by Lois Winston
“So all the books and the podcasts and the teleseminars came later?” I tried to look awed. “You must be a marketing genius. There’s a lot of competition in the motivational field. I know plenty of psychologists who can’t get a book deal or attract a national audience. They have the academic credentials, but they don’t know how to get their name out there or how to connect with people who can guide their careers.” I managed a bashful smile. “I wrote a self-help book myself, and it sank like a stone.”
She looked at me with new interest, as if I had finally said something intelligent. “Most people have no idea what it’s like,” she said, her face hardening. “It’s a lot tougher than it looks. The books and tapes drive the speaking deals, and you have to top yourself each time. It’s all about the numbers and these tours are murder. There are a million things to think about.”
“I was surprised Guru Sanjay agreed to offer a workshop in our little town,” I said, watching her closely. “I know that he usually speaks to thousands of people at a time in big venues.”
“He had a connection to Cypress Grove,” she said hesitantly. “I think someone here helped him once, and he felt obliged to return the favor.” She stood up and gave me a little smile. “I better get back to the seminar now. Just call me if you need more material.” Her tone was definitely warmer than it had been in the beginning. “We’ll be here till tomorrow morning.”
I thanked her and sat there for a few minutes, going over my notes. So Guru Sanjay was here in Cypress Grove once before? And Miriam might feel unappreciated by him? Maybe she had put in years of hard work for nothing? Who benefitted from his death? Had he left his fortune to Miriam? Would she be running his empire now that he was in a galaxy far, far away?
These were all issues worth investigating, the “story behind the story,” as Cyrus is fond of saying. But at the moment, I had a more urgent matter on my mind. I needed to make a pit stop at the Seabreeze Ladies room before heading back to the station.
~*~
I was surprised to find a weeping “Sanjay-ite” huddled in a loveseat in the cozy anteroom that led to the actual restroom. She was young and blonde, probably in her early twenties. It looked as if she’d been crying for quite a while because her face was blotchy and her eyelids puffy. She was clutching a tear-stained copy of Heal the Cosmos, and swiping her nose ineffectively with a paper towel.
“Oh sorry, “ I said, obviously intruding on what was obviously a private moment. “I’m just going to use the, uh, facilities,” I said, heading for the tile-walled room with the sinks and toilets. She nodded, sniffling, and then my psychology training kicked in–how could I leave her there in distress?
I heard myself saying, “Is there anything I can do to help you? A drink of water?”
She shook her head from side to side, drew her knees up on the couch, and gave full vent to her grief. “I can’t–I can’t believe he’s gone,” she said between sobs. She obviously hadn’t finished reading Heal the Cosmos or she’d know he wasn’t really “gone,” but was just transformed, but I decided not to point this out to her.
“Did you know the Guru very well?” I said softly, slipping into an armchair next to her.
She nodded. “For over five years. I’ve read all his books and I’ve gone to all his seminars.”
Wow, quite the devoted little acolyte, I thought.
“So you’re a follower...”
“Oh, I meant more to him than that,” she said miserably. “He has millions of followers, you know.” I nodded sagely. She meant more to him? What was she talking about? Had I struck pay dirt again?
She leaned forward, her eyes locking on mine, her voice soft and full of tears. “I was going to take over the number one spot in his organization.” She dabbed her eyes with the shredded tissue. “He was going to announce it this week-end, and now it’s all gone.” She threw one arm out in a hopeless gesture, railing against fate. “It’s over!” she said, jumping to her feet.
“Now that dreadful woman will run his empire right into the ground and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.”
I sat back, stunned. This was more than I’d bargained for. The dreadful woman had to be Miriam Dobosh. Was there really going to be a change in command? Or had Guru Sanjay been toying with this sweet (and pretty) young girl? And did Miriam Dobosh have an inkling about what was going on?
I stood up shakily, pondering my next move. First a pit stop and then–I jumped back in surprise when a tall, stocky figure came barreling out of one of the stalls.
Miriam Dobosh. It was like the scene in Fatal Attraction when Glenn Close suddenly pops up in Anne Archer’s bathroom and I staggered backwards in shock.
