by Roberts, Ann
“No surprise there,” Molly said. “It’s probably at the bottom of Tempe Town Lake. Whoever killed Itchy is a pro. He’s not going to make mistakes. I’ll bet there weren’t any prints on the car either.”
Rasp shook her head. “Nope. And we checked out that bus pass that belonged to LaDonna Jones. That’s another dead end. She’s a postal employee who works downtown and lost it a few weeks ago.”
“So, I’ll ask my question again,” Andre said. “Where do we go from here?”
Rasp replied, “We go on that slip of paper you guys found. I agree that Itchy hid those numbers for a reason. We just need to figure out what they mean.”
Molly sipped her Scotch and thought about the slogan “Here to Help!” “I already Googled the phrase on the Internet and, as you might imagine, there were pages and pages of hits. It could take us years to figure it out.”
“I think we need a different angle,” Rasp said. “I’d investigate the paper. We need to find the printer.”
“That could be a total dead end,” Molly argued. “We could sift through thousands of invoices, and there are hundreds of printing companies in Phoenix. For all we know, whoever printed it already went under.”
“You’re a bit of a pessimist, aren’t you?” Rasp gave a crooked smile and she blushed.
“We’ve gotta try,” Andre said. “It’s our only lead. Let’s start with the big places tomorrow and work down.” He checked his watch. “I’ve gotta go. I’ll see you tomorrow, Mol.” He threw some bills on the bar, nodded to Rasp and left.
Suddenly the situation seemed more intimate, and Molly felt guilty, as though she were doing something inappropriate. She reminded herself that she was sitting in a bar with a colleague—nothing more. The fact that Rasp was extremely attractive, and her chocolate brown eyes incredibly soothing, didn’t matter.
“So, are you on board with the game plan, Nelson?” Rasp asked. Her gaze focused on the inside of her wineglass.
Molly’s mind jumped back to the investigation. “Yeah, it’s all we’ve got. But I’ve been thinking about something else, too.”
“What’s that?”
“Who tipped off Carnotti’s people about the operation?”
Rasp shrugged. “There are lots of possibilities. Carnotti is highly connected. My bet is your friend Itchy. I think whoever grabbed him had been following him. He may have tried to bargain for his life. I don’t know.”
Molly frowned. She had trouble believing Itchy would talk. He’d always been highly reliable and careful. Her concern was on the other end. “You don’t think there could have been a leak?”
Rasp shook her head. “I doubt it. I mean, is it possible? Yeah, it’s possible. But I’ve worked with my people for nearly two years. Everyone’s put their life into nailing Vince Carnotti.”
“I wasn’t thinking of your people. I was thinking of mine.”
Rasp glanced at her and their eyes met. “Somebody in particular? Someone you don’t trust?”
Molly chuckled. “There are lots of cops I don’t trust. I’ve heard rumors about dirty ones, but none of them have anything to do with this investigation. I guess I’m just naturally suspicious, too.”
“Why?”
“I’ll bet you can guess. It’s hard enough being a female cop, but being a lesbian has been really difficult. I get a lot of jokes and I could write a book on sexual harassment.”
“You should report it.”
“To who? My captain? He’s one of the biggest homophobes on the force. He hates me. The best thing I can do is ride out my time until he gets a promotion or I do.”
Rasp touched her arm, and Molly’s gaze instantly dropped to her hand. She made no effort to remove it. “I know it’s hard. The FBI isn’t any different. The good-old-boy network doesn’t include me.”
“And when have you filed a complaint, Agent Rasp?”
Rasp shrugged. “Look, Molly, we’re in a tough position. We’re women, we’re gay, and we’re in a career filled with men. We do what we need to do to fit in and advance. Who wants to be isolated?”
“You’re gay?” Molly’s jaw dropped and she instantly tried to recover. Rarely did her gaydar fail her, but she never would have pictured Rasp at a pride parade.
Rasp smiled slightly and hopped off the stool. Her eyes wandered up and down Molly’s body. “Yes, I’m a lesbian. And we’re both taken.”
