A.J. opened the door and watched him cross the porch and vanish into the darkness, his dog tags jingling. The rain had stopped. The night smelled of woodsmoke and wet earth. The moon peeped through the tattered cloud cover like a silver eye.
She had a sudden awareness of how alone she was out here. Her nearest neighbor was Stella Borin, and she lived over five miles away. A.J. had felt confident when she assured Elysia the would-be burglar wouldn’t be back; now she wasn’t quite so sure. What if he hadn’t been looking to steal a few portable valuables? What if he had been looking for something that tied directly into Diantha’s death? What if he was Diantha’s murderer?
“Monster!” she called.
Silence.
Not so much as the twitter of a bird or the chirp of a cricket. But that didn’t mean anything. The local denizens were probably all tucked up trying to stay dry.
“Monster!” she called again.
To her relief, Monster materialized on the lawn like a ghost dog. He wandered placidly back up the stairs. If there was danger lurking out there, the dog didn’t seem to sense it.
A.J. locked the door and tested it.
Her back was twinging and throbbing now. She was going to have to find a chiropractor fast or she’d never get through this week. Hobbling into her aunt’s bedroom, A.J. stripped the sheets from the bed and remade it with the linens from the hall cupboard.
She felt comforted in Diantha’s room, remembering times as a child when bad dreams had sent her into her aunt’s bed. She felt safe. She opened her suitcase and pulled out her favorite pair of Nick and Nora flannel pajamas. Navy flannel decorated with cocktail glasses; they seemed oddly festive given the circumstances, but they were warm and soft and comforting.
Too tired to unpack—too tired to do more than brush her teeth—she climbed into the wide, old sleigh bed. The rain had started again. It drummed against the roof in a soothing rhythm. Monster lay before the fireplace, snoring gently. A.J. looked at the books on her aunt’s nightstand. Diantha was always reviewing books and yoga-related products for the studio gift shop. No detail of her empire had been too small or insignificant for her personal attention.
Idly A.J. studied the titles: Light on Yoga, the 1966 classic was one of Diantha’s perennial favorites. The Living Gita by Sri Swami Satchidananda looked as if would be excellent for putting her to sleep within minutes. She smiled picking up the third book, Babar’s Yoga for Elephants.
A.J. flipped through the brightly illustrated pages, surprised into a chuckle at the pullout poster of Babar doing his yoga poses. Her eyelids grew heavy. She replaced the book on the nightstand and switched out the light.
The room was dark when A.J. woke. She knew immediately where she was; what she couldn’t figure out was what had broken her sleep.
Had she heard something?
She listened uneasily. The rain had stopped again. The house creaked in the way of old buildings. Nothing to worry about there, right? She could hear Monster slumbering peacefully beside the bed.
It felt strange to lie here in Diantha’s room. She remembered waking up in this house as a child, traveling the long dark hallway to the safety of her aunt’s bed. That comfortable sleepy soapy smell and Diantha’s sleep-husky voice. Bad dreams, lovey? Tears trickled down the side of A.J.’s face and slipped into her ear. She rubbed her face in the pillow.
“I wish I’d had a chance to say good-bye.”
The nocturnal silence seemed profoundly empty. There was no comfort here, there was…nothing.
After a time she fell back into restless sleep.
Someone was coming down the hallway….
A.J. woke with a start.
Had she heard something?
She listened closely.
The room felt chilly. Was that because somewhere in the house a window or a door was open?
She thought of the new locks and told herself to relax.
Of course, even if there were someone sneaking down the hall she would tell herself that there was no one here.
It could happen.
She reached across and turned on the bedside lamp.
Mellow light flooded the room, picking out the familiar furniture and photos. The carved statue of Quan Yin, Buddhist goddess of compassion and mercy, smiled enigmatically from across the floor. A.J. glanced to the side of the bed.
Monster panted softly, eyes on her.
“Hi,” A.J. whispered.
His tail thumped the floor. He got up and climbed without too much difficulty onto the bed, circled once and settled into a comfortable ball against her hip.
