by Ann Roberts
She moved to him and placed her hand on his shoulder. “Let’s try to figure this out,” Ari suggested. Bob nodded and Ari motioned for him to sit next to Lily on the couch. Lily moved closer and locked her fingers in his. “Bob, the police are going to ask you for an alibi. The coroner estimates that Michael Thorndike was killed between eight and ten last night. Where were you last evening between those times?”
The couple glanced at each other, and Lily answered. “I was at a charity event. I didn’t get home until around eleven. Bob was out at his Tempe store dealing with a problem.”
“Were you with anyone?”
“I went out there around six thirty. Kristen was there until eight thirty. She’s one of the employees.”
“Did anyone come into the store, or did you answer any phone calls after she left?”
Bob searched his memory, but shook his head no. “I was all by myself. I left around ten thirty and came home. No one saw me, and I didn’t stop anywhere. That’s bad, isn’t it?” he asked nervously.
Ari’s expression remained neutral. “It would have been helpful if your employee had stayed the entire evening or if someone had seen you during the time the murder was being committed.” Bob looked at Lily, whose eyes studied the floor. There was tension between them, but Ari couldn’t pinpoint the cause. “You’re sure about the times?”
“Yes,” he said sharply, aware of the implications. If Kristen had left at eight thirty, Bob still could have driven to central Phoenix and killed Michael Thorndike before ten.
Ari took a deep breath and borrowed one of Detective Nelson’s questions. “Besides the two of you, who else has access to the house?”
Bob and Lily shook their heads. “We’re the only people with keys, except for my parents.”
“Who else knew you were selling the house?”
Bob sighed. “God, I probably mentioned it to a lot of people. Some just in passing, but there were a few of my business acquaintances who I thought might want to buy it. And you sent a bunch of faxes over, so probably everyone in my office knows, and most of our friends too.”
“And I mentioned it to several people at the club and my charity groups, hoping to find a buyer,” Lily added.
Ari exhaled. From what they were telling her, many people knew about the vacant house. “When was the last time you saw Michael Thorndike?”
Bob bristled at the name and looked upward trying to remember. “Probably six months ago, when Russ and I went before the League to propose the downtown store. That bastard nearly cost me a fortune.”
“Why did he dislike you so much? What did you ever do to him?” Bob glanced at Lily before looking away. When neither of them answered, she knew instantly that Bob had a motive to kill Michael Thorndike and she started to feel sick. “In a little while, the police are probably going to be here. It might be easier to tell a friend first.”
“Michael and I had an affair,” Lily said softly. “It wasn’t very long, but it wasn’t just a one-night stand.”
“I can’t listen to this again,” Bob growled. He stalked out of the room, slamming the front door as he exited. The women heard his Porsche revving before he drove away.
Pain swept over Lily’s face and tears welled in her eyes. Ari reached for a tissue on the end table and handed it to her, still stunned by Lily’s announcement. They sat silently until Lily composed herself enough to continue.
“Bob was working long hours, and I never saw him. I was lonely. Oh, Ari, this all sounds so trite. Bored housewife looking for affection. I wonder now if we should have had children. Maybe I should have pressed . . .” Lily’s words faded away with the thought. “Michael and I worked on the same charity committee. He was charming and handsome. I’d heard he could be ruthless in business, but he was so sweet to me. We became close, and I think we had a lot in common. Both of us had spouses who were inattentive. Bob lived at work and all Deborah wanted to do was play tennis at the club. I’d actually met her on several occasions, and we’d been doubles partners a few times. She was definitely a cold one. Anyway, somewhere along the way Michael started to pursue me, and I . . . I responded.” Lily’s eyes met Ari’s. “The truth is, he was the most romantic man I’ve ever met. I’ve never told Bob that part,” she quickly added with a blush. “I was head over heels in love, Ari,” she concluded. A dreamy smile crept on her face, and Ari knew she was reliving the fantasy.
“I take it Bob found out?”
