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  She wandered into the living room and hovered over the spot where Michael Thorndike was killed. She thought Ari was right about the handwriting. The killer had used Michael Thorndike’s hand to write Robert on the wall. So then why move him? It was a key question, one she wished she could discuss with Ari.

  She gazed out the front window, Ari’s red and blue real estate sign barely visible in the soft daylight. Part of the reason she’d come here was to feel close to Ari and get as far away from the previous night as possible. The redhead had been too hung over to notice Molly slipping out of her apartment at three in the morning, Molly herself barely able to operate the truck and bee- line out of the rundown duplex that sat only a block away from Hideaway. She couldn’t bring herself to face the woman in daylight, knowing her shame and guilt would be a headline on her forehead. At the same time, she couldn’t go home, the loneliness now worse than ever. She had hoped the sex would fill the void in her heart, but it only burned it deeper, and when nightfall came again, she knew she would either be sleeping in her office or at her brother’s apartment.

  She played the case in her mind for the next two hours as she roamed through the house, periodically stopping and staring into closets, looking out the windows, or sitting on the patio. At seven o’ clock a dog walker meandered down the street followed by a schnauzer who just couldn’t keep up with its owner’s fast stride. They both stopped in front of the house, the dog sniffing the grass border intently, and Molly wondered if the dog could smell the scent of death. The longer the dog sniffed, the more agitated the walker became, trying to coax him along with gentle tugs on the leash. Clad in running clothes, a baseball cap covered his face, and it was only when he looked toward the house that Molly realized it was Cyril Lemond. He looked right at her, and his face paled in recognition. As she came outside to greet him, the schnauzer yipped and growled, his canine senses understanding that his master and the woman approaching were adversaries.

  “That’s enough, Buddy,” Lemond ordered. The schnauzer immediately ceased barking and turned his attention back to an interesting spot on the grass. When Lemond was sure the dog was occupied, he smiled at Molly, the color returning to his face. “Detective Nelson, this is certainly a surprise. I must say I’m impressed that Phoenix’s finest seem to be working around the clock to solve Michael’s murder.” He greeted Molly with a firm handshake, and Molly recoiled slightly at the realization that his hands were softer than her own. “Can I assume that our meeting out here on the street really isn’t that coincidental?”

  “No, it’s not. But I thank you for saving me the extra block,” she said, her eyes glancing down the ten houses to Lemond’s bungalow. “You certainly live close,” Molly added.

  His eyes glimmered at her subtle insinuation. “Yes, I was the Watsons’ neighbor for three years before they moved. It’s a shame something like this happened in this area. The property values will probably plummet now. Probably even more so if it was discovered a murderer lived on the street,” he added.

  Despite Lemond’s attempt to shock her, Molly’s face remained neutral and gave no indication of surprise. “Do you know of any murderers who live on this street?” Molly parried.

  Lemond grinned. “Actually, no. But you might think so, since I’m the only one of Michael’s partners who doesn’t have a decent alibi.”

  “And what was that alibi again?” Molly asked.

  Lemond smiled weakly. “I’m afraid it hasn’t improved or changed, for that matter, since our first interview. My wife was out of town. I went jogging at six thirty, returned around seven thirty and read a book for the rest of the evening.”

  “What book?”

  “Ironically, Crime and Punishment.” Molly couldn’t help but smile. “Actually,” he continued, “I’ve read it several times. Dostoevsky’s conclusions about the human mind are fascinating.”

  “And they are?” she inquired, curious as to why a potential murder suspect would flaunt an interest in crime.

  Lemond blushed. “I’m sorry, Detective. I assumed you were familiar with . . .” he said, his voice trailing off.

  “Fiction wasn’t covered at the police academy,” Molly interjected sharply. Her lack of a college education was a subject she avoided and she always felt inadequate in front of people like Cyril Lemond, even though she knew she shouldn’t.

  “At any rate, since Buddy can’t vouch for me, is it safe to say that I am a suspect?”

  Molly hedged. “I think suspect is a strong word. You’re more a possibility.”

