Dial Om for Murder Read online

  “Are you ever going to tell him what’s going on?”

  She thought he wasn’t going to answer, but Andy muttered finally, “Of course.”

  “I’m not trying to push you. I just don’t think you’re being fair to him.”

  Andy’s smile was bitter as he mixed the ingredients in the bowl.

  “What are we having for dinner?” she asked.

  “Cornbread salad.”

  A.J. studied him unobtrusively as he moved around the kitchen. He had always been so quick and graceful, naturally athletic although he had never been much for sports or organized activities. Now he moved with a careful deliberation, compensating for a slight but definite stiffness.

  “Plans for this evening?” he asked abruptly, jerking her out of her thoughts.

  “No,” she replied. “No, unfortunately my boyfriend is scouring the countryside for a murder suspect who just happens to be hiding out at my mother’s house.”

  “Er . . .”

  “Exactly. Meanwhile my ex-husband is hiding out from his boyfriend at my house. I think it’s safe to assume my social life won’t be back to normal anytime soon.”

  That shut Andy up.

  He was still quiet and preoccupied over dinner. The food was delicious, and A.J. tried to do it justice if only to make up for the fact that Andy was eating so little. Although he responded sympathetically to A.J.’s account of her day, it was clear he was on automatic pilot. Even relating her visit to J.W. Young’s with Elysia barely pricked his interest—although he did make an effort.

  “What about this PA of Nicole’s? She certainly had access. Maybe she had motive, too.”

  A.J. responded, “According to J.W. she’s getting married next month to a Navy SEAL.”

  “So she says. What do you want to bet she comes up with excuse after excuse for why the wedding can’t take place?”

  “If you’re right, it won’t take long to prove it. Last week was supposed to be her last. She’s staying on for a few days to help J.W. sort through . . . everything. But I can’t imagine that would take more than another week or so.”

  Andy nodded, but apparently he’d already lost interest. A.J. wished she knew what to do to help him—besides simply being there.

  The chimes on the patio tinkled softly in the night breeze. Crickets chirped in peaceful symphony with the frogs in the garden.

  A.J. was lying on her bed, decompressing from the day with her evening workout.

  It really wasn’t what most people considered a “workout.” In fact, an actual workout would not have been conducive to winding down and going to sleep. Instead, A.J. did a few gentle stretches and practiced her deep breathing while concentrating on releasing the tensions of the day.

  Outside the window she saw the stars twinkling cheerfully. In her old life she would have spent the evening talking business with Andy, watching a little TV, and then going to bed to read for a few minutes. It occurred to her now how little time for simply thinking she had allowed back then. Maybe that had been a defense mechanism; had she thought too much she might have realized that she was not actually happy.

  Was she happy now? A.J. blinked at the stars blinking back at her, and she concluded that she was. Granted, she never knew what the day would bring . . . but maybe that spontaneity was part of what gave her joy now.

  She expelled a long, heartfelt sigh. Tucking her knees into her chest in Happy Baby pose, she inhaled and gripped the outside of her feet, spreading her knees and drawing them to her underarms.

  With ankles directly over her knees and shins perpendicular to the mattress, she flexed her feet. At the same time she pulled gently down creating resistance as she drew her knees toward the sheets.

  A.J. pressed her buttocks into the mattress, lengthening her spine and relaxing her neck and the base of her skull. She held the pose, breathing deeply and evenly for nearly a minute.

  Happy Baby was good for the lower back and hips. A.J. followed it with Goddess pose, which was great for the groin. Still lying on her back, but now with knees bent, still relaxed and breathing evenly, she pressed the soles of her feet together and let her knees fall open forming a diamond shape. Her arms rested relaxed on the cool sheets. She breathed slowly and deeply, pressing her back into the mattress, focusing on her sense of relaxation and peace.

  Nancy Lewis was working her way through a glass of cabernet and a basket of rolls when A.J. slipped into the booth across from her.

  “Sorry I’m late.” A.J. double-checked her wristwatch.

  “You’re not late,” Nancy reassured her. A.J.’s old high school pal was slim and blonde and very pretty. She looked more like an aerobic instructor than a doctor. “I had to get out of the office before I had a heart attack.”

