by Ann Roberts
Molly shook her head. “Ari, we took the fingerprints. They’re his, and his hand was covered in his own blood.”
“Listen to me,” she persisted. “It was the wrong hand. Michael Thorndike was left-handed.”
Molly’s face contorted as the information sunk in. “Are you sure?”
“I saw the pictures at his office, of him signing documents and pitching a baseball. His teammates called him Lefty. The killer stuck his hand in the blood and wrote the name, but he used the wrong one.”
Ari could hear Molly audibly sigh. Her left leg began to bounce, as she nervously contemplated. She still wasn’t ready to believe. “I don’t know. Thorndike could have used his right hand just because it was easier to maneuver, or he could have been ambidextrous.”
“I don’t buy it. If Michael Thorndike wrote Robert on the wall as he was dying, wouldn’t the letters have sloped down rather than up because he was getting weaker, and he was in such a cramped space. Wouldn’t that be more natural?” Before Molly could interject, Ari added, “And why did he write Robert, why not Bob? It’s a lot shorter.”
Molly listened carefully, visualizing it in her mind. “If all of this is true, then it really does mean someone wants your friend Bob Watson to take the fall.” She shifted on the couch, tapping her pencil nervously on the notepad. “Then why move the body?” she asked.
Ari bit her nail. That was the big question. Another niggle was forming in her mind, but she couldn’t focus while her head pounded. “I don’t know,” she said finally.
Molly exhaled. “Do you have anything to drink?” she asked, already heading for the kitchen.
“There’s beer in the fridge,” Ari said, “or if you prefer something stronger, there’s some stuff above the sink.”
When Molly returned, she was carrying a bottle of scotch and a coffee mug. “You can’t have any in your condition, and yes, I know this isn’t the proper glass.” Ari acted as though she didn’t care, but it was amazing how Molly could read her thoughts. Molly settled next to Ari and took a big gulp.
Ari grabbed her head as a shooting pain ripped through her skull, the effects of the attack colliding with the hangover that was developing.
“How are you feeling?” Molly asked, pulling Ari against her.
“I’m sure I’ll be better in about ten minutes. Why don’t you tell me about the investigation?”
Molly finished her scotch and with her free hand poured another. “You’re probably the last person I should say anything to.”
“When my dad was working on a case, he’d come home and bounce ideas off my mom. You know, get a different perspective. Maybe I could do that for you.”
Molly toyed with the idea for a moment and sighed. It couldn’t do too much harm, and Ari had found an important clue that she had missed, a fact that stung. “Here’s what we know,” she began. “Michael Thorndike was killed between eight and ten. Cause of death has been determined to be two shots from a thirty-eight.” She stopped suddenly, mindful of the gun Andre had found, the one still being tested.
“What’s your theory?”
“We think the killer lured Thorndike to the scene, but we don’t know why. The back patio door was pried open, so most likely, the killer arrived first, let himself in and greeted Thorndike at the front door.”
“Did you have my lockbox read?”
“Yes, and there was nothing unusual. All the codes checked out to other agents and service people.”
“Are you sure that you can rule out all of them? Thorndike was very active in real estate. Maybe he made an enemy.”
“It’s possible, but it’s really unlikely,” Molly said with a dismissive gesture. “Why would a killer use his lockbox code and leave such an obvious clue?”
Ari knew she was right. “There’s still something that’s bothering me. Why did it happen in that house? In my listing?”
Molly stroked Ari’s thick, black hair, rapidly losing interest in the conversation. “I don’t think you’re going to like it. The only thing I’ve been able to determine is that the killer has to be someone who knew the house was vacant. That would be your friends, Bob and Lily.” Ari started to speak, but Molly held up her hand. “Don’t get defensive. I’m just speaking logically. Premeditated murders don’t happen just anywhere. The killer knows where to go.”
“But according to Bob and Lily, several people knew about that house. Bob had mentioned it to his work associates, and Lily had been actively looking for buyers through her charity contacts. Even Deborah Thorndike could have known.”