  A broad grin spread across Lemond’s face. “A possibility. Excellent!”

  “You’re pleased that we’re investigating you?” Molly said slowly.

  “Detective, I have nothing to hide, have done nothing wrong, so I’m free to be totally amused by this intriguing foray into my relatively mundane life.”

  “I wouldn’t call a fifty-million-dollar investment mundane, would you?”

  Lemond scowled at the mention of the Emporium. “You’ve obviously been talking to that idiot, Trainor, Thorndike’s little minion. If Michael had told Felix the sky was purple, Felix would have asked what shade.”

  “So, then you didn’t like Michael’s plans for the Emporium?” Lemond jerked on Buddy’s leash. “Pipe dream. Michael was a great developer, but I think he was losing his touch.”

  “Felix Trainor didn’t think so,” Molly countered.

  Lemond glanced at her. “There were rumors, you know.”

  “About what?”

  “Them.”

  Molly shrugged. She remembered what Trainor had said about the gossip, and now she was sure she knew the source. “I take it you don’t like Felix Trainor?”

  Lemond sighed. “Michael brought Felix in two years ago as some sort of visionary. He proved very helpful in the development of the sports arena. However, since its completion, he’s really been very worthless.”

  “So are you and Mrs. Denman looking to fire Mr. Trainor?” Lemond’s eyes danced. He knew what Molly was thinking.

  With Michael Thorndike dead, it would be easier to edge Trainor out. “Partners cannot be fired, Detective, they have to resign on their own accord. However,” he added with a cruel smile, “if life becomes unpleasant for Felix, he may very well do that.”

  “You seem to enjoy that idea, Mr. Lemond,” Molly observed. Lemond stared at his dog, whose nose was buried in a thicket of grass. “Let’s just say, it would be an added bonus to Michael’s death.”

  “You mean in addition to the fifty-million-dollar savings, don’t you? Lose two partners instead of one, avoid an unwise business deal that would make you cash poor, and finally, become chairman of the League, right?” Molly paused and stared at Lemond. His gray eyes narrowed at her insinuations. “Sounds to me like there were many bonuses for you if Michael Thorndike was gone.”

  “I think it’s time I got back to the house. If you have any further questions for me, please direct them to my attorney.” He gave Buddy’s leash a vicious tug, the small dog springing next to him, and started to walk away.

  “Mr. Lemond, may I ask you one more question?” Molly called.

  He turned and faced her.

  “How does the book end?”

  He looked confused for a second, but then looked away. “The main character, Raskalnakov, confesses.”

  “Somehow I don’t think that will happen in this case,” Molly said sarcastically. “Do you?”

  He glared at her. “I have no idea.” He stalked off, the schnauzer galloping next to him.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Friday, June 22

  12:16 p.m.

  Thinking was the real enemy but Ari decided to declare war on dirt instead. She’d been in combat since five in the morning when she woke up and gathered the cleaning supplies, starting in the furthest corner of her bedroom and methodically working inch by inch through the whole condo. Every crevice was wiped and scrubbed, including the places most people avoided until their next move. And Ari wasn�
��t simply wiping things off with a shrug. Her muscles throbbed after six hours of applying elbow grease to spots and stains that outdated her lease and her back ached from scrunching over the baseboards armed with her old toothbrushes.

  It was then, with sweat pouring off her T-shirt, that Ari thought of the Michael Thorndike murder, the crime scene and the floor. There was still something bothering her . . .

  The phone rang for the third time, the first two were hang- ups and Ari wondered if Molly was calling, but Jane’s voice followed the beep, urging Ari to call. Ari paused, her scrub brush poised over the soap ring that lined the inside of the tub. Jane sounded strange, which was unusual for someone who spent her life on the phone and could talk calmly to a client even in the midst of a terrorist invasion. Ari willed herself to finish the tub, the last unclean area of her whole apartment, before her energy depleted entirely.

