“Do you have singing bowls?” a gray-haired woman was asking a larger red-haired woman behind the counter. A red-haired woman who was not Aurora. Damn. What if Aurora wasn’t here? Everything and everyone else was.
I looked down one row of bookshelves, neatly labeled, “Astrology, Enneagram, Kabbalah, Tarot, Shamanism,” and didn’t catch a glimpse of Aurora. Though I did see one of Lillian’s bronze busts, staring back regally. I looked down another row, “Recovery-Continued, Tantric Yoga, Sacred Languages, Ayurveda,” and finally at the end, near “Buddhism,” I saw Aurora listening earnestly to a young woman with a long blond braid that snaked down past her waist.
“But isn’t that just attachment too?” the young woman was asking her. Demanding of her. “Thinking that one individual’s oppression is important enough to worry about. I mean just look at Tibet…”
Aurora took that moment to look instead over the young woman’s shoulder at Wayne and myself. A flutter of concern traveled over her serene face. I gave her a quick wave, hoping she’d abandon the young woman in favor of us and feeling guilty at the same time. The young woman was probably a paying customer. Then again, maybe she wasn’t.
“Excuse me, dear,” Aurora said, placing a gentle hand on the young woman’s arm. “I must take care of something.”
The young woman stopped talking mid-sentence and then began looking around for another victim as Aurora left her. An older bearded man came walking innocently down the row of books.
“Have you studied Buddhism?” the young woman asked him.
I would have advised a firm “no” as an answer, but of course he didn’t receive the benefit of my psychic warning.
“Well, a little—”
The young woman interrupted, demanding to know whether the man had read Zen in America just as Aurora reached us. When he admitted that he had, she began to quiz him about the tenth chapter of the book.
“The Gravendale police called me a few minutes ago about Elaine Timmons’s death,” Aurora announced quietly without any other greeting. “Did you know?”
“Uh-huh,” I answered her briefly, not telling her yet that we’d found the body. I was relieved to hear that the Gravendale police were finally moving on Elaine’s death. I’d wondered why they hadn’t contacted Charlie or Mark yet. And then I took a brief moment to ask myself if Sergeant Gonzales would be angry that Wayne and I were the first to speak to the two men about the murder. I clenched my teeth. Of course, he’d be—
“Kate needs to use your telephone,” Wayne greeted Aurora just as brusquely as she’d greeted him.
“About Elaine’s death?” she asked.
“Yes,” he answered.
Aurora stood stock-still for a moment, peering through her thick glasses into Wayne’s eyes, seeking something. The truth about Elaine’s death? The truth of the universe? A more polite request?
“I’ll explain while Kate phones,” Wayne promised.
Aurora just nodded then and took me by the arm to a tiny room in the back with a desk stacked with paperwork. It looked like my desk at home except for the crystal paperweights and incense bowls. And another of Lillian’s statues staring down at us from its niche in the wall.
“Feel free to make any calls you need to,” Aurora told me, pointing at the edge of a lavender phone sticking out from under a tipped-over pile of ledgers. Yeah, a lot like my desk. Then she left and closed the door behind her.
I sat down at the desk, if sitting is the term for leaning forward on a chair that supports your knees more than your bottom, set my purse on top of the least precarious set of papers, and found Pam’s business card. I dialed her number eagerly, ready to ask her what she’d seen at Elaine’s, even ready to ask her if she’d known the memorial singer before, but instead of hearing her lively voice on the other end of the line I ended up in the seemingly endless maze of voice mail. In the midst of punching random digits and pound signs, I looked at my watch. It was almost one o’clock. Pam was probably out to lunch. I hung up without leaving a message, unwilling to run the maze any longer. I’d try Pam again later and hope that I could catch her in real time.
I got up to leave, then looked back down at the desk, considering rifling Aurora’s papers for some clue of a link to Sid or Elaine’s death, but the impulse died of its own will in less than a moment. There was nothing here but business. I walked out of her tiny office to enter metaphysical wonderland again.