“How?”
“Both of them go to the same club, they probably play tennis together, go to aerobics. Anything is possible,” she said. “Have you spoken with Deborah Thorndike?”
“Twice.”
“And?” she pressed.
Molly’s expression went blank. “And nothing. The woman’s as cool as a cucumber. She says her husband was leaving her and she was learning to accept it. I’m totally suspicious of her just on those two points alone, but she has an alibi for the night of the murder. She was at the movies, and she had the ticket stub.”
“That’s pretty shaky,” Ari commented.
Molly was nodding in agreement. “I know, but some concessions clerk remembered selling her popcorn. It’s not a great alibi. She could have made sure someone saw her and then slipped out. But I’ll tell you this, if that woman knows more about her husband’s death, she’s doing a great job stonewalling.”
Ari didn’t know how to tell Molly about her meeting with the widow. She withdrew from the detective’s embrace and took a sip of tea. “First, Deborah Thorndike has not accepted her husband’s abandonment, and second, that woman is capable of many things, not the least of which is murder.”
“How do you know this?” Molly asked, staring hard at Ari.
“I talked with her.”
Molly was shocked. “Where? When?”
“This afternoon at the Desert Racquet Club.”
“What were you doing there?”
Half smiling she said, “I snuck in and met with her in the sauna. I got her to tell me the truth.” She recounted their meeting, Molly’s face clouding with concern as she reached the climactic moment with the hot poker in her face.
“Dammit, Ari!” Molly bellowed. “You have to stop doing this!”
Ari winced in pain, Molly’s voice echoing throughout her brain. “I was in a public place,” she argued feebly.
Molly ignored Ari’s ploy for sympathy. “And that didn’t stop her from nearly poking your eye out! What if those women hadn’t come in? If you really think Deborah Thorndike is capable of killing her own husband, how hard do you really think it would be for her to drop someone she’d just met, someone who’d just lied to her?” Ari didn’t have an answer. Molly emptied the scotch bottle into the mug and took a swig, watching Ari rub her head. Feeling a twinge of guilt, Molly started to massage Ari’s neck and shoulders. “Tell me about Lily Watson,” she said softly. “How much do you know about her?”
Ari laughed. “Lily? I don’t think she killed Michael Thorndike.”
“Why not? She was involved with him. Maybe she was mad because he dumped her.”
“The truth is, Lily dumped Michael, and I don’t think she ever stopped loving him,” Ari stated.
“Then why did she dump him?”
“Because she was married to Bob,” Ari said sharply.
“That didn’t stop her from having an affair,” Molly remarked.
Ari sighed. “You’re right. I don’t know what to think. Deborah Thorndike told me today that Michael was going to leave her for some woman he met through charity work. I’m beginning to think that Michael and Lily may have resumed their affair, especially if Bob was having an affair of his own.”
The bombshell hit Molly and her jaw dropped open. “What?”
“I think Bob was having an affair with Kristen Duke. She all but told me so this morning when I talked to her.”
Molly rea
ched for her glass, the massage abandoned. “Let me see if I’ve got this straight. In the last twelve hours, you’ve spoken with Kristen Duke, been nearly seared by Deborah Thorndike and knocked unconscious. Is there anything else, Ari?”
Ari chewed on her nail. This was one of those difficult moments. She knew she should tell her potential love interest the truth, but she’d already pushed Molly to the edge of the trust precipice. Molly’s eyes narrowed, and Ari hoped her candor wouldn’t propel Molly from the condo. “Well, in between the Deborah Thorndike incident and going to the crime scene, Jane and I ran into Russ Swanson outside of Smiley’s. That was just accidental, though,” Ari quickly added. “We approached him and she mentioned I’d been concerned about Thorndike’s murder, and he got really nervous, jumped in his car and took off.”
“This was before you got knocked on the head?”
Suddenly Ari realized what Molly was driving at. “Yes, it was.”
“And I know for a fact,” Molly continued, “that Russ Swanson knew about the vacant house.”