  Twenty minutes later, propped up against the side of the tub, arms at her side, scrub brush discarded a few feet away, Ari took some deep breaths and allowed fatigue to paralyze her body. Since her muscles were no longer engaged in activity, the wheels of her mind, shut down during the cleaning frenzy, began to turn. That was one thing about Ari—she was constantly in motion, either physically or mentally.

  It was impossible not to think of Molly and the horrible betrayal she must feel. She had promised Molly she would alert her if Bob called and she had not done that. She had followed Bob to his motel room and never once reached for her cell phone to summon the police. But worst of all, the thought that tied Ari’s stomach into knots was the fact that she had chosen a friend over her lover. She never should have gone to bed with Molly while the case was being investigated—that was her big mistake. Stuck in the middle between Bob and Molly was an unenviable position and inevitably she was forced to choose. The only thing that could be worse than losing Molly would be learning that Bob was in fact guilty and she had chosen incorrectly.

  The doorbell rang, and only after it was obvious the ringer wasn’t leaving, did Ari hoist herself from the floor and hobble to the door. Jane stood at the threshold, a bag from Freddy’s Deli dangling from one arm and a quart of double fudge ripple ice cream in the crook of the other.

  “How did you know I was in crisis?” Ari asked, her rubber gloved hands on her hips.

  “Good guess,” Jane replied, sailing past Ari and the truth. She prepared plates while Ari retreated to her immaculate shower and scrubbed the first two layers of cleaners from her skin. When she returned, Jane was sitting at the dining room table, her hands folded in her lap, a brisket of beef sandwich in front of her. Ari noticed a duplicate sandwich on an adjoining plate, and while she couldn’t look at the food, the smell intrigued her and her stomach started to rethink its position.

  “Why didn’t you answer your phone?” Jane asked, lifting her sandwich with her well manicured fingers.

  “I was busy.”

  “So was I,” Jane said. “I was getting to know a potential client.” Ari raised an eyebrow. She knew Jane’s tactics. “We were exchanging phone numbers,” she continued. Ari rolled her eyes. “Well, phone numbers and a few bodily fluids,” Jane admitted. She had a Cheshire cat grin on her face. She was trying to shock Ari, who just chewed on her pickle spear in response.

  Nothing Jane said or did surprised her any longer. At the Melissa Etheridge concert last year, she’d taken off her shirt, thrown it on the stage and continued dancing topless for the rest of the show. Jane was a wild child and lived totally for the moment. It was hard to believe that woman was the same woman who sat across from Ari now, dabbing mayo daintily from the corners of her painted lips so as not to smudge her makeup.

  She read Ari’s thoughts. “What?”

  Ari laughed and covered her mouth with her hand. “I just can’t believe you’re you.”

  Jane smiled broadly and preened. “I’m one of a kind, babe, and don’t you forget it.” The conversation waned, Ari still concerned about Jane. Something was clearly bothering her but she obviously had no desire to talk about it.

  As usual, Ari finished first while Jane, who ate like a cotillion graduate, speared bite size pieces of her sandwich with a fork, not allowing a single crumb to fall in her lap.

  “So, have you spoken to Molly?” Jane asked.

  “No, and I doubt I will. It’s over,” Ari said sullenly, desperately hoping the words weren’t true.

  “Maybe that’s for the best,” Jane commented.

  “I thought you liked Molly,” Ari said, surprised at Jane’s defeatist attitude. Usually Jane was a champion of love, especially hopeless love.

  “I do like her,” Jane said quickly. She paused and finished the last bite of sandwich while Ari waited. “But she did a rotten thing.”

  Ari shrugged. “I would have done the same. I lied to her, Jane, and what’s worse is that I spent an entire evening with her and didn’t tell her. There were about four times when I knew I should say something, but I never did. She hates me, and I can’t blame her.”

  Jane folded her napkin in fourths and set it on her plate all the while watching Ari’s pained expression. This was Ari. Perfect Ari. If her behavior was even slightly questionable, she blamed herself for everything and forgave everyone else. In her own mind, her conduct had to be above reproach or everyone else’s mistakes were excusable. She set standards for herself most people never would, and if they did, they would fall terribly short of achieving them, like a high jumper who could never get over the bar.

