Corpse Pose Read online

  “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,” Elysia was saying, clopping back across the street.

  “Jesus Christ!” exclaimed Detective Oberlin.

  It was like a religious revival, A.J. thought. She blinked up, trying to focus, and Detective Oberlin’s face swam into her line of vision. He was joined by Elysia, and then the alarmed face of his dinner companion.

  “Wow,” said Oberlin’s friend—apparently an atheist.

  Oberlin knelt down next to A.J., which she found oddly embarrassing. She tried to sit up, and he put an unexpectedly gentle hand on her shoulder.

  “Just lay still, Ms. Alexander.” He got out his cell phone and began dialing.

  “Oh, pumpkin,” moaned Elysia.

  “D’you mind not calling me that?” A.J. requested, momentarily distracted.

  “But you are my pumpkin,” Elysia said. “You’re my little pumpkin.”

  Detective Oberlin was requesting an ambulance. A.J. gathered her wits and made another effort to sit up. She bit back a yelp as Oberlin slipped a supportive arm around her shoulders. It wasn’t the pain of her back; that felt pretty much like normal, other than the fact that her spine seemed to have been replaced with barbed wire. It was the alarm of being in this guy’s arms—arm.

  “Listen, you need to keep still,” he said. “You could have a concussion or a spinal injury.”

  “Oh God, oh God,” Elysia said.

  “Oh wow,” said the atheist.

  “I’m okay,” A.J. said, wincing as she felt the back of her skull. “Really. I don’t need an ambulance. I was just stunned for a minute.”

  “I saw it happen,” Oberlin said. “You took a hell of a knock on the head.”

  “My least vulnerable area,” A.J. assured him. She studied her fingers. No blood, thank goodness. “I think my coat absorbed most of the fall.”

  She loved this coat. It was a Jil Sander cinnamon leather and shearling design; it had been a Christmas gift from Andy three years ago. She hoped her unscheduled splash down hadn’t ruined it, although better the coat than her.

  Oberlin was still hesitating, and A.J. said again, “No ambulance. I just want to go home and go to bed.”

  He nodded curtly, canceled the ambulance, and began dialing again. “I guess you didn’t get a license number?”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “How many yellow Hummers can there be in this county?” Elysia asked.

  “Good point. You’re sure it was yellow? It looked white under the lights.”

  “It was yellow. I’d stake my reputation on it.”

  Her reputation as what? A.J. wondered. TV sleuth or innocent bystander?

  “Hey,” said the young teddy-bear-looking guy, “aren’t you Easy Mason?”

  Elysia, tying a silk scarf over her hair, paused and preened. “Well! How nice of you to notice.”

  “I heard you lived around here, but I never dreamed…”

  Okay, now A.J. knew for sure that he, at least, was gay. Easy Mason was practically a gay icon, a scary cross between Joan Collins and Margaret Thatcher. Normal red-blooded American men did not have a clue who Easy Mason was.

  “Yeah, dispatch,” Oberlin was saying, “I’ve got an attempted hit-and-run—” He rose and moved off a few steps.

  A.J. drew in her legs, preparing to stand. Two pairs of helping hands reached out. A.J. grabbed for her mother’s hand and for the young guy’s hand as she struggled to her feet. It wasn’t graceful, but she was standing again, and that was good news.

  “I’ve seen all your movies. I’ve got the limited release letterbox edition of Girl in the Gold Jag, and I’ve even got a bootlegged copy of the first season of 221B Baker Street.”

  “Quiet, please,” Oberlin requested. He proceeded to give a description of the Hummer. “Nothing on the plates,” he said. “Tinted windows. I couldn’t see the driver.”

  A.J. realized she was shaking and it wasn’t just due to the cold and wet. Detective Oberlin finished his phone conversation and turned to her. “You’re sure you don’t want to take a guess as to who was driving that vehicle?’

  “You said yourself the windows were tinted….” The significance of his question sank in. “You mean you think—? But it had to be an accident!”

  His eyes glittered like emeralds in the faded light. They met hers gravely. “I happened to be staring out the window when you started across the street. That Hummer accelerated toward you.”

