by Ann Roberts
“Yeah, I really do.” She opened her mouth to say something about how she hoped Yoli appreciated her but immediately decided against it. The mood was shifting and she didn’t want to ruin it.
“And you’re only wearing a towel?”
Her voice was thick and Ari could hear the little sounds her mouth made as they attempted to form words.
She counted to three and then said, “Not now.”
“God, Ari.”
She felt the reins of control tightly in her hand. It was an odd feeling because she’d always allowed Molly to drive their relationship, not that she was incapable of wielding power, but it was always so much more important to Molly.
“Are you alone?” Ari asked, stretching out on the bed.
“Yeah, I was getting ready for the movie in the event you wouldn’t help me with the case.”
“So if I didn’t want to work on the case you were still going to come to the movies?”
“Yes,” Molly admitted, “unless you were going to cancel on me, and that would’ve really bummed me out. I’ve been thinking about you all day.” She asked, “Are you getting dressed?”
“No. I’m doing something else now. Why don’t you join me?”
“Oh, Ari…” Her protest was whisper-thin.
She smiled and said, “Lie down on your bed and unzip those cute walking shorts I’m sure you’re wearing.”
Molly laughed but Ari could tell from the background noises that she was following her directions. “How did you know I was wearing those?”
“Because they fit you fabulously and you know it. Now, I want you to think about our trip to Sedona and our romantic bath in that incredible whirlpool tub. Do you remember that night?”
“Yeah.”
Ari parted her legs and imagined Molly falling onto her own bed in her little apartment, her hand sliding underneath her bikini briefs. Lost in her own fantasy she didn’t hear Molly’s soft moans join her own until they were both about to climax.
Afterward when her heart had stopped racing and she was no longer panting, she said, “Pick me up in thirty.”
* * *
Exactly thirty minutes later Molly appeared at her door wearing a sleeveless collared shirt that displayed her great tan and rippling biceps, as well as the blue walking shorts Ari had pictured in her fantasy. She’d stuffed her hands in her pockets and wore a serious expression.
“I’m not sure what the hell is going on or what I want with Yoli, but I can’t deny what happened between us on the phone. Let’s just work this case, okay? No promises or commitment but no denying our feelings either. Sound good?”
Ari stepped into Molly’s personal space, taking advantage of their similar height. “I only have one question. Does Yoli think you’re awesome?”
Molly looked away. “I’m not sure.”
She placed her palm against Molly’s cheek and waited until she looked her in the eyes. “Fair enough.”
* * *
They cruised up Seventh Street to Van Buren and turned west toward Grand, avoiding the many stoplights on the northern end of LGA. Sunday traffic was always light in the downtown area unless the Diamondbacks, Suns or Mercury were playing. She told her about her meeting with Chynna Grove.
“So she was watching from across the street?”
“Uh-huh. I think she may have been there watering the plants.”
“Or she was watching her own handiwork. Many criminals enjoy watching the first responders clean up the mess they’ve made.”
“I know, but I’m not sure she’s capable of murder. Throwing a rock through a diner or setting off a smoke bomb, definitely.”
As they waited to turn onto Grand, a haggard middle-aged man pushed an overflowing shopping cart through the crosswalk. She glanced at the opposite corner. A woman in a tight, short skirt and halter top repeatedly pressed the button to change the light. Looks like she had a long evening.
“I’m thinking about buying Scrabble,” she blurted.
She pointed to it as they passed the stucco structure, and Molly glanced just in time to catch a glimpse of the red cottage. “Really? What would you do with it?”
“I don’t know yet. It’s a stupid idea, right?”
“I didn’t say that.” Once she’d cruised into the turn lane she looked at Ari and added, “It’s just surprising. You’re usually not impulsive. Maybe that’s a sign.”
Molly didn’t indicate what the impulse signaled, and then they pulled into the crowded parking lot reserved for Brown’s Diner customers. Fortunately a car was leaving.