  Jane certainly could never live up to Ari’s standards and she doubted Molly could either, so she chose to remain silent about Molly’s indiscretion. Although Ari was her best friend, she felt a kinship with Molly that Ari would never understand. Staring at the detective from across the bar, Jane had recognized the lost expression, one she had seen in the mirror many times.

  “Any more thoughts on the case?” Jane asked.

  Ari shrugged, uninterested in anything but her own problems. She was furious with Bob for putting her in this position. “Jane, at this point, if Bob’s too stupid to stop running from the police, he deserves everything that happens to him. Let his little mistress deal with it.”

  Jane read Ari’s face. She acted like she didn’t care but inside, Jane knew Ari was in turmoil. A thought occurred to her. “Ari, are you sure Bob and Kristen were working that night? I mean, maybe they were at some hotel, and Bob just doesn’t want to say anything at the risk of having his illicit love affair revealed.”

  “Jane, that’s a little farfetched. Bob said they were working.” Jane made a dismissive gesture and snorted. “I guess it depends on how you define work.”

  Ari shook her cup and sipped the last of her drink. “Their affair explains a lot. Both of them were very strange when I talked to them. Kristen hinted around at it throughout the whole conversation. I suspected there was something going on, but I really wasn’t sure enough to say anything.”

  “Obviously Lily doesn’t know or Bob would have been up front from the beginning. I mean, I think she’d probably freak out. I only met her once, but that woman’s got a temper. Great nails, too, but definitely a hothead.” Jane examined her own manicure and flicked an invisible speck of dirt away.

  “I don’t think Lily suspects anything. She assumes Bob is totally devoted to her.”

  “You know, if this proves Bob’s innocent, then why was his name on the wall?” Ari shook her head. That was the question she had been unable to answer all along. “Maybe someone was out to get Bob and killing Thorndike was just a way to do it,” Jane theorized.

  That was a pretty long stretch, but there was something about that idea that struck a chord. She just couldn’t put her finger on it. She opened her mouth to discuss it with Jane, when the phone rang.

  She had barely said hello when Bob’s voice boomed over the line, loud enough for Jane to mouth his name. Ari nodded her assent and tried to focus on Bob’s words, which were coming out so fast she couldn’t understand him. “Bob! Slow down, and star
t over. What are you trying to tell me?”

  “Ari, they arrested Russ this morning!”

  “What?”

  “They arrested Russ this morning for embezzlement, and they’re rechecking his alibi for the night of Thorndike’s murder.”

  “They think Russ killed Michael Thorndike?” Ari asked for Jane’s benefit. Jane shook her head and rolled her eyes.

  “They’re not sure about that. What they are sure about is that he bribed Michael Thorndike! That’s how we got the Speedy Copy location downtown. I’d met with my banker a few times, trying to figure out what the hell Russ was doing to the books. I didn’t want to confront him until I had proof, but apparently, he confessed to it today. Said he had bribed Thorndike but he didn’t kill him.”

  “So you had no idea Russ paid off Michael Thorndike?” she interjected.

  “No,” Bob said, his voice cracking. “At least the bastard told them that. He said I didn’t have anything to do with it, and I didn’t, Ari, I really didn’t.” She could tell the last part was said for her benefit. “I mean, I was surprised that we got the location, but I figured we won the bid fair and square. Michael Thorndike may be powerful, but he’s one man. He was only one vote on the committee. I thought they’d been bowled over by our presentation. I never thought there were any tricks, and I certainly didn’t think my partner was making a shady deal behind my back.”

  Bob’s gum smacked in Ari’s ear. She was sure he was furious and if Russ ever did get out of prison, she worried about what Bob would do to him. “This is going to hit the newspapers today,” he continued. “It’s gonna kill my reputation, this combined with the murder investigation.”

  “Not necessarily,” Ari said. “Russ claims you didn’t know and if there’s nothing that can tie you to it—”

  “There’s nothing,” he shot back. “This was all him, the little prick.”