Corpse Pose Page 7

  He ignored the jibe. “That was over forty years ago, wasn’t it?”

  “It doesn’t matter if it was a hundred years ago. Di never got over it. There was never anyone else for her. She lived like a nun.”

  “A nun?” he repeated mildly.

  “Well, one of those New Age nuns, I suppose. Anyway, the point is that Di did not have a lover or a boyfriend.”

  He turned to A.J. “Your aunt was an extremely wealthy woman. Do you know who inherits her money?”

  A.J. hesitated. He waited, his gaze level.

  “We stopped at my aunt’s lawyer when we arrived in town yesterday. Mr. Meagher told me that I inherit the bulk of my aunt’s estate.”

  “You’re claiming that you didn’t know?”

  Well, if she wanted to belabor the point, Andy had told her first, but she knew that wasn’t what Oberlin meant; he meant had she known about her good fortune long enough for it to provide a motive for murder. She said steadily, “I didn’t know.”

  She could hear the clock ticking in the disbelieving silence that followed her words.

  “It was certainly a shock to me,” Elysia put in. “The last time the subject of wills came up, I was my sister’s beneficiary.”

  “And when would that have been, ma’am?”

  Elysia looked vague. “Difficult to say…. Hmm. Nineteen eighty…four perhaps?”

  Just for a moment A.J. thought Oberlin was going to roll his eyes. Of course, he was much too uptight and serious of a cop to go in for eye rolling. He stared at Elysia for a long moment, then gave a slight nod as though she had confirmed one of his darkest suspicions.

  Buddy, you ain’t seen nothing yet, A.J. thought. Even she was beginning to wonder at Elysia’s efforts to push herself into Oberlin’s investigation. If it were anyone else’s mother, A.J. might have suspected Elysia of trying to, well, protect her daughter. This being Elysia, A.J. tended to believe she was merely angling for a larger role.

  Oberlin rose. “Okay. Thanks for your time. You’ll be staying for the funeral. What are your plans after that?”

  “I haven’t made any yet,” A.J. replied.

  “Make sure you let me know before you leave town.”

  He went out. Monster lifted his head with sudden interest. After a moment, the dog rose and trotted after the man.

  A.J. was changing for their four o’clock appointment at Mr. Meagher’s office when the phone rang.

  “I’ve got it!” she yelled.

  “How are you?” Andy asked when she picked up the phone.

  “Fine. How’s Lula Mae?” A.J. glanced down the hall where Elysia was apparently conducting an impromptu cupboard inspection. She could hear the cabinet doors squeaking open and squeaking closed.

  “Fine,” Andy replied. “I’m fine, too. Thanks for asking.”

  A.J.’s blood pressure shot up like Old Faithful at showtime. “Look, I’m glad you’re fine, okay? I’m glad you and what’s-his-name are having a gay old time with my cat while I’m trapped here on the edge of the world under police surveillance with my crazy mother!” She hissed the last part like a stage villain acting out for the back row.

  A long silence followed. A.J. drew a shuddering breath.

  Andy said at last, “She’s my cat, too.”

  She began to laugh. It really wasn’t that funny, but for a few moments she wasn’t sure she could stop. When she got control of herself, Andy said, “It’s going to be okay, sweetheart. You didn’t do anything. Nick says the cops are just—”

  “I don’t care what Nick says!” The thought of Andy discussing her, discussing her plight with his new partner was unbearable. She forced her voice to a lower octave. “They don’t have any other suspects. I’m it!”

  “It’s early days yet. They’re still gathering evidence.”

  A.J.’s eyes flashed to the kitchen doorway. No sign of Elysia, but it sounded awfully quiet in there.

  “I watch 48 Hours. I know how important the first few days are in solving a homicide. They aren’t looking at anyone else. They think I killed Aunt Di. Which means that, with every passing hour, the real killer is getting further and further beyond their grasp.”

  Andy made shushing sounds. A.J. was painfully reminded of all the times he’d comforted her in the past. It took a lot to make Andy mad. A.J. had always been the high-strung one, the hot-tempered one, but Andy knew how to calm her down. He could always make her laugh, and failing that, he knew just what little treat or trinket would snap her out of her moods. He understood the medicinal properties of chocolate and ice cream and hugs. She would have given anything for a hug from him now, but now it wouldn’t be the same.

