She limped out to the front porch. A black and white four-wheel-drive utility vehicle was parked in the drowned yard. Exhaust drifted gently across the sodden grass.
As she stared, the SUV door opened and a tall, broad-shouldered man in a yellow slicker and a rain-spattered hat got out.
“Ma’am.” His breath smoked in the chill air. He touched the brim of his hat. “You’ve had some trouble?”
His eyes were green—startlingly green—in his tanned face. He was handsome in a rugged Marlboro Man kind of way. Handsome in a way A.J. didn’t like. She didn’t like big, buff, overpoweringly masculine men. She liked clever, sophisticated, sensitive men. Of course, she preferred clever, sophisticated, sensitive heterosexual men, but apparently one couldn’t have everything.
This guy looked as though he would be comfortable in a ripped pirate shirt on the cover of a romance novel.
“Someone broke in and knocked me down,” A.J. said. “We think he ran out the back.”
“Did you get a look at him?” He was already moving past her, whamming open the screen door
“He was just a shadow. A…bulky shadow.”
“But you’re sure he was male?” he threw back.
Had the intruder been male? She had been hurled to the ground before she’d had a clear look. She remembered the scent of wet wool and sweat but nothing specifically masculine, unlike the sort of nice herbal aftershave this trooper was wearing. “I-I think so.”
He gave her a narrow look.
Belatedly it occurred to A.J. that the cavalry had arrived awfully fast.
And he hadn’t identified himself. He was obviously some kind of law enforcement—you didn’t have to be a criminal to feel the lawman vibe—but he hadn’t actually given her a name or a badge number or anything.
Not only that, this trooper or whatever he was, had a deep voice that was vaguely—unpleasantly—familiar.
Uneasily, A.J. followed him down the hallway, watching him track wet and mud down the Oriental runner as he made for the kitchen.
He moved quickly for a big man. And there would be no mistaking him in the dark for anything but male.
Down the hall, through the kitchen, and out the back porch, A.J. trailed him to the backyard. Then out through the peach trees and down the crooked stone walk, past the garden sheds and the hanging swing where A.J. had spent many contented hours reading as a teenager.
“Oi!” shrieked Elysia. “Over here!” She waved to the cop and A.J. “There are foot prints!”
“Oh my God,” A.J. muttered, and the cop glanced back at her. Instantly she composed her face; she’d had a lifetime of practice, since she’d always had to cover her reactions to Elysia.
As they reached Elysia, she pointed triumphantly at what appeared to be a path of muddy footprints, already half-filled with water, leading toward the pasture.
“It looks like the perp jumped the fence and escaped across the meadow.” Elysia’s normally ivory cheeks were flushed, and a strand of dark hair had escaped her upsweep, giving her a slightly disheveled appearance. It reminded A.J. uncomfortably of past occasions when her mother’s dishevelment had been a perilous sign of things to come. “He probably parked in the woods.”
“Maybe,” the cop said, noncommittally. He strode over to the crooked fence that lined the pasture.
Elysia’s gaze followed him. She looked at A.J. and raised her elegant brows.
“Now there’s a bit of all right,” she murmured.
“A little young for you,” A.J. said, and Elysia chuckled.
They continued to watch Mr. Law and Order as he stood, hands on hips, surveying the pasture. What exactly was he hoping for? A.J. wondered. An incriminating scrap of clothing? Betraying cigarette butts? A signed confession?
After a few moments he rejoined them. “There’s no sign of anybody. I guess someone could have taken off across the pasture, but he’d have to be pretty fast on his feet.” He turned to A.J. “What can you tell me about this guy who knocked you down?”
“He was big. I didn’t get a good look at him.”
“What about you?” he questioned Elysia. “Did you see this intruder?”
“Well, I saw something.” Guiltily she met A.J.’s eyes. “He was just a-a shape. A hulking shape.”
“A hulking shape?” the cop repeated slowly. He glanced at A.J. “A bulky shadow, you said?”
“Right.” Was there something suspicious about their description? A.J. didn’t understand his skeptical expression. But maybe that was how he always looked.
