Beignets and Broomsticks

by J. R. Ripley

  A chill went up my spine. ‘About me?’ I squeaked.

  ‘Yeah. He said he stopped at your café and it was closed. He saw we were open, so he came in here. He bought a muffin and a coffee. I keep telling you that you ought to open in the evenings. You’re losing business.’

  ‘Believe me, it’s in the works. I’m planning to expand the menu.’

  ‘So Aubrey tells me. Good for you.’

  I noticed the time on Lee’s watch and gasped. ‘I’m late! I’d better get upstairs.’

  Lee’s brow went up. ‘You taking a class with Rob?’

  ‘Yes. Wish me luck.’

  ‘Good luck. How about a Heaven’s Building Block before you go? They’re fresh.’

  ‘I really shouldn’t,’ I said, at the same time digging my wallet out of my purse in search of cash. ‘I swear, Lee, I think you invented these muffins just for me.’ The Heaven’s Building Block had been his creation.

  Lee wrapped up my muffin in waxed paper and dropped it gently in a bag. ‘The biggest of the bunch,’ he said with a smile, handing me the bag.

  ‘Thanks.’ I rushed to the exit, ran six steps, yanked open the street-level door leading upstairs to the studio and raced to the second floor. Yoga By Rob was stenciled on the solid oak door.

  I threw open the door and was hit by a wall of fragrant sandalwood. I had entered a small alcove with an open doorway leading to a larger space. The alcove contained a simple trestle table and a couple of shelves. There was a narrow door to the left.

  Rob stood at the far end of the larger room. A group of men and women, mostly women in clothing that left little to the imagination, faced him.

  Rob took one look at me, panting as I slammed the studio door closed behind me, and glared.

  I felt like melting into the fancy rug with its abstract mountain and cloud design.

  I unzipped my jacket and threw it on the small white sofa in the corner next to somebody’s backpack. I took a deep breath and ran my fingers through my hair.

  I was about to step out and join my new classmates, but found that Rob was blocking the entrance. ‘Hi, Rob!’

  ‘You are late, Ms Miller. Instruction began ten minutes ago.’

  ‘Yes. Sorry about that. I had a little trouble.’ I tried to edge past him but he wasn’t budging. For the life of me, I didn’t want to rub against him. Rob was wearing a silvery-gray sleeveless shirt with a pair of calf-length silver yoga pants. The pants were skintight.

  One passing glance at his lower body was enough to scar me for life, and I made a promise to myself to avoid any below-the-waist sights thereafter.

  ‘With you, Ms Miller, everything is always more than a little trouble.’

  ‘Right, sorry,’ I said again, determined to stay on his good side, at least for as long as it took to get some answers.

  ‘You are not entering my studio like that.’ He held up a hand while looking down his nose at me. ‘And take off your shoes.’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t know.’ I kicked off my shoes, suddenly self-conscious of my silly socks. I cursed my dead ex-husband and his cheap and crass idea of an anniversary gift.

  Rob made tsk-tsk sounds. ‘You are completely inappropriate. Your clothing is inharmonious, Ms Miller.’

  ‘It is?’ I tugged at the poodle on my shirt. What was so inharmonious about a curly-haired poodle? ‘I didn’t have time to shop.’

  ‘It is. Yoga is about the spirit as much as it is about the body.’ Rob stepped past me and went to the shelves behind the table. The long shelves contained shirts, pants, slippers, mats and more, grouped by size and sex. The guy was running a yoga lover’s mini-boutique.

  Rob faced the shelves. ‘You’ll need some clothes. And a yoga mat.’ He pulled down a pale green shirt and matching pants. ‘What size are you – large?’

  ‘Medium,’ I said sharply. ‘At best.’ I sucked in my gut.

  Rob looked at me dubiously. He replaced the clothing, dug through the stack and handed me two pieces in my requested size. ‘You can change in there.’ He pointed to the door on the left. ‘Join us when you have finished changing.’

  He aimed his thumb at the wall. ‘You’ll need a mat, too. You can pay me after class.’

