A Grand Plan

by Ann Roberts

  Her mood finally lightened and she nodded. “Yeah, my brother’s a carpenter. He took my ideas and built everything. Leaving this was the hardest part.”

  “It’s great.” She’d worked in several restaurants as a teenager and none of them were as well organized. “Why were the Browns against you? You’re not a diner.”

  “Yeah, but I sold desserts and coffee, and those are their main sellers during First and Third Fridays. They used to be a pie factory, and I’ll admit their pies are much more delicious than mine ever were, but my coffee was the best. LGA’s clientele is limited right now, and when I came along they saw a downturn in their profits. So they made sure as few people as possible knew I existed. I tried to get the galleries to put up my fliers and hand out coupons. They said they would but they never did. I sent a spy in after I’d dropped off a stack of coupons over at Gallery 7, and she watched the owner drop them into the trash after I’d left. That’s what everyone did.”

  They went back out to the patio and Chynna resumed her watering. “I had big plans. I was just waiting for a little more financial cushion.” She pointed to a well-concealed electric outlet near a concrete bench. “I wanted to put up space heaters in the winter and canopies with misters in the summer. It just never happened.”

  “You said the council didn’t support you, why not?”

  “Actually, I called them turds, Ari. May I call you Ari?”

  She laughed. “Sure.”

  Chynna dragged the hose across the patio to a beautiful Palo Verde tree. “They wouldn’t schedule a meeting with me so I sent a bunch of emails. Lev Rosenthal, the president, assured me they would talk to the Browns and explain the need for all of the businesses to work together…and blah, blah, blah. He never did anything.”

  “Really? That surprises me.” She’d always imagined Lev was highly compassionate and conscientious.

  “I think Lorraine and Tony did what they could, but they’re only two votes, and of course Brooke Brown sits on the council. I’m guessing they all had a good laugh at my expense. Nothing changed.”

  “But this place is really great. You must have attracted some people on your own.”

  “I did,” she acknowledged. “I had a following but it wasn’t enough. There are some abandoned buildings between here and the center of the action.” She dropped the hose and walked to the fence. She pointed up the street to a palm tree wearing a rainbow sweater on its trunk.

  “Since the trolley from RoRo drops off at the diner during First and Third Fridays, most people stay in that area. They rarely go north toward the boxing gym, the Treehouse Bakery and the Bikini Lounge because they would pass the abandoned Bali Hi. People who want to visit the lounge or the bakery usually drive and park in the lot across the street. Now, if Tony Sanchez renovates the Bali Hi, all of that will change. But the trolley riders rarely come south toward us. There are two blocks of empty buildings, rundown duplexes and businesses that don’t stay open after five. It’s really dark down here and people are nervous.”

  Ari sighed. “I see.”

  “It doesn’t do much for your business when you’re next to a brake shop.” She must have read her look of concern because she said, “Not sure it’s such a great opportunity after all, huh?”

  “Well, that would definitely be a challenge,” she admitted. “It sounds like there’s been a lot happening down here lately. Did you know the woman who was murdered?”

  “Yeah, she was always hanging around. I’d see her out on the sidewalk just staring at the cottages. Then she’d pull out a notebook and write stuff down. It was definitely creepy.”

  She’d been staring off toward the Stapley building but when she heard Chynna’s comment, her head whipped around. “You said she had a notebook?”

  “Yeah, it had an orange cover. Hard to miss.” As if she thought better than to speak ill of the dead, she added, “Look, I didn’t know her very well. She seemed harmless, and I shouldn’t be so judgmental. Any one of us could wind up homeless, right? I’m pretty sure she was living in the Stapley building across the street.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “For the last couple of months when I was down here watering I’d see her go past the front and disappear around the back. I’m assuming she was getting inside the fence from the alley side. I saw you over there yesterday. Did you find her?”

  “Lorraine and I did. We were previewing the building for a client,” she hedged. She didn’t want Chynna to know she was looking at purchasing that building as well. “So she had access to the property. Can you think of how she would’ve gotten in the building?”