Ari admired the mural on the far wall, a tribute to Dr. Seuss. The Sneeches chased Cat in the Hat while several Whos from Whoville gathered in a circle. The fence was equally artistic, covered in old campaign posters that had been repurposed. Extra words or phrases were doodled around the original slogans and teeth, horns or black eyes had been added to the candidates’ photos.
The place was packed for Sunday brunch and Brooke Brown mingled with the customers. She smiled and waved them to a pristine office furnished with antiques. Ari guessed the room had looked exactly the same in nineteen forty-five, the year Brown’s Pie Factory opened.
Brooke extended her hand. “I’m Brooke and you must be Ari. I hear you found Ms. Wonders.”
“I did.”
“It’s just awful what happened. She helped us out a lot.” Her frown quickly evaporated and she said, “Would you ladies like to try the best blueberry-apple pie you will ever have in your life.” It wasn’t a question. She genuinely believed her pie was the best.
Ari answered for both of them. “We’d love some. Thanks.”
She disappeared and returned with two plates. She watched intently as they chewed the first bite, and while it was exceptional, Ari wasn’t a huge fan of fruit pies, much preferring a good chocolate or banana cream.
“Hmm, this is delicious,” she said anyway. “The crust is so light.”
She whispered, “That’s the secret family recipe. It’s what makes it so great. We’ve been making that crust here for the last sixty years.”
“So, this used to be a pie factory and now it’s a diner,” Molly said between bites.
“We couldn’t compete with the big chains and people weren’t going to come all the way down to LGA to buy pies, especially after all the motels closed. We had to change,” she said with resignation, “or we would have gone under. So we did. We redesigned the building and made this a diner and the rest of the factory became the Frontal Lobe Gallery. Tony Sanchez manages that for us, and now we’re doing great.” Her expression matched her enthusiasm.
Ari set down her fork. “Are there any other restaurants on LGA?”
She pointed south and said, “A pizza place is coming next year. That’ll help draw the foodies on First or Third Friday.”
“Is Scrabble still open?” Ari asked innocently. “I seem to remember reading about it.”
“Huh,” she said. “You read about it? Really? Where? It was only open for a short time.”
“I stumbled upon the Facebook page. It looked fun, though.”
“Fun, yes, but not a serious business. Poor Chynna didn’t have a vision. She had way too much going on over there, between the coffee shop, which served very poor desserts I might add, and the music on the patio, and the little cabins…” She sighed and shook her head wistfully. “It was just too much. If she’d only listened to me. First rule of business,” she said, holding up her index finger, “is to pick one thing and be good at it. If she’d used the main building as a wine bar and connected the vision to the patio, it would have made it.”
Molly shifted in her chair and said, “Brooke, tell us what you know about Ms. Wonders. You said she helped a lot?”
“Yes. One day she kind of showed up. I heard from Tony that she was a war veteran with a beef against the VA. She seemed pretty harmless but she was always around here or on RoRo, mainly here. A few times she ran into the diner to report someone breaking into a car in the parking
lot or she’d report suspicious activity to Tony. He gave her a cell phone so I know she was keeping an eye on the area.”
“Did you ever see her write anything down?” Ari asked.
“Oh, yeah,” she chuckled. “She carried around a notepad, and she tended to pop up, you know like a character in the movies? One moment she’s not there and the next she is. She could be quite stealthy.”
“What else do you remember?”
Ari could tell Brooke was only half-listening to Molly, her attention focused on a worker answering her personal cell phone.
“Um, there were several times she mentioned people lurking about, but usually it was street people.” She chuckled and added, “A few weeks ago I was opening for the day, and she wandered up and said, ‘Crosby’s a traitor.’”
“Do you have any idea what that means?” Ari asked.
She shook her head. “Not in the least. I’m not particularly fond of the man, but he’s completely honest about his feelings for LGA. He wishes we’d just go away.”
Molly flipped a page on her yellow pad. “Where was Ms. Wonders living?”
