Murder on the Eightfold Path Read online

  He sat down gingerly on the side of the bed. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “You won’t.” She held out an arm and he came to her, kissing her mouth lightly.

  “Poor baby.”

  It should have been patronizing, but oddly . . . it wasn’t.

  She nuzzled him back. “How is the investigation going?”

  “Not good. And before you say anything else, remember that I cannot discuss this case with you. Not at all.”

  “She’s my mother, Jake.”

  “You think that escaped my notice? That’s my point.”

  “You cannot honestly believe she did this thing.”

  “Just cool down for a minute and look at this objectively.”

  “I don’t want to look at it objectively!”

  He drew back. “And I don’t want to discuss the case with you. So let’s drop it.” He added quietly, “Or I can leave if that’s what you’d prefer.”

  Would she prefer that? As angry and worried as A.J. was . . . she cared for Jake. A lot. Having to choose between her boyfriend and her mother was a dilemma she’d prefer not to face.

  “Don’t go,” she said.

  Not that they were going to be able to get up to much mischief what with her mother, The Accused, down the hall and A.J. unable to move a muscle without wincing. It took a fair bit of mindful shifting and rearranging before they managed to arrange themselves comfortably.

  A few minutes were spent tenderly kissing before Monster insinuated himself on the foot of the bed, circled twice, and folded up with a doggy grumble as he encountered Jake’s feet. Jake groaned. A.J. started laughing.

  When they had quieted, again finding easy—well, relatively easy positions—A.J. sighed. “This morning seems like such a long time ago.”

  Jake grunted.

  “Everything was so simple. Happy.” That morning had been lovely. Jake had spent the night and they’d risen together, breakfasting on warm, buttery croissants, bagels slathered with cream cheese, and Irish coffee. He’d given her a Mr. Goodtime Easter Bunny—sixteen and a half inches of hand decorated white and milk chocolate. Something about the self-conscious way her laconic tough guy had handed over the cellophane wrapped rabbit had touched A.J. in a way that her ex-husband Andy’s charming tokens of affection never had. Maybe because she sensed these kinds of gestures were not typical for Jake.

  Jake kissed her temple and said nothing. A.J. knew that he believed it was going to be a long time before her life was that simple and happy again.

  Either because of the drugs or emotional exhaustion, A.J. slept deeply—and late—the next morning. When she finally woke, Jake was already gone. She didn’t remember telling him good-bye.

  She didn’t feel too bad after a decent night’s sleep, but a few agonizing minutes later it was clear she was not going into the studio that morning. And all the will power and positive thinking in the world wasn’t going to change that.

  Before she had much time to fret, Elysia poked her head surreptitiously around the door. “Morning, sunshine!”

  “That’s just cruel,” A.J. informed her.

  Elysia raised her brows. “Now, now. A positive attitude is everything, as the Bard says.”

  “Mother, you know perfectly well the Bard never said such a thing.”

  “I suppose it’s more of an underlying thematic statement in his work.” Elysia moved the phone from the bedside table to the bed, and A.J. grimaced, sitting up with difficulty.

  She phoned the studio and spoke to Emma Rice, the geriatric Wonder Woman who doubled as one of the Sacred Balance Studio receptionists. A.J. answered the inevitable questions and offered reassurance. Emma put her through to Suze MacDougal, a junior instructor.

  “I knew it,” Suze exclaimed. “You’re never late. The shooting is all over the news. How’s your mom holding up?”

  Now there was a question for the ages. A.J. studied her mother as Elysia bustled from bedroom to bathroom running a bath. For a woman suspected of murder, she seemed pretty cool. But then no doubt she remembered a similar episode on 221B Baker Street, the legendary British television detective show she had graced for years, and was acting out her role.

  “Better than me, probably,” A.J. admitted. She went on to explain that she’d fallen and wouldn’t be making it into the studio. Suze commiserated with comforting energy.

  When A.J. felt she’d stalled long enough, she asked to be put through to Lily. Lily Martin was A.J.’s co-manager at the studio; it was not a partnership either of them would have chosen.

