My Best Rewrite Ever

When I was a high school English teacher, I told my students that a piece of writing is really never done. I told them that if we wanted, we could spend an entire semester tweaking and changing the same essay. Of course, they groaned—loudly—and I assured them that we wouldn’t do that. That reality, though, is a great reminder that an author’s manuscript rarely feels complete, even when the deadline demands it be submitted.

Logic follows then that sometimes we have to change what we’ve written when the voices in our head give us new information, find a new worm hole to explore, or change direction. Such was the case with Point of Betrayal. I’d followed my mystery writing process and was 78% complete…when I looked up and realized there was a better choice—a much better choice--for the killer.

It was my turn to groan loudly. I was nearly done! I stopped and assessed how much I would need to rewrite to make the change. It was mostly little things, but it was a significant amount of little things… I’d almost talked myself out of the change. I was going to make this deadline without any stress if I stayed with my original plan.

But it wouldn’t be as good. Arrrghh.

So I went back to page one and started reading, making changes or noting where changes would occur later in the story. Midway through I became more confident about my choice and the rewrite ceased to be drudgery. I made the deadline by twelve hours. It still felt unfinished when I hit send, but it always felt that way. Yet, I had the added stress of this BIG change and now I had to wait another few months to find out how it would be received. That was plenty of time to second-guess, perseverate, and stew. What if I was wrong and my initial instincts were correct? What if I missed some of those necessary changes and those eagle-eye mystery readers found my errors? What if I’d just blown my series up and no one would ever care about Ari Adams again?

Fortunately, my editor, the great Medora MacDougall, thought it was solid. In the end, the reviewers loved it. Point of Betrayal became a Lambda finalist and a GCLS Mystery winner.

Now, I always listen to the voices in my head and follow my instincts.

Prologue

The beach was Nina’s psychologist. While she spent her days as a social worker listening to children and adults divulge their secret sins and fears, it was the strip of sand at the edge of the continent that counseled her each night during her run. She often talked out loud, reviewing moments of her day, knowing the crashing waves muffled her voice as they built to a crescendo, claimed the shore and repeated the pattern.

She quickened her pace, the pure sea air purging her lungs of all she had withheld during the day. She’d lost track of the numerous times she had to swallow her words or stifle an angry comment she longed to hurl at the ignorant parents who weren’t meeting the needs of their children.

She glanced at the water and smiled. There was something incredibly comforting about the ocean resting over her shoulder as she cut a path parallel to Highway One, the most scenic drive in California. Laguna’s great beach, wonderful shops and chic restaurants were tourist magnets during the summer, but the season was long over and only the locals remained. She ran later in the evening after most of the other joggers had gone home, the welcomed solitude a byproduct of her long hours as a school social worker.

“Bobby Arco is a complete asshole!” she shouted, thinking about the boyfriend of her favorite student’s mother. Michaela was the sweetest kid and Nina had never understood how her mother Eden had hooked up with such a loser. He’d left her a threatening message that morning after being questioned by Family Services for another suspected incident of child abuse she’d reported the day before.

“Stay the hell away from my family,” he’d hissed into her voice mail.

Only after she’d deleted the message did she realize she probably should’ve saved it and played it for Evan, her assistant principal.

She saw the Montage Resort in the distance while her mind latched onto the other key moment in her day.

“Celia would definitely benefit from a support group. I’ll call her church’s outreach coordinator and see if there’s one here or in Laguna Niguel,” she murmured, recalling a teacher who’d spent her planning period crying in Nina’s office about the death of her brother.

She took a deep breath and cleared her head, determined to run as far as the resort before turning back, her legs limber and her muscles attuned to the effort. She was ready for the marathon in January but now… It’s out of the question, she thought.

Besides it was supposed to be something she and Sam did as a couple. They had motivated each other to train, and she would’ve given up after the first two kilometers without his support.

Maybe that was the reason he’d left. He was sick of playing cheerleader. She could get down on herself, and he’d constantly said she was her own worst enemy. Often their conversations focused on her lack of self-esteem and ended with him delivering a rousing speech, the kind he would write for his father, the city councilman. Sam often joked she got his best stuff and his dad had to live with the verbal scraps.

