The Beginning of a Series: The Creation of Ari Adams, Amateur Sleuth

“You’re not going to believe the story I heard today.”

I looked up, grinning. “What?”

My wife, a newbie real estate agent, had just returned from a staff meeting with her new firm.
“People were skinny dipping in the pool of the vacant house.”

I laughed. That wasn’t the most risqué or odd thing she’d heard about from seasoned veterans who really had seen it ALL, but I looked forward to hearing about the brazen activities in which some people would engage when they thought they were alone.

At the time, I was looking for an idea that could become the basis of my first mystery, and potentially, a mystery series. I’ve always loved mysteries, a fact I’ve acknowledged many times in the openings of my books. Of course, I especially loved female detectives: Velma from Scooby Doo, Nancy Drew (as depicted by Pamela Sue Martin), and Ms. Marple. And there were the TV detectives—Jessica Fletcher, Ellery Queen, Joe Mannix, and Steve McGarrett.

So I wondered, what would be the most jaw-dropping surprise a real estate agent could find in an empty house? Answer: a dead body.

I mulled over the idea of a real estate agent as an amateur sleuth—someone who set their own hours, had a lot of flexibility with their day, and could meet oodles of different people from all walks of life.
Then she needed a name. As a former educator, I’ve met so many people and a significant amount of those people have very interesting names. Some of them I can’t believe—Disney Magic, Exploit, and Secret Box come to mind. One of my favorites is Ari—not “Airy,” but “Are-e.” And since alliterated names (where the same first letter occurs in the first and last name) are easy to remember, I chose Ari Adams.

Eight books later I still have stories to tell. Ari’s personal and professional lives have unfolded slowly, and I’m happy to say fans urge me to “write faster.”

Chapter One

Sunday, June 17th

When Ari opened the door, the last thing she expected to see was a corpse, but there he was, face down, spread eagle on the floor, sunlight washing over his lifeless body. She reflexively gasped and backed out of the house. A few seconds passed, and when no one jumped out and attacked her, she took a breath and re-entered. Her footfalls echoed against the bare walls, the house vacated months ago by retirees spending their golden years in Florida.

She advanced to the body and froze, listening to her heart pounding and the distant hum of lawnmowers.
Ari studied the victim with emotional detachment, a skill she’d learned at the police academy. Male. Probably mid-40’s, salt and pepper hair, soft hands, the fingertips of the right one drenched in blood. His gold Rolex, expensive Italian loafers and pin-striped suit attested to his wealth. Judging from the condition of the body, Ari doubted he’d been dead for long. A puddle of blood surrounded his middle, suggesting an abdominal wound.

She winced at the sight of the floor. Her clients had spent the past two months renovating the house, which included refinishing the original hardwood. She scanned the ancient plaster walls adjusting to their recent coat of paint, and her eyes drifted to the vaulted ceilings and the refurbished crown molding. A historic home, every square foot had been given a total makeover to justify the high asking price for the small amount of space.

The only thing out of place was the bar that the owner had insisted on installing in the living room. It ruined the aesthetics in Ari’s opinion, and she avoided looking at its black countertop and chrome fixtures. With ten steps, Ari stood under the archway that led to the tiny galley kitchen. The white cabinets and ceramic tile were almost too bright against the morning sunlight, but nothing was disturbed and there wasn’t a speck of blood anywhere.

She shook her head and returned to the living room. It took a lot to surprise her, and she’d seen most everything in twelve years of real estate, but this was a new one. Unable to stand still, but hesitant to leave, she checked her watch. The young couple who were viewing the property wouldn’t arrive for another twenty minutes. Ari knew she should go back outside to her SUV and call the police. She should not snoop, but curiosity won over, and she found herself looking down the short hallway. Although the doors were open, little light emitted from the adjacent rooms, and a tingle crept up Ari’s back.