  “Yes, A.J.?” Lily came on the line, brusque as always, and A.J. had to wonder again at Aunt Di’s purpose in pairing them together. Yoga seemed like such an odd field of endeavor for Lily. A.J. could more easily picture her achieving her full potential intimidating marines in a boot camp somewhere or training gladiators for the Colosseum.

  Although Lily had to be aware of the situation with Elysia, she said nothing after that curt greeting, waiting in silence for A.J. to come to the point.

  “I fell yesterday and injured my back,” A.J. told her. “I won’t be in the studio today. Realistically, I probably won’t be in this week.” Even that might be optimistic, but A.J. had faced all the reality she could deal with for one day—and she hadn’t even had breakfast yet.

  “Oh dear!” Lily said, and A.J. couldn’t help but think there was as much excitement as surprise in that single exclamation.

  Lily asked the appropriate and intelligent questions, and A.J. answered politely—it was probably the most cordial conversation they’d ever had. Lily, sounding eerily sympathetic, instructed A.J. not to worry about anything, and finished off the call urging A.J. to take care of herself.

  A.J. pictured the other woman doing handsprings when she hung up the phone. Lily’s delight was only too obvious.

  “All taken care of?” Elysia returned to the bedroom.

  “It won’t be easy, but she’s going to soldier on somehow.” A.J. gingerly pulled herself into an upright position. She caught her breath as the pain seemed to radiate from her lower back all the way around to her abdomen and down to her buttocks.

  “Well, who can say? Perhaps Lily will appreciate you after having to manage things on her own for a few days.”

  A.J. snorted.

  “Now, now. Is this the spirit that won the war?” Still exuding unnerving cheer and optimism, Elysia helped A.J. into the bath, and A.J. thought how strange it was to rely on your mother for such things once you were an adult.

  “Thanks,” she said when she was finally lying back in her freshly changed sheets. “I appreciate it.” She patted Monster who stood on the mattress gazing down at her, wagging his tail.

  Elysia looked a little uncertain. “But of course. You know there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, Anna.”

  A.J. flicked her mother a shy look. “I know.” It had taken her most of her adult life to realize it, but she did know. She quickly changed the subject, demanding rhetorically, “What the heck am I going to do for a week?”

  “Why, any number of things. Catch up on your reading, watch a little telly, eat. It’ll be like a holiday.”

  “Sure, except for the excruciating pain part.”

  Elysia, bundling the used sheets from A.J.’s bed, frowned. “Are you in excruciating pain?”

  “It hurts a lot,” A.J. admitted although she hated to sound like a wimp.

  She stared at the ceiling as her mother took the laundry out. Monster jumped stiffly off the bed and followed her down the hall.

  When Elysia returned with A.J.’s breakfast, A.J. said, “I guess I could take a look at the book Aunt Di was working on when she—before she—”

  A.J. had discovered the completed manuscript when she had first gone through her aunt’s study. Every so often it occurred to her that she should do something with it, but she had been uncertain how to proceed.

  “What a good idea!” Elysia said. She helped A.J. sit up, settled the tray over A.J.’s knees, and st
epped back as though to study her handiwork.

  “What was the book about?” she asked, watching A.J. sample scrambled eggs.

  “It was a memoir. It seemed to be mostly finished. It might just be a matter of finding a publisher.”

  “Perfect. Where is this tome?”

  A.J. told Elysia where to find the manuscript and Elysia brought the box with loose-leaf papers and notes and Aunt Diantha’s rough draft. Studying her daughter’s supine position, she said, “Perhaps I could pick up one of those laptop writing desks . . .”

  “I already have a couple of trays, it’s the having to lie flat part,” A.J. said. She added thoughtfully, “You seem awfully interested in keeping me occupied.”

  “Idle hands are the devil’s playpen, pumpkin.”

  “My idle hands are not the problem here.”

  Elysia’s expression was wide-eyed and innocent.

  “I know that look,” A.J. said. “I don’t trust it. Or you. Tell me about Dicky. How did you meet him? He was on the cruise that you took last year?”

  “Oh, you don’t want to hear about all that.”

