Point of Betrayal

by Ann Roberts

  She’d left Jane at the resort nursing her “burgeoning migraine” as she put it, which magically appeared after Rory agreed to stop by and analyze the Shakespearean references when her last class was over. She shook her head at the thought of Rory arriving without a chaperone or bodyguard, and she guessed she’d return to find them screaming at each other or nestled under the covers of Jane’s bed.

  Eden stood at the counter, squaring off with an elderly customer who was waving his bill at her.

  “I’m not paying this! This isn’t what we agreed to,” he insisted. “Lenny said it would be three-fifty.”

  Eden nodded and replied, “That was for one drum. You needed two of them. I’m sorry, Mr. Rosen, but I think you misunderstood what my dad said.”

  He ranted about shoddy workmanship and false advertising while Eden listened politely. Only when he brought up the old days when honest businessmen ruled the world did she interrupt, her face turning red.

  “My father is honest and I resent your comment. This is the cost of the work. You’ll pay it if you want your car back.”

  He pulled out his wallet and threw his credit card on the counter. Not another word was spoken as she processed the transaction and he claimed his keys. Ari imagined he would never return to Lenny’s, and she was completely unimpressed with Eden’s customer service skills. Lenny probably lost a lot of customers if he relied on his daughter to smooth over the problems.

  “May I help you?”

  Eden wasn’t smiling. Ari guessed the last thing she wanted to do was work for her dad. She was in her early twenties, which meant she’d become a mother while she was in high school since Michaela was seven. Despite the baggy sweatshirt she wore, her large bosom practically rested on the counter.

  “Hi, are you Eden?”

  “Yeah,” she asked suspiciously. “Who are you?”

  Ari held up a hand. “I’m not a cop. I’m a friend of Nina Hunter, and I’m just trying to get some answers to help her family.” Eden stared at her keenly, and she added, “I know that Michaela loved Nina and I’m guessing she’s heartbroken over losing her.”

  Eden’s expression softened and she knew she’d found her weak spot.

  “She’s still crying about it. I keep telling her that Miss Hunter is in heaven and that seems to help her calm down for a little while.”

  Her voice started to crack and Ari thought she might cry herself. She couldn’t imagine having a child during high school, and she guessed Michaela and Eden were growing up together.

  “I heard that Michaela really enjoyed spending time with Nina.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Was Nina her counselor?”

  She wiped a tear away and shook her head. “No, Bobby thought it was a waste of time. It’s not like Michaela needs any help. She’s just a kid who does kid things.”

  “How did you meet him?”

  “He started working here for my dad about a year ago. We hooked up one night and it just kept going.” She spoke with great pride, as if they’d been married for years. “I think my dad may give him the shop someday. He’s really good with his hands.”

  Her grin widened and Ari’s skin crawled. She paused before she asked, “Do you think Bobby didn’t want Michaela visiting Nina because of the CPS calls?”

  “Well, of course he was mad,” she said, her temper flaring. “She had no right to accuse him of that stuff. He’d never hurt us. We’re a family.”

  “I understand. Why do you think she got that idea in her head?”

  “Because Michaela makes up stuff,” she said emphatically. “She’s a little liar, all kids are. They just say stuff that they see on TV. One time she got mad at Bobby because he made her eat green beans. The next day she told Miss Hunter that Bobby was abusing her.”

  “Is it true he threatened Nina?”

  She gasped and said, “Not really. I mean, he said some things he shouldn’t have said, but he wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

  “But did those things make him a suspect?”

  “I guess,” Eden said, slouching. “He was here working late that night, but he was by himself.”

  “Is there anything that can prove he didn’t leave? Did he make a phone call from the landline or did anyone come by?”

  She shook her head and looked at Ari warily. “Who are you again?”

  A volley of cursing erupted from the bays. Through the glass they watched Mr. Rosen confront Bobby. He was still waving his bill and pointing at Bobby’s chest, screaming that he’d done a piss-poor job on the brakes. Bobby took it for about thirty seconds, looking somewhat amused by the confrontation, and then he suddenly grabbed the old man’s arm.