It was definitely spooky. She veered into the only bathroom and stared at the shower door. There were no shadows silhouetted against the antique frosted glass, but she felt her breath catch as she swung the door open, revealing only sparkling blue ceramic tiles. Ari crossed into the small bedroom, where eggshell-white walls and contrasting wallpaper trim greeted her. The closet door stood ajar, just as she had left it after her last showing. She remembered the client had tried to close it out of habit, but Ari had quickly pulled it open again. A closed door was a sign that sellers had something to hide.

A chainsaw roared suddenly and Ari jumped. She realized it was too clear and too close.

She carefully made her way to the master bedroom, and with each step the chainsaw buzz grew louder. The sliding glass door leading to the backyard stood wide open, the sheer curtains fluttering in the slight breeze. Ari realized the noise was coming from a neighboring yard, and she wasn’t going to be the victim of a crazy maniac wielding a power tool.

The air conditioner was losing the battle against the 105 degree heat, and the room was baking. Ari saw that someone had pried the door open with a crowbar, breaking the mechanism in half. She nearly shoved it closed to vent her anger but stopped just as her fingers touched the handle. Damn. Now she had disturbed a crime scene. A wave of guilt swept over her momentarily, but as the real estate agent, she knew her fingerprints would be everywhere so the damage was minimal.

This was probably the killer’s entrance. That realization propelled her back down the hall to the living room. Ari glanced at the front door, her escape route if necessary. She vowed to remain for only another minute. Crouching over the man, she repressed the urge to fish his wallet out of his back pocket, but she yearned for further clues to his identity. Her eyes settled on the floor and a few small droplets of blood that trailed behind the bar ten feet away. She swallowed hard and stood up. Walking so as not to disturb any of the blood, Ari peered around the bar.

In a split second she realized nothing was wrong and everything was wrong. The shelves were clean and the floor refinishers had actually been able to replace the old wooden planks, worn and water damaged from the liquids that sometimes spilled off the counter. The bar was untouched, but a bloody stain covered the freshly painted wall behind it. Perhaps this is where he died, Ari thought. He was standing behind the bar and he fell back against the wall. She moved closer, allowing her eyes to adjust to the dark space behind the bar. At first she thought it was only a blood spatter, the sunlight not illuminating the niche at all. Then she realized it was a word, a name. “Robert” was crudely scrawled right above the baseboard. The color on the wall matched the color on the floor, and her mind flashed to the victim’s red-caked fingertips.

A strange sound broke the silence.

Ari couldn’t tell if it came from inside or outside, but her curiosity instantly vanished. She bolted upright, smashing her head against the shelves that used to hold beer steins from around the world. She swore fiercely as she scurried past the dead man and slammed the front door. Maybe that would scare the intruder away, if someone really was there.

She sprinted to the SUV, looking left and right. Only after she’d locked herself inside the truck and pulled her .38 from the glove box did she feel safe. She must have been quite a sight.

Cell phone in one hand, gun in the other. She whirled around, checking the back, but no one was there. Now seemed like a good time to call the police. She made the necessary 911 call and then immediately punched in her buyer’s number to cancel the showing. An answering machine picked up, and she knew they were probably on their way.

Usually real estate wasn’t this exciting, but there had been a few interesting moments, such as when she had caught a couple having sex in the hot tub of one of her vacant listings. She cracked a smile at the memory of their horrified expressions. What really stood out in her mind was the beautiful woman emerging from the steam, her breasts glistening.

She took a deep breath, her heart still galloping and her hands shaking. She returned the gun to the glove compartment, chastising herself for not retrieving it before she searched the house. Her head started to pound and she rubbed her temples. She’d forgotten what it was like to experience an adrenaline rush.

The SUV suddenly felt like a sauna. Even dogs weren’t supposed to be kept in enclosed vehicles during the Phoenix summers. Rummaging through the center console, Ari found a clip in the glove compartment and pulled her long, black hair into a makeshift bun, noting one reason why most lesbians have short haircuts. She checked once more through all the windows before she opened the door and slid out, throwing her jacket on the seat as an offering to the June sun. She desperately craved a cold beer and a swimming pool, preferably in the company of a beautiful woman. If she couldn’t have that, she would have gladly settled for a pair of shorts and sandals. Anything to shed the Italian loafers that were pasted to her feet. The worst part of real estate was definitely the “power dressing”. If she could sell houses from her couch clad in sweats and a T-shirt, she would have been thrilled.