“She’s insane,” she hissed, her face close to mine. “Insane!” At this angle, with her flat, broad features and glittery eyes, Miriam looked a little demented herself.
“The girl who was just in here?” I said stupidly.
“Her name is Olivia Riggs.” She shook her head up and down, nearly dislodging her Jackie Kennedy hat. “Completely delusional. She was infatuated with Sanjay. A severe case of erotomania. You’re a shrink, you must know all about that. Sanjay wanted nothing to do with her. She’s an annoying little pest.”
She glanced in the mirror, grabbed the hatpin and viciously jabbed it into her pillbox to anchor it more firmly on her head. Our eyes met for a moment in the glass and her mouth was tight, her face contorted with rage.
“So you’re saying there never was any chance that she was going to—” I wasn’t sure how to tactfully finish the sentence.
“Take my job? Oh please.” Miriam gave a sardonic chuckle. “The girl has the I.Q. of a pigeon. She could never do what I do, not in a million years.” She tapped her grey curls in a self-satisfied. “It was all in her head,” she said meaningfully. “She has a vivid imagination.”
I did my business and scurried out, not sure if I could take any more surprises today.
EIGHT
Of course I knew I had one more big surprise waiting for me back at the townhouse.
Lark. I glanced at my watch. In just a few hours, I’d know what really happened last night with Guru Sanjay.
But first I had a show to do and I peeled out of the Seabreeze parking lot in a cloud of blue smoke, heading straight for the station. My guest today was Dr. Hiram Rosenkrantz, author of You and Your Colon: a Fragile Alliance.
I waggled my fingers at Irina who frowned at me and pointed to the giant wall clock over the reception desk. “You are cutting it close to the bone,” she said reproachfully. “Vera Mae is going pecans, wondering where you are. And your guest, he is looking to be losing it.”
“I’m running a little late, sorry!” I tossed the apology over my shoulder as I sprinted down the hall. Grabbing a donut out of the break room barely broke my stride and I kept on running straight into the booth, just as Vera Mae scurried to her spot at the board.
She glared at me through the window. “Holy buckets, girl, where’ve you been? Big Jim was going to re-run one of his sports broadcasts to fill the time slot.”
I slapped my headphones on as Kevin, the intern, hustled Dr. Rosenkrantz into the booth and settled him in a chair. My spirits sank when I got a look at my guest. He was a Pillsbury Doughboy of a man with a mass of yellow-white facial hair that nearly obliterated his pudgy features.
No time to offer him mineral water or coffee, not a moment to introduce myself or to make any attempt to put him at ease. The eminent doctor treated me to a scowl as I gave him a breezy smile. He was going to be a disaster on the air, I just knew it.
No time to worry about that, though, because we were going live in ten seconds!
I’d like to say the next three hours flew by, but really, how much can you say about colons? Dr. Rosenkrantz wasn’t the most scintillating guest in the world, but in all fairness, he had a pretty grim topic–flatulence, constipation and diverticulitis, all leading to the dreaded IBS, or irritable bowel syndrome.
The thrill of it all nearly sucked th
e air out of the booth.
His message was primarily cautionary: be kind to your intestines and they will be kind to you. A sort of gastrointestinal Boy Scout oath.
I waved my whole-wheat donut at him to show I was with the program, but he seemed unimpressed and looked mournfully over his notes during the commercial breaks. Perhaps he needed a little more roughage himself?
Note to self: ask Cyrus to find some more entertaining guests.
Something to ponder: Did the fact that Guru Sanjay turned up dead after doing my show hurt my chances of getting A-list guests?
Later that evening, after stopping at Johnny Chen’s for our take-out order, I cautiously unlocked the front door to the townhouse. I tiptoed inside, wondering if Lark was awake and functioning, and was pleased to see her curled up on the sofa watching television with Pugsley at her side.
Then I noticed she was staring blankly at the Weather Channel and I knew her mind wasn’t on rainstorms in Topeka or the blustery Santa Ana winds in southern California.
