"They could be genuine tears because she's lost the man she's hopelessly in love with."
I loved doing this brainstorming with Ariana. I beamed at her across the desk. "But if Erin is telling the absolute truth, we then have two possibilities. The first, that Georgia's cooked this up all on her own, and is lying through her teeth when she says Jack Yarrow instigated it. The second is that Yarrow came up with the plan and co-opted Georgia to help him out so that there'd be no direct link between him and Oscar's death."
"Where does Winona Worsack fit in?" Ariana inquired.
"She's worried about Jack Yarrow's rep, I reckon. Otherwise, I can't see why she'd care one way or the other about what Oscar might do at the symposium."
"You've studied the science of detecting liars," said Ariana. "So who's lying and who's telling the truth?"
"You're having a dig at me," I said.
My Complete Handbook contained several chapters on lying, and I'd made a goal to master lie detection techniques. My mistake had been to let anyone know what I was doing. Fran, in particular, had made life hard for a few days.
Ariana laughed. "Only a gentle dig. And I really want to know what you think."
"Right-oh. Erin is pretty well telling the truth, although, of course, she has no idea how much of what she's been told is accurate. Georgia? She's crooked as a dog's hind leg, but some of what she said must be true. The problem is, which bit? And I don't like Jack Yarrow, so I'm biased. It's possible he isn't involved. There's only Georgia's word that he is, and now she denies she even said it to Erin."
Picking up the phone, Ariana said, "I'm going to run this past Ted Lark. He'll certainly want to interview Erin Fogarty. And I'll mention you saw Wally Easton, and think he might be a possibility for Pen's stalker. I'd say, however, at least for the moment, Ted will want to concentrate on Erin Fogarty."
I thought with a pang how upset she'd been that morning. "Erin's pretty upset at the moment. She won't take tough questioning well."
"I'll tell him to be kind," said Ariana.
I left her dialing, and went into the kitchen to feed Julia Roberts. About time, her expression said. "Salmon tonight, Jules. Gourmet stuff."
Watching her eat-she was not a particularly refined as a diner-I began to brood. I was having myself on, thinking I could learn to be a P.I. Hey, I couldn't even tell who was lying to me. I wasn't a private detective's bootlace.
I forced myself to be honest. It was Ariana gently mocking me that had started this downward trend in my mood. It was Ariana having a secret she wouldn't tell me. It was me loving Ariana and her not loving me…
"I'm going to have it out with her," I said to Jules. "Right now."
Jules kept on eating.
NINETEEN
She looked up when I opened her office door. Without ceremony, I said, "Do you still want to buy my fifty-one percent of Kendall & Creeling?"
Clearly surprised, Ariana said, "You've changed your mind? It's for sale?"
"Not really. I was wondering if you even now had hopes of buying me out."
Ariana sat back in her chair, her expression unreadable. She knew from experience I was unlikely to let a silence stretch very long without breaking it. This time would be different, I told myself.
I felt a flicker of sour triumph when she spoke first. "I haven't mentioned the subject lately, so why are you bringing it up now?"
I hadn't meant to say them, but the words tumbled out. "If you bought me out, Ariana, you'd get rid of me. I'd get out of your life."
"Kylie, do you really think that's what I want?"
"I don't know what you want. That's the problem."
We both knew I wasn't referring to our jointly-owned company. We sat there, one on either side of her black desk, staring at each other. Ariana looked away first.
"All right," she said, "I'll tell you what you need to know, but not here. Let's go up to my place. We can sit down, enjoy a drink"-she gave a small, sardonic laugh-"and have a civilized conversation."
She went in her car: I went in mine. It was getting dark, and the curving road up into the Hollywood Hills seemed subtly ominous. It was leading to…what? I was cold with apprehension. Whatever she would tell me would make a difference; of that I was sure. The quality of that difference was the unknown factor.
Gussie greeted us with enthusiasm. German shepherds are such handsome, personable dogs. "You have presence, Gussie," I said to her. "It's an admirable characteristic." She smiled, obviously agreeing with me.
Ariana poured two glasses of red wine and gave me one. I took it to be polite. I didn't want anything to drink.
We sat opposite each other in her rose-colored lounge chairs, a low table between us. Beside us was a long plate glass window that provided a stunning view of Los Angeles at night, stretched out in patterns of light.
"Kylie, this is so hard. I'm not sure how to begin." She looked out a the city lights, so far below us. "What do you think I'm going to say?"
"I reckon you're going to tell me there's someone else."
Ariana gazed at me for a long, long moment. Then she said, "There is someone else."
I believed I'd prepared myself to hear something like this, but it was still a sickening jolt. "Who is it?"
"Does it matter?"
A pulse of anger sharpened my voice. "Of course it matters, Ariana. It matters a lot." When she didn't respond, I said, "She gave you that ring, didn't she?"
Ariana looked down at the heavy gold signet ring she always wore. "Yes."
"It's Natalie Ives, isn't it?"
Such raw pain filled her face that I was stunned. "Oh, Ariana," I said, "I'm so sorry…"
She let out her breath in a long sigh. "I'll tell you everything, Kylie. And then you'll…you'll understand how impossible it is for us-" She broke off and shook her head. "I haven't been fair to you."
"Be fair to me now. Let me in on the secret."
"Secret?" Her lips twisted. "Some secret."
My heart was thudding, not with passion but with fear. "Go on. Please."
Ariana took a sip of her drink, put it down, and after a deep breath, began. "I met Natalie when I was a rookie cop in the LAPD and she was an eminent English professor at UCLA. I was in my early twenties, Natalie was forty-one. I was dazzled by her wit, her knowledge, the sheer excitement of being with her. For my part, I adored her from the beginning but was amazed when Natalie fell in love with me."
She paused, looked at me for the first time since she'd mentioned Natalie's name. "Natalie wasn't in the closet, but I was. The macho atmosphere of the LAPD at the time was so hostile to gays that being out wasn't a realistic option. For simple self-preservation I kept our relationship secret at work. Your father was one of my closest friends. He too was concealing the fact he was gay."
I thought with a stab of grief how I'd never really known my father. Ariana had been closer to him than I'd ever been.
Ariana, her shoulders resolutely squared, continued in her clear, cool voice. "Natalie loved the water, so we pooled our resources-mine weren't great at that stage-and bought a little house near the beach in Santa Monica." A reminiscent smile lit her face. "We had so much fun renovating that little place. We painted walls; we raided yard sales; we planted a garden, even acquired a kitten."
"Priscilla?"
"Yes, Priscilla."
For a moment, Ariana seemed lost in memories. I said, "And then what happened?"
"Nothing happened, at least not for a long time. We were so happy together. Every day with Natalie was a delight. Career-wise, I advanced in the LAPD, and Natalie gained even more renown in academic circles. Our life was close to perfect. Then one day, Natalie was unexpectedly late. When she finally arrived she was confused and upset. She told me she'd got lost, driving home from UCLA, although she'd driven from Westwood to Santa Monica countless times and knew every route, every back street, every shortcut."