Ari strolled around the truck, stretching out her long legs and forgetting that she was a target under the sun’s magnifying glass. She surveyed the nearby homes, every yard immaculate and every house possessing curbside appeal. The neighborhood was alive on this Sunday afternoon, complete with chirping birds and pounding hammers that joined the ever present roar of the lawnmowers. Ari began to doubt that the sound she’d heard inside was sinister; more than likely it was a neighbor working in his yard. Until today, she would have believed this area was virtually immune to the high Phoenix crime.

Down the road the black and white units approached, three of them. The coroner’s wagon and detectives couldn’t be far behind. Ari smiled when the first officer emerged from his patrol car. Ben Hastings had been a family friend for years. He had watched Ari grow up, and like many of the officers, he still saw her as “Big Jack Adams’ little girl,” and perpetually sixteen years old. He lumbered up the sidewalk, his husky frame testing the seams of his uniform.

“Ari Adams, what are you doing here?” Ben asked, as he pecked her on the cheek.

“I found the victim,” she said.

Ben noticed the real estate sign in the yard with Ari’s name in big, bold letters and nodded. A sly smile crept over his face. “You didn’t disturb the crime scene, did you, Ari? You know, poke around or anything?”

“As a matter of fact, I heard a noise after I discovered him, so I got out of there fast.” He didn’t notice that she had avoided his question, but his expression sobered at the thought of an intruder.

“We’ll check it out.” He motioned for the officers, and the group fanned out around the property.

The other crime scene vehicles arrived and Ari watched the circus unfold. As a witness, she knew she couldn’t leave. Just as she opened her cell phone to try the buyers again, a white Maxima pulled up to the curb.

“Shit,” she mumbled, meandering through the throng of people and vehicles, thinking of what excuse she could give to the bewildered buyers.

“Excuse me,” someone said behind her.

Ari turned and locked eyes with a woman who matched her 5’11” frame, but could have wrestled her to the ground in a second. Most of her bulk was pure muscle, but Ari could see she also carried some extra weight that added to her shapeliness. The woman’s short, blonde hair curled lightly over high cheekbones and a finely chiseled face. Designer shades masked her eyes. “You’re Ari Adams?” she inquired. “I’m Detective Nelson. I need a statement.”

Ari nodded and held up a finger indicating she only would be a second as she started towards the buyers’ car. Detective Nelson firmly planted a hand on her elbow, stopping her stride. “Ms. Adams, where are you going? I need that statement now.”

Ari turned slowly and stared at her reflection through the woman’s sunglasses. The detective’s impatience was evident and deep creases lined her forehead. “I’m not going anywhere, Detective, but I need to let those people know they won’t be viewing this property today.” She motioned to the couple, whom were now chatting with a neighbor and undoubtedly learning all about the commotion. “Besides,” she added, “I’m sure you don’t want extra people traipsing around your crime scene.”

Molly Nelson nodded, but she wasn’t paying attention. The sight of this woman had taken her breath away. She’d just fallen on the murder case of the year, but she found herself lost in Ari Adams’s dark green eyes.

“Detective, you need to let me go,” Ari said with a broad grin.

Molly glanced down and blushed. Her hand still held Ari’s elbow. She quickly withdrew it and murmured, “Sorry,” before walking away.

By the time Ari reached the buyers, they were already piling back into the Maxima, sure that the neighborhood was unsafe. She apologized, but as the car sped away, she was certain a commission had too.

