by Ann Roberts
“I’m sorry. Did I say something wrong?”
Deborah’s gaze was steady. “You really do know, don’t you?” Ari nodded sympathetically. She understood exactly how Deborah felt. It didn’t have anything to do with a husband, but everything to do with Trina, the last woman she had let—or would ever let—live with her.
The towel covering Deborah’s body slid to her waist, revealing small, round breasts. Deborah didn’t seem to care as she crossed her legs and stretched. “He said he met her during a business transaction, but you never know. It could have been at a bar or a friend could have set them up.” She raised an eyebrow. “That really happened one time. One of our closest friends found him a girlfriend. Amazing, huh?” Ari just shook her head, since, at the moment, she was in no position to judge anyone else’s deception. “Anyway, at first it started like all the others, and I figured it would end like all the others, but it didn’t. I noticed Michael was changing, his moods, his attitude. Usually when he had a bimbo, he was extra attentive to me when he was at home. That’s how I knew he was fooling around again.” She paused and took a deep breath. The steam was getting to both of them. “This time, he withdrew from me entirely. That’s why it took me twice as long to figure out he was cheating again, because he wasn’t behaving any differently, or so I thought. Actually, he’d fallen in love with this woman.”
“Was it mutual?” Ari croaked, gasping from the steam.
“Oh, yes. This woman had been calling for weeks talking about business or charity work that she needed to discuss with Michael. Business, my ass,” Deborah retorted.
Ari’s mind was racing. She had so many questions, but she had to remain cool and detached, and she couldn’t forget she was playing straight. “So, how did you find out?”
There was a long pause. Deborah cocked her head at an angle and spoke very slowly. “I was reading in bed, and it was exactly ten thirty-eight. Michael appeared in the doorway, smelling of her perfume, and announced, ‘We’re getting divorced.’ Then he walked to the closet, pulled out a bag, threw some clothes into it, and went into his study.”
“What did you do?”
“I went to the door and listened. He was talking to this woman, telling her he’d officially left me, and then they made a plan to meet later that night.” She stopped and looked down for a moment, breaking the rhythm of her story. Her cheeks reddened. “I couldn’t let him go, do you understand that? If he walked out that door, I knew he’d never be back. I’d never have an opportunity to convince him to stay. We’d never have another chance. I knew I couldn’t let him leave, so I went into the kitchen, found a butcher knife and slashed the tires of both of our cars.”
“You did what?”
Instead of repeating herself, Deborah explained her position. “I couldn’t let him leave, and I knew there was no way his little sex kitten would show her face after she heard what I’d done.”
“He could have called a cab,” Ari reasoned. Despite the beads of sweat that were pouring down her face, she still saw the blush.
“I also pulled the phone cords out of the wall and threw our cell phones in the pool.”
“Jesus,” Ari mumbled under her breath. “Did he stay?”
Deborah turned away, adjusted her towel properly and replaced her hands by her side. “No,” she whispered.
“How long ago was this before he died?”
“A few weeks,” Deborah said softly.
Ari sensed the conversation was over and made a move to leave the sauna. “Did you tell the police this information when they questioned you about his murder?”
Deborah’s head tilted up and her eyes narrowed. “I never said my husband was murdered.”
“Um, well . . .” Ari stumbled over her words, trying to recover. “Yes, you did.”
“I did not,” Deborah insisted, her anger showing. “Who the hell are you?”
There was no way the truth would help. “I’m a reporter with New Times. I was just trying to get a story.”
Deborah sprang up, her towel falling to the floor. She grabbed the poker that rested near the coals and placed it inches from Ari’s face. “If you ever come near me again, I won’t just slash your tires.”
Ari put her hands up in surrender. “It’s okay, I’m going.” Deborah’s eyes were wild, and she waved the poker back and forth, the heat from the tip radiating against Ari’s face. “Really, please, think about what you’re doing. I’m going.” Ari took a step back toward the door, moving slowly, very aware of the poker’s glowing end, just inches from her face. Deborah held her ground, debating what to do.