Chapter Twelve
Sunday, October 15th
6:40 PM
Once the movie credits ended, the house lights ensconced the old theater in a warm glow and drew the patrons back into the real world. Ari watched the moviegoers around her hustle to the parking garage, but she was in no hurry. She allowed herself an additional few minutes to stare at the magnificent stage and proscenium of the oldest theater in Phoenix. It was actually Molly who had discovered that the Orpheum showed movies on Sunday afternoons, and they enjoyed ending their weekend with a huge bucket of popcorn and a black-and-white classic. The silent movies were especially entertaining when the grand pipe organ played along with the action. Sitting in the quiet of the theater after everyone else left was their ritual, and although Molly was stuck at work today, she encouraged Ari to go downtown for both of them.
Ari’s fascination with the old theater preceded her relationship with Molly. She remembered her parents bringing her to the Orpheum to watch Broadway plays as a kid. Her favorite was Annie, and she glanced toward the sixth-row center, at the seats where she had sat with them as they remained mesmerized for two and a half hours by the incredible singing and dancing. At one point, her mother had become fraught with emotion and began crying. Ari remembered her father reaching for his handkerchief and handing it to his wife. A year later their lives would again bend to fate and tragedy would strike—her mother’s cancer.
The sound of the ushers talking and sweeping told her it was time to leave. Molly would be sorry she missed To Have and Have Not. It was one of their favorite Lauren Bacall movies. On a whim she decided to stop at the store near Molly’s apartment and buy the DVD. The two of them could watch it later, snuggling in bed. She checked her watch. It was almost seven, and Molly wouldn’t be home for at least another hour. She decided to swing by Jane’s apartment and try to catch her before her date with Isabel. She was curious to know if Biz had learned anything more about Aspen’s visit to Smiley’s.
She was certain that Aspen had been spying on Jane, but the question was why. As she made her way down the freeway, she considered the possibilities. The obvious reason was that Aspen, like so many other women, had succumbed to Jane’s sexual charms, which were rumored to be legendary. Although Ari had no firsthand knowledge of Jane’s bedroom, she’d overheard enough conversations inside the Hideaway bathroom to know that Jane was revered for her ability to create carnal pleasure. If Aspen wanted more than a good time in bed, though, she would be disappointed, and perhaps she already recognized that and was seeking revenge.
Ari frowned when she pulled up in front of Jane’s condo. The lights were out, which meant Jane had already left for her evening with Isabel. She pulled out her phone and dialed Jane’s cell.
“What?”
“Is that the way to greet your best friend?”
“I’m getting pissed. We were supposed to meet at seven and Isabel’s late. I’ve already been here fifteen minutes, and she’s not answering her cell phone. She made such a big deal about this date.”
“She might just be stuck in traffic. She’s not that late. Give her at least fifteen more before you give up on her.”
Jane swore under her breath. “I hate that I’m wasting Biz’s time. She’s on the clock.”
“So she’s with you?”
“At least I think she’s out there somewhere. We’re both just waiting.”
She glanced at the condo and noticed the glow of Jane’s back porch light spilling over her patio gate. Although she could only see the front and right side of the condo from where her car was parked, she had not noticed the l
ight before. Was it on when she pulled up?
“Jane, did you leave your back porch light on?”
“Um, no. It has one of those motion sensor thingies on it. Teri installed it. It’s only supposed to come on if someone’s there. Why?”
“Because it’s on.” Ari slipped from her SUV and started walking up the front path. “I’m going to take a look.”
“Ari, you be careful. If anything happens to you, Molly will shoot me, and I’m not being melodramatic.”
She knew there was some truth to Jane’s words, and she paused at the top of the sidewalk near the front door. She thought she heard a sound—the sound of metal scraping metal. She turned abruptly, dropping her cell phone onto the hard cement. It skittered a few feet away, dislodging the battery from its cradle and disconnecting Jane. She quickly gathered the pieces and circled behind the condo, but no one was there. No cars lingered in the nearby stalls, and the patio was undisturbed, the fashionable chaise longue and table in their usual places. Her gaze swept the parking area. She was alone. Her heart was racing. She took a breath and looked down. The gate latch rested at an angle, as if it had been shut carelessly when someone left in a hurry.