“Tony asked if she could stay in the Stapley building. The owner knows me, and I recommended Tony as a property manager. He thought having a tenant in there was better than having it vacant, and I agreed. Just look at what’s happened to the poor Bali Hi with the vandalism and the arson.”
Ari pointed at the plywood. “I’m sorry to hear about your window. Did the police confiscate the rock?”
“No, the whole picture window came down, so whoever tossed it had the good sense to retrieve it before they took off so it couldn’t be traced. No evidence except the broken glass, and there was a lot of it.”
“And there aren’t any cameras along LGA to capture a vehicle pulling up and stopping in front of the diner?”
“Not at the time but now we have a security system. If you ask me, though, I got off easy compared to what happened to Ms. Wonders.”
She could hear the sincerity in her voice. Perhaps Chynna had misjudged her. She glanced at the standing room only diner and said, “Business seems to be really good. Is it always this crowded?”
“I won’t deny that this is a larger than usual brunch crowd.”
Ari gently pushed her pie plate away. She’d eaten half of it. “Did you get a lot of publicity from the rock-throwing incident?”
“We got a few interviews. You seem to be implying something, Ari. Care to share?”
She appreciated her directness. She met her gaze. “I heard you made sure that Scrabble didn’t survive, and I’m wondering if you might have thrown that rock yourself to gain the publicity.”
“I guess you’ve been talking to Chynna. And are you suggesting I vandalized that artist’s work? Did I start the gang fight?” She turned to Molly and said, “Do I look like a gangster to you?” Her voice rose as she leaned across the desk. “If you think I had anything to do with the death of Ms. Wonders—”
“Ari’s not saying that, Brooke,” Molly said calmly. “But we need to ask where you were late Thursday afternoon and early evening.”
“I was here. Thursday is delivery day. Plus we were prepping for First Friday.”
Molly made a note before she met her cold stare. “Why do you think all this is happening? Do you agree with Lorraine that someone’s out to get LGA?”
She nodded. “I do.”
“But how do you explain the gang fight on RoRo?” Ari probed. “The police said a third party summoned the gang members. That would most likely be someone on LGA, wouldn’t it?”
“I don’t think it’s related,” she said truculently. “Gang members have lots of enemies.” She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “Listen, no matter how you cut it, LGA is the loser here. Negative publicity will always hurt us more than RoRo. We’re not established, we’re struggling, and at the end of the day, the businesses on LGA will close twice as fast as those on RoRo. It’s just the truth. I hope you both enjoyed the pie.” She looked at Ari and said, “Scrabble never had any dessert worth eating. Now, I need to get back to work.”
She escorted them to the front, greeting customers with a friendly wave and a huge hello, but she didn’t bother with a goodbye to them as they left.
“She can certainly turn the charm on and off,” Molly said when they reached the sidewalk. “A little too competitive in my mind.”
“A little?” Ari pulled on her shades. She felt roasted after five seconds of standing on the sidewalk. “Do you think she might’ve thrown that rock herself?”
Molly touched the building’s exterior wall, her fingers tracing the bronze plaque presented by the Phoenix Historic Society in 2008. “I’d say she would do anything to preserve the family business. When I spoke with Maya Corbett, she said Ms. Wonders told her that Thursday was pie day.”
“Pie day? Like she was going to eat a piece of pie? Maybe treat herself to a dessert?”
She shrugged. “Could be.”
“Maybe she saw Brooke vandalize her own property and was blackmailing her. Have you heard from Andre?” Ari asked, referring to Molly’s former police detective partner. “Have they determined the murder weapon?”
“Not yet. We’re supposed to have lunch this week.” They reached the Frontal Lobe Gallery and Molly said, “I’d really like you to join us. It’ll be like old times.”
She smiled thinking of the countless lunches they’d enjoyed. Every meal had been an adventure and they’d found the best Phoenix had to offer.