At that moment, the sauna door opened and two puzzled women stepped through the steam. Ari turned and ran immediately. She changed in one of the toilet stalls, and when she was absolutely sure Deborah Thorndike was nowhere to be found, she raced through the lobby, totally ignoring the baby dyke calling good-bye.
Chapter Ten
Tuesday, June 19
8:00 p.m.
Jane worked her way through the Smiley’s crowd, amazed that the nightspot was so crowded on a Tuesday night. The place was packed, and people were shoulder to shoulder. Techno dance music echoed throughout the bar and restaurant, eliminating the possibility of meaningful conversation. The bar area was separated from the restaurant by a simple step, and by ten o’clock the drinkers seeped into the dining area making the division indistinguishable. Most of the patrons didn’t care, and new friendships and relationships blossomed when total strangers asked to share a chair, or if they were really trashed, a meal.
When Jane found Ari sitting alone at a table, she’d already downed three whiskey sours and was thinking of a fourth.
“One, two, three,” Jane counted deliberately, her newly manicured index finger pointing at each glass. “For someone who is a nondrinker, you’re giving alcoholics a bad name. Why are you drinking?” Jane shouted, attempting to raise her voice over the music.
“I’m calming my nerves,” Ari stated.
“What?” Jane shouted, turning her ear to Ari. When she still couldn’t hear Ari’s response, Jane led Ari to the back room, out of the crowd and away from the music.
“My day was a bit over the top, even for me,” Ari said, as they climbed on to two barstools.
“Well, I found out Bob was having an affair with one of his employees, at least I’m pretty sure. You were right about Molly, and I’m having a date with her tomorrow night, I quit my job, and then to complete the afternoon, I faked my way into the Desert Racquet Club to interview Deborah Thorndike, got a really good look at her beautiful breasts in the sauna, found out that she was rather possessive of her husband, and that she’s somewhat psychotic.”
“Excuse me?”
“I made a mistake, and she realized I was a phony. She threatened me with a hot poker. For a moment, I thought she might burn out my eye.”
Jane’s mouth dropped open. Then she quickly recovered. “I’d say you had a full day,” she commented. “Reserving the right to discuss the affair and the date later, I think I’ll start with the psycho. So do you think this Deborah could have killed her husband?”
“Most definitely,” Ari said sarcastically. “I think this woman could be a hired assassin if she wanted to. She’s not someone you want to have pissed off at you. And since Thorndike made it a hobby of pissing her off by fooling around, I’d say she just moved into the prime suspect spot. Get this, he was going to leave her for another woman.”
“No shit! Was it Lily?”
“I’m not sure. Supposedly that was over, but if Bob was having an affair and Lily knew, then maybe they started up again. And Deborah said something about charity work so I’m not sure,” Ari concluded.
“Did you tell Molly about this woman?”
“Not yet. Besides, as Thorndike’s wife, I’m sure the police have already questioned her,” Ari said, rationalizing her reluctance to recount the sauna story to Molly.
“Yeah, but I’ll bet none of them nearly got skewered in the process,
” Jane added, already reading Ari’s hesitation. “That woman is dangerous, Ari.”
Ari nodded in agreement and drained her fourth whiskey sour. She motioned for the bartender, but Jane dismissed him with a wave.
“What!” Ari bellowed, the alcohol definitely taking over her. “I’m fine. I can drink at least one more.”
“Only if that bartender wants to lose his left nut. You’ve had enough.”
Ari opened her mouth and closed it again. Jane was right, and her head was starting to pound.
“Now I want the good stuff. Tell me about your upcoming date. Do you think you’ll have sex?”
Ari giggled. She felt like a teenager, getting a chance to have a high school experience that she’d never known. Never once had she sat on the phone and gossiped with another girl about a romance. Girls certainly didn’t talk with girls about girls. “I thought about what you said, about me needing to take the lead. And, I went downtown and met her in the parking lot of the police station.”
“And?”
“And I was going to kiss her, but there were too many people around. We held hands and gazed into each other’s eyes.”