  It would never be the same again.

  Into her dreary thoughts, Andy asked, “Have you hired a lawyer yet?”

  “No.” She swallowed hard. “Not really. We’re going to see Mr. Meagher in a little while. He’s—was—Aunt Di’s lawyer. He’s handling her will.”

  “That’s not what I mean.”

  “I know what you mean. I’m afraid it will look…guilty.”

  “You need to hire a lawyer.”

  “They haven’t openly accused me, let alone charged me. They’re still being very polite.”

  “Listen to me. They’ve subpoenaed our business records. They’ve probably subpoenaed your bank records.”

  A.J.’s heart was pounding so hard she could hardly hear over it. For a moment she felt light-headed.

  “Do you hear me?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m not saying this to panic you, sweetheart. Nick says—”

  She controlled herself with an effort. “Andy, please. Don’t quote Nick to me, okay? I don’t care if he has fifteen years of law enforcement. I don’t care how decorated he is, or how many murders he solved or people he arrested. I don’t care what he thinks, and I don’t want to hear what he said. As far as I’m concerned, he doesn’t exist.”

  She knew him well enough to know that his silence meant he was both hurt and angry. She knew that, and yet she hadn’t known the most fundamental thing about him.

  Those seemingly never-faraway tears stung the back of her eyes as she hung on to the phone waiting in painful silence.

  “Okay,” Andy said finally, quietly. “Just don’t put it off too long.”

  Seven

  “Was that Andrew?” Elysia asked, setting a plate of granola cookies on the table. “Is he on his way?”

  A.J. sat cautiously on one of the hard-backed kitchen chairs and stifled a flare of bad temper. She told herself she was annoyed that her mother was in the kitchen taking charge, but that would be really unreasonable, since a plate of cookies and a pot of tea hardly equaled a domestic coup.

  “On his way where?”

  “On his way here, of course.” Elysia sat down and selected a cookie, her long lacquered nails grasping like pincers. She smelled of cigarettes and the cold outside, and, illogically, that irritated A.J. all the more.

  “Mother, we’re divorced. No, he’s not on his way.”

  Elysia’s brows drew together. “Why in the world didn’t you ask him to come? Can’t you see that’s why he called?”

  “He called to tell me that our business and bank records have been confiscated by the police.”

  Elysia waved that minor detail away. “I know men. Andrew needs an excuse to—”

  “Mother, Andrew is homosexual. He left me for another man.”

  There. She’d said it. It was out. Like Andy.

  Astonishingly, Elysia laughed. “Crikey, pumpkin. Just because a man experiments a bit doesn’t mean he’s homosexual. All sensitive, sophisticated men occasionally experiment.”

  Experiment? She pictured Andy in a lab coat whipping up Love Potion Number Nine in a cocktail shaker.

  “It wasn’t an experiment. He’s in love with this man. He broke up our marriage over it.”

  “He broke up your marriage?” Elysia questioned gently. “Are you sure you didn’t force the issue? I know how demanding you
can be, Anna. How difficult it is for you to forgive imperfection.”

  What happened to all the oxygen in the room? For a moment A.J. couldn’t seem to get her breath. But maybe that was just as well because if she could breathe, she’d be screaming. Her hands clenched on her teacup so hard she thought she’d snap the handle.

  And yet, when she finally squeezed the words out, she sounded quite pleasant. “I don’t want to discuss this with you.”

  “It would help you to talk,” Elysia said earnestly. “It’s not good to keep these feelings bottled up inside.”

  A.J. bit back a laugh. Keeping feelings bottled up reduced the number of homicides, but it would be better not to joke about that.

  Elysia sighed and shrugged. “You’ve always been closed. Even when you were a child. Except with your father of course. And your aunt.”

  A.J. popped a cookie in her mouth and ground it up in silence. She swallowed and thought all those little flakes and nuts were going to choke her. She had to get some real food right away. Something with refined sugar and a high fat content.

  Elysia glanced at the clock on the wall. “I suppose, if you won’t talk to me, we should be on our way to Mr. Meagher’s.” She sounded sad but bravely resigned to her fate.