By the time she arrived at Molly’s apartment with a copy of To Have and Have Not, Molly was home and beautiful piano music poured outside. She smiled and paused with her hand on the knob, enjoying Molly’s talent. She recognized the tune as her continual composition in progress, a tribute titled Aria. She rested her head on the door and closed her eyes. She knew each measure was Molly’s true voice, proclaiming her love in the way that was most meaningful to her.
“It’s really coming along.”
Ari turned to see Molly’s elderly neighbor puttering toward her own door with her grocery cart in tow. “Hello, Mrs. Lyons. You’re absolutely right. It sounds wonderful.”
Mrs. Lyons’s hand shook as she stuck the key in the knob. The short woman with the white hair appeared frail, but Ari knew that her mind was still sharp and she missed very little. “You know, she works on it even when you’re not here. Some nights she stays up late practicing her song.”
Ari beamed at the thought. “I hope she doesn’t keep you awake.”
Mrs. Lyons waved her off. “I love it. Besides, once I’m down, I’m done. That’s the great thing about being old. You can’t hear anything, and you know what, I don’t think I’m missing much. But I do like your girlfriend’s music.”
She was pleased to hear Mrs. Lyons refer to her as Molly’s girlfriend, and she grinned. “I do, too.”
“You take care, Ari,” Mrs. Lyons said. “I’ve got to take my Metamucil. Another joy of old age. I’ll bet you can’t wait.”
She laughed and watched her disappear into the apartment that smelled of medicine and liniment. The old lady was a kick, and Ari loved talking with her. She decided to invite Mrs. Lyons to dinner some night. She was sure Molly would agree, because Molly had adopted Mrs. Lyons long ago and was always doing little jobs for her around her apartment.
Molly didn’t notice her slip inside and latch the door. She had already changed into a T-shirt and sweatpants, a Scotch on the rocks poised on the top of the piano. Ari noticed the glass was half empty, making it difficult for her to gauge Molly’s mood. The alcohol was always a signal. If the glass was mostly full, and the bottle was still in the kitchen, her day was decent, but if the bottle rested on the piano along with a glass, she knew she might as well turn around and go home, for the evening was already a disaster in Molly’s mind, and no amount of cuddling or fondling could reverse her collision course with pessimism. They never spoke of Molly’s drinking, and although she worried about it constantly, alcohol was a taboo subject. Occasionally she’d remind herself that a healthy relationship was built on strong communication, but the drinking issue nagged at her mind until she swatted it away.
She slowly walked to the sofa, her eyes on Molly, watching the fingers sail over the keys, barely touching them. Molly was so gifted and made it look so easy. She looked up and smiled.
“How long have you been here?”
“Just a few minutes.” She stretched out on the couch and closed her eyes, immersing herself in the music until it cocooned her. She didn’t even notice that Molly had stopped playing and joined her.
“You’re half asleep,” Molly said, her fingertips stroking her cheek.
Her eyes fluttered open and she gazed at Molly’s beautiful face. “I’m just so relaxed. Your music has that effect on me.”
“Maybe I should make a CD and market it as a stress buster.”
“You could.” She knew Molly was entirely kidding. The detective played music only for her, and while she wished Molly would share her talent with the world, she selfishly enjoyed the individualized attention.
Their bodies quickly collided, and they began undressing each other with the leisurely assuredness of experienced lovers, one that promised eventual fulfillment. They often made love half-dressed, because Molly particularly enjoyed Ari’s choice of undergarments, and she relished the sight of her in a lacy bra with the clasp undone. Molly had said she got the best of both worlds—a view of her in sexy lingerie and a chance to touch the rich olive skin beneath it.
Just as Molly was about to feast on her nipples, they heard the annoying chirp of Ari’s cell phone. “God, I hate those things,” she snarled, handing it to her.
Before Ari answered, she kissed Molly deeply. “We’re not done yet,” she whispered. She glanced at the display and saw her father’s number. She sighed and flipped open the phone. Why did he keep calling?