Jane laughed at the dopey expression on Ari’s face. She wished she had a video camera, because Ari wouldn’t believe how she was acting after the alcohol wore off.
“And did she seem interested or did she want to run away?”
Ari shook her head. “Oh, no. She was totally into it, and she looked so hot.”
“I need a drink and a woman,” Jane announced, motioning the bartender and scanning the room for interesting prospects. “No more living through your love life.”
After three espressos for Ari and two gin and tonics for Jane, they headed to the door. Suddenly Jane grabbed Ari’s arm and propelled her outside toward a middle-aged blond man heading for a Buick.
“Russ,” Jane called. He spun around, a surprised and confused expression on his face.
As they reached the car, somewhat panting from the sprint, Jane stuck out her hand, which Russ shook while she provided an explanation. “Hi, it’s me—Janey? We met a few weeks ago here at the wine tasting?”
It took Russ Swanson a few seconds, but a look of recognition crossed his face. “Oh, well, hello, Jane. It’s nice to see you again.” He was what Ari thought of as a typical gay man, someone who could set off gaydar whether he was at the Pride festival or a church.
Jane edged her way between Russ and his car. “You know Ari Adams, right?”
Ari smiled, hoping the alcohol on her breath wasn’t too obvious. “We’ve met at Bob’s parties several times,” Ari said. Russ nodded his agreement.
“We’re wondering if you could answer a few questions,” Jane pressed. “You see, Ari’s been looking into the murder of Michael Thorndike.”
At the mention of Thorndike’s name, Russ Swanson’s face fell. He stepped around Jane and jammed his key into the lock. “I have absolutely nothing else to say about Michael Thorndike or Robert Watson. Good night ladies.” He quickly got into his car and turned over the ignition.
“But Russ,” Jane pleaded over the engine’s roar. He threw the Buick into reverse, and if Ari hadn’t pulled Jane away, she probably would have lost some toes. They watched Russ speed out of the parking lot. “I’ll bet he’s hiding something,” Jane ventured, tapping her chin with her index finger.
“Really, Sherlock? You think so?” Ari said sarcastically, heading for the truck.
“Oh no,” Jane said, grabbing Ari’s keys from her hand. “You’re not driving.”
“I’m fine now, Jane.”
“That’s what all drunk drivers say.” They reached the SUV and Jane stood at the back, her hands on her hips, shaking her head. “Would you look at that? I hate it when people do that.” She pointed at the position of a small Ford compact parked next to the SUV, hugging the striped line, blocking the passenger door from opening. “You’ll never be able to get in. I’ll have to back out first.” Ari watched Jane slide into the driver’s seat and put the SUV in reverse. Something was clicking in her mind, like a piece of flint ready to catch. The idea was close, but it wasn’t ready to come.
She got in and Jane started to prattle about real estate. Ari didn’t hear much; she was too busy trying to bring the brainstorm to the front. It had something to do with the wall behind the bar. She needed to see it again.
“Jane, turn here,” Ari pointed.
“Where are we going?” Jane asked.
“I need to make a stop,” Ari said evasively. After several more lefts and rights, Jane realized they were going toward the Watson house. “Oh no, I’m not going into any crime scene with you. No way.”
When they pulled up to the curb, the house looked a little ominous in the dark, and Ari noticed the crime scene tape had been recently removed.
“Ari, I’m not going in there,” Jane insisted.
“You don’t have to. Just wait here. I’ll only be a minute.” Ari grabbed a small flashlight from the glove compartment and left the truck, while Jane accused her of being a moron.
Ari glanced up and down the street. Lights were on in most of the houses, and most everyone was home, providing her with a sense of security, however hollow it might be. She left the front door open and stepped into the living room. A stale smell flooded her nostrils, and she made a mental note to buy some air fresheners. Obviously the body was gone, but a wave of relief swept through her anyway as she stared at the spot. Now it was just a patch of caked brown.