  Once in the car, though, she cheered up. There was nothing like the opportunity to critique other drivers to put Elysia in a good mood. They zipped along the country lane, passing parkland, lakes, horse ranches with glossy-coated thoroughbreds grazing in green fields, and even an emu farm.

  Elysia downshifted around a lumbering tractor, and a few minutes later they blazed into the outer town limits.

  It was rush hour in Stillbrook. A few pedestrians strolled along the sidewalks with shopping bags, and three cars sat at the stoplight. Elysia parked along the street with her usual frightening efficiency. The air smelled deliciously of hamburgers as she and A.J. left the car and walked across to the lawyer’s office.

  A.J. rang the bell and was a little surprised when the door was answered by a young girl with long dark hair and green eyes so pale they looked gray. She was strikingly pretty but anorexic thin, and her nails, when she gestured for them to follow her, were bitten to bloody quicks. Her eyes were red-rimmed as though she had been crying. It was hard to picture Mr. Meagher bullying his office staff, but maybe he was tougher than he looked.

  “Everybody’s downstairs,” she told them in a tear-roughened voice.

  A.J. and Elysia exchanged glances. A.J. had been assuming this meeting would be a mere formality between herself, her mother, and Mr. Meagher. But, as Detective Oberlin kept pointing out, Aunt Di had been a wealthy woman. It wasn’t unreasonable that she might have made several bequests.

  Sure enough, when they reached the office downstairs, the room was full of people. Mr. Meagher was dressed in a snazzy dark suit with a red paisley tie; his silver pompadour was neatly brushed. The funny papers from the other day were gone, and there was no sign of the cockatoo or its cage anywhere.

  “Ah, ladies. Perfect timing,” he greeted them, stepping forward to shake hands. To the strikingly pretty young girl he said, “That’s all for today, Chloe. Thank you.”

  The girl murmured something inarticulate and vanished down the hallway.

  Mr. Meagher quickly did the honors. “Might I introduce you to Lily Martin?”

  Lily Martin was forty-something, small and lean, with a severe black bob and brown eyes set beneath defiantly thick eyebrows. She wore a black turtleneck, black Capri pants, and a small black beret. She was not pretty but she had presence.

  “Lily was Diantha’s right hand at the studio,” Mr. Meagher informed A.J.

  Lily raised one thick eyebrow. “I’m the number one teacher at Sacred Balance Studio,” she said.

  Since Diantha had been the number one instructor at Sacred Balance, this staking of territory seemed both unnecessary and unfeeling, but A.J. murmured something noncommittal and briefly shook the other woman’s hand.

  “And this is Michael Batz.” Mr. Meagher indicated a very tanned young man with a mop of golden Raphaelesque curls.

  “Hi,” said Batz. He immediately sat down again, as though he feared someone might snatch his seat. A.J. put him somewhere in his late twenties. He was medium height and muscularly built with small and rather graceful hands.

  “I think we’ve met,” Elysia remarked. “You’re the athlete, aren’t you?”

  Batz nodded. That seemed to be all the explanation they were going to get for his presence; Mr. Meagher turned to the remaining person.

  “And I think you both know Stella Borin.”

  Stella, her hair in tight wiry ringlets and wearing a shapeless black and forest green jumper, nodded gravely.

  A.J. and Elysia took their seats in the chairs that looked as though they had been misappropriated from a dining table. Mr. Meagher made his way behind his enormous desk.

  He cleared his throat. “Last will and testament of Diantha Naomi Mason, deceased. Filed August 29….”

  Lily sighed, either from relief or impatience. Elysia directed a chilling look her way, but the younger woman didn’t so much as turn her head. She really didn’t fit A.J.’s picture of a yoga instructor; she looked as if she should be reciting bad poetry in a smoky Bohemian club.

  “I, Diantha Naomi Mason, a resident of Warren County, New Jersey, being of sound and disposing mind and memory and over the age of eighteen years, and not being actuated by any duress, menace, fraud, mistake, or undue influence, do make, publish, and declare this to be my last will, hereby expressly revoking all wills and codicils previously made by me.” Mr. Meagher paused to peer over the tops of his spectacles.