Ari’s stomach churned at the possibility of what Molly was suggesting. Could Swanson have followed them from Smiley’s to the house?
Molly watched Ari’s face pale. Instead of blowing up again at Ari, she resisted the urge, and instead took her hand. “I take my job very seriously. I risk my life more than I’d care to admit, and you’re doing it practically on a daily basis.” Ari remained silent. “Let’s talk about tonight. You’re all alone in a deserted, dark house. Most likely you met the killer.”
Ari started to shake and tears slid down her face. Molly pulled her close, her anger vanishing. They remained motionless for several minutes until Molly whispered, “Is there any family I should call? You were attacked tonight, Ari.”
“No,” came the simple reply.
“Do you speak with your father?” Molly asked gently. “Not for a long time. Not since my mother’s funeral.”
“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
“I’m the only one,” Ari said in a voice that was barely audible. From years of interviewing suspects and witnesses, Molly knew that there was a story there, but she wasn’t going to ask. She drew a deep breath and closed her eyes, Ari snuggled against her, their hearts beating in a pleasant rhythm. Molly wanted to know everything that she could about the woman she held in her arms, but she remained content, breathing in Ari’s strawberry scented hair as she fell asleep.
When Ari awoke, her mouth was dry and the morning light enveloped the condo. She was lying on the couch, a blanket covering her. Molly was gone, but she’d left a note under the bottle of scotch. She blinked and attempted to focus on the flowing handwriting:
Aria, you are indeed beautiful music. As I write, I still feel the warmth of your embrace and the scent of your hair. I can’t wait for tonight. Until then, try to stay out of trouble. I want a real first date.
—M.
Ari reread the words a dozen times, her face pressed against the blanket, breathing Molly’s cologne. It took another half hour before she hoisted herself upright, a difficult task in itself. Her Grand Canyon-sized headache had turned into a dull throb. She could live with it and function.
The phone rang, a foghorn in her ear. She snatched it up before it could ring again.
“Hello,” she grumbled.
“Ari, it’s Bob.”
Chapter Twelve
Wednesday, June 20
9:36 a.m.
“Bob, you’ve got to come back. You’re only making it worse for yourself,” Ari pleaded.
“No,” he said. “I only called you because I knew you’d worry.” His voice hurried through the sentence, and Ari guessed it would be a short conversation. As paranoid as Bob could be, he probably thought the call was being traced.
“Bob, have you talked to Lily? She’s really concerned.”
“She should be,” he said, his tone filled with disgust.
Ari shook her head in surprise. “What do you mean?”
Realizing he had spoken sharply, he backtracked. “Nothing. Look, don’t say anything to her. I’ll call her soon.”
“Tell me where you are. Let me help you.”
“I can’t, Ari. This is my problem, and I’ll deal with it. You just need to stay out of it.”
She absently touched the lump on the back of her head, a dull throbbing beginning at the back of her skull. “Bob, you need to turn yourself in.”
“I can’t right now,” he said firmly.
“Why not? You’re innocent, aren’t you?” She was almost afraid of his answer.
He breathed deeply. “Ari, if you of all people have to ask that question . . .”
“No, I really don’t,” she said hastily. “I don’t believe you killed anyone, and you need to come back and clear your name.”
“Yeah, right. If they don’t convict me for Thorndike’s murder, they’ll put me in jail for fleeing.”
Since her appeal to friendship wasn’t working, Ari switched tactics. Although Bob was an emotional person, he was also very logical. “What are you going to do? Run to South America? You can’t hide forever.”
“I have a plan, but I can’t tell you what it is.” He sighed audibly. “You’re just going to have to trust me.”
Ari felt sick. “A plan? A plan for what? Catching the killer? Are you crazy?”
“Ari, if I come back, they’ll put me in jail,” he repeated.
He was right. If he walked into the police station, Molly would arrest him, but Ari also knew a good attorney could probably get him out on bail, if he could prove Bob had left under duress and wouldn’t do it again. It was risky. “Tell me where you are, Bob,” she said evenly.