  “You’re right. But I think I’d better.”

  Elysia leaned against the footboard of the bed. “It’s not particularly fascinating, you know. We met on the cruise, yes. He was doing a series of lectures on ancient Egypt. Nothing too heavy, of course. Mostly slide shows and chatting.”

  “He was employed by the cruise line?”

  Elysia looked thoughtful. “I’m not absolutely certain. I believe technically he was employed by the Supreme Council of Antiquities, but had been seconded to the cruise line. They tried to break up the shuffleboard and miniature golf with a few cultural activities.”

  “How did you get involved?”

  Elysia shrugged elaborately.

  A.J. asked curiously, “Did you pursue him?”

  “Not really. I wasn’t looking for anything like that.”

  A.J. decided she’d be happier not knowing what that was. “So what happened? Just your ordinary average shipboard romance ending in blackmail and murder?”

  “I believe so, yes.”

  “You’re not being very helpful, Mother.”

  Elysia looked mildly pained. “It’s not as though I anticipated this, pumpkin. I was on holiday and I was enjoying myself. Dicky was . . . charming. We had great fun together and then . . . we didn’t.”

  Casting her mind back, A.J. recalled that Elysia had ended the cruise early, leaving the ship in Edfu, so perhaps the seeds of the affair’s violent ending had been sown even then? Except that her mother could not possibly have had anything to do with Mr. Massri’s demise, of that A.J. was certain.

  “When did he start blackmailing you?”

  “Weellllll,” Elysia sounded vague. “Perhaps blackmail was putting it rather harshly. He began to hint that he had certain expenses.”

  “What kind of expenses?”

  “The usual sort of thing. His tailor, his mechanic, his bookie. I didn’t think much of it.”

  “His bookie?”

  “Not back in Egypt, of course. But after he moved here, well, Dicky liked to play the ponies.”

  “And you paid him ten thousand dollars when he hinted he had these expenses?”

  Elysia raised an elegant bony shoulder. “Not in one go. I’m liberated enough to pick up the chit a few times.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “You know this part of the story, pumpkin. I learned that Nicole Manning had been murdered, and I left the ship in Edfu, hired a car for the return trip to Luxor, and flew back home.”

  Nicole Manning had been a local television celebrity. Her violent death had resulted in A.J. being unwillingly dragged into another homicide investigation by Elysia, who had developed an alarming taste for amateur sleuthing.

  “That’s the only reason you left the ship?”

  Elysia nodded, but it struck A.J. as unconvincing. Perhaps Elysia had not found extortion all that amusing to begin with. Her mother had an ego like anyone else.

  “But Dicky contacted you?”

  “He turned up one afternoon at the house and said he’d moved to the States to further his career.”

  “Which career? Blackmailing?”

  Elysia tittered—inappropriately, in A.J.’s opinion.

  “Did he try to blackmail you then?”

  “He didn’t phrase it quite so crudely.” Elysia smiled reminiscently. “We began seeing each other again.”

  “But you never said a word about him!”

  “He wasn’t the sort of person you bring home to meet your children.”

  “Do you have other children I’m not aware of?”

  Elysia seemed amused, which did not do much for A.J.’s mounting exasperation.

  “So how long did that go on for?”

  “Oh, it was still going on.” Elysia seemed mildly surprised at A.J.’s assumption. “We’d been seeing each other for about seven months. I knew I’d have to break it off soon, though, as he kept pushing for me to marry him.”

  A.J. shuddered. “I can’t believe you were living this double life.”

  “It sounds much more interesting than it was.”

  “Is it possible he could have been killed by his bookie? Maybe he . . . what do you call it? Welshed on his debt?”

  Elysia looked thoughtful. “He took his gambling debts very seriously, true enough. I wonder . . .”

  “Or maybe his death had something to do with his job? His other job. Perhaps he was involved in faking or smuggling antiquities? It’s big business, I know.”

  Elysia looked thoughtful. “It’s interesting you should mention that. Dear Dicky did hint once or twice that he knew something, shall we say . . . unsavory? And wanted to clear the slate. Prove himself worthy before our marriage.”