“Bigger than a monkey and smaller than a bear. My attention was on m-my child.” Elysia managed to inject just the right amount of maternal quiver in that, but the cop looked unimpressed.
A.J. said, “You saw the footprints.”
They all stared at the soggy ground. Flooded indents were all that remained of the footprints.
The cop said, “I had a quick look at some muddy prints. They weren’t clear and they weren’t that big. It’s possible you could have made them yourself.”
A.J. opened her mouth, but before she could respond, he said laconically, “By accident, I mean. Maybe you ladies were walking around out here earlier.”
“We had just arrived,” A.J. said. “I had just unlocked the door and stepped inside the house when he came charging out of nowhere and knocked me over.”
“Anything taken?”
“We didn’t have time to check,” she admitted. “You got here so quickly.”
Those green-green eyes flicked to hers. “Yeah, well, I was actually on my way to see you, Ms. Alexander. I’m Detective Oberlin with Stillbrook PD. We spoke on the phone.”
So she was right about his voice being familiar. He was the insensitive jerk who had given her the bad news about Aunt Di.
The rest of his words slowly registered. He was already on his way to see her? She recalled Andy’s comments about her being a suspect. It looked as though Andy had been right.
“I remember,” she replied curtly.
“Sorry for your loss.” His glance included Elysia.
“Thank you,” Elysia said bravely. “It was a great shock to us all.”
“Murder generally is.”
This guy was a real loss to the diplomatic corps.
“Your compassion means the world to us,” A.J. sniped. She was not normally prone to antagonizing law enforcement, but something about Oberlin rubbed her the wrong way—from the moment she’d first heard his voice. “I take it you’re not here heading up the Welcome Wagon?”
His very firm mouth twitched with something that, in a human, might have indicated amusement.
“I do have a few questions,” he admitted. “Strictly routine.”
“Naturally,” Elysia said. “We’re always happy to assist the police with their inquiries.” She made it sound like the favorite part of their day—right up there with lunchtime.
“Sure,” A.J. said. “Don’t let bereavement, burglary, and assault cramp your style.”
“Hey, if you’d prefer to talk to me tomorrow, I can wait,” Oberlin shot right back.
Elysia tittered uneasily.
Before A.J. could decide on a suitable response, he added, “Why don’t we step inside and see what this burglar of yours might have got away with?”
Clearly he didn’t believe there had been a burglar. A.J. said shortly, “Why don’t we?”
They trooped inside the house, pausing only to knock the mud off their shoes on the back stoop. Privately A.J. admitted that there was something disarming about watching a big tough detective grimly scraping the soles of his boots across a hedgehog-shaped mud brush.
Inside the porch, Oberlin removed his hat and rain poncho. He was, as A.J. had guessed, tall and leanly muscled in form-hugging Levi’s and a surprisingly well-cut blazer. His hair was dark and cut short to discourage what appeared to be an unruly wave.
She watched him examine the lock on the back door. “Doesn’t appear to be forced.”
“Di was never one for lock
ed doors.” Elysia sighed.
“This door was locked,” Oberlin informed her. “We were here all day yesterday. When we left, the house was secured.”
A.J. and Elysia exchanged shocked looks. The police had already searched Diantha’s home?
“You were here without a search warrant?” A.J. asked.
Oberlin met her gaze coolly. “We had a warrant.”
She swallowed hard.
Oberlin continued through the house checking doors and windows. Everything was locked and fastened, nothing broken or forced, and from what A.J. could remember, nothing appeared to be missing.
In the room Diantha had always referred to as “Gus’s study,” the top drawer of the large desk had been pulled out and set on top. Stacks of letters had been set to one side.
“There!” Elysia said triumphantly. “He must have been searching the desk when we interrupted him.”
Oberlin grunted. What was this guy’s problem? Did he honestly think she and Elysia had faked a break-in? Why? Or did he simply believe Diantha had been sorting through the drawer before her death? It was true that there was no indication that whoever had removed the drawer had been in any kind of a hurry.
Elysia mused, “What about that amber statue of Quan Yin? I don’t recall seeing that anywhere.”
