by Ann Roberts
They exchanged whispers until a nattily dressed young detective Ari didn’t recognize approached them while his partner, an older bald man with a gaunt face who looked vaguely familiar, barked orders and took control of the scene.
“Ms. Gonzales and Ms. Adams, I’m Detective Flores. I’d like to get your statements now.” His shield hung from the belt loop of his designer jeans and his blue-striped tie perfectly matched the plaid print of his shirt. “Ms. Gonzales, can you step over here with me, please?”
Lorraine nodded and followed the detective to the other side of the building. Ari hoped Lorraine kept her statement simple. She gesticulated at the building and touched her heart with her hand as she recounted what happened.
Ari’s phone rang. Molly. Her heart fluttered suddenly. Everything with Molly was incredibly complicated. They were friends again. Finally. On most Sundays they went to a matinee and out for coffee. But Molly had a girlfriend who was also her business partner in the security company. Yoli was buff, ex-military and jealous. Perhaps she has reason to be jealous since I kissed Molly last week.
“Hey,” Ari said casually, moving farther away from the detective and Lorraine. “What’s up?”
“I’m wondering if you can tell me,” Molly replied. “My police scanner is going crazy about a four nineteen at the O.S. Stapley building, a homeless woman. Weren’t you and Lorraine going there today?”
“Yes,” Ari said slowly.
“Are you there now?”
“Uh-huh.”
Molly sighed. “Nothing ever changes, does it? Do you have anything for me?” she asked tensely.
“Of course.”
She exhaled. “Good. I’ve already been texted by Lev Rosenthal, president of the First Friday Council, and Tony Sanchez, the council member who wants to buy the Bali Hi. They want to convene the council tomorrow. Tony and Lev are going to push the council to hire me as a PI and run a concurrent investigation with the police. I already know they won’t think Phoenix PD will do much to find the killer of a homeless woman, and the cops don’t believe all these incidents are related.”
“Is that what you think?”
“Yeah, my gut says so. I could really use your help.”
It was the first time Molly had asked anything of her outside of their standing Sunday get together. She controlled the broad grin that threatened to burst forth. “Well, I’d be happy to make the time.” Lorraine approached and Detective Flores waved at Ari. “Gotta go. I’ll call you later.”
Lorraine winked at her and she joined Detective Flores near the parking lot. He had an iPad out, poised to take notes. “Can you tell me what happened?”
“It’s really very simple. My boss Lorraine Gonzales invited me to preview this property with her. She’s thinking of moving our company into the LGA area. We went into the building together at approximately ten after six. After we’d walked through the ground floor, we climbed the stairs to the loft. We saw the victim on the floor, and as a former police officer myself, I went to her, hoping to help or save her. I checked for a pulse but I didn’t move her. When I confirmed she was deceased, we came back outside to call the police.”
“You didn’t move her?”
“No, but we did approach her, which is why you’ll find our footprints. It’s pretty dusty up there.”
“It is. Did you notice anything or see anyone who might have been behaving suspiciously when you arrived?”
“No. I’m sorry I can’t be more help. Do you have a lot more questions? Because I have tickets to Foxy Shazam. They’re playing at the Crescent Ballroom at eight.”
She hoped she sounded sincere. She hoped she sounded impatient. This was possibly his first homicide, and she hoped he would respond to a tactic that Molly taught rookies to ignore: do not let the witness drive the interview.
“Oh, I don’t want to hold you up. Thanks for your help,” he said, handing her his card. “Let me know if you think of anything else.”
He walked away and Ari chuckled, but her amusement vanished quickly. She glanced at the arriving crime scene techs and realized she now knew two people who’d died on Grand.
Chapter Three
Molly Nelson checked her watch in the gloom of the parking structure. She’d arrived early for the meeting with the First Friday Council so she could mentally prepare. She’d told Yoli that they needed to drive separately because she had errands to run, but really she just didn’t want Yoli to see her nervousness. Her hands shook and she pulled out the smooth stone that was her continued lifeline to sobriety, the word GRACE etched across its surface. She traced the letters with her thumb and imagined herself in the cockpit of a Cessna 172, flying just above the clouds. When the thought of a scotch slithered into her consciousness, she managed to shove it away. It was getting a little easier to control the cravings.