“I don’t think you’re supposed to be up here,” A.J. informed him.
Monster’s doggy smile seemed to say he had been thinking the same thing about her. He thrust his nose under his tail and proceeded to go to sleep.
Six
The phone woke her.
A.J. rolled over and fumbled for the receiver. “’Lo?” she croaked.
“Ms. Alexander?” The voice was male, familiar, unwelcome. Detective Oberlin.
“Do you have any idea what time it is?” A.J. snarled.
“It’s…” He paused, apparently checking his watch. “Five after twelve.”
“What?” She sat bolt upright. The overcast skies behind the drapes made it seem earlier than it was. She looked at the other side of the bed, but Monster was gone. Apparently a dog with things to do and places to go.
“God, I overslept.” She swung her legs off the bed and rubbed her cropped head. “I had a horrible night—” She bit off the rest of it. What did he care whether she had a horrible night? He would just think it was a symptom of her guilty conscience.
“Any disturbances?” Oberlin asked in a politely official tone.
“No. Is there something I can help you with?”
“I’d like to come by a little later and discuss the case with you.”
“There’ve been some developments? Have you arrested someone?”
“Not just yet,” he said smoothly. “There are one or two points I’d like to go over with you. Maybe I could drop by around two?”
“Sure,” A.J. said grudgingly.
“See you then,” Oberlin said and rang off.
Was that a threat or a promise? A.J. climbed carefully out of the big bed. Babar had inspired her to try a couple of toe touches, but her spine seemed to have fused, and she didn’t want to risk being frozen on all fours when Detective Oberlin arrived.
Hand on the small of her back, she made her way down the hallway. She found Monster lying in front of the back door and let him out for his morning constitutional.
A long hot shower helped relieve some of her stiffness. She poured some Aromafloria Stress Less bath gel into a washcloth and was soothed by the steamy scents of lavender, chamomile, and sage. Aunt Di had advocated a life of discipline and self-control, but didn’t that really boil down to quality versus quantity? Aunt Di had not accumulated tons of possessions, but she had lived well. Sensibly. A.J. thought of her own overstuffed closets, the drawers brimming with cosmetics and grooming aids—half of them used only once or twice.
Speaking of which…She studied herself critically in the foggy mirror. Her hair really did look like hell. Maybe she could find a salon in town. They couldn’t do much more damage than she already had with her trusty nail scissors. She sighed. Her skin looked dull, her eyes looked dull, her hair looked dull. Her mother was nuts; no way would anyone find her attractive right now—and that was the way she wanted it.
Dressed in jeans and a black Metropolitan Museum of Art T-shirt, she wandered barefoot into the hallway. The house was very quiet. Too quiet. Why had she thought she wanted to be here by herself? She hated living by herself.
She padded into the kitchen and nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of frantic scratching on the back door. She hurried to open the door, and Monster calmly trotted in. Apparently a pack of wolves wasn’t chasing him after all.
“You scared me!”
; Monster licked his chops and gave her that sheepish doggy smile. His yellow coat was rough with wet, and he was tracking muddy prints across the wooden floor.
“Oh man,” muttered A.J. And yet she welcomed the distraction of the dog. She grabbed a paper towel and wiped up the muddy prints, then rubbed it over Monster’s coat till the paper shredded away to nothing.
Monster sat down at his bowl and eyed her soulfully.
“Are you supposed to eat twice a day?”
He assured her with another heavy thump of his tail that he was practically required to eat twice a day.
She fed the dog and then began hunting through the fridge for something she could eat. Tofu, soy milk, soy breakfast links, and more vegetables than she’d seen in the last six months. The problem wasn’t that Aunt Di had been a vegetarian; the problem was that she didn’t eat junk food. These days A.J. practically lived on junk food. Pop-Tarts and Yoo-hoo had become staples. She didn’t know if her system could survive a sudden return to healthy eating.
