad.”