But further search revealed the valuable antique statue was now in Diantha’s bedroom.
“There was that painting by that deaf artist….” Elysia suggested.
John Brewster Jr.’s painting of a small girl and a dove turned out to have been moved to one of the guest rooms.
“There was that French clock with the marble base and the bronze sculpture of a Saint Bernard….”
“It’s in the front parlor,” A.J. said, heading off Detective Oberlin’s exasperated reply.
It was clear that Oberlin had lost all interest in their possibly imaginary burglar. In formidable silence he followed them from room to room.
“I guess it’s possible a kid could have slipped in here,” he admitted grudgingly. “It’s the kind of thing kids dare each other to do. Your aunt’s death is no secret.”
A.J. tried to think back to that frightening moment in the hall when her attacker had come out of nowhere. Could the intruder have been an adolescent? There had been a force, a solidness to him—or her—that she didn’t associate with teenagers. But it was possible. She remembered doing stupid things herself on a dare.
“That’s very clever, Inspector,” Elysia said. “Perhaps this young delinquent planned on selling Di’s valuables for drug money. Why don’t we make ourselves comfy in the kitchen? We can have a nice hot cuppa, and you can ask your questions while I count the silver.”
“I’m sure the silver is all there,” A.J. said. Which was probably more than Detective Oberlin was willing to say for the two of them.
Elysia led the way to the kitchen, where the teapot was shrieking merrily on the back burner. A.J. sat at the opposite end of the long pine table. She found it irritating the way Oberlin’s physical presence crowded her. He didn’t have to be next to her. He didn’t even have to say anything.
Not that he was keeping quiet. They were no sooner seated then he said brusquely, “We won’t know for sure until we get the ME’s autopsy report, but from the prelim it appears that your aunt was strangled late Friday night or early Saturday morning.”
“Do you have a suspect?” A.J. tried to keep her voice steady.
His gaze held hers. “Right now it’s more of a process of elimination, which is why it would be helpful to cross you and Mrs. Alexander off our list. Just for the record, can I ask where you were late Friday and early Saturday morning?”
“Home in bed.”
“Unfortunately that’s probably true,” Elysia said. “Do you much mind soy milk, Inspector?”
“Sorry?” Oberlin looked momentarily confused.
Elysia held up a carton. “Soy milk? For your tea. Di doesn’t seem to have anything else.”
“Uh, sure. Whatever.”
He wasn’t getting away that easily. Elysia splashed milk in his cup and served it to him, eyelashes fluttering. “And the same goes for me, you know. Tucked up in my wee trundle bed. And no one to vouch for me.”
Oberlin nodded absently, watching A.J. “And were you also sleeping solo, Ms. Alexander? On a Friday night? An attractive, single lady in Manhattan?”
Instinctively she touched her butchered hair, still damp from the rain that had washed away whatever was left of her makeup. She knew how she looked: gaunt, haggard—the only color in her face came from the shadows under her eyes. Worse, she knew how she felt. Andy’s cancer patient comment wasn’t that far off the mark.
But Oberlin spoke so casually, so neutrally, that for an instant A.J. didn’t register just how far out of line he was. If she’d had any doubts that he seriously considered her a suspect, that sardonic comment took care of them.
“I-I have an extremely demanding job.”
“She needs her beauty sleep,” Elysia put in helpfully. “Every minute.” She set A.J.’s cup in front of her, ignoring her daughter’s stare. “There! Isn’t this cozy?” Seating herself at the table, she lifted her own cup and sipped daintily.
A.J. had to give Oberlin credit. The guy knew how to focus. He said to her, “Did you get any phone calls? Would anyone be able to vouch for you?”
“No.”
“Andrew must have rung you up,” Elysia said. “You two talk all the time. Are you sure Andrew didn’t phone late to discuss…” Her eyes bored into A.J. A.J. ignored the message there.
“I didn’t talk to Andy,” she said curtly.
“Andy being your ex-husband—Mr. Andrew Belleson?”
“Correct.”
“Okay.” He glanced at Elysia. “And you, Mrs. Alexander, were out of the country until this morning, is that right?”