Opening cupboard doors, she examined beans, cereals, lentils, semolina flour, and—oh good!—peanut butter. Peanut butter and jelly: one of her favorite childhood breakfasts. She’d forgotten that she used to love breakfast.
She had a sudden memory of lazy Saturday mornings with Andy: lying in bed eating fresh croissants and drinking espresso, reading the papers, listening to music, talking. A lot of talking. Now she knew why. Oh, and those wonderful, long back rubs. Andy would have made one heck of a masseuse. All those leisurely, relaxing massages that never went anywhere. She had thought it was a sign of his extraordinary sensitivity and understanding. Now she realized it was lack of interest.
Her appetite gone, A.J. settled on coffee. Thank goodness Aunt Di hadn’t come up with some healthy alternative to java.
She drank standing over the sink, staring out the window. The rain had stopped but the skies were leaden. The line of trees across the meadow looked drab and barren, stripped by yesterday’s storm of their fall foliage.
Had Aunt Di ever been lonely out here? But Aunt Di had always seemed too self-sufficient and tough to experience an emotion as feeble as loneliness.
Finishing her coffee, A.J. placed her cup in the sink and walked to the back door. She removed Aunt Di’s green waxed jacket from the hook on the back porch and stepped out for a quick walk. The air was crisp and stung her cheeks, but it smelled rain-washed clean. Monster trotted a few yards ahead, stopping along the way to investigate a particularly inviting bush or tree.
She wondered what “one or two points” Detective Oberlin wanted to discuss. Had there been any developments overnight? It didn’t seem likely if the police were focusing their suspicions on her. It was unbelievable to A.J. that anyone could think her capable of murder. Of course, policeman had to have suspicious minds; it was probably a job prerequisite.
But there had to be other people who might have something to gain by Aunt Di’s death. And even if they didn’t have something to gain, Aunt Di was the sort of person you either loved or hated.
Up ahead, Monster suddenly froze and pointed, head high and tail outstretched.
A.J. stopped walking and stared. To her relief a deer stepped out of the treeline and picked its way across the meadow.
She relaxed and called to the quivering dog. After a reluctant moment or two—apparently he hadn’t yet fully embraced the vegetarian philosophy—Monster snapped out of his trance and trotted after her.
Arriving back at the house, she was less than thrilled to see the police SUV parked in the front yard. Detective Oberlin stood on her front porch. Monster wagged his tail, which showed what a bad judge of character he was.
A.J. took a deep breath. She remembered one of Andy’s favorite quotes from Book of Five Rings, which according to him was the quintessential business strategy book: “In battle, if you make your opponent flinch, you have already won.” She had to make sure Detective Oberlin did not make her flinch—or, at least, did not see her flinch.
“Hello,” she called.
He turned and raked her over with those disconcertingly green eyes. She wondered if he wore colored contacts, though he didn’t look like the kind of guy who wasted a lot of time worrying about his looks. He probably didn’t own a grooming product. He probably thought soap was a grooming product.
“Ms. Alexander. I was wondering if you planned on standing me up.”
“Why would I? I want to hear what you’ve done to solve my aunt’s murder.”
Oberlin’s eyes narrowed, and A.J. felt a spark of triumph.
She mounted the stairs, brushed past him, and unlocked the house. They all trooped inside.
“It looks like more rain is on the way,” she was saying when she heard a scuffling sound behind her. She glanced around. Detective Oberlin was occupied in shoving Monster away. The dog landed on its haunches.
“What are you doing?”
To her surprise, the detective’s cheeks reddened. “Nothing. Your dog is…”
He didn’t finish it.
Okay. That was a little weird. A.J. led the way into the parlor. Detective Oberlin took one of the large overstuffed chairs by the fireplace, and Monster sat down in front of him, eying the cop expectantly.
“Monster, go lie down,” A.J. ordered, taking the chair across from Oberlin.
Monster gave her a guilty look and came over to settle on her feet.
Detective Oberlin cleared his throat.