She needed several aspirin. The yard was flooded with people and equipment, all for the benefit of someone who no longer existed. Cops searched, techs measured, the coroner studied, but nothing could change the outcome. She cocooned herself in the SUV and gulped three aspirin. She watched the blonde detective emerge from the house with the coroner, talking on her cell phone while giving instructions to Ben Hastings. It was clear to Ari that whoever was on the other end of that phone, made the detective nervous. She nodded constantly, shifted her weight from foot to foot and ran her hand through her hair incessantly. The conversation ended abruptly with the detective pulling the phone from her ear and snapping it shut with one hand. She stared at the phone, and Ari watched her heave her shoulders with a huge sigh as she dropped the phone into her pocket. Ari was fascinated. Detective Nelson clearly had full command of the investigation, but there was something tentative about her, something unsure. When the detective looked in Ari’s direction, their eyes locked, and oddly, Ari felt a tingle shoot down her back. Where in the world did that come from?

Detective Nelson frowned, obviously not feeling the same surge of electricity, and marched over to the SUV. “Is now a good time?” she snapped.

Ari’s gaze followed the curves of Detective Nelson’s body. She was in her mid-30’s, very well endowed, and an extra blouse button had come undone, revealing more cleavage than she probably intended. The pale, white ridges rose and fell with her breathing. “Your button,” Ari whispered, with a slight motion.

The detective quickly adjusted herself, turning red in the process. “Thanks,” she mumbled. She sighed and stuck out her hand in truce. “Maybe we could start over. I’m Detective Molly Nelson.”

“Ari Adams.” The detective had removed her shades revealing crystal blue eyes that would have been beautiful were it not for the deep bags sagging underneath them. “You look like you could use some of these,” Ari offered, holding up the bottle of aspirin.

Molly gratefully swallowed the pills dry. The minute she’d pulled the vic’s wallet from his pocket and read his name, she knew her life had just changed. This case would make or break her career.

Molly focused on her notepad as her hormones rapidly trampled over her professionalism. Just touching Ari’s cool hand made Molly hot, and when Ari spoke, her voice had a breathy, seductive quality, whether Ari meant it to or not.

Ari Adams could have been a model instead of a real estate agent. She oozed grace, even in the way she sat in the leather seat, her long legs crossed and her hands folded in her lap. She formed her smile with perfect lips – legs and lips, the two features Molly always seemed to notice when she looked at a woman. She cleared her throat. “Miss Adams, could you tell me how you found the body?”

Ari re-told the story, eliminating her momentary snooping. Molly scribbled, continually nodding throughout the account but watching Ari carefully. Every move Ari made was deliberate. When a strand of her jet black hair fell from the make shift bun, Ari slowly tucked it back behind her ear with her index finger, a gesture Molly found hypnotic. She tried to focus on Ari’s statement, but she couldn’t stop staring at the real estate agent. She already knew who Ari was: the daughter of a cop legend. It was hard to believe that the beauty in front of her was related to the bear of a man everyone knew as “Big Jack”.

“Who else has access to the house?” Molly asked automatically, hoping that she hadn’t already asked the question.

“Well, I have a key, there’s a key in the lockbox for other agents and service people, and I really couldn’t tell you how many other keys my clients have.” Molly underlined something in her notebook several times.

“So, tell me about the owners,” she said, flipping back a few pages in her notes. “A Mr. and Mrs. Theodore Watson?”

“Well, they’re very nice. The Watsons are an elderly couple who have already moved to Florida to retire. I’m really working for their son who has been given legal power of attorney.”

“The son,” Molly murmured. What’s his name?”

It was like lightning striking Ari’s brain. Molly peered over her notes, conscious of Ari’s
hesitation. “His name’s Bob. Bob Watson.”

Molly’s head jerked up. “Robert.”

Ari tried to hide the emotional torment that was welling inside. The idea of Bob Watson being implicated in a murder was absurd. He was an established member of the community, a business entrepreneur, and one of her dearest friends from high school. They had briefly dated before she acknowledged the truth about herself. More importantly, Bob stood by her five years later after she’d been disowned by her parents for choosing an “unnatural lifestyle.”

“Ms. Adams, is something wrong?” The detective’s voice drew Ari away from the unpleasant memories.

“I’m sorry,” she said. The pounding in her head was getting worse. “It’s just I know Bob Watson, and there’s no way he could be involved in something like this.”

The detective flashed a sad smile. She heard this line all the time.

