Point of Betrayal (6 page)

“I’m a friend of Nina’s,” Jane said. “We’re just trying to help.” She held up the key. “Sam asked us.”

The woman remained suspicious. “I don’t trust Sam. According to the papers he’s the prime suspect and I’m not surprised.”

“Are you one of Nina’s neighbor’s?” Ari asked.

“I live next door. I’m Rory and I’m Nina’s friend, or I was,” she added.

She was a handsome woman in her early forties who could’ve easily passed for thirty if she colored her hair, but the salt-and-pepper gray gave her a distinguished look suggesting intelligence and experience.

“I’m Ari and this is Jane.”

Rory cracked a smile as she shook Jane’s hand. “The notorious Jane from Facebook?”

“I wouldn’t say notorious,” she disagreed. “I don’t remember friending you.”

“You didn’t. A few times I found Nina sitting in front of her computer laughing hysterically at your posts. You’ve got quite the reputation,” she said with a disapproving tone.

“Hey,” Jane replied, ready to argue.

Ari touched her arm and said, “Rory, you said Nina’s diaries weren’t here. Where are they?”

“She said they were safe, so I’m supposing she rented a safety deposit box or something like that. She was incredibly paranoid about anyone reading them because she reflected on a lot of confidential conversations she had with kids.”

“But you don’t
know
if she rented a box?” Jane asked pointedly. “She didn’t really tell you anything. That’s just your hunch.”

Rory glowered and stepped beside her. “Yeah, that’s my hunch.”

“Um, Rory,” Ari said politely, “wouldn’t Nina keep her current journal here just for logistics’ sake?”

She pulled her gaze away from Jane. “That would make sense, but it might not be in the house. She’d had a demoralizing experience with a past roommate who’d perused it and become so incensed by Nina’s ruminations about the roommate’s undiscovered sexuality that when Nina came home one night she found all of her things on the front lawn. After that she never kept it too close.”

“Is there anywhere in the complex it might be?” Ari asked.

Rory nodded slowly. “Yes, there is. I’ll show you.”

They followed her down a path surrounded by plants and shrubs, which created a desirable privacy for each cottage.

“That’s quite an advanced vocabulary you have,” Jane said to Rory. “Not many people use words like ‘ruminate’ and ‘perused.’ Do you know what they mean or are you just trying to show off?”

Rory whirled around and Jane ran into her. She toppled to the left, but Rory gripped her waist. “I have a PhD in English Literature so words are my forte. Nina and I loved going to Shakespearean plays together. That was our connection.” She narrowed her eyes. “So is your lack of adroitness a genetic flaw or can it be solely attributed to your idiotic choice of footwear? Jimmy Choos at a crime scene. Really?”

Jane leaned into her firm embrace. “A woman who knows fashion and is a master of words. You wouldn’t happen to be a wine connoisseur as well? That would be a relationship trifecta in my book.”

Rory shook her head. “Can’t help you there, sorry. I’m a Franzia-in-a-box kinda girl.”

“Ew,” Jane scowled and stepped back. “That’s a deal breaker.”

Rory chuckled and led them to a clubhouse situated in the middle of a grassy area. She pulled out a key ring and opened the front door. “All the tenants use this space, but Nina had started a counseling service on Thursday nights, so the board of directors, of which I am one, gave her a little office.”

They passed through the kitchen area, and Rory used a second key to open a corner door. In another life Ari imagined it had been a large storage closet, judging by the laundry sink and commercial-grade shelves. A worn floral loveseat and a matching chair faced a battered metal desk. Nina had left out several files and an open desk calendar.

Jane picked up a picture of Sam and Nina while Ari studied the calendar. Nina seemed to be available on Tuesday and Thursday nights. Most of the names were repeated several times and a few were couples.

“What kind of problems did she handle?” Ari asked.

“Most anything that kept people up at night. One tenant lost her husband a few months ago, another hasn’t been able to adjust to a new job and still another has paranoia. The usual stuff.”

Ari looked around at the makeshift office. “How did this happen? Is it legal for her to do this?”