“It looks like your aunt was strangled between four thirty and six a.m on Saturday morning. We’re theorizing it was around five because Suze MacDougal, the student who found your aunt, arrived at the studio at six fifteen for the Sunrise Yoga class. Suze didn’t see anyone, the place was deserted.”
“Could this Suze have had anything to do with my aunt’s death?”
“We’ve ruled her out as a possible suspect.”
A.J. nodded. She wanted to ask why, but she knew he wasn’t about to explain to someone who was a possible suspect.
“Your aunt was strangled with a yoga tie, which indicates that the murder was not premeditated.”
“What does that mean?”
“Premeditated? It means that the murder wasn’t pla—”
“I know what premeditated means,” A.J. interrupted. “What does it mean to you?”
Instead of answering he said, “Your aunt doesn’t appear to have struggled or tried to defend herself. Even assuming that she knew and was not afraid of her attacker, once that tie was slipped around her throat she should’ve started fighting back.”
“You’re assuming that she knew her attacker?”
“It seems likely. Motive generally presupposes prior knowledge of the victim.”
“But every crime has a motive, right?”
His eyes narrowed. “Right.”
“So what you really mean is you’re assuming a particular motive is involved here. You don’t think it could have been some random attack?”
He said tersely, “No. She wasn’t sexually assaulted—” He caught A.J.’s expression and said, “Sorry. You asked; I’m explaining why I don’t think this was a random attack. Nothing was taken from the center, there was no vandalism. It’s possible that your aunt surprised an intruder, but then why didn’t she fight back.”
It wasn’t a question, and A.J. didn’t have an answer. It didn’t make sense to her either.
“There’s something else. Whoever killed your aunt arranged her body in a yoga position called Corpse Pose.”
Corpse Pose. Savasana. The final resting pose of a satisfying yoga session. It wasn’t a complicated position; it would take virtually no strength at all to arrange a body thus, but arranging the body into that final position surely indicated familiarity with yoga. Aunt Di’s killer was either a student or an instructor—or someone who had wanted to have the last terrible word.
She said huskily, “Somebody has a sick sense of humor.”
“Yeah. But that sense of humor is one more indication that your aunt was
n’t killed by a stranger. She knew her killer. Her killer knew her. Her killer knew yoga. Her killer may not have gone to the studio planning to commit homicide; maybe they argued and things got out of hand. But, again, if they had something to argue about, they knew each other.”
It wasn’t CSI, but he did have a kind of ruthless logic.
“Haallooo the house!” trilled a familiar voice from down the hall.
Oberlin raised his head. “What the hell’s that?”
“The house is haunted,” A.J. said sweetly.
He bit off what might, under other circumstances, have been a laugh.
“We’re in here!” called A.J.
Elysia’s heels could be heard tapping down the hallway. She sauntered through the doorway like Maggie the Cat making her entrance. Today’s ensemble was Elysia’s idea of country living: stilettos, stovepipe jeans, and a long white fur jacket.
“Hullo, pumpkin. Hullo, Inspector…I’m sorry, what was your name?”
“Detective Oberlin, ma’am.”
“Oh, don’t call me madam,” Elysia returned merrily. “I’m just one of the girls!”
Detective Oberlin’s expression was priceless. He recovered instantly, but it took all A.J.’s willpower not to give in to a nervous giggle. “Detective Oberlin has been explaining why he believes Aunt Di must have known her killer.”
“A safe assumption in a village the size of this one.” Elysia sat down in one of the overstuffed chintz-covered chairs and ostentatiously lifted one leg over the other. She had wonderful legs, no doubt about it.
Detective Oberlin, however, seemed impervious to any and all feminine charms. He said, “Can you think of any reason someone might want your aunt dead?”
“No.”
“What about boyfriends? Lovers?”
“I’m afraid you’re way off the scent there, Inspector,” Elysia answered. “My sister had one great love of her life, and that was Gus Eriksson.”
“The naturalist?”
“He’s better remembered for his photographs, but yes. Di inherited this farm and half the county when Gus died.” She added pointedly, “Of leukemia, in case you’re wondering.”
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