  Chynna looked down the street. “Maybe Tony gave her a key. He runs the Frontal Lobe Gallery next to the diner. The Browns own it because it was originally part of the pie factory, but he manages it now until he buys the Bali Hi. I’ve seen him talking to her a few times when I drove past the gallery.”

  “Did you ever speak to her?”

  “No. I usually come by to water the plants every day in the late afternoon or early evening, and I’d see her across the street or she’d just stop and stand right over there, kinda glaring at me.” She pointed to the northwest corner of the property on Grand and Tenth. “Then she’d pull out her notebook and make notes. One time I went up and yelled at her and she skedaddled away, flipping me off. Another time I caught her trespassing. When she saw me, she flipped me off and jumped the fence. I’ll say one thing, the woman was in shape.”

  Ari turned to the multicolored buildings. “Tell me about these.”

  “This is the heart and soul of the place.”

  They followed a path through the patio to the lime-green building on the end. Next to the door was a toppled lime-green cairn sculpture. Ari noted each building had its own matching pile of rocks outside its front door. Chynna unfastened a carabiner from her purse strap that contained a thick wad of keys. She found a key with a matching lime-green dot and opened the cottage. Inside was a room of about two hundred square feet with a kitchenette and a bathroom in the back.

  “They’re identical because they were POW internment camp buildings used in World War II.”

  “Seriously?” she asked, very surprised. “Were they here during the war?”

  “No, I had them moved. The German POWs were housed up in Papago Park. For some reason the government kept the buildings for decades before they finally went up for sale. I thought it was a great opportunity to repurpose something for the better. I added more windows, put some extra supports in the roofs and repainted them once they were relocated. I rented them out to artists for a small fee, but they were never supposed to be the moneymaker.” She shook a finger at the main building. “The coffeehouse was the draw, or at least it should have been. Like I said, I make a mean cup of coffee.”

  “I’m sorry it didn’t work out,” she said sincerely. “What a great idea.”

  “Yeah, well, a great idea and a dollar seventy-nine will get you a cup of coffee, but if you’re on LGA, it better be at Brown’s Diner,” she replied acidly.

  “You sound pretty bitter.”

  “I am. This was my dream. I owned a small temp company and sold it for this. I’m an artist too.”

  “I wouldn’t have guessed,” she said dryly and Chynna laughed.

  “I put every cent I had into this place and now I’ve got nothing. I’m living with my sister and working at an auto parts store. They took it all away from me, all of them.”

  “Don’t you mean Brooke Brown? It sounds like she was the one who made it tough.”

  She shook her head. “Nope, I blame every business and gallery on this street. It was like a conspiracy.” She laughed and added, “I shouldn’t be telling you all of this seeing as you’re a potential buyer.”

  “What about all the crime that’s been going on? What do you make of that?”

  “Well, I’m really sorry about Ms. Wonders, but I think LGA is getting what it deserves.”

  She turned and walked to the next cottage, Ar
i following.

  Chapter Seven

  Molly pulled into the Mel’s Diner lot and parked under the giant sign. An arrow protruded from a coffee cup and pointed at a white building made famous in the nineteen seventies when Hollywood came to Phoenix to film Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore. “Kiss Mah Grits!” flashed repeatedly in the window, paying homage to the TV show Alice that derived from the film. When she saw Lorraine’s Lexus two spaces over, she automatically checked her watch. She exhaled in relief. She wasn’t late.

  Lorraine had set up this meeting with Lev Rosenthal, suggesting they enjoy a meal at their favorite weekend breakfast place. It would seem more casual and Lev wouldn’t feel so much like a suspect being questioned.

  The smiling face of Linda Lavin, TV’s Alice, greeted Molly as she opened Mel’s front door. Pictures of Mel, Flo, Vera and even Tommy were everywhere. It was a standard diner with a counter and a row of booths done in neutral greens and grays, updated just enough to keep the customers and tourists happy but not too much so as to adversely affect the profit margin. She found Lorraine and Lev sitting near the back, their heads together studying a menu.

  “Good morning,” she said cheerily. “Thanks for meeting me.”