  A.J. swallowed hard. “But that doesn’t make sense.”

  He shrugged. “That’s the way it looked to me.”

  A.J. looked to her mother for confirmation. “I was watching you, pumpkin. I didn’t see the Hummer until it was too late.” Elysia shuddered at the memory.

  “You have any enemies, Ms. Alexander? Annoy anyone lately?”

  She thought instantly of Lily and wondered if Oberlin knew about Lily’s reaction to Diantha’s will. But Lily hadn’t threatened to kill her; she’d threatened to sue her. Talk about ironic: try the idea of killing someone over a yoga studio.

  She saw Elysia’s lips part, and said hastily, “I’m sure this was just a coincidence.” She threw her mother a warning look.

  “Coincidence?” Oberlin seemed to go on alert. “So someone did threaten you?”

  “No. Of course not. I think Lily Martin was upset that I inherited my aunt’s yoga studio. She talked about suing me, but I think it was mostly…shock.”

  “It’s worth checking out,” Oberlin said grimly.

  Into the silence that followed his words, Elysia said briskly, “Well, let’s get you home, pumpkin.”

  “Is there anything else?” A.J. asked Oberlin.

  “That’s it. For the moment.”

  “It doesn’t make sense. Why would anyone try to run me down?”

  A.J. didn’t realize she had spoken the words aloud until Elysia said carelessly, “Policemen see crimes and criminals everywhere. Accidents happen every day.”

  As though illustrating her point, the lights changed at the intersection and Elysia put the pedal to the metal as though the flags had just cut the air at the Indy 500.

  Over the screech of tires, A.J. said, “Yeah, but it’s quite a coincidence that a couple of hours after inheriting Aunt Di’s fortune, someone tries to run me down.”

  “You can hardly suspect Andy.”

  A.J. stared at her mother. “It never—why would you even suggest such a thing?”

  Elysia looked, for once, momentarily flustered. “Why, I…Andrew is your heir, isn’t he? At least until you rewrite your own will. If one were to be cold-bloodedly logical about the entire matter, I suppose Andrew has an excellent motive—one of the best.”

  No, that was even crazier than the idea that someone might have deliberately tried to run her down.

  “Is that the world according to 221B Baker Street?”

  Elysia said a little haughtily, “Perhaps my years of sleuthing have jaded my view of human nature, but no one knows better than I that Andrew is incapable of hurting another person.”

  A.J. opened her mouth then closed it. “I suppose I do need to make a new will.”

  Elysia made a disapproving noise but didn’t reply. They were flashing past the little shops and stores, most of them now closed for the night. As they neared the edge of town, A.J. spotted a gas station and mini-mart.

  “Can we stop for a minute? I’ve got to get some things.”

  Elysia pulled into the small parking lot, and A.J. hobbled into the store, ignoring her body’s protest. She only hoped her aunt had some kind of sore-muscle pain reliever; her body didn’t yet realize the extent of what it had to protest.

  “If you were still hungry, pumpkin, you need only have said so,” Elysia murmured, watching A.J. pile squeeze cheese and crackers, frozen yogurt, cherry Pop-Tarts, Ding Dongs, Yoo-hoo, a bag of lettuce and a carton of milk just for form’s sake, pizza rolls, microwave popcorn, and Doritos into the plastic basket.

  “I’m just picking up some staples.�
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  “Were you planning on spending your entire inheritance in this store?” Elysia asked a few minutes later when the shopping spree showed no sign of stopping.

  A.J. ignored her, lugging her basket through the aisle and heaving it onto the counter. The clerk studied the gaily colored packages of processed food and raised an eyebrow.

  “You’re the niece of that yoga lady, aren’t you?”

  Surprised, A.J. nodded. “Did you know my aunt?”

  “Knew of her. Everyone knew of her. Always butting into everyone else’s business. Always giving her opinion where nobody asked for it.” The woman rang up the junk food with practiced speed.

  A.J. flushed. “My aunt spoke up for what she believed in. She tried to help people.”

  “The best way to help people is to mind your own business.”

  “Save your breath, pet,” Elysia drawled to A.J. “There’s no point arguing with savages.”