  “You’re hurting me!” the man cried as Bobby led him back to his car in the parking lot.

  Bobby leaned over and whispered in his ear, after which Mr. Rosen nodded slowly and got into his car, like a dog beaten into submission. When Bobby returned to the service bay, the two other technicians high-fived him. Ari noticed Lenny was nowhere to be seen.

  “Where’s your father?”

  “He only comes in part-time now. He’s semiretired and trusts Bobby. Like I said, he’s starting to take over.”

  “Does your dad approve of him grabbing customers like that?”

  The question surprised Eden, and she sputtered, “Of course not. That was just a one-time deal.”

  “So Bobby’s never grabbed you?”

  Her left hand automatically reached for her right bicep, and Ari stared at the heavy sweatshirt. Despite the mild temperatures, Eden was dressed for a California winter.

  She stared at Ari and said, “I think you need to go now.”

  “Eden, I—”

  She crossed her arms, her eyes narrow slits. “I don’t know who you are or what you want, but you need to get the hell out of here. You don’t want me to call Bobby.”

  Behind the hard words Ari saw the glint of fear in her eyes. She left quickly, glancing over her shoulder several times until she was safely in the confines of the rental car.

  She gazed toward the sea and spotted Crescent Point, the place where Nina was killed. Since arriving in Laguna, Ari had seen several brochures advertising it as a premier wedding spot, and now she wanted to see for herself.

  She pulled into the small parking lot and headed up the cement sidewalk, stopping every five or ten feet to admire the beautiful foliage that lined the path. She couldn’t identify most of the plants. They would never survive the Phoenix heat. Still she was jealous of the gorgeous scenery and vowed her garden would someday be worthy of a photo spread.

  A four-foot railing kept pedestrians out of the plants and away from the dangerous cliffs. Leaning over, she realized that no one could survive the fall. Huge jagged rock formations jutted from the ocean floor along the shoreline.

  She reached the point and a lovely semicircular cement bench that faced west, a perfect vantage point for a sunset. Huddled in a corner was a couple accompanied by a well-dressed woman who was scribbling on her iPad with a stylus, taking notes about everything the woman, obviously a future bride, had to say. The groom remained quiet with his hands in his pockets, staring at the ocean. Ari felt a twinge of jealousy. In one of her recurring dreams she’d imagined marrying Molly in a place like this, but she’d never told her about it. Just exchanging “I love yous” had increased her drinking. Ari guessed the idea of a wedding would’ve pushed her over the edge.

  Remembering why she’d made the climb, she gazed into the surf, the waves crashing over the rocks directly below. Sam had said emergency workers rappelled over the edge to retrieve Nina’s body since access from the shore was impossible. Crescent Point was absolutely beautiful and treacherous at the same time.

  Using the few cop instincts she still had left, she studied the immediate area carefully. The four-foot railing posed a greater danger to her at five-eleven, but Nina had been only five-five. There was no way she could have accidentally fallen over it. She put her back against the railing and realized the kille
r would have needed several feet to gain momentum and propel himself—or herself—into Nina. Would it be enough force to throw her body over the railing?

  She pulled out her cell phone and made a video call to Biz, who was sitting in her office behind her desk. Ari immediately sensed something was wrong when Biz didn’t crack a grin. She usually loved having FaceTime.

  “Hey, I’m sorry to bother you, but I have a question about the case.”

  “Um, sure. I’m just really busy.”

  “I know. I’ll be really quick. How hard is it to throw someone over a railing?”

  “What?”

  Her jaw dropped and Ari was momentarily speechless. “I’m sorry. Did I say something wrong? That was how Nina was murdered and I’m trying to determine how strong the killer would need to be to get a five-foot-five woman over a four-foot railing.”