Her mind drifted to Evan, who was her superior but also Sam’s twin brother. It was a bit awkward around him lately. Before the breakup she’d efficiently compartmentalized her personal and professional lives, telling herself the two relationships were unrelated.

“Yeah, right,” she mumbled, acknowledging he had become the most important person in her life, a true confidant. But she’d made it clear to him he was only a friend and wouldn’t be a rebound from his brother.

She took a sharp left and sprinted up the Crescent Point path to the gazebo that overlooked the Pacific, her ideal site for a wedding. It was 360 degrees of beauty, the Pacific Ocean and the San Joaquin Hills, embracing some of the most expensive real estate in the county. She wanted a wedding on the cliff and a house on one of the jutting plateaus that faced the water.

She’d need a much larger paycheck and a guy who wasn’t Sam. He’d made it clear the last time they spoke. “Nina, it’s not going to work. It can’t.”

That part had hurt. He was the most important person in her life, but he couldn’t say the same. Clearly his family came first. She took a long swig from her water bottle and replaced it in the holster, grateful she had the entire point to herself. During the summer Crescent Point was packed. She re-tied her customary ponytail and wiped the sweat from her forehead. She’d worn the style forever and she didn’t care if anyone else thought it was childish.

Maybe that was part of the problem. She was a true creature of habit and lived by her patterns. If she found a way that worked for her, she never deviated from that route, but it meant she was highly predictable. Sam was the exact opposite. He was spontaneous. In the two years they’d been together, he’d never wanted to plan a vacation, insisting they just go. It drove her crazy, but she’d been willing to compromise as had he. Perhaps there was still hope. They definitely needed to talk again. She owed him the truth.

She gazed up the hillside and for the millionth time wished for a beach house, a dream that would never become a reality if she remained in the public sector. Of course if she joined First Point Medical, she’d inch closer to owning prime real estate. She still had another two days to make her decision. They’d wooed her with a great salary, the promise of an office with a window and her own secretary. That would be a real bonus—no more typing notes or reports. She would be the only social worker in a growing medical practice that wanted to expand its clientele to include family counseling. She had the job if she wanted it. Juan Bojorquez had made the offer last spring after she’d coaxed his fourteen-year-old daughter into a drug rehab program. She was improving and he was grateful.

She loved her job at Brayberry Elementary School working with kids like Michaela and helping their families, but she had to think about the future—a better paycheck and benefits. She wanted to get back together with Sam, but what if that didn't work out? Still, would she like working in corporate America?

She closed her eyes and leaned over the railing, entranced by the show below. The powerful waves were no match for the side of the jagged cliff, and their continual confrontation resulted in a shower of foam dancing high into the air. She glanced at her watch, barely able to decipher the silver numbers in the darkness. The moon was only a sliver, affording her no extra help. She squinted and read eight-thirty. The cold breeze blew off the Pacific; the chill reminded her it was November first, yet she wore only a tank top and running shorts—a definite benefit of living in Southern California.

She’d sprint back to her car and head home to the delicious salad, hummus and warm pita bread that awaited her. She’d write in her journal and weigh the pros and cons of the job offer.

A shadow moved on her right and she turned toward it, suddenly aware she wasn’t alone. Hands pressed into her shoulder and propelled her over the railing. In a flash it became too difficult to scream and save herself at the same time. She grabbed the space between and found purchase before her arms flew skyward and her feet were strangely above her head.

Then she screamed.

Chapter One

A persistent mourning dove woke Ari Adams from her inaugural sleep in her new home. She’d covered her head with the extra fluffy pillow, thrown a slipper at the small window above her bed and turned on a soft jazz radio station, which almost worked until an annoying commercial overtook the airwaves. She imagined if she got up and gazed at the tall branch, she’d see the pesky bird making faces at her.

“I give up.”

She threw back the covers and headed for the closet. Since she was dressed only in a T-shirt and boxers, the crisp November chill immediately gave her goose bumps, but she savored the feeling since it meant the end of the vicious summer heat. And the summer had been physically, mentally and financially vicious.