  “Savages!” exclaimed the woman. “Savages.” She shook her head and thrust the plastic bags at A.J. “You talk to some of the farmers around here. See how much help your aunt was to them.”

  In silence, A.J. and Elysia got back in the car and sped along the road to Deer Hollow.

  Elysia said at last, “This is an unpleasant and uncivilized country.”

  “One person’s opinion.” A.J. wasn’t sure if she meant the clerk at the convenience store or Elysia. “Do you know what she meant about the farmers?”

  “No idea.” Elysia jerked her pointed chin at the back seat laden with groceries. “Anyway, I’m not sure what all this laying in of provisions is in aid of. You can’t still be planning to stay at Deer Hollow.”

  “Of course I’m staying there. The farm is my home.”

  “Pumpkin, did you happen to hit your head when you fell? Because that is a bloody daft idea. Your home is in Manhattan.”

  “I just mean temporarily,” A.J. said. She felt guilty saying it, and she wasn’t exactly sure why.

  “Why in the world would you want to stay in that drafty old hole when you could stay with me? We could have such fun.” Elysia sighed, recalling sentimental memories of mother-daughter events that existed only in her imagination. “We could have a-a sort of slumber party.”

  Now that really was a frightening idea. Mud packs and the exchange of midnight girlish confidences with Elysia?

  “I have to sort through all Aunt Di’s things. It makes sense to stay at the farm. I can work late at night and start early in the morning.”

  “You can still stay late and drive over early in the morning from Starlight Farm.”

  The problem was—had always been—that A.J. could not out-argue Elysia. Her mother just kept coming up with reasons why A.J. needed to do exactly what she wanted. She had an inexhaustible supply of them for every occasion. A.J. strained for patience. “Mother, I want to stay there.”

  She sounded like one of those old TV commercials: Mother, please! I’d rather do it myself!

  “I see.”

  “I” and “see.” Could there be two more dire words in the English language?

  The shining road spooled before them, the moon glinting between the rooftop of trees. White tree trunks flashed past, the occasional red gleam of eyes flashing in the underbrush.

  Elysia didn’t speak another word on the drive home, and although it was not a long drive, it felt like forever before they pulled into Aunt Di’s drive and parked beneath the trees.

  “Will you be all right?” Elysia asked. “Not that you would know.”

  “I’ll be fine.” A.J. got out and reached for her groceries. They weighed a ton. And so would she if she ate all of it.

  “Good night, Mother. Thank you for dinner.”

  “I’ll call you in the morning,” Elysia said. “I hope you’ll still be alive.”

  “If I’m not, just leave a message.”

  A.J. climbed the porch and let herself in. Monster greeted her at the door. She did a quick reconnoiter—to use Elysia’s term—of the rooms and waved the all clear. The blue and white Land Rover snarled disapproval, and then Elysia backed up the vehicle and took off down the dirt road.

  A.J. sighed, staring after the red taillights. It was hard to imagine anyone less suited to a Land Rover, but perhaps her mother had played Lady Explorer in a film.

  A.J. fed Monster and ran herself a very hot bath. She soaked her aching muscles until the water began to cool, and then she toweled off and examined the cupboards, finding something called Tiger Balm.

  Liberally coated in oil, and smelling strongly of camphor, A.J. headed for the kitchen. She microwaved a packet of popcorn and went into the parlor to start a fire. She was tired but restless, and the silence was beginning to claw at her nerves. It was a pity Aunt Di hadn’t invested in a small television for the front room. A canned laugh track would have helped right about now. She remembered her brave words of wanting to sort through Diantha’s belongings, but the truth was, she wanted to postpone that task for as long as she reasonably could.

  As she sat there watching the fireplace flames dance, she remembered the letter from Aunt Di that Mr. Meagher had given her.

  She retrieved it from her purse and ran the edge of her thumb under the heavy cream flap. Just for an instant she thought she caught a whiff of Aunt Di’s fragrance, that light blend of green tea soap and Japanese flowers. It was a scent straight from her childhood.

  She unfolded the thick paper and stared at the black symbols on the cream stationery. She had to blink a couple of times before the symbols became words.