  Elysia smiled at him; he beamed back and then awkwardly cleared his throat.

  “Ahem. ‘Executor: I appoint Bradley P. Meagher, attorney at law as executor of this my last will and testament. My executor shall be authorized to carry out all provisions of this will and pay my just debts, obligations, and funeral expenses.’”

  Not a word from anyone. In fact everyone seemed to be holding their breath, and yet surely they knew the dispensation of the will? The cops knew. It didn’t appear to be a secret.

  “Bequests. I will, give, and bequeath unto the persons named below, if he or she survives me, the property described below. To my sister Elysia Esther Alexander, John Brewster Jr.’s painting of a girl with dove, our shared family photo albums, the silver framed photos of our parents, and the McCoy Mammy biscuit jar.”

  Elysia delicately touched the corners of her eyes with a lacey handkerchief that had apparently materialized in her hand.

  “To my neighbor and good friend Stella Borin, the iron doorstop in the shape of a cat which sits by the front door, and the deed to Little Peavy Farm.”

  Elysia sniffed. Once again A.J. wondered what the history was between her mother and Stella.

  “Oh, bless her heart!” breathed Stella. “The dear woman.”

  “She was that. Ahem. ‘To my student and dear friend, Michael Joshua Batz, one hundred thousand dollars to be spent on training, fees, etc., for the 2012 Olympic Games, provided that he continues to meet the criteria as given to my executor in a special codicil.’”

  “Good God,” Elysia murmured. One thing no one would ever accuse Elysia of was being repressed—but A.J. kept trying. She nudged her parent in the ribs.

  “What does that mean? What codicil?” Michael Batz looked more bewildered than pleased.

  “We will go over the provisions of the codicil in private,” Mr. Meagher said, glancing up over the top of his spectacles.

  Michael nodded quickly.

  Out of the corner of her eyes A.J. could feel Elysia’s eyes on her face. She turned her head and Elysia nodded infinitesimally toward Lily.

  Lily was so rigid, she appeared to be trembling. The knuckles of the hands knotted in her lap were white.

  What was she expecting?

  The deed to a farm, a hundred thousand dollars? Either of these might be sufficient motive for murd
er.

  “To my fellow student of the Four Noble Truths and traveler on the Eightfold Path, Lily Martin. Five hundred thousand dollars and twenty-five percent shares in all stock resulting from development of Sacred Balance subsidiary product lines including Sacred Balance Organic Foods, Sacred Balance Clothing Line, and Sacred Balance Skin and Body Care. Finally, it is my sincere wish that you continue as lead instructor and joint manager at Sacred Balance Studios for as long as you choose, working to guide and teach my—”

  “Wait!” Lily stood up. She was shaking visibly now. “What about the studio itself? What about Sacred Balance Studio?”

  Mr. Meagher scowled, his Irish accent pronounced. “If you’d be so kind as to let me continue….”

  Batz put a hand on her arm and she sank back into her chair. She swallowed hard a couple of times like someone who suspects they’ve been poisoned.

  Mr. Meagher cleared his throat again. “…working to guide and teach my principle heir. Namaste.”

  “Namaste? Who the devil is Namaste?” Elysia whispered, glancing around the room.

  “It’s a salutation,” A.J. whispered back.

  “Oh.” Elysia’s cheeks grew slightly pink.

  “I give, devise, and bequeath all of the rest, residue, and remainder of my estate, of whatever kind and character, and wherever located, to me dearly beloved niece Anna Jolie Alexander.”

  It was not unexpected, yet A.J.’s breath caught as her aunt’s touching words and generous act hit home, renewing her grief.

  “That’s not possible.” Lily stood up, shaking off Batz’s restraining hand. “She said the studio was mine. Di always said Sacred Balance would be mine one day.” She turned to Batz. “You heard her. Everyone heard her. Everyone knows the studio is mine now.”

  Batz said awkwardly, “Yeah, it’s pretty much common knowledge.” He looked at A.J. and looked away.

  “Nevertheless,” Mr. Meagher said crisply, “Ms. Mason was most clear in her bequests, and if I may say so, most generous.”

  Lily was shaking her head, denying this, denying everything. “That will is wrong. That will is a forgery. Di wouldn’t make a mistake like that.”