She stretched her arms and shook her head. She’d wanted a change, and Tina, her stylist for the past decade, had convinced her that a drastic haircut would be the ultimate symbol of her new life.

“Aren’t you tired of looking like Morticia?” Tina joked.

Ari knew she was kidding because they’d often discussed Ari’s Mediterranean features—oval face, regal nose, rich brown eyes and flowing black hair—and how well she could wear the long mane. But she agreed and ordered Tina to chop off nearly a foot, leaving her with a shoulder-length cut that required much more attention and time than she’d ever allocated to her morning preparation. It was a new look for a new life in a new house, yet it still felt like a part of her was missing.

She tousled her remaining locks and stared up at the ceiling and the beautiful crossbeams that matched the dark pine doors leading to her balcony. She loved the Spanish revival bungalow, and it was impossible to believe it had been nearly destroyed only a few months before, much like her personal life. Staring at the freshly painted walls and the new bedroom set she’d chosen, she realized she and the house had been reconstructed together, albeit very quickly.

She’d hired Teri, her best friend’s handy dyke, to do the remodel, and she’d worked exclusively on her project, called in favors with subcontractors and suppliers. She’d completed in nine months what would’ve taken most contractors over a year.

“I know how much this means to you, Ari,” she’d said. “I know how much you need this.”

That was the truth. The house had become her life and the garden her sanctuary.

She stepped onto the small balcony that overlooked her expansive backyard and studied the various planters and walkways her landscaper had installed. She was sticking primarily to indigenous desert landscaping, but she’d wanted some color and insisted that brick planters be built for her burgeoning gardening hobby. If she wasn’t at work she was out in the back either making compost or planting flowers and shrubs.

Now that fall had come, it was time to move forward with her vegetable garden. She studied the rectangle at the western side of the yard where a garage used to sit. The foundation had been jack-hammered out and only the scarred earth remained. She smiled, grateful for the project. She liked being busy and the yard was a powerful distraction since her career as a real estate agent had flat-lined in the tough economy. Clients were hard to find and commissions were fleeting, so she’d found a hobby, convinced it was more therapeutic than the shrink her best friend Jane had dragged her to see. She didn’t need to talk. She needed to work.

She threw on a pair of shorts before descending the winding staircase to her quaint kitchen. While she’d been determined to preserve the original light blue tile counters and white cupboards, she’d installed a Sub-Zero refrigerator and a stove that looked retro but was self-cleaning and boasted a delayed baking feature.

She flipped the cold water spigot on and was greeted by moaning in her pipes. When it stopped after a few seconds of water flow, she made a mental note to call Teri, brewed some tea and retrieved the paper, already planning a trip to Harper’s Nursery.

The phone rang and she glanced at the display. Dad. She debated whether or not to pick up. If she didn’t, he’d trek across town from his leased condo to see if she was okay, which would lead to a lunch invitation and several hours of father-daughter bonding time. That wouldn’t be awful, but it wasn’t what she wanted today. She just wanted to plant.

“Hi, Dad.”

“Hey, sweetie. I hope you were up.”

“Yup, I’m just getting started with the paper and then I’m off to the nursery.”

“Why am I not surprised?” he said and she could hear a trace of sadness. He didn’t like that she spent so much time outside.

“Dad, this yard certainly needed help after having a bomb go off in it.”

Both of them knew she wasn’t exaggerating. A bomb had literally exploded in the original garage before she’d purchased the bungalow. Her shrink had suggested that her commitment to landscaping sprang from a desire to change the entire look of the place as she first came to know it, back when it belonged to the previous owner.

“Well, I had some tickets to the Suns game today and I thought you might like to go.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” she said absently, already thinking about the rosebushes for the side of the house and how many tomato plants she’d purchase. “Maybe next time. I’m really busy.”

“That’s what you said last time and the time before that,” he said. “Honey, I came out of retirement and moved down here to be closer to you, but I barely see you.”