  ‘Thanks. I’ll only be a minute.’ I took the clothing and opened the door to find myself in a small bathroom. I couldn’t find any price tags on the items and hoped I wasn’t going to be in for sticker shock. Between the cost of the class, the clothing and the mat, this was not going to be a cheap night. Too bad I wasn’t a private detective – I probably could have deducted all this stuff.

  Maybe even the muffin.

  I struggled into the tight-fitting yoga pants, banging my elbows against the walls of the small space. The elastic waistband dug into my stomach. The material pressed to breaking point against my thighs. I should exchange them for a large but I wasn’t going to give Rob the satisfaction.

  I sucked in my gut again and exited the bathroom.

  I selected a yoga mat from the offerings and tiptoed into the studio, remaining far in the back, careful not to create any further disruption.

  A row of windows faced Laredo. Maggie’s Beignet Café was visible in the glow of the streetlights.

  Rob was in the middle of some sort of one-armed, one-legged, no-brained stretch. Who in their right mind would risk planting their face in the floor doing a thing like that?

  A sudden gagging sensation was all I needed to remind myself once again not to look below waist level.

  I rolled out my mat. I had selected a pretty blue one. It was reversible, plain blue on one side and the Tree of Life on the other. Mom would love it and I would give it to her after class – because I was never, ever coming back.

  The woman next to me smiled as I lowered myself tentatively to the floor.

  Up front, Rob had descended into some head down, butt up, one leg off the ground maneuver that I could never hope to replicate. Lulling instrumental New Age music played from speakers in the upper corners of the space. If he would just turn off the lights, I could have taken a nap.

  Rob’s personal yoga mat looked like a Southwestern magic carpet with its fringed edging and Native American motif in shades of white, grape, orange and mauve. I half-expected him and the mat to lift off the ground and zoom lazily over the class side to side while he offered comments and suggestions.

  Forty-eight agonizing minutes later – yes, I was counting every bloody minute and would have counted the seconds too, if my watch had had a second hand – we were done.

  Class had gone on nonstop. There had been no chance to sneak away for a second look at Nancy’s apartment. Not that I had figured out a way to get inside, even if I had had the chance.

  And I was finished – physically, that is.

  The woman next to me told me how great I had done. ‘First time?’ she asked with a big white smile.

  ‘Last time,’ I quipped, wiping the sweat that poured from my face with a paper towel from the bathroom.

  She laughed, rolled up her yoga mat and said, ‘See you next week.’

  I smiled in reply. There was never going to be a next week if I could help it.

  I hobbled out to the alcove where Rob was chatting with a few of the lingering students – most of whom I noticed were of the adoring female persuasion judging by the looks in their eyes.

  I wondered if any of them had ever persuaded Rob to join them on their yoga mats.

  There was no sign of Rob’s wife, Trish.

  As the last students were leaving, I pulled my sweatpants over my yoga pants and my T-shirt over my new shirt. I stuck my shoes on my feet and pulled on my jacket. I picked up my purse and the Karma Koffee bag containing my muffin.

  I saw Rob smirking at me. I should have hidden the lousy bag from his sight.

  Rob handed me a bill and I handed him my credit card. For what he had charged me, class should have included roundtrip air tickets to Las Vegas with dinner and a show.

  Rob ran my card through the small electr
onic scanner on the corner of the desk. ‘What did you think of the class?’ he asked.

  ‘It was something,’ I said. Something I would never forget and hoped never to repeat. ‘What sadist invented yoga?’

  Rob handed me back my card and pulled the receipt from the machine as it spat out. ‘Yoga goes back at least five thousand years, Ms Miller. It was developed by the Indu–Sarasvati civilization in Northern India. It is a sacred tradition and art.’

  He glanced at the appointment book on the desk, then closed it. ‘You need to keep your mind open.’

  ‘Sorry,’ I replied, feeling as though I’d been chastened. ‘I’m trying.’ I dropped the yoga receipt in my purse. ‘Did you ever talk yoga with Nancy? Did she ever attend your classes?’

  Rob frowned at me. ‘As a matter of fact, we did talk about it once or twice. She never came to class, though. She was always busy working.’

  ‘Right, busy working on that book she was writing.’

  ‘I suppose.’

  ‘Do you know what she was writing about?’ I asked innocently.