Lily nodded slowly but didn’t speak for several seconds. “In the worst way possible. He caught us in bed.”
Ari excused herself after asking a few more questions, feeling both dirty and stupid. Granted, she was not a busybody and didn’t seek out confidences from friends, although when she was trusted with a secret, it remained just that. She felt as if she’d been plunged into the dark corners of a closet and shown truths she really had no desire to know. Lily and Bob were her friends, and while she was upset to learn that Lily had cheated on Bob, neither had chosen to tell her. She only remembered good times—Bob telling off-colored jokes, Lily’s exuberance and friendliness to total strangers at parties and the devotion they seemed to have for each other. That was the image they had projected to Ari, and she was content to see what they wanted her to see.
By the time she got home, she was angry and disappointed that the idyllic picture of the Watsons was ruined. Her thoughts floated to her father, the man who had disappointed her more than anyone else ever could. Ironically, he probably felt she had done the same.
Already feeling the familiar depression creep into her heart, she made a cup of tea and headed straight for the balcony, her retreat from the world. She gazed out at the lights and saw the silhouette of South Mountain in the distance. The view always lightened her mood. She was an urban animal, soaking in the sounds and frenzy of the city, and she loved the fact that she was right in the middle of it, in the heart of central Phoenix, soaring above most everyone on the fifteenth floor. Her chaise lounge was a VIP seat for all the annual parades that marched down Central Avenue, the Fourth of July fireworks at Bolin Plaza, and on a daily basis, the sunsets, which had fascinated her since she was a child. Nothing was more magnificent or humbling.
She sipped her ginseng and contemplated the climactic moment of Lily’s story. When Bob burst in on Lily and Thorndike, he pulled the man from the bed and threatened to kill him. Then he stormed out, refusing to come home. It took Lily three months and countless therapy sessions to get her husband back. She shouldered the full blame, not ever mentioning how inattentive Bob had been before the affair. Their marriage improved, and now it seemed rock solid. But was Ari missing the truth now as she obviously had missed in the past?
She rubbed her forehead, as if to dislodge a thought that wouldn’t come. Something was bothering her, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. The phone interrupted her thoughts. “Hello?”
“Maybe you don’t understand my English,” a terse female voice announced.
Ari sat straight up. “Is that how you always start a conversation, Detective Nelson?”
“I don’t have time for pleasantries, Ms. Adams.” Molly seethed across the line.
“What’s the matter?”
“Bob Watson is missing, and according to his wife, you paid them a visit late this afternoon during which time he left the house and hasn’t been seen since.”
Ari’s mouth went dry. When Bob sped off, she assumed that he would return soon. It was his nature to take flight instead of fight. She could remember countless times he had stormed out of a room, but he was a volcano, erupting and going dormant. That was his pattern. Now it was eleven o’clock, and he should have been back, if he was coming back.
“Ms. Adams, are you listening to me?”
“Yes, Detective, every word. I did go to see them this afternoon, and discuss the damage to the property. Bob and Lily Watson are acting as the trustees of the property.”
Ari hoped her business-like attitude might deflect some of Molly’s hostility
.
Molly sighed. “And that’s the only reason you went over there? Do you really think I’m going to believe that?” she asked, her voice shrill.
Ari was glad miles separated them, because if the detective had been in close proximity, she sounded as though she would strangle Ari. “You just happened to stop by after learning Bob Watson was accused of murder for a friendly chat? How stupid do you think I am? And am I supposed to believe that you just kept the discussion confined to painting and flooring?”
“Well . . .”
“I’m sure a bloody floor would be plenty of reason for Bob Watson to flee,” Molly added sarcastically. “Maybe he’s drowning his sorrows at a bar somewhere, terribly upset that he lost a sale!” Ari closed her mouth and just let the detective rant. “I suppose you know all about Michael Thorndike’s affair with Mrs. Watson. And how it almost ruined their marriage?”