“Look,” Ari continued emphatically, “I’m telling you that the message behind the bar is deceptive. It’s not...”

Her words trailed off as Detective Nelson’s expression darkened. “And how would you know about that?”

Ari blushed. “OK, you caught me. I followed the blood and saw the name on the wall.” Molly waited, knowing there was more. Ari wanted to lie, but for some reason, she found she couldn’t. “I did look through the other rooms, just to see how much damage there was.”

“And?” Molly prompted.

Ari shifted uncomfortably. “I accidentally touched the handle on the patio door.” Molly cursed under her breath, sending Ari into a shotgun explanation. “It was dumb, I know better than that, but I can guarantee you my fingerprints will be all over that house anyway.”

“And possibly over the fingerprints of the killer,” Molly interjected. Ari slumped in the seat, her poise abandoned for the moment. Molly watched Ari massage her temples, her cheeks crimson from embarrassment. An apology tried to work its way from Molly’s lips but she swallowed it down. She didn’t have anything to be sorry for. Ari deserved to be chewed out, and if it hurt her beautiful feelings, then so be it. Still, Molly found herself planted to the ground, unable to storm away as she was accustomed. She reached over and touched her arm. “You know, Ms. Adams, for a cop’s daughter, you did something pretty foolish,” she observed in a kind voice.

The change in demeanor drew Ari’s gaze back to Molly’s. Ari studied the piercing blue eyes, stern but caring. She stared at Molly a little longer than was polite before smiling. “I don’t know what came over me,” she said. “Natural curiosity.”

“Curiosity killed the cat,” Molly countered, as she involuntarily smiled back at Ari. Someone called her name and the smile faded. She nodded to Ari and turned away, mortified by her own behavior. What was she doing, flirting with a civilian at a crime scene? Where was her professionalism? “Focus now, Nelson,” she whispered to herself.

Ari watched Molly stride away, the smell of musk still lingering in the truck. To clear her head, Ari hopped out and ventured a few feet onto the grass.

Ben Hastings rounded the corner and called, “You still here?” Ari grinned conspiratorially. She loved joking with Ben. He was a second father to her, and the only person who understood why she had left the Tucson Police Department after one short year.

Ben fished a handkerchief from his pants’ pocket and wiped the sweat from his leathery face. “So did you talk to Nelson?”

“Uh huh. She took my statement and scolded me for snooping.”

Ben wagged a knowing finger and shook his head. He knew Ari would never change. He also noticed her blush when he mentioned Molly Nelson. She was staring at the grass, using the toe of an expensive loafer to pock the ground and avoid his eyes. Ben watched her struggle with her feelings. He loved Ari dearly. She had endured more in her thirty-two years than most people did in an entire lifetime. Everyone had abandoned her in one way or another, but he would always be there. And if anyone deserved an opportunity to find happiness, it was Ari. “Yes,” he said plainly.

“What?” Ari asked, only slightly puzzled.

“Yes, she’s your type. She’s thirty-five, born and raised here, moved away for a while, really good at her job. That’s about all I know.”

Ari’s cheeks flushed. Why did she care? She was in absolutely no position to want any woman. Her career was her life, at least that’s what her last lover had believed. She stared down at the large divot and pushed dirt back in the hole. “So who was the guy inside?”

Ben sighed. You’re gonna get me into a lot of trouble, Ari.”

“C’mon, Ben,” she said, using her voice from childhood, the voice that had always won Ben over, whether it was for another game of checkers or another push on the swing.

Ben scowled and looked around. “Michael Thorndike.”

It took only a second for the name to register. “The guy who renovated most of the downtown area? The leader of the Phoenix Alliance?”

“Shh...” Ben cautioned. “Yes, that Michael Thorndike.”

“So how did he die?”

“Two shots from a .38 caliber. One to the chest and one to the gut.”

“Any theories as to how it happened?”

“Estimated time of death is somewhere between eight and ten last night. He probably got shot while he was standing behind the bar, wrote his killer’s name on the wall and tried to drag himself out toward the door. Got as far as the living room.”