She closed her eyes and immersed herself in the First Friday Council, the governing body for Roosevelt Row and Lower Grand Avenue. The council had formed a decade earlier when Roosevelt Row, aka RoRo, had emerged as an art community and established First Fridays, then expanded to Third Fridays.
Eventually new artists couldn’t find space on the Row. It was full. They migrated to LGA attempting to start a second community. They had achieved enough success to earn seats on the council, dividing the membership in half. Tension increased when the mayor announced a new initiative to rejuvenate LGA. Some council members worried LGA’s makeover would come at the expense of RoRo.
Then the crime spree on LGA began. A window was smashed at Brown’s Diner, several paintings slashed at the Frontal Lobe Gallery and a smoke bomb set off at the Bikini Lounge, driving everyone from the restaurant. Yet the council didn’t respond until a gang fight occurred on RoRo during the last Third Friday. Rival gang leaders had each received a text stating the other wanted a meeting at the RoRo park during the event. By the time Phoenix police intervened, two people had been stabbed and Third Friday had been forced to close early, forfeiting thousands of dollars in revenue. The investigation determined a third party using a burner phone had sent the messages and created the confrontation. Once RoRo was directly affected, the council took action and hired Molly’s fledgling company, Nelson Security.
Tonight was First Friday. Something could go down. Molly and her team needed to be ready.
She returned the stone to her pocket and flipped open the glove box to retrieve her cigarettes. She hadn’t smoked in years, but Yoli had reintroduced her to the calming effect of nicotine. She rolled down the window and kept the lit ember outside her pristine truck. She knew her therapist wouldn’t approve of her substituting one vice for another, but the stress was overwhelming.
She’d not told Yoli that she was seeing Ari right after their meeting with the council. They would set up a war room at Southwest Realty. Lorraine had graciously agreed to surrender her conference room for the duration of the investigation. Ari had taken three dozen photos of the crime scene and compiled ten pages of notes for their review.
Molly needed Ari’s help. She was the one who’d actually been at the crime scene. Maybe it was best not to tell Yoli about their rendezvous in the conference room. It’s not a rendezvous. Where did that word come from? If anything were a rendezvous it would be their Sunday matinees. Darkness. Closeness. Date. If Yoli was okay with that, she should be okay with their collaboration. Of course, if Yoli knew that she’d kissed Ari last Sunday…
She sighed. The movie thing had been a complete accident. They’d both decided to go to the matinee on Valentine’s Day weekend, probably to forget the previous Valentine’s Day—the day she’d caught Ari kissing another woman and the day she’d lost her career.
Ari had automatically gone to the same seat in the Orpheum theater where they always had sat as a couple and Molly had done the same thing. They stumbled through some awkward pleasantries until North by Northwest started. It was tortuous and she couldn’t follow the plot, her mind completely focused on Ari’s nearness. Then Ari had disappeared right after the
lights came up, but she’d left her favorite scarf on the seat. Molly automatically picked it up and found her in the lobby coming back into the theater to retrieve it. They’d gone to the movies the following Sunday and then out for coffee.
After they had met again for three consecutive Sundays, she’d told Yoli that she wanted to be friends again with Ari, and Yoli had merely said, “I don’t control your life and I don’t pick your friends.”
Nearly six months later they were still seeing movies, but she never mentioned it to Yoli again. It was understood that Molly wasn’t available Sunday afternoons. Then last Sunday they’d kissed. Ari had started it but she’d finished it. Until that moment, she’d kept Ari and Yoli in separate corners of her life, but it didn’t take a detective to realize this investigation could potentially create a collision she wasn’t sure she could handle.