  “ That bad?”

  “Sometimes I think your aunt was right. It seems like ninety percent of the health issues my patients face are related directly or indirectly to diet.” She reached for her wineglass. “Diet and exercise.”

  A.J. now had firsthand experience on that score. “It seems so simple and yet . . .”

  “Believe me, I know.” Nancy reached for another pat of butter. “And just for the record, I don’t usually eat like this.” Not since she had reached adulthood, anyway. Nancy had been a pudgy teen back in the days when she and A.J. had been adolescent outcasts in the high school social hierarchy.

  Finishing buttering her roll, Nancy said casually, “You know, when people ask for a consultation on behalf of a friend they usually mean themselves.”

  A.J. smiled wryly. “Not this time.” She held up her three middle fingers. “Girl Scout’s honor.”

  “We got kicked out of the Girl Scouts, remember? I blame it on our failure to sell enough Thin Mints although I think the official reason had something to do with being caught smoking in a national forest.”

  “I blocked that out as too traumatic to remember. Anyway, it’s not for myself. Andy, my ex, has recently been diagnosed with MS.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” Nancy said.

  “It’s a shock,” A.J. admitted. “I want to help however I can. I’ve been reading up, but there’s so much information, and a lot of it is confusing.”

  She paused as the waitress arrived to take her drink order. A.J. ordered a glass of merlot.

  “ The joke in med school is that medicine is not an exact science,” Nancy said when the waitress had departed. “What has Andy told you?”

  A.J. told Nancy everything she knew and Nancy listened attentively. When A.J. had finished, she said, “I have to be honest, this is way outside of my area of expertise . . . which is, um, general medicine. From what Andy’s told you and the symptoms you’ve described, it sounds like he’s suffering from primary-progressive multiple sclerosis.”

  “I don’t know what that means.”

  “It’s relatively rare.” Nancy gnawed her lip. “ The main thing is that it doesn’t go into remission. No course of treatment has been proven to modify its course. The patient experiences a steady increase of disability—sometimes slowly, sometimes not.”

  Abruptly A.J. had no appetite. She pushed her bread plate away. “God.”

  “It usually develops in older adults. It’s quite difficult to diagnose. I’m assuming Andy’s had a full battery of tests?”

  “He seems to think so.” A.J. said with difficulty, “His neurologist told him he’ll probably be in a wheelchair within a few years.”

  Nancy sighed. “You know, every case is different. And like any illness, a positive attitude with MS makes all the difference in the world. Not just to the prognosis but to the quality of life.” She hesitated. “Are you and Andy thinking about getting back together?”

  “No.”

  Nancy sat back in the leather bench. “I’m glad to hear it because I think Jake Oberlin has a little bit of a thing for you.”

  “What gave it away? The fact that he threatens to throw me in jail on a regular basis?”

  Nancy laughed. “Noo. It has more to do with
the way he looks at you when he thinks no one is watching him.”

  A.J. felt her face warm. “I’d like to think you’re right. I sort of have a little bit of thing for him.”

  “I sort of guessed,” Nancy teased.

  The waitress arrived with A.J.’s wine and jotted down their meal selections. A.J. and Nancy chatted about life in general until their food came.

  “Heavenly! Remind me again about food being the root of all evil?” A.J. inquired, breathing in the delicious fragrance of the garlic, basil, and white wine wafting from her plate of linguini and white clam sauce.

  However, she didn’t hear Nancy’s response because at that moment she caught a glimpse of Barbie Siragusa entering the restaurant dining room followed by a tall, black-haired, hawk-faced young man in a polo shirt and white jeans. Even if he hadn’t born a remarkable resemblance to his mother, A.J. would have recognized Oz Siragusa.

  A number of the other diners were also watching the reality TV maven, but Barbie ignored the stares, and A.J. had to give her credit. Barbie had nerves of steel, no doubt about it.

  Following the hostess through the maze of tables, Barbie and her son walked past A.J. and Nancy’s table. Barbie’s dark eyes met A.J.’s. She stared right through her.