“Er, yes.”
“How would you describe your relationship with your aunt?” Oberlin said, swiveling back to A.J.
“Good.”
“When was the last time you saw her?”
“I don’t know. A couple of years ago. Spring. Three years ago. I think.”
“My relationship with my sister was always a difficult one,” Elysia said reminiscently. “We were both passionate, dynamic women. We were bound to butt heads.”
Detective Oberlin appeared not to hear her. “You can’t remember the last time you saw your aunt?”
Elysia leaned forward, her tone confidential. “It’s because of Andrew. Di took one of her peculiar dislikes to Andrew. She was like that, you know. She would take these instant and irrational dislikes to people. Anna was like the daughter she never had, and I expect she was rather jealous of losing her.”
For a moment A.J. couldn’t think who Anna was. Oh yeah, she was Anna. And the only person in the world who called her that was Elysia—knowing full well A.J. loathed it.
“So Ms. Mason and Mr. Belleson didn’t get along?”
“Oh, nothing like that! It’s impossible to quarrel with Andrew. He’s the sweetest man who ever lived. No, my point is simply that it made visits here rather awkward for Anna. And of course she works every minute. Like a navvy.”
What the hell was a navvy? And did she really want to know? A.J. barely managed to control her expression as Detective Oberlin turned back to her. She wondered why he was allowing Elysia to interrupt. He was letting her blab and blab. Why? Why wasn’t he interviewing them separately and formally? Did he think he could learn more this way? He was probably right.
“And your aunt never came to see you?”
“She didn’t like Manhattan. She didn’t like big cities.”
“You kept in touch by phone or e-mail?”
A.J. hesitated. “Yes. Not regularly. We’re both—we were both busy with our careers. I meant to—” Unexpectedly her voice broke.
Without blinking, Oberlin observed her struggle for control.
“So you wouldn’t have any idea of problems your aunt might
be having in her personal life? She never mentioned arguing with anyone, maybe some trouble with an employee or a neighbor or even a stranger?”
A.J. shook her head.
“Di was always having trouble with people,” Elysia chimed in. “She…expected a great deal. From everyone. All the time. She was driven. A perfectionist. But she always kept her little worries to herself. I suppose that’s one way we’re alike—that fierce independence. Our unshakable self-reliance. Otherwise you couldn’t find sisters more different.”
More of her hair had slipped loose; it was really beginning to drive A.J. nuts. Elysia looked like Lady Macbeth in the last act.
“When was the last time you spoke to your sister?” Oberlin asked her.
“Two weeks ago,” Elysia said promptly. “We rowed. We always rowed. Ferociously.”
“What did you…row…over?”
Elysia blinked. “Eh…it escapes me.”
A.J. asked before she could stop herself, “What do you mean, it escapes you?” She felt Oberlin’s gaze and bit off the rest of what she wanted to say.
Elysia said defensively, “We always rowed. Our rows sort of run together.” She avoided A.J.’s eyes.
Detective Oberlin nodded and rose. “I think that’s it for now. Appreciate your cooperation, ladies.”
“Anything we can do, of course,” Elysia said. “I’m sure I personally won’t know a moment’s peace until this ghastly tragedy—”
“Yes, ma’am,” Detective Oberlin said. He did not exactly beat a retreat, but A.J. was careful not to step between him and the door. She understood a little of what he must be feeling. Even those who knew and loved Elysia found her occasionally…overwhelming.
In silence she watched him retrieve his yellow rain slicker and hat from the porch, and then followed him down the long hallway to the front door. He shrugged into the slicker while she waited, his movements unhurried, deliberate.
“I guess you’ll be in town for a few days.” He replaced his hat, automatically tilting the brim. A lot of guys looked silly in a hat; Andrew couldn’t wear hats, not even baseball caps. Detective Oberlin wore his hat with tough-guy authority. “I’ll be in touch.”
A.J. nodded. She knew Oberlin was a long way from scratching them off his “list.” After a moment she followed him out onto the porch, hugging herself against the cold as she watched him cross to the SUV with police markings.
Corpse Pose Page 4