“Hi, Dad,” she said, trying to be pleasant. Ari rose from the couch and went to the kitchen, haphazardly buttoning her shirt in an attempt at long-distance respectability with her father.
Molly watched her pour a glass of wine and smiled at the sight. Ari had not bothered to button her pants or fasten her bra underneath her mostly open shirt. She was totally turned on. She went to the piano and played softly, watching Ari pull out vegetables from the fridge to make a salad.
“Dad, really, it’s okay. I’m fine either way. We don’t need to keep debating it. You’re not ready to visit, and I get it. Honestly, I’m probably not ready either.”
Hearing the strain in Ari’s voice, she glanced up. Ari deftly chopped carrots and tossed them into the bowl. Molly loved watching her in the kitchen. She was so graceful, each stretch an economy of movement, full of purpose.
“Look, Dad, if you want to come down, great. We’ll go out to dinner and you can meet some of my friends.” Suddenly her expression changed to exasperation. “No, Dad. Just because I’m a lesbian doesn’t mean I need to have sex every minute of my life. You can be here, and I won’t be missing out.”
Molly shook her head in disagreement and went to Ari, who placed an index finger over her mouth before she could protest.
“Seriously, Dad. Look, I have to go. So you’ll just have to decide. No, I don’t want anything for my car, and I would have no idea what to do with a metric tool set. I have to go now. ’Bye.”
Ari sighed and disconnected the call. She dropped the phone on the counter and pulled Molly into a sizzling kiss.
Molly jerked away, frowning. “Do we need to talk?”
“Nope, we’re not having a fight right now,” Ari said. She pushed her against the Formica. “I was just kidding about what I said. He’ll never agree to come, and then I will get the hot sex that I’m expecting on my birthday.”
Molly raised an eyebrow, glanced at Ari’s hair and pulled the clip out that secured the loose bun. The soft, dark strands fell against her incredible face and she smiled seductively. Molly slowly stripped Ari’s shirt and bra away from her shoulders. “What about right now? You owe me.”
Chapter Thirteen
Monday, October 16th
2:45 AM
After an hour inside the parked vehicle, she finally felt a slight chill and hugged herself. It wasn’t cold in Phoenix yet, fall never was, but without a jacket, the early morni
ng made her shiver, and it reminded her of the horribly cold Vermont winters she endured as a kid. She tapped her shoes on the floorboard in a syncopated rhythm, attempting to alleviate her growing boredom. Music drifted through her brain, a random remnant of childhood and the Saturday nights when her mother would click on The Lawrence Welk Show, take her by the arm and twirl her around the regal living room, bypassing the expensive furniture and antiques. It was a regular event, and she had learned to waltz before she was twelve.
Even then her mother was old. She had not expected to have a daughter at thirty-seven, and when her husband’s midlife crisis left her with a pile of debt and a vacant garage where the Mercedes had once sat, both mother and daughter quickly found jobs, moved into a small house and developed an inseparable and fierce loyalty.
They had been dependent on each other for five years, until the daughter turned seventeen and the fighting began. Her mother was no longer her best friend, replaced by a twenty-seven-year-old woman, a fellow employee at the gardening center where the daughter worked. Her mother grew despondent over their lost relationship, constantly asking her to explain, but of course she could not discuss her aberrant sexual preference with her mother.
All became clear one day when her mother came home early from her job at the tailor shop. She had no idea how long her mother had actually been standing on the basement steps, watching her and her lover fiercely attack each other, seeking to give and receive physical pleasure. It wasn’t until they both cried out in pure ecstasy that her mother tore into the room, screaming and waving her fists at both of them. They separated hastily and the lover darted upstairs half-dressed. Her mother turned and tromped back up the basement steps, her hand wrapped around the arm rail for support, her feet barely able to move.
She remained on the couch, smoking a cigarette. She imagined the conversation that would follow—the consequences, the inevitable grounding and loss of privileges. When she finally dressed and ascended the basement steps, she found the door blocked. She pushed hard and found a large square box full of her possessions.