“That’s an awful lot for a dying man to do,” Ari muttered. “Are they sure he wrote it?”

Ben nodded. “According to the coroner, that name was written by Michael Thorndike himself. They got a nice clear fingerprint at the top of the ‘b.’ Matched his bloody right hand.”

Ari exhaled. If that were true, then it meant Michael Thorndike had used the last of his strength to identify his killer. Bob would be questioned and probably arrested before nightfall.

A young cop approached and spoke with Ben, all the while his eyes shifting from Ben to Ari, who pretended not to notice. She turned away, just as she had done throughout most of her life, every time a guy had come on to her. Except for Bob. Bob had been different.

Ben nodded to Ari and wandered back to the front door with the young cop, while Ari took a few steps away and surveyed the crime scene. Things were starting to wind down. The body was being removed and some of the techs were packing up. Ari spotted Molly across the lawn talking to a young black detective. There was no question about who was in charge, as Molly pointed at the ground and barked an order. Ari guessed this was Molly’s partner and clearly he hadn’t done his job correctly. She held up fingers, ticking off a list of things while the man wrote furiously in his notebook. She yelled, “Get it done!” before stomping toward Ari.

“You’re free to go, Miss Adams,” Molly said curtly, as she walked past Ari. The shades and the attitude were back, and Ari noticed Molly didn’t look at her.

Something gnawed at Ari. Once a cop... “Detective,” Ari called. Molly stopped and turned abruptly, impatience written into her expression. “Why would Michael Thorndike bother to drag himself out from behind the bar after he wrote Bob’s name? It’s not like there was a phone out there. And why would he write ‘Robert’? Most everyone calls Bob Watson, just that, Bob.”

“We don’t know the answer to those questions, Ms. Adams, but I’m sure we’ll figure it out. Now, I am going to ask you to leave the crime scene. I know your father is a friend of just about everyone here, but that doesn’t give you the right to stick your nose in my investigation,” Molly said.

Ari’s defenses rose at the mention of Jack Adams. “I think you’re forgetting something, Detective. I’m the agent on this house, and I’m legally responsible for this property. My clients are going to want an explanation as to what happened and why part of their five thousand dollar floor must be replaced again.”

“Well, all I know is that your friend Mr. Watson better have a good alibi,” Molly retorted, her cell phone ringing in her pocket. She scowled as she retrieved it. Beautiful or not, Molly hated amateurs. “If we need anything else we’ll be in touch, Ms. Adams,” she said before she flipped open the receiver and walked away.

Ari headed to the SUV, Molly’s words ringing in her ears. She had no idea how Bob could be implicated in the murder of a Phoenix power magnate, since it was absolutely unbelievable. Yet, it was also too coincidental. Somehow Bob was involved.

She pulled away from the house, a house she had visited hundreds of times during her teenage years. Images of Michael Thorndike’s body and the bloody message clouded her mind. She pushed them away, unwilling to contaminate the memories of her youth.

Bob had been the most important person in her life for a long time. They met when he was a high school junior and she a sophomore. They were both on the track team, only mildly aware of the other’s existence, until the day they shared a seat on the team bus and became fast friends. Bob wanted more, but Ari brushed him off, like every other guy. He persisted, and Ari finally went out with him a few times and even agreed to go steady. Kissing him had been a chore, but at least with a boyfriend, it was as if a “No Trespassing” sign had been posted on her body, and the boys left her alone. No surprise, really. Bob was the state’s number one shot putter - no one would dare mess with his girl. Still, it wasn’t right; Ari knew he deserved better.

It amazed her that Bob’s manhood remained intact when three months into the relationship, she confessed her suspicions about her sexuality. Most guys would have thrown a fit, blamed her, or played it cool. Instead of destroying their bond, Ari’s announcement actually brought them closer, as Bob shifted from boyfriend to counselor. They stayed in touch during college, even though they went to different schools, and Bob married Lily during his senior year. The true proof of friendship, though, came two years later. It was Bob who offered Ari his guest room the night her father disowned her, and it was Bob who had saved her from the biggest mistake of her life.