“No.”
He was getting short with her, and he wanted to get off the phone. “Bob, are you having an affair with Kristen Duke?” The line was silent. She’d thrown him a curve ball. He didn’t need to respond, because for Ari, a friend of twenty years, the silence was enough.
“Now’s not the time to go into that. Just stay out of this, sweetie.” Bob’s voice was sincere. She heard the hard click and they were disconnected.
*
What Ari really wanted to do was crawl back into bed. The phone conversation had set off cannons in her head, she was emotionally spent from the attack and she just wanted to savor the memory of Molly snuggled against her. Unemployed, this was a day she could have easily made some tea and read the paper surrounded by the soft down pillows, Molly’s musky scent lingering near her.
As much as her body wanted the rest, her mind was on overdrive, and a huge headache was inevitable, so she might as well try to get some answers from Lily. Questions filled her mind as the traffic snaked up Camelback Road. Bob had sounded angry with her for some reason, so did he suspect Lily was the killer or did he know she was the killer? Maybe he knew she was seeing Michael Thorndike again.
Her eyes jolted back to the road as the red taillights in front of her glared bright red. She automatically hit her brakes and the tires squealed. Glancing into her rearview mirror, the waving middle finger from the driver behind her was hard to miss. She accelerated again, but her thoughts easily drifted back to some of the images that had crowded her mind for the last few days: her father pulling her into a bear hug on the day she graduated from the police academy, her mother’s emaciated body lying in a hospital bed while Ari held her hand, Molly Nelson’s crystal blue eyes, Bob’s concerned face looming over her and calling her name while she drifted in and out of a fog.
That was the image that kept her pursuing Michael Thorndike’s killer, involving herself in something that could get her arrested and drive away a woman who absolutely fascinated her. She could lose so much, but she had no choice. Have you ever owed a debt you never thought you could repay?
Dance music blared from inside the Watson’s ranch house, and she had to sit on the bell for almost a solid minute before Lily abruptly opened the door. Her body was covered with a sheen of perspiration and her cheeks were crimson from
the hard workout. She wore black spandex biking shorts and a lime green sports bra, her makeup perfectly applied. She stood there with her hands on her hips, revealing long maroon colored fingernails with specks of gold. Knowing Lily, she’d been pumping iron for over an hour, an activity Ari despised. Racquetball was enough. Fortunately, Ari’s metabolism pitied her and she managed to stay in single-digit pant sizes. Still, she envied Lily’s body and knew her arms and shoulders would never look as lean and toned as the short, sinewy woman in front of her.
“Oh, it’s you,” she said, relieved. “I thought it was that bitchy detective coming back for another round.” She motioned for Ari to follow her into the house. Lily disappeared down the hallway and the music was silenced. She returned with a gym towel over her shoulders, sipping on a mineral water.
“Let’s go sit out on the porch,” Lily suggested. “Can I get you anything?”
“What you’re drinking looks great.”
They stopped in the kitchen long enough for Lily to retrieve another bottle and pull her auburn hair into a ponytail. She led Ari out to the backyard, which in Ari’s opinion, was the best part of the house. The patio was paved completely in flagstone with a flower bed border, a huge built-in barbecue tucked in the corner. The crystal blue pool shimmered just a few feet away, surrounded by a lush green yard dotted with sculpted shrubbery.
Lily turned on the misters before joining Ari at the patio table. “I take it you haven’t heard from Bob?” Ari asked expectantly.
“No,” Lily said softly. The expression on her face was a cross between fear and anger. “He hasn’t even called. I’m getting worried, Ari. We’ve always been so considerate of each other. Always calling, always home in time to kiss each other goodnight, or you know—” Lily blushed. “I’m worried something’s happened to him. He should be home by now.” Lily seemed afraid, but Ari had to wonder if it was fear of his whereabouts or fear that he might expose her. She pushed the thought away, not ready to accept that Lily was capable of murder.