“Yes,” Ari answered honestly, “we discussed that. But that was resolved a long time ago. They went to therapy and Bob forgave Lily for cheating on him. I think it shows a lot of character to be able to forgive your wife, even when you catch her in bed with her lover.” Ari couldn’t help but defend Bob to this woman who seemed to want to throw him in jail. The other end was silent for a while, and Ari wondered if Molly had hung up. “Are you still there, Detective?”
When Molly answered, it was slow and deliberate. “That part I didn’t know. Bob Watson actually found his wife in bed with Michael Thorndike?”
Ari’s hand clenched the receiver. “I thought Lily told you that.”
“No.”
“Well, I was told that in confidence,” Ari sputtered, “as a friend.”
“Let me tell you something, Ms. Adams. I’m not your friend. I’m a cop and this is a homicide investigation. So if you have any other information that could be useful in solving this crime I need to know about it right now.” Molly paused and waited. Ari was certain the detective didn’t know about Bob’s threat. “Well?” Molly barked.
Ari pursed her lips. A lie was forming, and she was about to say something when Molly roared, “Because of your interference, our prime suspect has disappeared. If you do not stay out of this investigation, I will have you arrested!” The phone slammed down in Ari’s ear.
She closed her eyes, letting her emotions swirl inside. The police would hunt for Bob. He certainly had motive, both personal and professional, and he had the opportunity. It looked very simple, but Bob’s reaction that afternoon was sheer shock, and Ari had only seen him like that once before. She was certain Bob Watson was telling the truth, and even if it meant going to jail, she would help her friend—if she could find him.
Chapter Three
Sunday, June 17
10:05 p.m.
Ordering the fourth shot of whiskey was a mistake. Molly passed from happily buzzed to somewhat incoherent. She shifted on the stool, catching the eye of a hungry redhead who raised her eyebrows in question. All she had to do was nod and she wouldn’t be alone tonight in her small, empty apartment. She let her eyes drop to the polished bar. She was tired. Tired of her life. Too many one-night stands, too many women and way too much drinking. Her life was like a terminally ill patient whom Molly had given up on a long time ago. Her failed relationships lined up in her mind, each of her lovers leaving with a door slam louder than the one previous. Rachel, her last partner and a fellow cop, had cracked the jamb.
Rehashing it made her crave another drink. She held up her hand, but Vicki, Hideaway’s favorite bartender, scowled and waved her off. Molly had to give her credit. The woman kept her in line and knew her limit, but this was Hideaway, the premier lesbian bar in Phoenix. The bartenders knew their regulars and knew how to keep them as regulars. Even on Sunday night, the place had a pulse. All of the bar stools were occupied, and a handful of women were bopping to the dance music. Most of the outer booths were empty, the patrons choosing to cluster together like a flock. Molly knew most of them by name and what size panties each wore. She’d slept with every woman who frequented Hideaway, mostly as one-night stands.
She motioned to Vicki for a glass of water and worked to sober up—it would be par for the day if she got a DUI. Inheriting the Michael Thorndike murder was the captain’s way of breaking her. She’d been hired by his predecessor and that was the first strike against her. Being the only lesbian detective was another, and her abrasive personality was the last. During her last evaluation, she’d been encouraged to “foster better social skills and peer communication.” In her opinion, she communicated just fine, letting many of her male co-workers know that she wouldn’t tolerate the traditional sexual harassment. She hated the good old boy network. It had been tough on the Spokane police force but Phoenix was worse.
Molly returned to the case at hand, very grateful that Michael Thorndike was discovered on a Sunday. By the time the press dogs had picked up the scent, the crime scene was secured and the body removed. So far, the crime scene yielded few clues. The bar’s countertop had been wiped clean as well as the broken patio door, save Ari’s thumb print. Hopefully, the lab results would glean some evidence, but she doubted there would be a smoking gun. They could have used one since the weapon was missing.