  A.J. glanced at Nancy, and Nancy arched her eyebrows, not missing that deliberate diss. They watched curiously as Barbie and Oz, neither of them appearing to be in very good humor, took their seats and picked up their menus.

  Nancy sipped her wine and said, “Anyway, what were we saying? Oh. Andy’s going to need a lot of support—emotional and practical. Is he still with his . . . um . . . partner?”

  “I don’t know what’s going on there,” A.J. admitted. Judging by the ferocious eyebrows, Barbie and her son were now scowling at their menus—and still not speaking.

  “In sickness and in health, right?”

  “ Till death do us part, too, but that didn’t happen the first time around.”

  Nancy said a little sourly, “Sometimes I’m amazed anyone stays together. Charlayne’s father bailed when he found out I was pregnant.”

  “I remember. And yet for some couples kids are the glue that holds them together.”

  Eyes on Barbie, Nancy said in the tone of one thinking aloud, “I guess it partly depends on whose kid it is.”

  Meeting A.J.’s startled look, she grimaced. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “So Barbie is pregnant?”

  “Damn. A.J., I cannot—”

  “She’s taking prenatal Pilates courses at Sacred Balance.”

  “Oh.” Nancy relaxed. “I was afraid I was being indiscreet.”

  Nancy had always been indiscreet, but no one was kinder or more conscientious.

  A.J. said slowly, “But if Barbie is pregnant, who’s the father? It can’t be the Big Bopper. He’s safely tucked away in a maximum security facility in Colorado.”

  “Now I am being indiscreet, but since Barbie isn’t being particularly coy about it . . .” Nancy leaned forward across the table and said very softly, “According to Barbie, the father of her unborn child is J.W. Young.”

  Fifteen

  “It’s a simple process of elimination. Let’s see what we have.” Elysia nibbled on the end of her purple pen. “Suspect number one.” She looked around the circle of faces. A.J. and Andy were at Starlight Farm having what Elysia blithely referred to as a “council of war.” “Anyone?”

  “J.W. Young,” Andy said obligingly.

  A.J. shook her head, and speared a forkful of lettuce from her salmon salad.

  “Hmmm.” Elysia squinted down the length of her pen as though considering perspective. “Husbands do make wonderful suspects, I agree. I remember once on 221B Baker Street—”

  “So do wives,” A.J. interjected, eyeing Jane.

  Jane flushed.

  “Motive?” prodded Elysia.

  “He inherits Nicole’s money and house,” Andy said.

  “Do we know that for a fact?” A.J. questioned. “Because they weren’t married, so he’s not necessarily Nicole’s heir. She could have left everything to the baby koalas.”

  “Very good, pumpkin!”

  “Please don’t call me pumpkin.”

  Andy said, “Nicole was having an affair with Oz Siragusa.”

  “But did J.W. know about it?” A.J. questioned. “I don’t think he did. He didn’t bat an eye when mother and I started discussing Barbie.”

  “Nicole wasn’t having an affair with Barbie.”

  “Actually,” started A.J., but she was interrupted by Jane.

  “J.W. didn’t kill anyone. He wasn’t even in the country when it happened.”

  “Do we know that for a fact?” Andy asked. “Because that’s one of the oldest—”

  “J.W. is not a murderer!”

  Elysia scratched notes on her lavender legal pad, sipped from her glass of iced mineral water, scratched more notes, and looked up. “We must review all the evidence, Janie. We have to be utterly cold, ruthless professionals about this. Did you ever see Yul Brynner in that film where he’s searching for his son?”

  A.J. and Andy looked at each other. Jane merely looked puzzled.

  “J.W. Young.” Elysia seemed to savor the name. “Husbands and wives are always prime suspects. With very good reason. J.W. may or may not have inherited Nicole’s money—which he may or may not need. He may or may not have an alibi. Lovely.” She made a lavish check mark on her lined pad. “Suspect number two?”

  “Oz Siragusa,” Jane said. “He was having an affair with Nicole and she dumped him. That gives him a stronger motive than J.W.”

  “How do we know she dumped him?” Andy objected.

  “His friends seem to think she did,” A.J. said.