  Lev stood to shake her hand. He still fashioned the blond ponytail and pierced ear, but today he wore an old Hawaiian shirt and vintage Op shorts from the eighties. And as she’d suspected, he wore Birkenstocks.

  “Happy to be the first to talk with you,” Lev said. “I want to set a good example for the rest of the council.”

  She sat down and the waitress appeared with coffee. They each ordered the Daily Special and the waitress left without bothering to write it down.

  Lev smiled broadly and said, “Let me start by saying how nice it was to have a First Friday where nothing bad happened.”

  “Absolutely,” Lorraine agreed.

  “Well, I’m glad First Friday went smoothly, but I keep thinking about Ms. Wonders,” Molly said softly.

  Lev’s smile deflated into concern. “Do you think her death is related to the crime? I thought she was probably the victim of random violence.” He looked at Lorraine for agreement, and she nodded.

  Molly shrugged, unwilling to share any theories about the case with Lev. As the president of the First Friday Council, he was a potential suspect. “I don’t know if it’s related. I guess that’ll be something I figure out.” She pulled her yellow tablet from her messenger bag. “Let’s focus on the questions I needed to ask you.”

  He sat up straighter and the warm smile returned. “What do you want to know?”

  “First, I’d like to know where you were late Thursday afternoon and early evening. Lorraine said you have a solid alibi.”

  “I was in my office. Margaret can attest to that. And I called Lorraine about six ten?”

  “He got my voice mail,” Lorraine explained. “I was having my weekly massage.”

  “I told the cops to feel free to check my GPS. My phone will show where I was.”

  Molly shook her head. “I doubt that will be necessary.” She flipped to a fresh page on her notepad and asked, “What exactly does the Rosenthal Group do?”

  “We’re middlemen. Corporate America is full of them. We bring different companies together or we help companies find what they’re looking for, whether it’s a parcel of land for a distribution center or the right employee for a hard-to-fill position.”

  “So you’re a headhunter.”

  His expression suggested he didn’t like the title. “I’d prefer negotiator or fixer. Right now our company is midsized, but we’re looking to expand. The recession was hard on us, but we’re bouncing back slowly.”

  “How did you get involved with the First Friday Council?”

  “Through Sebastian. He needed a mediator with one of his projects, and when it concluded, he asked if I wanted to join the council. This was probably about a year and a half ago. Things were starting to get tense with LGA and he thought someone with my experience could help reduce the fighting between the communities.”

  Molly looked at Lorraine. “And were you on the council yet?”

  “No,” she said, sipping her coffee. “I didn’t come on for another few months. That’s when I met Lev. I helped him see that LGA needed to join with RoRo.” She rubbed his shoulder and he looked at her with great affection. When they rubbed noses, Molly looked down at her pad. She disliked public displays of affection, a point of view both Yoli and Ari shared with her.

  “What caused the tension?”

  “When I came onboard, there were only three members. Crosby, Sebastian and Reverend Glass. LGA was an upstart with Tony Sanchez and Brooke Brown leading the charge. They wanted recognition for the handful of artists on LGA with two seats on the council. I’ll give them credit. They worked hard to get their name out there, so much so that the First and Third Friday clientele asked for transportation to LGA. At that point, I suggested we let them join. By then Lorraine was on the council and Reverend Glass agreed with us that it was better to keep your enemies close.” He shook his head. “That didn’t come out right. We weren’t enemies but we were vying for a very limited number of customers who support art. LGA is definitely a competitor.”

  “But your communities don’t really get along, correct?”

  “That’s true,” he conceded. “There have been a number of incidents over the past two years.”

  “Such as?”

  He shrugged. “Mostly childish stuff. Someone from RoRo caused a slow leak in one of the trolley tires. All of the passengers going to LGA during a Third Friday got stuck on Roosevelt Street.”

  “That’s not funny,” Molly said.

  “No, but it put the idea in everyone’s head that you might not want to visit LGA by way of the trolley.”