No one asked you to do that, she thought. She still considered their relationship strained, even though it was the best it had ever been. She’d never forgotten he’d disowned her during her twenties when he learned she was gay. Although fourteen years had passed, the memory of that long night remained, and neither of them could discuss her banishment or what followed—a suicide attempt.

“We just went to lunch together on Thursday,” she said. “I think that counts as seeing me.”

“Yeah, but I need your advice now. A lot’s happened since Thursday.”

She set down her tea cup. She knew what was coming. “They offered you the promotion?”

He paused before he said, “Not yet, but I think it’s highly likely. I’d like to discuss it with you.”

She sighed. “What do you want to do? Do you want to give up retirement indefinitely and go back to the force? I mean, you’ve been gone from Phoenix PD for over five years.”

She’d put the emphasis on retirement, the part of the proposition she thought was most important to him. What she didn’t mention was the reason he’d been rehired in the first place. He had accidentally stumbled into one of the biggest cases in Phoenix police history during his vacation, one that resulted in the resignation of her former girlfriend, Detective Molly Nelson and the death of her godfather, Police Chief Sol Gardener. When the dust settled, the mayor had asked him to abandon retirement and head a task force investigating police corruption. Now the bosses were trying to make his return permanent by promoting him to lieutenant.

“Maybe,” he said simply. “C’mon, hang out with your old man for a while.”

She rubbed her temple and stared at the yard longingly. All she wanted was peace and quiet, but if she didn’t say yes to him, she realized her friend Jane would be calling shortly and making her own offer. And she knew Biz would eventually call. She always called.

Everyone was worried about her since the breakup with Molly. Ironically Ari was far more worried about Molly, who’d lost the only job she’d ever wanted. She’d vanished. Ari imagined only her family knew where she was and no one would tell Ari.

“Okay, Dad,” she relented. “I’ll go.”

“Great, sweetie. I’ll pick you up at two-thirty.”

She could hear the enthusiasm in his voice. She knew he equated each visit as a step closer to filling the gap in their relationship, but while he saw that gap as a gopher hole in the backyard, she envisioned the Grand Canyon. Still, she appreciated him trying and she knew it was important.

She glanced into the solarium, toward the two photos sitting on the built-in bookcases—one of her mother and the other of her with her brother. Both were dead. That meant Big Jack Adams was the only family she had left.

The lump that filled her throat whenever she thought of family returned and she wiped away tears. It was harder now since she’d lost Molly and her wonderful family, who’d enfolded Ari into the clan immediately. That was the worst part about breakups. You lost everything, not just your lover.

After she’d read the paper and finished her tea, she headed for the nursery. Glancing at the holes and stains that covered her shorts and T-shirt, she couldn’t believe any man or woman would find her attractive, yet Kip Harper, the owner’s son, was at her side less than two minutes after she arrived, suggesting several types of rosebushes and showing her the array of vegetables she could plant in late fall.

“This is my favorite,” he said, stopping in front of a beautiful bush covered in fuchsia-pink petals that turned apricot at the center. “It’s quite colorful and hearty enough for the heat.”

She nodded her agreement and bent down to smell the blooming flower, cognizant that his gaze was most likely on her derriere. When she stood up, he was grinning.

He was buff with a short crew cut that made his ears stand out. She guessed he was at least ten years her junior, and when he smiled his gleaming teeth only made him look younger. She enjoyed walking through the nursery and talking with him since he was quite knowledgeable about horticulture even if he was entirely clueless about her lesbianism. He flirted with her as he loaded her cart, dismissing the questions of other customers with only a quick answer or pointing down an aisle toward another employee. He was helping her and wouldn’t be pulled away to heft mulch into a car or explain the water needs of desert plants.

She knew he gave her extra attention in the hopes that she’d pick up on his interest, and she felt slightly guilty about withholding the truth but not enough to do anything about it unless he formally asked her out. Then she’d tell him and things could become horribly awkward, so she kept him talking about gardening.

When he loaded her car and waved goodbye, she thought he looked glum, as if he’d missed an opportunity.

She sighed, thankful she’d avoided a conversation about dating, which was the last thing she wanted to think about. Even her shrink knew to leave it alone for now, allowing her the space to sort out her own feelings and discover why she’d allowed Biz into her life at the expense of her relationship.