She pictured her therapist Dr. Yee sitting on the sofa that swallowed her tiny frame, her little feet barely touching the ground. “Which stress is concerning you the most, Molly? Solving your first murder as a private investigator or collaborating with your former lover while your present lover watches?”
She stubbed out her cigarette and headed toward the Arizona Center tower. The temperature was already in the nineties, and the morning sun radiated against her skin through the black suit. She caught her reflection as she opened the glass door, not immediately recognizing herself. She rarely wore a suit except to weddings, and she desperately wanted to fling the briefcase she held into a nearby potted plant. As a police detective she’d never carried anything but a small notebook in her jacket or back pocket. Even when the department bought iPads she’d refused to use one. You just never know when you might be chasing a suspect.
Yoli waited on a cushioned bench in the vast lobby clutching a messenger bag on her lap. She wore sleek black pants and the Nelson Security Polo shirt. Molly was almost jealous but Yoli was the second-in-command and could dress down.
“You ready?” Yoli asked.
“Are you?”
“It’s not my show.”
They checked in with the security guard and took the elevator to the nineteenth floor, home of the Rosenthal Group and the designated meeting place of the First Friday Council that was headed by Lev Rosenthal. When they emerged from the elevator, Margaret, Lev’s incredibly efficient assistant, greeted them at the vacant reception desk.
Dressed in a lavender pantsuit and black loafers, she looked professional but the polyester fabric and simple cut suggested a fixed income. “Good morning, Molly, Yoli. It’s good to see you again. Please follow me.” She offered a warm smile but did not shake hands.
They traveled down a short corridor to a waiting area with floor-to-ceiling glass windows. “May I offer you some coffee?” They politely declined and settled on the buttery leather sofa. “Well, let me know if you change your mind. They’re running a little behind,” she whispered with a wink. “Reverend Glass got caught up in a meeting with a parishioner who actually knew the dead woman.” Her gaze dropped to the floor. “So tragic.”
She returned to a spreadsheet on her large computer monitor, the majestic face of Camelback Mountain in front of her. Her cherry wood desk and credenza were high quality, and a coffee bar had been installed next to an enormous copy machine. Such plush accommodations suggested rewards for service and loyalty.
“Hey, stay focused,” Yoli whispered. She squeezed Molly’s hand to stop her incessant drumming on her thigh. “This could be rough.”
She knew Yoli was right. First and Third Fridays were on the edge of losing all credibility as a safe, fun way to start the weekend.
“Nice picture,” Yoli murmured, and she followed her gaze to an acrylic painting of a desert sunset that sat next to the north window. “I guess Rosenthal must like the artist,” she added, and Molly realized the same artist had painted the three other desert landscapes that hung around the room. Although each scene was different, only the trees contained extraordinary detail.
“What is the Rosenthal Group?” Yoli asked.
“Lorraine said they’re a middleman between people who own properties or businesses and people who are looking to buy. They bring clients together. That’s all I got,” she chuckled.
“And Lorraine’s going out with this guy. Really?”
“Yeah.”
Two men in suits exited the conference room and she recognized one as a Phoenix PD detective.
“Don’t forget to have your parking validated,” Margaret called to them, but they ignored her and headed down the hall toward the reception area. She glared and returned her validation stamp to a specific spot on the desk. She caught Molly’s eye and said, “There is no excuse for rudeness.”
Tony Sanchez, the council member who hoped to revive the Bali Hi, ducked out of the conference room with his cell phone to his ear. He wore jeans and a T-shirt and gave Margaret a broad grin before retreating to a corner to take the call.
Yoli leaned toward her and whispered, “Those guys Phoenix PD?”
“Yup.”
“Why the hell weren’t we included in the briefing?”
“That’s a good question.”
Her anger simmered and she felt for the stone in her pocket. Although it had been a while since she wore a badge, she still missed being a cop. She’d resigned in disgrace, having been caught up in a scheme that rose to the top of the police department, a scheme that exploited her greatest weakness, her alcoholism.