  Dear A.J.,

  The women of our family all share one trait: it’s difficult for us to talk about the things that matter the most to us. You were born at six o’clock on a rainy London night, and from that moment, you became one of the things in my life that means the most to me.

  Time and distance doesn’t change that because the time and distance between us is a matter of minutes and miles, never of the heart.

  In every way that matters, you are my daughter, and it is only right that I leave whatever legacy I have to you.

  I hope that this door opens when you most need it, A.J. I hope that you will welcome this opportunity without regret or guilt, for those are useless emotions. I know that you will always face the future with courage and grace.

  There was a story you loved when you were little. Fairies attend the baptism of a little princess and bestow blessings on her: beauty, wealth, charm, the usual.The blessings that I would bestow on you are a joyful spirit and a heart at peace. I can’t wave a magic wand over your head, but I can open this door.

  Be happy, darling girl.

  Love, Aunt Di

  A.J. blinked hard but the tears would not be stopped. She let them spill, her aunt’s words disappearing in the dazzle of firelight and shadow.

  Ten

  The sun was shining when A.J. woke. She was astonished to see that it was only eight o’clock. She had slept so deeply and dreamlessly she expected to see the clock hands pointing to noon.

  The aches and pains of the previous night were noticeably missing. For a few moments she simply lay there blinking in the sunshine, listening to the sweet trill of birds outside the window. While she couldn’t exactly say that she had achieved the kind of peace that Aunt Di had wished for her, she did feel calmer than she had in days, weeks, maybe even months.

  Even the memory of Lily’s anger, her own brush with death, and the knowledge that Detective Oberlin thought A.J. might have something to do with her aunt’s murder left her strangely untroubled. In fact, the only thing that really bothered her was the memory of Elysia tearing off into the night in her Land Rover.

  The women of our family all share one trait: it’s difficult for us to talk about the things that matter the most to us.

  It was early enough that she could still drive into Stillbrook, pick up a peace offering in the form of the German pastries that Elysia was so fond of, and drive out to Starlight Farm. She considered this plan for a sun-
dappled moment and realized that she really did want to make peace with her mother. Last night had almost been…well, moments of it had almost been…nice. Or at least less maddening than most of their other mother-daughter outings.

  Driving into town, trailing a dawdling school bus down the wide country lane, A.J. noticed for the first time what a pretty, quaint place it was. It was so pretty that she hardly even minded moseying along behind the school bus.

  She parked and went into the former German bakery, which had been repainted and renamed Tea Tea! Hee! It was still crowded at nine o’clock on a Tuesday morning. A.J. got in line and told herself that she was imagining that everyone else was looking her up and down.

  “You’re Diantha Mason’s niece,” the man behind the counter said when at last it was A.J.’s turn.

  She nodded, remembering the woman at the convenience store.

  “Shame,” he said obliquely.

  She purchased her pastries and a cup of coffee and started for the door.

  “A.J., is that you?” A very pretty blonde about A.J.’s age was smiling at her from the waiting line.

  A.J. smiled back uncertainly. “Do I—?”

  “Nancy Moore. We went to school together.” The woman offered a hand, and A.J. shifted pastries, coffee, and purse to shake it.

  “Nancy Moore?” Surely this slim, lovely woman who looked like an aerobic instructor couldn’t be her old plump and self-conscious pal?

  “Well, it’s Nancy Lewis now. Dr. Lewis, in fact.” Nancy smiled self-deprecatingly. “I moved back here after medical school. Believe it or not.”

  “Why wouldn’t I believe it?”

  Nancy looked puzzled. “Why, because that’s all we ever talked about. Getting out of this place. ‘Stillborn,’ you used to call it. Of course, you did get out a year later when your parents got back together.”

  For a moment it was as though they were discussing a mutual and nearly forgotten friend. A.J. never thought about that time in her life. Actually, she had pretty much blocked out a good decade of her life, but that year in particular had been consigned to the attic of her brain. In the end, Elysia had finally agreed to seek help for her drinking, and A.J.’s parents had reunited. They had moved back to New York. One big happy dysfunctional family again.