  “And it runs both ways, chica,” Lorraine added. “When a concert was about to start at the park, someone from LGA stole all of the amplifier cords. RoRo had to cancel the performance.”

  “How old are these people? No offense, but this is all pretty childish.”

  “I think that’s part of the reason I was asked to be on the council,” Lev said. “I’m there to help maintain cordiality. Sebastian, Crosby and Reverend Glass knew that LGA needed to join the council, but I was unbiased.” He looked lovingly at Lorraine before he said, “At least I was.” He kissed her hand and Molly rolled her downcast eyes.

  “I’ve convinced Lev that developing LGA is in the council’s best interest. As you could tell by the meeting, not everyone agrees.”

  “Unfortunately, I don’t think I’ve done my job very well. The council is as fractured as ever and these serious incidents have happened.”

  Lorraine patted his hand. “It’s not your fault, baby. Everyone on LGA and RoRo needs to grow up.” She looked at Molly. “I think everything will improve once Tony wins the bid for the Bali Hi.”

  “The rundown motel at the corner of Fifteenth and Roosevelt?”

  “Yes, he’s going to turn it into an artists colony. It will be fabulous.” She wrapped her arm around Lev’s shoulders. “My baby is going to make sure it happens.”

  Molly thought the silence of the Southwest Realty conference room was deafening. Since it was a Saturday morning she’d hoped Ari would come by to prepare for an open house, but no such luck. When she’d arrived she stuck her head in Ari’s office, inhaling the jasmine perfume that Ari wore regularly. She wanted Ari close to her in any way possible, even if it was just her scent.

  It’s too complicated.

  This was about the kiss. When Ari leaned toward her, she’d hesitated a half inch away and Molly had pulled their lips together. She hadn’t initiated it, but she’d kissed Ari back. It was impossible not to kiss her. She knew exactly what to expect as she savored the approach of her lips and the slight hesitation before contact occurred. Ari gave her control and let her exert her power. And she liked it. At least, that’s what Dr. Yee had determined.

  Power was a struggle with Yoli, and while
the struggle created a rush, it also created conflict. Romance was animalistic with Yoli, but with Ari it was… She scratched her head but couldn’t come up with a word.

  She wondered if they’d still be able to go to the movies or if the kiss had ruined everything. She found herself getting angry with her. Why did she do that? Why did she give in to her urges? I’d almost forgotten and she reminded me.

  The last year her entire life had focused on her sobriety, and there had been days when she was consumed by her desire to drink. It had been debilitating and over the months she’d realized the inevitable had occurred. She was actually relieved that her career and her relationship had ended, especially her relationship. If Ari hadn’t cheated, Molly would’ve found a different way to end it, of this she was sure. And in a way she had.

  Dr. Yee had reminded her more than a few times that many partners forgave their lovers for a transgression as small as a kiss or a grope. That was the chalk line Ari had crossed. She’d had a make out session with another woman, but she hadn’t slept with her, at least not until she and Molly were over. Molly had chosen not to forgive her.

  She inhaled and exhaled to refocus on the colorful circles that covered the whiteboard wall. As a cop she’d loved working a case. She’d written questions, hypothesized about relationships and determined next steps. She took a few pictures with her camera phone and sent them to Ari. Maybe I can pique her curiosity.

  Breakfast with Lev and Lorraine had essentially eliminated him as a suspect, although she would mention to Andre that they check his GPS. The meeting had also confirmed her suspicions: he was pro LGA, which only fueled the division of the council. She took a deep breath and decided she needed more information on Ms. Wonders, aka Carol Sue Kendricks. Since Margaret, Lev’s assistant, had mentioned Reverend Glass was counseling people who knew her, Molly headed to RoRo.

  When she climbed into her truck, she automatically reached for her smokes from the glove box and instead pulled out the key to Ari’s old condo. Even though she’d sold the condo over a year ago, Molly had kept the key, or rather she’d kept the key chain and Ari’s key was still attached. She fingered the tiny Cessna airplane. It had been one of Molly’s birthday presents two years ago, and while the plane reminded her of the one she occasionally flew, the real present had been the key.