  Biz took a deep breath and said, “I’m sorry for my reaction. I’m really distracted right now. Uh, well, yeah, if you had a running start, you could throw someone over. The risky part is their reaction.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If the victim has excellent reflexes he or she might pull the killer over as well.”

  “Because the tendency would be to reach out, to try to grab something to hang on to,” she concluded.

  “Exactly,” Biz said in a flat tone.

  “Are you okay? Is the case you’re working on that bad?”

  She nodded and seemed on the verge of tears. “I have to go. I’m not sure when or if I’ll get to Laguna. I’ll let you know. I’m sorry if I’m letting you down.” With that she hung up.

  Ari stared at the black screen. Something was going on, but Biz clearly didn’t want to discuss it. It had to be horrible because she knew Jane was right: Biz would do anything to spend time with her, and if she didn’t show up, they were on their own.

  She scanned the area near the railing. Nina was an accomplished athlete, an endurance runner in great shape. Her reflexes would’ve taken over when she realized what was happening.

  She stared over the edge again. Sam had mentioned the police had originally thought it might be an accident, but something had changed their mind. They must have found something. Perhaps in her last moments Nina had grabbed something from the killer—maybe a piece of jewelry or a patch of hair—before she went over. Maybe she’d been holding it when they found her.

  “Solved it yet?” a voice asked.

  She turned to a short, bald man with a goatee, wearing a Mexican wedding shirt over his dress pants. He was sitting on the bench, his arms stretched along its back like a tourist enjoying the view.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” she said dumbly.

  “You’re the PI the family hired, right?”

  “No,” she said honestly. “I’m just a friend of a friend.”

  “Ah,” he said with a nod. “But you didn’t answer my question. Got any ideas? I could use some.”

  “Who are you?”

  He rose and extended his hand. “Clay Justice, and yes, that’s my real name. Great for a police detective, don’t you think?”

  She chuckled and met his firm handshake. “I’m Ari Adams. Is the Nina Hunter murder your case?”

  “It is. What did your friend on the phone say?”

  “How long have you been here?”

  “Long enough to hear your theory about Nina grabbing for something.”

  “Is that true, Clay?” she asked, turning on her feminine charms. If it worked on Kip Harper at the nursery, then maybe she could charm him. “Did the police find something in her hand?”

  “Maybe,” he said coyly.

  “How did you know about the PI?”

  “It’s a small town, Miss Adams. There are no secrets.” He started to walk away but quickly swung around. “That’s not really true. There are secrets.” He paused before he added, “I can’t believe Nina didn’t keep some kind of record about her sessions, like a journal or a log. What do you think?”

  She shrugged. “Not a clue.”

  “Yeah,” he said with a sly smile, and she knew that he knew she was lying.

  * * *

  Ari could hear them fighting before she reached the suite’s door. She half expected the room to be trashed when she entered. What she didn’t expect was to find them in the middle of a Bananagrams game.

  “I’m supposed to believe that ‘dixit’ is a word?” Jane argued, pointing at Rory’s tiles. “You made that up just to get rid of your x.”

  “Look it up,” she said. “But remember, if it’s a real word…” She pointed to the box of Franzia chardonnay sitting next to her.

  Ari noticed a half-filled wineglass in front of Rory and an empty one in front of Jane, who was still debating whether to consult her smartphone.

  “I don’t believe you,” she snarled and tapped in the letters.

  “Let me just get this ready for you,” she said, putting Jane’s glass under the plastic tap and filling it with the cheap wine. “‘Dixit’ is dogma. From the Latin phrase ‘Ipse dixit,’ it refers to a statement that must be accepted on the faith of the speaker.” She held the glass out. “You have a problem accepting what I’m telling you.”

  “Aagh!” she gasped. “I can’t believe it.” She stared at the wine, her expression like that of a child faced with eating liver, and chugged it quickly.

  Ari glanced at her watch. “How did you get here so soon?” she asked Rory.