“Hey,” I said, setting the little white cardboard cartons with wire handles from Johnny Chen’s on the coffee table in front of her.
“Is that dinner?” she asked listlessly.
“No, I adopted a bunch of goldfish from Mike’s Marine World.”
I took a close look at her and saw that her eyes were red-rimmed from crying.
“Bad joke,” I apologized, handing Pugsley his steamed dumpling on a napkin. He swallowed it in one gulp and I took the remote out of Lark’s hands to kill the distracting chatter about cumulus clouds forming in the Pacific Northwest.
“We need to talk,” I said gently. It was dim in the room and I switched on the ginger jar lamp on the end table, flooding the room with soft pink light.
“Okay.” A tiny, ghostly voice and a hopeless shrug.
“But we can eat first if you want,” I added, taking in the stricken expression on her face. Her mascara was smudged from crying and she looked very small and vulnerable with her blue-and-white vintage afghan tucked around her legs.
She reached for her carton of Veggie Stir-Fry and stabbed at the contents in a desultory way with a plastic fork. We ate in uncomfortable silence side by side for a few minutes with Pugsley hovering around us like a hungry jackal, watching our every bite, his little feet tapping a staccato on the polished oak floor.
The townhouse was very still except for the solemn ticking of the grandfather clock in the entryway. Why wasn’t Lark speaking up, telling me she was innocent? I was convinced she had nothing to do with Sanjay’s death, but for some reason, I needed to hear her say the words.
Then I gave myself a mental head slap. What in the world was wrong with me? How could I even think Lark would be capable of violence? She’s so softhearted, she even rescues ants, carrying them outside in an envelope and setting them down gently in the garden.
The idea of her killing someone was ridiculous. Even someone as odious as Guru Sanjay.
Yet, something wasn’t right. My stomach started to prick with anxiety and my nerves were strung as tight as piano wire.
I drew in a long, slow breath, hoping to relax and found that my chest ached from the effort. I shoveled in more Veggie Lo Mein to soothe my jangled nerves with a little carb rush. Chinese food therapy, works every time.
“Okay,” Lark said finally, breaking the silence. She shot a sidelong glance at me and then pushed the afghan aside and sat up straighter. “I think I’m ready to tell you what happened last night.”
Finally, the moment of truth! I knew what was coming next. Lark would tell me what I already knew–that she had nothing to do with Guru Sanjay’s death and it was all a case of mistaken identity. The kind of thing that could happen to anybody, right?
“Okay, let’s hear it.”
She took a long, shuddering breath and then she let out a little sigh. Her green eyes were shining with intensity and her pupils were dilated as she stared at her hands, folded primly in her lap.
“Maggie, I think I may have killed him.”
I felt like I’d been sucker-punched and nearly dropped my carton of noodles on the polished oak floor, causing Pugsley to yip with excitement. My breath caught in my throat, as if it couldn’t make it all the way down to my lungs.
“What! This is a joke, right?”
“It’s no joke. It never should have happened this way. I never meant to hurt Guru Sanjay.”
“I believe you, but start from the beginning.” I tried to reign in my rampaging emotions. So much for eight years of psychoanalytic training! I was emotional wreck, and my thoughts were swirling like dry leaves in the wind as I struggled to make sense of what she was saying.
“I’ll try, but some of the evening is a blur. I think I must have blocked part of it out of my memory. I told that to Detective Martino, but he didn’t believe me,” she added ruefully. “He thinks I’m guilty, you know.”
“Don’t worry about Detective Martino right now, he thinks everybody’s guilty. Just tell me what happened,” I said firmly, “and don’t leave anything out.” I gave her a sharp look. “That bit about going out to the drugstore last night wasn’t true, was it?”
“No, it was just an excuse,” she said, flushing a little. “I went straight next door to the Seabreeze as soon as I left here. I knew you’d think it was crazy so I felt too embarrassed to tell you the truth.”
So Carmela was right, I thought grimly. I wonder if Lark knew she’d been spotted in the hotel lobby and had probably already been positively identified by the front desk clerk. That must be why Martino had dragged her down to the station this morning. Otherwise, why would he have reason to suspect her?