Wayne and Aurora were huddled together, still standing, in a far corner of the store devoted to some of the larger items. Meditation cushions, Buddhas, altars, gongs, and shamanic drums, among other things. It was relatively quiet there, the celestial strings, bells, and customer conversation a muted backdrop for the sound of Aurora’s firm, deep voice.
“Jack and I left the memorial service together in his truck,” she was saying. “We talked on the ride back to Gravendale. Really talked. I truly believe Jack’s beginning to heal now. The shock of Sid’s death has made the preciousness of Jack’s own life awaken in his consciousness. How this lightness can come from such darkness is truly amazing, but it has. Still, the darkness must be addressed. We must figure out who’s doing these terrible things.”
“Where did you go once you got back to Gravendale?” Wayne asked, skipping the more philosophical issues, however much they might have tempted him. And I was sure they did. Wayne was a sucker for a philosophical conundrum.
I joined them silently, waiting for her answer.
“Jack dropped me off here at the store,” Aurora said, nodding brusquely to note my arrival at the same time. “I believe he went to Karma-Kanick then to meet Lillian.”
“Was Lillian there?” Wayne pressed.
“I assume she was.” Aurora peered at him again. “Was that when Elaine was murdered?” she asked. “After the memorial?”
Wayne opened his mouth to answer. I elbowed him gently in the ribs. I wasn’t sure that we should be giving out information so freely anymore. I didn’t want to hear from Sergeant Gonzales, or Chief Irick for that matter, about interfering in an official police investigation. It was a little late for discretion, but still.
“Sergeant Gonzales didn’t give me any details except to say Elaine Timmons had been murdered,” Aurora went on. “And to demand my presence at his office.” She looked down at her watch. “In approximately an hour.”
“Yes, it was after the memorial,” Wayne told her. “We found her body.” So much for discretion. Maybe I should have elbowed him harder.
Aurora paled slightly, looking older now.
“But why?” she muttered, looking around her absently. “Why Elaine? Because she was Elaine? Or because she knew something about Sid’s death?”
Or both, I thought as she pulled out three meditation cushions and set them on the floor, taking her place cross-legged on one and motioning us to the other two.
Wayne and I took our places on the remaining cushions, not quite so gracefully as Aurora had. She looked at me for a few heartbeats, then at Wayne.
“I have no answers,” she declared finally. “Do you have answers?”
We shook our heads as one. If we had answers, we would be talking to the police, not here in Illuminations, overdosing on incense and metaphysics.
Aurora bent forward. “I’ll be honest,” she said, her voice hushed. “I don’t believe anyone in my family is involved in these two deaths. I didn’t kill either Sid or Elaine. And I truly believe neither Lillian nor Jack is capable of such an act.” She closed her eyes for a moment before going on. “Though I do feel I must tell you something that you may find out anyway. Jack’s father killed himself. A year after you all graduated Gravendale High.”
A tiny shock buzzed up my spine. Poor Aurora. No wonder she hovered over Jack. I reached over and patted her hand impulsively. No wonder she was searching so hard for answers to the human condition.
She smiled at my touch and held my hand in her cool, dry ones for a moment before going on. “Manic Kanick, they used to call my husban
d.” Her eyes softened. “He was an incredible man, full of energy. An architect. Alive and loving. But when the despair would overwhelm him, it really overwhelmed him. The pain was too much for him. He took an overdose of pills in 1969. That was when Jack began having real problems.” She straightened her spine, her posture yoga-perfect. “But my husband turned it inward, you see. Jack turns it inward too. Not outward.”
Wayne nodded sagely. He was the one who read all the pop psychology books. I wondered if he was nodding in real agreement or just being polite. I also wondered if despair turned inward necessarily precluded anger turned outward.
“And if I rule out my own family, then who?” Aurora went on. “You kids all had your own challenges to face. All of you. Becky, Pam, Natalie, Charlie, and Mark. And you, Kate. None of you came from completely functional families as far as I could see.” She bent forward and whispered, “Of course after all my reading, I’ve come to the conclusion that there is no such thing as a fully functional family in any case.”