  “Mother, did you tell him you were going to marry him?”

  Elysia said evasively, “I didn’t say I wouldn’t.”

  A.J. put her hand over her eyes.

  “I was working up to it,” Elysia said defensively. “But he was pinning so much on it, poor ducks. I hated to dash his hopes when he was just getting his life on track again.”

  When she could speak calmly, A.J. said, “Did he give you any hint as to what this unsavory thing was that he wanted to clear off his slate? Are you sure it had to do with antiquities?”

  Elysia said apologetically, “You know, I didn’t always listen as carefully to the dear boy as I suppose I should have.”

  “You don’t say!”

  Elysia rose and went to the window. She stared out for a few moments and then stiffened. She bit her lip, her attention still glued to whatever she was looking at.

  “What is it?” A.J. asked uneasily.

  “You won’t like it.”

  “I’m getting used to that.”

  “I know you’re in pain, Anna, but please don’t take that tone with me.”

  A.J. gritted her teeth. “Who is out there, Mother?”

  “Now don’t overreact, pumpkin. The police have arrived.”

  Four

  A.J. had managed to hobble down the hall when Elysia opened the front door. She could see two uniformed officers—looking very uncomfortable—and, behind them, Jake.

  Elysia greeted them coolly. “Ah, Inspector. Did you bring your leg irons?”

  “For the record, Mrs. Alexander, I’m not enjoying this.”

  A.J., hanging onto the wall for support, joined the tableau at the door. “Jake, this is ridiculous,” she protested.

  Jake moved past the uniformed officers and Elysia stepped back haughtily, but Jake was not reaching for her. His grip on A.J.’s arms was hard but supportive. “Look, I don’t want to do this. It’s my job, all right?”

  “No, it’s not all right. You’re arresting my mother!”

  He threw a look at the waiting officers, and lowered his voice. “I know exactly who she is. I don’t have a choice here, honey.”

  Honey. Disconcertingly, it undermined her an
ger.

  Elysia said briskly, “No need to fuss, Anna. Call Bradley and tell him to exercise option B.” To Jake, she said disdainfully, “I’ll be out from behind bars by lunch.”

  Jake said shortly, “It’s already past lunch.”

  Elysia ignored this.

  “I’ll call him,” A.J. said. She freed herself from Jake’s hold, shuffling toward the phone in the hall as she threw back, “And you’d better not handcuff her!”

  “Ooh, kinky,” Elysia bit out.

  Jake said wearily, “Elysia Alexander, we’re arresting you on suspicion of homicide. . . .”

  A.J. watched Elysia stalk down the porch steps followed by the bemused officers. Jake hesitated in the doorway, waiting for A.J. to say something or at least acknowledge he was still there. A.J. knew it, yet couldn’t quite bring herself to soften toward him—largely because she was struggling to maintain her composure.

  Then Mr. Meagher came on the line, and when A.J. next glanced around Jake was gone and the front door was closed.

  Her heart sank, but there was no time to worry about what this disaster was doing to her relationship with Jake. She hastily filled Mr. Meagher in on the latest developments, and he grimly reassured her he was on the case.

  A.J. hung up the phone and tottered back to the bedroom, shoved her barely touched brunch tray and Aunt Diantha’s manuscript out of the way, and eased flat on the mattress once more.

  She had no doubt that Mr. Meagher would get her mother out of the slammer in short order, but then what? If Jake had gone so far as to arrest Elysia, the evidence piling up against her must be fairly damning.

  A.J. wasn’t given to panicking, but the situation seemed bleak, despite Elysia’s casual attitude. It was unbelievable to think her mother might actually go to trial—even be convicted—but unfortunately she had spent too many years married to a man who adored television crime drama not to know that these things happened in the best of families.

  Let alone in eccentric clans like her own.

  Monster came to the side of the bed and snuffled her face. “What are we going to do?” A.J. asked him.

  His recommendation seemed to be that A.J. let him have her lunch if she wasn’t going to eat it. A.J. vetoed this, and he climbed creakily on the bed, circled twice, and settled with a doggie hmmph.