She glanced at Yoli who sat ramrod straight as if she were waiting for a meeting with her CO. She’d only been out of the army for eleven months and wasn’t used to civilian life. A decorated soldier in Afghanistan, she’d been awarded a Distinguished Service Cross for dragging two members of her platoon to safety during a firefight on the road they were patrolling. She was intense by nature, a quality Molly found reassuring. In fact, she admired her for many reasons, especially her self-confidence, a characteristic she herself lacked. Yoli never second-guessed her own decisions, and she was completely comfortable in her skin.
They had met at an AA meeting soon after her return from Afghanistan, and they had clicked instantly. She was six years sober, having been an alcoholic for approximately half of her thirty-two years. She understood everything Molly was enduring. While their relationship continued, it was complicated by Molly’s renewed friendship with Ari.
The conference room door popped open and Lorraine’s serious face greeted them. “We’re ready for you, chica.”
They followed her into a fishbowl-like room enclosed in glass. For a fleeting moment her mind drifted to a previous case when she’d been in this building in an identical conference room. The difference now was that she wasn’t Phoenix PD.
She and Yoli sat at the far end of the table and Tony slipped back into the room, taking the one vacant chair near the door. Margaret also joined them with her notepad, but she sat on the periphery near Lev Rosenthal.
No one acknowledged them except Reverend Glass, who offered a polite nod, his tired eyes peering over his spectacles. As the minister of Roosevelt Community Church, the only church on RoRo, Lorraine had told Molly, he’d received several calls and visits from distraught parishioners who knew the deceased as Ms. Wonders. She was well known on RoRo and LGA, and the artists and merchants looked out for her.
Molly’s gaze settled on Lev at the head of the table. Although he wore a conservative dark blue suit and tie, the earring in his left ear and graying ponytail suggested he was a reformed hippie. She imagined on the weekends his feet were clad in Birkenstocks.
“Thank you both for joining us,” he said. “I’m sure you saw the two detectives who just left. They have briefed us—”
“Brief being the operative word,” Brooke Brown interjected. She owned Brown’s Diner on Lower Grand, the site of the first incident. Someone had thrown a rock through her window in June. Molly assumed the enormous plywood still covering the usually picturesque diner front was an eyesore and a symbol of danger to many of the custom
ers.
Lev paused but didn’t look at Brooke. “We need to decide how we should proceed, Ms. Nelson. The police have promised us a full investigation but we have our concerns. Ms. Wonders was a homeless woman, and while I’m sure they will do what they can, they don’t care about our community the way we do.”
“The perpetrator needs to be found quickly,” Tony announced. He rose nearly out of his seat, unable to contain himself. “The police have done jack shit about everything else, and they’re not going to give a crap about solving her murder. I’m worried about tonight. What else is going to happen?” He was the youngest member of the council, and Lorraine had warned her that he was suspicious of law enforcement because of some poor treatment in the past. He stared at Molly as if waiting for an answer.
She started to speak but Lorraine intervened. “That’s why we need to step up. We need to hire Molly to investigate and retain Nelson Security for First and Third Fridays. Keep the consistency.” She made a leveling gesture with her hand that implied the problem could be smoothed out.
“And the faster we catch this asshole, the better,” Crosby Brunell said. He was an artist on Roosevelt Row. She couldn’t help but notice red paint under his fingernails. “It would be one thing if the problems were confined to Lower Grand—”
“And that would make it okay?” Brooke asked pointedly.
“Of course it wouldn’t be okay. I’m just saying we could take a different course of action if nothing had happened on the Row. We all know LGA depends on RoRo for its livelihood.” He looked right at her and added, “No RoRo, no LGA. We certainly wouldn’t need to be spending some of our precious funds on a private investigator.” He glanced in Molly’s direction and added, “No offense.”
She nodded but he’d already turned his chair away.
Lorraine leaned forward. “Crosby, we are here to support both communities. That’s what we decided.”
“And we all know how that happened,” he mumbled under his breath.