I looked around furtively, remembering once again that we were in a bookstore and hoping that no one in the recovery section had heard her. But no one seemed to be listening to us anyway.
“Do you remember the order in which people left the memorial?” Wayne asked, cutting back to the chase.
Aurora frowned in thought. “I was talking to Pam and that singer, Anna May, a little before they left—”
“Did they mention visiting Elaine’s?” I cut in.
“Yes!” Aurora’s head jerked up. “They did. Or at least the singer did. Something about something she’d left. Oh, I wish I could recall more clearly.” She closed her eyes, her face tight with concentration. “I believe she said, ‘If we have time, do you mind dropping by Elaine’s? I left some of my songbooks there.’“ She opened her eyes again. That sounded pretty damn clear to me.
“So, it wasn’t Pam’s idea,” I said gratefully.
“No,” Aurora agreed. “It was the singer’s. And it wasn’t definite the way she mentioned it either. Just a possibility.” She tilted her head to the side, looking at Wayne.
“Go on,” he said. “Pam and the singer left. And then what?”
“Charlie left as soon as Pam did. The poor man is so obviously in love.” A smile curved her lips, then disappeared. “And then Jack and I left in the truck.”
“Was Elaine still there?” I asked. Because a sudden insight told me that if Elaine was still there, Pam and Anna May could hardly have dropped in on her.
“I think so,” Aurora answered, her firm voice wavering a little. “It’s hard to remember.” She closed her eyes, concentrating again. Her voice had a trancelike quality when she finally spoke, a quality that raised the hair on the back of my neck. “Ed Timmons was there. And his children and sister. And some family members, all gathered around the food table. Yes, I can see them now. And Mark and Becky, I believe, talking. And Natalie. And Elaine, yes, now I can see her, down near the pond. Yes, Elaine was there.”
Her eyes popped open suddenly, her irises still rolled up under her eyelids. I shivered again as they rolled back down. But whatever worked, worked. And I was happy. Because if Elaine had still been there, I doubted that Pam and Anna May had ever followed up on their tentative plans to visit her. Unless, of course, they had gone and waited for her. Damn. I wished I hadn’t thought of that.
“Some recall,” I said to Aurora.
“All a matter of imaging,” she replied briskly. “I have a book somewhere,” she began, turning to look at her shelves.
Then she turned back, waving her hand in front of her face. “Forget the book. Sometimes it’s hard to remember I’m not always here to sell books.” Her tone grew deeper. “We must resolve this matter. Not just for our own sakes, but for the murderer’s as well. The darkness must be almost impossible to bear.” She closed her eyes for a moment and clasped her hands before going on. “If the police haven’t found the solution by this weekend, I propose we all meet again. We all have different resources: Between those of us who are left, I believe we can solve this mystery collectively.”
The weekend seemed a long way away, but Wayne and I agreed to the proposition, even splitting up a list of names to call on Friday for a Sunday meeting if the murderer hadn’t been identified by then.
I was just rising from my cushion on cramped legs when Aurora’s words brought me plopping back down.
“Please, stay for a moment,” she requested quickly. “If it’s not too personal, may I ask you two something?”
I nodded. Wayne tilted his head back, waiting for the question. A much more sensible approach.
“I sense discord between the two of you,” Aurora pressed on. “I believe it’s about your wedding plans. Am I right?”
Wayne and I exchanged quick glances. Another psychic like my friend Barbara? Just like my friend Barbara, I decided, intuitive on the little things, but useless when it came to identifying murderers.
“Well, Wayne has never been married before,” I told her uncomfortably. “So, of course, he’d like a real all-out wedding with all the trimmings—”
“But Kate has been married before,” Wayne interrupted me. “So, understandably, she’d like less formality. If any wedding ceremony at all. And I can’t blame her—”
“And you both love each other,” Aurora finished up for us, smiling largely. “But you both detest the other’s plans. Because weddings are about ritual, meaning, and metaphor. And your metaphors don’t match.”