Rory slid onto the couch with a subtle familiarity. “As a social worker, she’s a licensed counselor in the state of California. She chose to work with children, but she was considering a job offer with a prestigious family practice group. They saw what we saw—an amazing listener and a very open person.” She made a sweeping gesture. “How did this come to pass? She got tired of meeting in the laundry room,” she laughed.

“What do you mean?” Jane asked.

“Nina had a very tight schedule in her life and she
always
did her laundry on Sunday morning. She said it was her version of church. She’d take a book with her, but inevitably someone would start chatting about their problems. She’d never get a single page read and eventually everyone knew her laundry time so they showed up if they needed help. We joked that her appointment times followed the wash and dry cycles. When the buzzer went off, your time was up. While she enjoyed helping people, she was very uncomfortable talking about confidential matters next to the dryers. That’s when I suggested we let her have a spot for therapy sessions. She was all for it. Counseling isn’t covered under a lot of insurance plans if it’s covered at all. She was happy to do it if everyone agreed to let her have her laundry time in peace.”

“Who’s B. Cahill? That name is listed several times.”

“That’s Bonnie. She lives a few doors down from me. She and her husband are having problems,” she said hesitantly.

Jane raised an eyebrow. “And how would you know this?”

Rory shot her a glance. “I’m observant. I can see through a person’s facade.”

“Oh, good word,” Jane acknowledged mockingly.

“Ladies,” Ari said, “let’s stay focused on Nina. Bonnie Cahill’s name is mentioned twice on every page of this calendar for the last three months. Whatever she was talking to Nina about must have been pretty heavy.” She looked at Rory. “What about this job offer? Do you think Nina was going to take it?”

She shrugged. “I’m not sure. She’d made a few comments that suggested the pay was going to be a lot more than she made now, but I know money wasn’t the most important thing to her.”

“Do you think her journals are here?”

“I think it’s highly likely. We’re the only people with keys, and the police wouldn’t have any reason to suspect this place exists. When they came by to interview me, I didn’t tell them. I doubt anyone else did either. Who wants to admit they’re seeing a therapist?”

“Were you seeing Nina?” Jane asked.

“That’s irrelevant and none of your business. I was merely making a point.”

“A sharp one,” she murmured and received another caustic glare from Rory.

A quick check of the desk drawers revealed office supplies and snacks, except for the bottom right one, which was locked. She pulled at the handle several times but it wouldn’t budge. “Do you have a key?”

Rory shook her head. “I never knew it was locked. The desk was donated by a neighbor who was closing his business. She probably got the desk key from him.”

“So it’s on her key ring with the cops,” Jane concluded. “Fortunately I think I can handle this.” She opened her purse and pulled out a nail file. “This has so many uses.”

“So is burglar your day job?” Rory cracked.

“Only a talent, one of many,” she replied seductively.

Rory turned red as Jane popped the lock. They found a single journal and a small manila envelope buried at the bottom. Inside was a key. Jane held it up and showed it to Rory. “Have you ever seen this before?”

“No, I don’t imagine it fits anything around here.”

“She just started a new journal,” Ari said.

She flipped through the book which was completely blank except for the first page. The entry was dated a few days before she died.

“What does it say?” Jane asked, looking over her shoulder.

Ari closed it quickly, cognizant of Rory’s piercing stare. “Nothing, really. Just about one of her kids.”

“Then maybe the key unlocks the place where the other journals are hidden.”

“Maybe,” Ari said, holding it up, “but we need to go get ready for our dinner plans.” She shut the desk drawer and said to Rory, “Thanks so much for your help.”

“Sure.”

“What kind of name is
Rory
?” Jane asked.

“It’s short for Aurora, you know, the princess in
Sleeping Beauty?
When I was born my mama thought I was a little princess.” Jane snorted, and she grinned broadly. “You think that’s funny, do you? I don’t strike you as the princess type?”

“Not really,” Jane said. “I think that title suits me better.”

“Jane, we need to go,” Ari said impatiently.

Rory’s gaze traveled the length of Jane’s body. “I can think of several titles for you, sweetie, but princess isn’t one of them. I’d say you’re a termagant, a harridan, or a virago.”

She frowned. She was quite competitive about vocabulary and was nearly unbeatable at Words with Friends.