  ‘Not really. It wasn’t something she liked to talk about.’ Rob turned his back on me, straightening the merchandise on the shelves.

  ‘Did she have any enemies that you know of? Anybody that would want to harm her?’

  Rob spun around, hands on his hips. ‘Alverson was my tenant, Ms Miller. I was not her confidante or her psychologist. Why all the questions?’

  ‘Just curious. You know.’

  ‘No, I do not know,’ Rob replied sternly. ‘As for who killed her, it was probably that boyfriend of hers.’

  ‘Jakob Waltz?’

  ‘That’s the one.’

  ‘Why do you think he might have killed her?’

  ‘It’s late, Ms Miller. Time to leave.’

  I hovered as he re-entered the main studio, turned off the music and dimmed the studio lights. ‘See you next week?’

  ‘I hope so.’ That wasn’t technically a lie because I did not say where he would possibly see me.

  He moved to the door and raised a brow. ‘Well?’

  ‘Do you mind if I use the restroom before I go?’ I asked in desperation.

  Rob looked at me oddly. ‘What’s wrong with the bathroom at the apartment? You haven’t clogged up the toilet again, have you?’

  I grimaced. Once, maybe twice, I had poured dirty cat litter down the toilet and clogged the pipes. The Gregorys had had to call out a plumber to snake them out. Couldn’t he let that go? ‘I’m kind of in a hurry.’

  ‘You have a facility at your café.’

  ‘I forgot my key,’ I answered with an apologetic shrug.

  ‘Fine. But I am in a hurry.’

  ‘You go ahead. I’ll lock up as soon as I’m done.’

  Rob gave it some thought and then agreed. Mostly, I believe he simply wanted to get away from me.

  Whatever.

  I listened as Rob thumped down the stairs and locked the door behind him. I grabbed my muffin bag and crossed the studio floor in my shoes. If Rob had seen me, no doubt he would have screamed bloody murder.

  What he didn’t see wasn’t going to hurt him.

  There was a door at the far end. If I was right, it matched the general location of the door I had seen in Nancy’s apartment.

  The door locked from the inside. I unlocked it and opened it slowly. I found myself on a small, dimly lit landing.

  Down had to lead to Karma Koffee. Up had to lead to Nancy’s apartment.

  And it did.

  NINETEEN

  What was the significance of this second stairway? Did Nancy’s killer know about it? If so, what part did it play, if any, in her murder?

  The existence of the stairway meant that whoever had killed Nancy could have used these stairs, not the stairs VV and I had used the night of the murder.

  The killer could have come from Karma Koffee, but that was unlikely. More likely was that the killer had gone through the yoga studio just as I had.

  Unless that killer was Rob Gregory!

  He was the only one, along with Trish, who would have keys to Karma Koffee, the yoga studio and Nancy Alverson’s apartment. Could he and Nancy have been having a secret affair? It was clear from the position of the body that Nancy had known her killer. She’d certainly known Rob.

  I heard a noise above and willed myself upward, one deliberate step at a time.

  My heart quickened as I reached the top of the stairs. The door to Nancy’s apartment hung open. I tiptoed up the last few steps and paused on the landing. My heart was racing. I took slow, shallow breaths. There was a light on inside and I heard somebody moving around.

  ‘Hello?’ I whispered.

  There was no reply.

  Across the apartment, I could see a slant of light coming from the door at the opposite end. The door stood ajar. Whoever had been in the empty apartment had probably gone out that way.

  Against my better judgment, I stepped inside and moved into the living room. There was no one in sight. A light was on in the kitchen.

  There was no one there.

  The bathroom door hung open. It was empty too.

  That left only the bedroom.

  I bit down on my lower lip and held my purse and muffin bag in my overhead fist, ready to clobber anybody that might be lurking.

  I stepped inside the bedroom. The curtains were pulled tight and the space was all shadows. The floor creaked as I put my weight on the boards.

  I felt my arm tensing, ready to strike. I saw a blur and screamed. It came from behind the bedroom door. I tried to run but steely fingers clamped down on my left shoulder. I screamed again, dropping my purse and muffin bag, all thoughts of using them as a weapon gone.

  I kicked savagely at the dark shape with my right foot and connected with something hard. My assailant cursed and let go of me.