I glanced sideways at Wayne. He was frowning in Aurora’s direction.
“For Wayne, a traditional wedding represents solidity, a marriage that can never be broken,” Aurora went on. “But for Kate, it represents just the opposite, the marriage that can be and was broken. Your metaphors don’t match.”
“So?” asked Wayne, his tone of gentle confusion robbing the word of its potential rudeness.
“You must create your own individual ritual!” Aurora pronounced triumphantly, throwing her arms out as if to embrace the concept.
She rose abruptly and gracefully from her cushion and was back within moments, two folded flyers in her hand. “Creating Your Own Wedding Ritual,” they declared proudly.
“Read this,” she ordered, handing one to me and one to Wayne. “A friend of mine offers these seminars. She’s a woman of great imaginative awareness. She can guide you in creating a ritual that you two can agree on, one that blossoms out of both of your life experiences. Give it a chance. Make a metaphor that each of you can enjoy.”
“Well, it’s certainly an idea,” I said, rising from my cushion, ignoring the pains from my startled, cramped calves.
“Right,” Wayne said, rising from his cushion. “An idea.”
“You will find your ritual,” Aurora assured us confidently and gave us each a hug before leaving us on a rescue mission.
The young woman with the long blond braid was haranguing someone else about the true meaning of Buddhism, an elderly woman with a cane and a look of pure panic on her face. Aurora trotted off in their direction, determination in her gait.
Wayne bought a few books on the way out the door. I knew he wouldn’t be able to resist. Two were on the mind-body connection, one of his favorite subjects, but I didn’t see the title of the third until the red-haired woman behind the cash register ran it through the scanner. Creative Conflict Resolution. I should have known. I resisted buying a crystal in self-defense.
We closed the door of Illuminations behind us, and the sound of celestial strings and Tibetan bells faded away. Then we climbed back into the Toyota for the ride home.
The smell of incense lingered, though, as I drove past those all too familiar brown hills. And Wayne livened up the ride as well, reading me passages from the creative wedding pamphlet and telling me about some of the weddings its author had arranged.
“Listen to this,” he said. “These guys had a firewalk wedding. They walked on hot coals all the way up to the altar to prove their commitment.”
&nb
sp; “I hope the bride didn’t wear a full gown,” I muttered, imagining flames creeping up white lace. I doused that horrible thought, and then began to wonder if they made the flower girls walk on the hot coals too.
“And these other guys got married in a hot air balloon.”
“Must not have had a lot of friends,” I told him. “How many people can you get in a balloon?”
“Maybe a whole bunch of balloons, all bumping together in space—”
“Excuse me, excuse me,” I offered for sound effects.
Now Wayne was laughing.
“How about bungee jumping?” I suggested.
“Roller Derby,” he countered.
“Mud wrestling—”
We were both laughing by the time we got home.
But after we’d finally climbed the front stairs, closed the door behind us, sniffed for further cat attack, and endured another round of Pam’s voice mail, we sat down at the kitchen table and looked across it into each other’s eyes.
“Aurora was right,” I said softly.
“I know,” Wayne replied just as softly.
And then we stood up to match our metaphors with a kiss.
Our lips had just touched when the phone rang.
I pulled my mouth back reluctantly and picked up the phone.
It was Becky. I rolled my eyes at Wayne.
“Oh, Kate. Jeez, I’m glad I got you,” she said. Wayne motioned toward a frying pan.
“Hungry?” he mouthed.
I nodded violently. It was way past lunchtime.
“I gotta talk to you,” Becky went on. “I gotta tell someone…” Her words dribbled away.
“Tell someone what?” I demanded, my ears perking up.
“Oh, Kate!” Suddenly, I could hear her sobbing. “Can you come over now? I’m at home—”
Most Likely to Die (A Kate Jasper Mystery) Page 22