Rory chuckled. “Look them up, sweetie.”

They got into the car, and Jane quickly tapped on her iPhone. “I can’t believe her!”

“Forget that for a second, Jane. You need to listen to this entry Nina made four days before she was killed.”

“Is that why you wanted out of there so fast?”

She nodded and read from the page. “‘The secret will be revealed—DANGER. Poor Benedick! Poor Horatio! And poor Orlando—a pawn?’”

“What the hell? Who are these people? Is she talking about Orlando Bloom?”

“I don’t think so. Orlando, Benedick and Horatio were Shakespearean characters, but I think they were from different plays. I’m guessing Nina is using fictitious names to ensure confidentiality.”

“It would make sense since she got burned in the past. Anyone finding a journal entry like that wouldn’t have any idea what she’s talking about.
I
don’t have any idea what she’s talking about.” She tapped on her phone and gasped. “Well, she’s a termagant, too!” When Ari looked at her quizzically, she added, “That bitch called me a bitch—using
better
vocabulary!”

The last hundred yards was the toughest. Brian made it look easy, adeptly positioning his feet on each of the sandstones, the well-developed muscles in his calves bulging. Molly stayed close behind, determined to make it to the top of Summit Trail, the most strenuous hike Camelback Mountain had to offer. He’d started her on the simple climb to Bobby’s Rock, but she had challenged his choice, asserting she was in great shape. He laughed and then proved her wrong.

The next hike had been up Cholla Trail. It humbled her too, and she immediately realized she was an overweight, out-of-shape alcoholic. Every once in a while she also felt a twinge of pain in her left thigh, the place where she’d been shot nine months before. Yet, she’d complied with his personal training regimen, and in only six weeks she’d exchanged twenty pounds of gut flab for five pounds of toned muscles. She’d never felt better, thanks to his willingness to serve as her personal trainer.

She took a deep breath and pressed forward until they hit the summit and gazed at the valley below. She chugged from her water bottle and ignored her screaming legs.

“Not bad,” Brian said, checking his watch. “Fifty minutes. You’re getting better.”

“How long should it take?”

“Our goal is thirty,” he said with a grin.

“Slave driver.”

Two women passed by and stared. They were serious hikers in boots, waterproof shorts and polyester shirts that offered sun protection. When Molly and Brian met their gaze, they smiled.

“They’re flirting with you,” he said.

She laughed and watched their backsides. “No, I’m certain they were checking out my brother’s astounding physique.”

“How do you know they weren’t your type? I’ve seen the way women look at you lately.”

She soaked up the compliment and felt her cheeks turn red. It was hard to imagine anyone staring at her so blatantly, although she knew Brian endured the flirtations and overt come-ons from dozens of women. He was beefcake with long blond hair and earrings. He’d done some modeling in his teens and hated everything but the money. He preferred to work with his hands, which was why he enjoyed plumbing and would inherit the family business, but he only had eyes for Lynne, his long-time girlfriend.

The women glanced again but Brian didn’t notice. The extra attention was new to her, although Ari had maintained throughout their relationship that women regularly stared at her. She’d scoffed and assumed that Ari was trying to bolster her self-confidence, which was nonexistent. At least that’s what her new therapist was helping her understand. She had no belief in herself except in her job, and now that was gone.

She sucked back a sob, something she’d frequently done during the last nine months. The women chatted and absorbed the view, but one caught her eye and smiled. She smiled back. She liked it. As her body morphed into a physique that matched her brother’s, more women flirted with her at the gym, in the grocery store and now on the hiking trail. It was the fuel she needed even though she wasn’t ready to date.

She was still getting over Ari, but every time a woman looked at her or spoke in a voice filled with laughter, she moved another step away from her pain and inched closer to a new life. She equated it to the childhood game of Chutes and Ladders. There were going to be gains and losses—such as any time she thought of Ari. She hated her and had told her as much in an email, but Ari still seemed to have a stranglehold on her heart. When she was reminded of her, she’d roll the hostility that evoked into a solid sphere as strong as a ball bearing and rechannel it into a mile run or an hour at the gym.

Lost in the past, she didn’t notice one of the women had sidled up next to her until she cleared her throat.