After nine months she had no answers. She had just let it happen. Maybe she knew it wouldn’t work with Molly, who was an insecure, jealous, raging alcoholic. She was also the most amazing woman she’d ever met.

As she turned onto her lovely street, she saw Jane’s Porsche sitting in front of her house. My intervention group needs to communicate better, she thought. There was no reason for Jane to babysit since her father was already on her agenda.

She pulled into the driveway and Jane traipsed across the lawn. She wore pedal pushers and a smart purple blouse that exposed much of her cleavage. She always looked sexy even when she wasn’t trying. Her dark brown hair was pulled back in a gold clip. Ari couldn’t tell if she was dressed for work or play. It was often that way with her. Whenever she left the house she looked chic, regardless of whether she was grocery shopping, clubbing or previewing houses. Ari knew she was the opposite; no one would ever confuse her errand attire of jeans and T-shirts with the power suits she wore for clients.

“Hi, honey,” Jane called.

She offered her a peck on the cheek and carefully avoided the twenty-pound bag of manure Ari lifted into the wheelbarrow.

“You know, there are people you can hire to do that for you,” she said, her nose crinkled in distaste.

“But I like doing it myself,” she replied. “I feel like I’m one with the earth.”

“Truly the sign of a sick mind. I’m one with the earth as well, just not the dirty part.”

She laughed. “Then I guess you won’t stay and help.”

Jane shook her head. “I’m meeting a date for brunch. I just stopped by to show you this.”

She handed her a printout of a news article from the Laguna Beach Independent with the headline: “Local Woman’s Death Ruled Homicide.” Surrounded by the story’s text was a headshot of a woman Ari vaguely recognized but couldn’t place. She glanced at the caption beneath the photo—Nina Hunter. Nina was Jane’s first love and one of the few women who’d ever turned her down.

“Oh, Jane. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m okay, I think. We really weren’t that close anymore, just Facebook buddies, but I can’t believe she’s gone. Who would kill such a nice person?”

She skimmed the article, which provided few facts about the murder. She quickly learned that Nina was a social worker at an elementary school in Laguna Beach. Teachers, parents and the administration sung her praises for her dedication to children and families. Initially the police thought she’d accidentally fallen over a railing at a scenic spot, but for a reason that was not disclosed, they had changed their minds.

“How could someone so admired be murdered?” Jane asked.

She shook her head. “There’s obviously more to her life than what you know from Facebook. It says the prime suspect is Sam Garritson, the former boyfriend whose father is a city councilman.”

“They’d broken up recently, but Sam swore to me that he didn’t have anything to do with it. He’s terribly distraught. He still loved her.”

She raised an eyebrow. “And how do you know all this?”

Jane took a deep breath as if she was preparing for a speech. “Don’t say no.”

“Jane,” she said sternly. “What’s going on? You spoke with Sam?”

“He called me. He friended me a few months ago when we both commented on one of Nina’s posts and then he poked me.”

She nodded, well aware of the Facebook lingo. As a real estate agent, she’d learned to navigate Twitter and Facebook in order to survive with the under-thirty crowd, but Jane was the queen of social networking. She boasted two thousand Facebook friends and nearly as many followers on Twitter. And I’d have that many too if I was willing to discuss my sexual activities in a hundred and forty characters, she thought.

“So what am I not supposed to say no about?” she asked as Jane followed her into the backyard.

When Jane didn’t answer right away, she dropped the wheelbarrow and faced her. “What did you do?”

Gazing down at the mulch in the wheelbarrow, Jane pulled a tissue from her purse and wiped the smudges from the face of the bag. “It’s just so dirty.”

“Honey, focus. Why are you here?”

She set the tissue in the wheelbarrow and fished two airline tickets from her purse. “I think we should take a little vacation.”

“A vacation? Now? I just moved in.”

“Yeah, but you need a little time away. You never really took a break after everything that happened, and the last time you took a vacation was at least five years ago.”

“That’s not true,” she argued. “Molly and I went away on long weekends a few times.”