  The bedside light blinked on. I winced, partly from the sudden strong light, but mostly from the pain in my shoulder.

  ‘Ms Miller?’

  ‘Rob?’ I grunted.

  Rob Gregory winced and rubbed his tibia. ‘What are you doing here?’ He was still wearing his sleeveless shirt but had thankfully thrown a pair of charcoal sweatpants over his yoga tights.

  ‘Me? What are you doing here?’

  ‘Being attacked by a berserk intruder, apparently.’ Rob scowled and paced back and forth between the desk and the bed in an effort to ease the pain. He stopped and turned on me. ‘I thought you were gone?’

  ‘I was. I mean, I am. That is, I heard footsteps and, since I knew the apartment was empty, I figured I should come see.’ It was scary sometimes how easy the little lies came to me.

  I rubbed my tingling shoulder. ‘I thought you were gone. What are you doing up here?’ Two open suitcases, a backpack and a tote bag sat on the bed. One was full, the other half so.

  ‘Gathering Alverson’s things.’

  ‘Then what were you hiding for?’

  ‘I thought you were a burglar. After what happened here, I wasn’t taking any chances.’

  ‘Are the police OK with you moving Nancy’s things?’

  ‘Of course.’ Rob huffed indignantly. ‘Her brother is coming for them tomorrow.’

  ‘Brother?’ I picked up my purse and pastry bag off the floor.

  ‘That’s right. The police gave him permission to collect her personal belongings. Which is fine by me, because I’d like to get this place rented again.’

  He put his hands on his hips and examined the room. ‘I don’t suppose you know anybody who is looking for a nice one-bedroom at the moment? It is fully furnished.’

  For a place where a young woman had just recently been murdered? I didn’t think so. ‘I’ll ask around,’ I said, trying to be diplomatic. I was pretty positive that I didn’t know anyone with a ghoulish enough disposition to want to rent that apartment – especially if the Gregorys didn’t change the furniture.

  Who wants to sit in a dead woman’s chair?

  ‘I don’t suppo
se I could get a look at her things?’ My eyes were on the two suitcases and the backpack.

  ‘No.’ Rob slammed the last case shut. ‘I don’t suppose you could.’ He picked up the case and carried it to the front door.

  I followed. ‘I heard from the police that Nancy’s tea was drugged.’

  Rob looked at me. ‘I heard that too. What’s your point?’

  ‘The tea is a mystery, don’t you think? And it was in one of your cups.’

  ‘It’s not a mystery to me. I gave her that tea myself.’

  ‘You did?’ I took a step back. Was he a mad killer?

  Rob seemed to read my mind. ‘I brought her the tea, Miller. I didn’t murder her, and I didn’t spike it. I was on my way up; she was on her way down for some tea. I offered to bring it to her. I did.’

  ‘Do the police know that?’

  ‘Of course,’ he answered with a sigh. He returned to the bedroom for the second suitcase and planted it next to the other beside the door. ‘Detective Highsmith thinks Nancy let someone into the apartment – a friend – and that person put something in her tea.’

  Rob opened the door and gave me a nudge. ‘Goodbye, Miller.’

  ‘But I want to know—’

  I could have finished my sentence but doors rarely answer. Accepting my defeat, I went downstairs gingerly. My muscles were beginning to tighten and complain.

  I had a feeling I was going to regret my inaugural yoga class for a very long time. I retrieved my bike and pedaled stiffly home.

  I unlocked the door, expecting to be greeted by Carole Two. She was nowhere in sight. ‘Probably snoozing,’ I whispered. I turned on the light and still she didn’t appear.

  I kicked off my shoes and dropped my purse and muffin on the table. My stomach grumbled. I couldn’t wait to demolish that muffin. After the night I had had, I deserved a Heaven’s Building Block. I deserved a dozen of them.

  I rolled the Schwinn to the sliding glass door at the edge of the kitchen to put the bike on the patio for the night as I generally did.

  I pulled back the curtain … and screamed!

  ‘Maggie Miller,’ the muffled voice in the darkness said. ‘It’s me.’ Herman patted his chest. ‘Herman. Only me, Herman.’ He threw his arms in the air to show he was harmless.