  “Find out for sure from Inspector Oberlin,” Elysia ordered.

  A.J. opened her mouth and then closed it.

  “The other thing about J.W.,” Andy reflected aloud, “is it’s his house. He had the best chance of sneaking in and out unnoticed. He’d know all the side and back entrances, and everyone’s patterns.”

  “You really are determined to pin this thing on him.” A.J. speared another piece of salmon.

  Andy shrugged. “If you watch those true crime shows, it’s always the husband or the wife.”

  “No one gets under your skin like a spouse, that’s true,” A.J. said.

  “Unless it’s an ex-spouse.”

  “Does Oz Siragusa have an alibi?” Elysia interrupted, inquiring of the room at large.

  The other three shrugged or looked at each other.

  Elysia pointed her pen at A.J. “Another one to verify with the inspector.”

  “Detective, Mother.”

  “Same difference, pu—pet.”

  “Puppet?” Andy inquired, grinning.

  “If you weren’t ailing, I’d kick you,” A.J. informed him.

  “Suspect number three,” Elysia announced. “Any takers?”

  “Lydia Thorne, the barking mad reviewer,” Andy said. “She was obsessed with Nicole, sent her threatening e-mails, wrote nasty reviews, and in general behaved very badly.”

  “We don’t even know if she was in the state at the time, let alone Nicole’s neighborhood,” A.J. said.

  “ That’s because you refuse to call her and ask.”

  Elysia looked up, eyes gleaming with interest.

  “Let me guess,” A.J. said. “Another one for my list?”

  Elysia’s smile resembled the Cheshire Cat.

  “Suspect number four.”

  “Barbie Siragusa,” A.J. said.

  “Exaaactly.” Elysia purred. “Her enmity to Nicole was of long-standing—as we used to say on 221B Baker Street.”

  A.J. groaned and Elysia stretched across and rapped her knuckles with her pen. “Ouch!”

  Elysia said, “Barbie’s son was having an affair with Nicole, and to add insult to injury, Nicole treated the boy badly.”

  “And J.W. was having an affair with Barbie,” A.J.
put in. “Which gives her another motive. She wanted Nicole’s man.”

  “What?” Jane’s voice cracked. The others stared.

  “According to Barbie, she was having an affair with J.W.”

  “No,” Jane said. “It’s not true.”

  “Suspect number five,” A.J. said quietly. “Jane.”

  “Yeowch,” murmured Andy.

  “Thanks a lot!” Jane said unsteadily. Tears filled her eyes. She wiped at them with the edge of her hand.

  “Anna,” Elysia cautioned.

  It did seem a little bit of a stretch. Could anyone look less like a murderer? That annoyingly fresh-faced pixie quality of Jane’s: it was like suspecting Pippi Longstocking of taking a hatchet to a playmate.

  “Do you still have the divorce papers?” A.J. asked suddenly.

  “What divorce papers?” That was Elysia looking from Jane to A.J.

  “You were there when Jane explained why she went to J.W’s house, Mother. The papers she says she brought J.W. to sign the afternoon Nicole was killed. She’s been on the run since it happened, so she should still have them.”

  Jane gave her a strange look, and then without speaking, rose and left the room. She was back a few moments later with a fat cream-colored envelope which she handed to A.J.

  The flap was tucked in, not sealed. A.J. opened it and drew out the papers, examining the envelope’s contents. Sure enough the documents enclosed included a marital separation agreement.

  Jane said shortly, “I went there to ask J.W. to sign the papers. That’s the truth. If I thought about Nicole at all, I thought it would be a—a kind of birthday present for her.”

  “But you didn’t announce yourself when you arrived?”

  “I know how it sounds, but I couldn’t find anyone. The hall was full of people—caterers and florists—but none of the household staff as far as I could make out. There was some problem with the drain in one of the downstairs bathrooms. And some of the wrong booze had been delivered.

  “I just thought I would see if J.W. was in his study.” Her blue eyes met A.J.’s and she made a face. “Okay. Yes. I admit I was a little curious. You can’t imagine how different that house was from the place J.W. and I lived. Rented. I poked my head in a couple of rooms just to . . . see how the other half lived.”