She was grateful for the gust of cool air that hit her in the face as they crossed the threshold into a completely white space with large domed lights dropping from the ceiling. Currently on display was a photography exhibit of the great historical signage seen throughout Phoenix, most of which had been designed by the same person. She stopped in front of the Bill Johnson’s Big Apple restaurant sign that featured the head of a steer with enormous horns.
“I remember that place,” Molly said. “Their deep-dish apple pie was the greatest.”
“My dad loved their ribs, but my mom hated going there because of the sawdust on the floor. She didn’t think it was hygienic.”
A pleading voice interrupted their conversation and they stepped around the photos toward a doorway that led to another room. A handsome young Latino man was pacing while he talked on his cell phone. Although his voice was calm, his twisted facial features suggested he was highly agitated.
“I know you’re worried—” he said, and then stopped talking when he was interrupted. It was clear to Ari that he was placating the person on the other end.
“That’s Tony,” Molly said quietly.
The space was a makeshift office. An old door sitting on sawhorses served as a desk and a gray filing cabinet with a huge dent in its side stood in the corner. Boxes of books and art supplies were stacked throughout the room, suggesting it was more about storage than business. What was most impressive was the technology setup, which included two laptops, a large monitor, printer and several gadgets she couldn’t name. Several pings sounded during his call, and she guessed he was well connected to social media.
Across the room was a table with an architect’s model. She casually leaned over it and saw it was the remodeled Bali Hi.
“I understand,” he said.
He punched a boxer’s speed bag that protruded from the nearby wall, spun around and saw them standing there. His demeanor changed immediately. He unclenched his fist and leaned against the edge of the desk.
“I’ll do what I can. Please keep an open mind,” he said hurriedly and hung up. He looked at them, dejected.
“Sounded pretty intense,” Molly commented. “What exactly needs to be done?”
“If I knew that, I’d take care of it myself,” he snapped. He closed his eyes. “Sorry. That was one of the Bali Hi owners. I’m trying to convince them to invest in my vision, but all these awful things keep happening, and they’re thinking they should just sell.”
“Who are
the owners? Are they local?” Ari wondered if she knew them from the commercial real estate game.
“They’re out-of-state. The family that built the Bali Hi still owns it, but none of the heirs have ever done anything with it.”
Molly flipped through a series of canvases leaning against the wall. A few were portraits but most were landscapes. She studied one that looked familiar for some nebulous reason. “Can’t Lev convince them to side with you? I thought that was his job.”
“You’d think,” he snorted. “I don’t know what the hell is going on. He’s supposed to be helping me negotiate with them, but someone else is putting together a deal to buy the place out from under me.”
He smacked the speed bag once more as he traveled behind his desk and glanced at the computer monitor. “And this negative publicity could sink us.”
“What do you mean by that?” Ari asked gently.
“It’s making the family nervous.” He sighed. “I shouldn’t get so upset. I know Lev will take care of this.”
“Tell us about Ms. Wonders,” Ari said.
“Sure, but let me clear this off so you can sit down.” He scooped up a pile of magazines from two captain’s chairs and tossed them on a cabinet. “Ms. Wonders was quite a character.”
“How did you meet?” Ari asked.
“Like I meet most of the street people. They just wander up and start talking to me. I can’t understand a lot of them. Their brains are pretty fried. But Ms. Wonders was different. When she was coherent, she was really sharp. Every day she would pass the gallery at exactly nine fifty-nine, just as I was opening. At first I’d just say hi, but after a while she started telling me things.”
“Like what?” Molly asked.
He cracked a grin. “Most of it was neighborhood gossip and stuff no one would want you to know, like how she saw a black Ferrari parked on Tenth next to Brown’s Diner at two in the morning.” When Molly and Ari exchanged a confused look, he added, “Sebastian King owns a black Ferrari. I’m guessing he and Brooke were having an affair.”
“Oh, so she noticed details,” Molly said.
“Absolutely. She knew who arrived late to work, which businesses were fighting and which ones got along. She made it her mission to know about every property on LGA, whether the owner liked it or not.” He laughed but it was a sad laugh.