“I was going to call Guru Sanjay on the house phone to ask him to autograph my copy of Heal the Cosmos–”
“You had it with you, right? That’s why you were carrying that big yellow Coach bag, you had the book in there.”
Lark nodded, drawing her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. With her choppy blond haircut and winsome features, she looked about twelve years old.
“Yes, and I brought along a little gift for him, a bottle of my Calming Essence.” Lark makes her own herbal essences from dried flowers and generous soul that she is, she loves to give them out to her friends. You just add a few drops to a glass of water and instant nirvana.
“Go on.” I was beginning to wish I had poured us both a glass of wine before hearing what Lark had to say. A hefty flute of Pinot Grigio would hit the spot about now. I looked longingly toward the kitchen but didn’t want to interrupt Lark’s train of thought.
“Well, I was heading for the front desk when I spotted him walking down the hallway to the back stairs. I don’t know how I got up the nerve to speak to him, but I did. I ran right up to him and told him I’d read all his books and had brought him a little present. I told him I’d love to have him autograph his book for me.”
“And of course he agreed, “ I prompted. I just picture it. A fat middle-aged man meeting a devoted follower who just happens to be a gorgeous young blonde. It didn’t take much to connect the dots.
“Yeah, he agreed all right, but I got more than I bargained for,” she said, letting out her breath is a whoosh. “He invited me up to his room for a minute and that’s when things got crazy.”
Despair laced her voice and her tiny hands were knotted in fists, clutching the afghan as if it was a lifeline. Pugsley gave a nervous little nip, probably tuning in to the desperate tone in her voice.
“Crazy how?”
Lark blushed, a slow red burn that crept up her neck. “Well, first I asked him a lot of questions about his philosophy and he seemed really interested in explaining it all to me.”
I nodded, remembering how much Guru Sanjay liked to talk about himself.
“And then suddenly he gave me a funny look and his whole attitude changed. He was like a different person, Maggie. He lunged at me and tried to kiss me. I couldn’t believe it! How could I have been so stupid? He was a complete l
etch. He didn’t want to talk about metaphysics, he just wanted to get into my pants!”
“Ah.” A beat of silence passed. “Okay, so he was a jerk and he made a pass at you. What happened then?”
“I tried to leave,” Lark said slowly, “and he blocked my way. He was standing right in front of the door, trying to put his arms around me.” She gave an involuntary little shudder at the memory and her voice suddenly became high-pitched and girlish.
“He sounds like a creep! What did you do?” Pugsley gaze darted back and forth between us, as if he was following the conversation with rapt interest.
“I managed to slip past him and get my hand on the doorknob, but he caught me. So I turned around, put my hands against his chest, and pushed him as hard as I could. Maybe he tripped or maybe I’m stronger than I thought, but he stumbled backwards.”
“Onto the floor? Or onto the bed?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I didn’t wait around to find out. I ran out of there as fast as I could and took the back stairs down to the gardens.” Her green-eyed gaze locked onto mine.
“But I swear he was alive when I left, Maggie, honest!”
“I know,” I said quickly. “But we’ve got to figure out what happened next. How long were you in his room?”
“I don’t know...maybe forty-five minutes or an hour, why?”
I bit my lip, thinking. “Lark, you came home sometime around midnight. What did you do after you left the Seabreeze?”
“I walked around the neighborhood for a long while. I think I lost track of time. I was so upset, and you know how I like to walk to clear my head.” She pulled in a breath that fluttered on the edge of tears. “But Detective Martino doesn’t believe a word of this. He thinks I killed Guru Sanjay! The only reason he hasn’t charged me yet is he doesn’t have enough evidence to make the charges stick. But he’s keeping his eye on me and I know he’ll be back. He made it pretty clear I’m his number one suspect.”
“We have to think this through, Lark,” I said, my analytical side finally kicking in. If I was going to help Lark, I had to push my emotions aside and focus on the details of the case. “Do you know how Detective Martino connected you to the crime in the first place? Why did he zero in on you as a suspect? How did he even know you visited the Guru that night?”