“That doesn’t count. It’s not a vacation if you don’t cross state lines. That’s a fake vacation that people call a staycation. That’s B.S. I’m proposing that we get out of town, but in deference to your fragile state, I promise we won’t go too far.”

“Like Laguna Beach,” she said dryly.

“Okay, that’s a great idea! Let’s do that.”

She narrowed her eyes and resumed her wheel barrowing. “I need to stay here and work. I’ve just started planting.”

“God, honey, you make it sound like you’re a farmer and the crops will die if you don’t make the harvest. You can plant anytime. I really could use your help with Sam. You could put all of those great former cop instincts to work. The family wants someone else to look into the case, somebody who isn’t local and won’t arouse suspicion. Sam’s dad, Steve, has to keep a low profile. This could hurt his chances for a political appointment with the governor. It would mean a lot to me, and I know you don’t have any clients to woo right now.”

“Don’t remind me,” Ari hissed. She dropped the bag into an empty flower bed and ripped it open. If Jane insisted on having a conversation with her, she’d have to endure the dirt.

“It sounds like Sam needs a private detective. You should ask Biz, not me.”

“I thought about that and I’m guessing that if I invited her, she’d be happy to accompany us to California.”

“Why would she do that? She’s got a lot of clients who need her.”

She snorted. “Honey, if we called her right now, she’d run over her own mother in that cute little Mustang if it got her here faster. She’d do anything to be close to you. Besides, I thought she was the reason you broke up with Molly.”

She winced, but fortunately Jane couldn’t see the tears in her eyes as she spread the mulch with a rake, her mind wandering back to last Valentine’s Day and the look on Molly’s face when she’d found her lying in Biz’s arms.

“I’m sorry I mentioned her,” Jane said quietly.

“Have you heard anything lately?” Despite Jane’s strong ties to the lesbian community, she hadn’t been able to learn of Molly’s whereabouts for the last nine months. It was as if she’d dropped off the face of the earth.

“Actually I just heard she went into a facility after she recovered from the gunshot and now she’s out.”

“What’s she doing?”

“I think she’s working for her dad.”

Nelson Plumbing was the family business, but Ari couldn’t imagine Molly would be happy repairing toilets or installing sinks. Her life was police work, and she’d been an amazing detective until she’d investigated the death of an informant and inadvertently stumbled into the crosshairs of a Mafioso with ties to the police department. She’d been forced to resign and Ari’s father had essentially taken her place in the department and her office. Her career was over.

“I’m glad she got help.” Ari dropped her rake and stared at Jane. Until she left, Ari couldn’t enjoy her gardening. It was a solitary experience, as was most everything in her life now, and she relished being away from people, a fact her shrink found disconcerting.

“I don’t want to go to Laguna,” she said. “I’ll be happy to call Biz if you want. She can probably help Sam in some way.”

Jane rubbed her arms, and Ari imagined she was removing the imaginary dirt that clung to her two-hundred-dollar blouse. She hated the outdoors, and Ari knew she was at her personal tipping point.

“Okay, never mind,” she said, defeated. “I might call her if Sam wants me to.” She started up the brick path and added, “I’m using your bathroom before I go.”

She smiled slightly. She was glad Molly was okay. Her dozen emails had been met with some harsh words and she’d given up. She’d worried Molly might commit suicide over everything that had happened. Ari was certain her brother Brian had saved her. She’d called him the day after Molly had resigned, begging his forgiveness, which he gave, and he promised to help Molly through what was undoubtedly the worst part of her life. For old times’ sake, Ari had insisted Brian be hired to do the plumbing work on the house, but she was careful to be conveniently absent whenever he was on the job. She hoped he’d eventually call again, but it hadn’t happened. She imagined Molly had forbidden him from keeping in touch. She understood why.

“Um, Ari, sweetie, you need to come inside now,” Jane shouted from the back door.

She dropped the rake and wiped her feet on the mat before stepping across the threshold—into a puddle. Jane held up her red Manolo Blahniks with two bright pink lacquered fingernails and pointed to the water dripping from their pointed toes.

“I’m not happy.”