She hesitated before advancing, listening intently for any strange noises. Shadows danced all over the walls, and total darkness loomed beyond the circle of her flashlight. She walked behind the bar and crouched. Like the floor, the bloody letters were more brown than crimson, the strokes uneven and ghastly. She realized the name Robert was written at an angle, tilting upward. The capital R was close to the baseboard, and then the letters ascended, the T almost two feet off the ground. She imagined Michael Thorndike, shot twice, twisting in the tiny space to write a final message, every movement extracting what little life was left in him. She studied the letters again, tracing them in the air with her finger.
And the answer clicked, just like her dad always said it would. At that exact moment, she realized that she wasn’t alone. She turned her head a fraction of an inch before everything went black.
Chapter Eleven
Tuesday, June 19
9:06 p.m.
The explosion in her brain came with consciousness. She didn’t want to open her eyes. There were voices whispering, but it felt better to stay still. Her throat was totally dry, her tongue a shriveled raisin.
The voices grew louder, and she recognized one as Jane’s. “Ari, Ari, open your eyes!” She tried to focus on Jane’s panicked face but found herself staring at Molly Nelson.
“Ari, come on now,” Molly coaxed. Her head was pounding, but she finally blinked. It hurt like hell. They had moved her out to the patio and laid her on the only remaining piece of furniture, a lounger. Molly and Jane hovered over her, but she saw several uniformed officers standing nearby. Again, the elder Watson’s house was a crime scene.
“Set her up a bit more, Jane,” Molly instructed. The two women pulled her into a sitting position, which released several more bombs in her head. “That’s going to hurt for a while. You’ve got quite a bump back here,” Molly said, gently rubbing the crown of her head.
“Is she going to be all right? She looks totally out of it.”
Molly stared into her eyes. “Well, she should be checked out by a doctor, but I’d say she just got a good knock.” She handed Ari a bottle of water, which she drank greedily. “Can you tell me what happened?”
Even in her semiconscious condition, Ari knew better than to tell the whole truth. “I wanted to check on the house. I bent down to look at the wall. Someone knocked me out while my back was turned.”
“Jesus, Ari,” Jane gasped, “you could have been killed! I told you to stay out of this.”
“So
did I,” Molly interjected. “Let’s not jump all the way down her throat yet, Jane. I want her to be totally coherent when I really chew her out.” Molly joined the other officers inside. Ari groaned and thought she might throw up.
“Did you see anything?” Jane whispered.
Ari shut her eyes. “No, he hit me before I could turn around.”
“How do you know it was a he?”
She blinked and saw Deborah Thorndike coming after her with the poker. “I guess I just assumed.” The throbbing in her head was getting worse. “You didn’t see anyone leave, did you?”
“No. It was dark, and I had the radio going. I just wasn’t paying much attention. After about fifteen minutes I started to get worried. It was really scary walking up to that house alone, and then finding you . . .” Jane’s voice trembled, and she took Ari’s face between her hands. “Listen to me. Leave this to the police. You’re a real estate agent, dammit, not a private investigator. You’re licensed to write contracts, not lurk around crime scenes.”
“Lurk?”
Jane grinned, losing all seriousness. “Great word, huh? It was in my word-of-the-day calendar this morning.”
It hurt to smile. “You’re probably right, Jane.”
“I know I am. But hey,” she said, grasping her arm, “I think the detective’s a dream, and she’s definitely got it bad for you.” Ari’s body instantly warmed to the thought.
It wasn’t long before Molly returned to the patio and stared at Ari, arms crossed, a serious expression on her face. “I’m taking you to the emergency room.” Ari could tell there was no point in arguing.
Molly had to physically lift her into the Ford’s high cab. The next two hours at the emergency room were a blur, and before she knew it, Molly was unlocking her front door and leading her to the couch. She watched the detective play nursemaid, fetching her prescription and making tea. When Ari was finally comfortable, Molly joined her on the couch and pulled out her notebook.
She remained silent throughout Ari’s account of the attack, frowning several times in disapproval. “The important part was what I realized right before I got knocked out,” Ari concluded, wrapping up the story. “Thorndike couldn’t have written that message on the wall.”