In hindsight, Molly should have opted to visit Deborah Thorndike, the grieving widow, but instead she gave that assignment to her partner, a rookie she didn’t quite trust yet. So while Andre had been doling out empathy and drinking iced tea on the Thorndike’s sun porch, Molly had been dodging daggers from Lily Watson at her front door and learning her husband had fled, a fact that seemed to please Lily somewhat. Ari’s previous visit had primed Lily for a fight, and she acted hostile and defensive toward Molly, responding to questions with clipped, terse answers and allowing the detective only to cross the threshold.
She glanced at the redhead who was still staring at her. The woman licked her lips, and Molly got an excellent view of her tongue ring. Molly started to stand up, her decision made, when her cell phone vibrated in her pocket. She quickly exited to a hallway, escaping the pounding music.
“Nelson.”
“Gee, Detective, it’s nice to know you’re out on the town while our prime suspect is missing!”
Molly moved further down the hallway toward the emergency exit, but Captain Ruskin had already made his point. “There’s nothing more I can do tonight, Captain. We’ve got Watson’s house under watch and a File Stop out for him and that Porsche. I’m sure he’ll turn up.”
“Aren’t women always the optimists,” Ruskin cracked. “I hope for your sake he does, Nelson. This is your ass. You let a homicide suspect slip through your fingers. I don’t understand how the hell that happened but you better find him or else you’ll be pulling third shift in Maryvale.”
The loud click ended the conversation before Molly could say another word. She unclenched her teeth and took a deep breath. The case wasn’t a day old and already it was a disaster, a ticking bomb sitting in her lap, ready to explode and blow her career into pieces.
She wanted another drink, but there was no way Vicki would serve her again. Maybe she and the redhead could stop at a mini- mart on the way. She made her way back toward the music, imagining the redhead going down on her, tongue stud and all, but the woman was gone.
Molly climbed into her truck and headed home. Crossing Central Avenue, she glanced right at the series of parallel lights that climbed toward the sky. According to her witness statement, Ari Adams lived in one of those condos. The thought of the woman made Molly’s blood boil and her face flush at the same time. If Ari hadn’t beaten her to the Watson’s house, they would have Bob in custody. He’d had no intention of running, which, Molly admitted made his guilt questionable. But once Ari had spoken to him, he was gone, and now Captain Ruskin was breathing down her neck. If he found out that Ari had tampered with the crime scene and warned Bob Watson about the arrival of the police, he would surely have her arrested. She snorted. If she did have to arrest Ari for obstructing an investigation, she’d have to take
her straight to her bedroom instead of a jail cell.
Now there was a woman who wouldn’t be a one-night stand. She was too refined and sophisticated, definitely above something meaningless and cheap. She replayed their meeting at the crime scene and the way Ari sat perched in the SUV, poised like a model, tucking that random strand of hair behind her ear. When Molly had reached for Ari’s arm and taken her elbow, the physical contact sent a surge through Molly that surprised and overwhelmed her. Only when Ari asked her to let go did she even realize they were still connected. More powerful than the touch was Ari’s breathy voice, totally seductive.
Molly knew she didn’t stand a chance with Ari. An Elle McPherson businesswoman would never be seen on the arm of a lowly civil servant the size of a Chicago Bears lineman. Not likely, and probably not gay either if she really thought about it. Still, when Ari had smiled at her, she felt her knees go weak. Ari hadn’t noticed Molly leaning against the side of the SUV for support, all the while smiling back at her like an idiot.
Pulling into her parking space this late always sent a pang of loneliness through her chest. She hated living alone, but she’d resolved that after her last breakup, she wouldn’t jump into a relationship with just anybody. For the last year she had confined herself to meaningless sexual encounters, rationalizing them as worthy substitutes for love.
The answering machine blinked incessantly and a brilliant red number 2 shone above the light. She poured herself a whiskey, slapped the playback button and sat down at her piano. Her fingers glided across the keys, playing softly while the tape clicked several times. Molly made her ninetieth mental note to invest in voice mail.