  “Oh, I let my TA teach my two thirty class. This sounded much more interesting.” She grinned broadly. Ari imagined her smile charmed most any woman she wanted. She’d certainly done something to Jane, but Ari wasn’t sure if it was good or bad.

  “So what happens if you question one of her words and it’s real?”

  “That hasn’t happened yet.”

  “Yet!” Jane yelled, pointing a finger. “And when it does happen, she has to take me out to dinner at a fine restaurant that serves very expensive wine. For each word, the price of the bottle goes up by fifty bucks.”

  Rory looked at Ari. “So far I’m paying for a carafe of Yellow Tail.”

  “How about we look at the journals?”

  “We already did that,” Jane slurred. “Tell her what you think.”

  Rory went to the couch and the stacks of journals. Colorful sticky notes protruded from many of the pages, and corners were turned down throughout.

  “I coded these with pink, green and yellow because they are the most prominent names, and if the killer is mentioned, I’m guessing it’s in one of these strands. But let’s back up and I’ll tell you why I’ve come to that conclusion. First, I am truly impressed by Nina’s knowledge of Shakespeare. The Folger Library in D.C. could’ve hired her. I had to look up several of the characters she referenced because I couldn’t remember them, and I’ve read everything multiple times.”

  She opened a journal to a dog-eared page and pointed to an entry. “For example, ‘Hecate’s shoplifting is driving Dromio crazy. Must stop enabling—allow for tough love.’ Hecate was the leader of the witches in Macbeth, but Dromio is actually two characters, twin servants in Comedy of Errors.”

  “So there doesn’t seem to be any reason she picked these characters from these plays. It’s totally random just to keep confidentiality,” Ari surmised.

  “Sometimes,” she agreed, “but in other entries I think there’s some reasoning behind it.” She flipped to another page with a turned down corner. “‘Portia continues to believe Angelo despite his behavior. Cheated with Audrey. Paulina: listen and hold temper.’ Portia was a lawyer, which may or may not be important, but Audrey was a loose woman in As You Like It and Angelo was a womanizer in Measure for Measure. So it fits that time.”

  “Who’s Paulina?” Jane asked.

  Rory grinned and wagged a finger. “I think you were on to something, Ari. I think Nina has cast herself in these entries, at least some of the time.”

  “Is she always Paulina?”

  “No, but Shakespeare created m
any roles for strong women, including Paulina, Valeria, Portia, Bianca, Katherine and Cordelia, just to name a few. And all of them are mentioned.”

  “So,” Jane summarized, “the characters could be either symbols of Nina or other females involved in these problems.”

  “Or they could be men,” she said. “In some of the comedies like Twelfth Night, characters changed form so a woman was a man disguised as a woman or vice versa.”

  “And wasn’t one a donkey?” Jane asked.

  She nodded. “You’re thinking of Midsummer Night’s Dream where Bottom is changed by Puck to have the head of a jackass.”

  “Was George Bush in that play?”

  Ari sighed. “Okay, so how do we make sense of this?”

  “That’s where the color coding comes in. I see three main strands involving three sets of characters, the same ones you found in Nina’s next-to-last journal. First, there’s the plot with Frederick, the treacherous husband, his wife, Adriana, Hotspur, Cerimon and the dead daughter, Cordelia.”

  “The girl who died from bulimia,” Ari clarified.

  “Right.” She opened to a purple tab and read the entry. “‘Adriana is growing paranoid. Frederick is constantly gone. Hotspur suspects Cerimon is the problem. Dangerous?’”

  “That’s so cryptic,” Jane said.

  “It is,” she agreed. “But Nina rarely mentioned danger in her entries and only within these three strands.”

  Ari grabbed a notepad and wrote down the four Shakespearean characters before she flipped to the second page. “What was the next one?”

  “The plot with Edmund, Emilia, Katherine and Caliban.”

  “Who was Caliban again?” Jane asked.

  “Caliban was a deformed servant, a monster.”

  “Sounds like a great description of someone who might commit murder,” Ari said softly.