“I know you and Stella have had your differences, but you have to admit she deserves more in the way of company than a houseful of cats and a spirit guide from the Great Beyond.”
“I always thought she was happy with Slap Happy, or whatever her ghostly crony’s name was, and the cats.” Her voice altered. “How’s Bradley Meagher? You haven’t mentioned him.”
“Mr. Meagher? He’s fine. Busy. Aren’t you—” She stopped, suddenly aware that she had seemingly and inadvertently stepped out onto slippery ice.
Elysia began to type once more. “You should come out to Los Angeles in the spring, pumpkin. You haven’t seen the house yet. It’s really lovely. And it has a wonderful swimming pool with nearly year-round sunshine. We could shop and spend time together. I think you’d enjoy it.”
“I probably would, but it’s difficult for me to leave the studio for any length of time.”
Elysia sighed. “Of course. The devotion to duty that verges on mania.”
“Mania? That’s not exactly fair.”
“Just the other night Dean and I were watching a film on that poor man Howard Hughes. All that money, and he could never relax enough to enjoy it. It’s like this, your insistence on driving this heap.”
Well, here was an abrupt change of subject. A.J. forced her hands to relax on the steering wheel. “Mother, I didn’t realize why you needed me to bring the Land Rover, that’s all. I’m not driving this car because I’ve forgotten how to enjoy myself or I’ve developed an obsession for forcing as many people as possible into a backseat. Yes, the car has sentimental value for me, and yes, it is taking me a while to adjust to the idea that I can do things like buy a new car when I need one—or even when, strictly speaking, I don’t really need one. But I’ve been considering getting a new car. I just didn’t realize it was an emergency.”
Elysia dropped her phone in her bag. “It would be so nice if just for once you would obey me without question.”
A.J. nearly swerved off the road. “I’m sorry, your majesty. I didn’t realize it was a royal command. I thought it was a suggestion.”
Elysia muttered something and then said briskly, “Don’t mind me, pet. I’m nervous, and I’m making a muddle of it.”
A.J. looked away from the road for an instant. “Making a muddle of what?”
“Of what I have to tell you.”
A.J. swallowed. “What do you have to tell me?”
“It’s good news.”
“What is good news?”
“Dean and I are engaged to be married.”
Five
“You’re right. You win,” Jake said. “Your night was definitely worse than mine.”
“Thank you.” A.J. took a bite of her cinnamon doughnut and dusted at the crumbs that fell to her lap. She and Jake had met for a very early, very quick breakfast at Tea Tea! Hee! They were seated on the newly built enclosed patio. Even with the space heaters it was a little chilly, but they had the room to themselves with the exception of a group of groggy-looking college students hunched over laptops and notepads. Through the glass doors she could see the sleepy baristas. “Marcie’s in the middle of her third divorce, Petra’s farmhouse in the Berkshires is being repainted, and Dean is . . . whatever he is, so they’re all staying at Mother’s for the time being.”
“Cozy.”
“It’s not that I don’t want my mother to remarry. I think she should remarry. I know she’s lonely. I know she still misses my dad. I’d just prefer she didn’t marry someone who’s going to be mistaken for my brother.”
“Is this one younger than you, too?”
“No. Dean Sullivan’s about forty, I think. Still a minimum twenty years younger than my mother.”
“Your mother’s ageless. Like a diamond. Or a national disaster.”
A.J. snorted. “So what happened to you last night?”
Jake gave a little grunt. “I got called out on an attempted break-in at the Goodes’ place.”
A.J. perked up. “At the Goodes’? A burglary? Really?”
Another one of those noncommittal grunts from Jake. A.J. eyed him curiously. “What?”
“Supposedly . . .” He stopped again.
A.J. nudged him in the ribs. “Will you just spit it out?” “Goode is claiming that he got a good look at the prowler.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“He’s claiming it—the prowler—was over seven feet tall, hairy, with hooves instead of feet, a horse’s head, and small wings.”
A.J. stared at him. “Let me get this straight. Goode is claiming the Jersey Devil tried to break into his house last night?”
Jake nodded grimly.
“Seriously? He actually put that in a police report?”
“Yep.” Jake dunked his glazed doughnut in his coffee.
“And did you find cloven hoof tracks beneath Goode’s bedroom window?” A.J. teased.
She nearly spilled her coffee when Jake said calmly, “Sure did.”
“You did?”
He nodded.
“Somebody is obviously messing with Goode.”
“That’s my thought.”
“How close did the Jersey Devil come to actually breaking in?”
“It—he—tore the kitchen screen door off its hinges and did some damage kicking in the doorframe.”
“Wow. Someone was pretty angry.”
“It looks that way. Angry enough not to care that anyone inside the house was bound to hear him kicking in the back door.”
A.J. stared at Jake, trying to imagine the scene that must have taken place. “And so Goode looked out his window and saw a guy in a costume or what? What did he see?”
“Pretty much what I told you. Goode came downstairs to find out what all the ruckus was about. He says he thought one of his parishioners might have come to him with an emergency. He switched on the back porch light and saw what he describes as ‘an unholy creature’ running for the woods behind the house.”
“He didn’t think it was someone in a costume?”
“He insists he would have been able to tell if it was someone in a costume. He said the wings unfurled and flapped.”
“It flew?”
“No. Haven’t you ever seen pictures of the Jersey Devil? The wings are too small to support flight.”
A.J. opened her mouth, then closed it. She restrained herself to a mild, “Uh, right. It’s an aerodynamic thing, not a that-creature-was-a-total-fake thing.”
“According to Goode that was the giveaway. He says you couldn’t fake wings like that. So now he’s going around claiming that the appearance is a sign.”
“A sign of what?”
“I’m not sure I got all the details. It seemed to boil down to the sinners of Stillbrook are about to reap what they’ve sown.”
A.J. shook her head. She looked at her watch. “I don’t think I can listen to any more of this. Just hearing about this man is making me nuts. I don’t understand why he’s so popular. Honestly. The Jersey Devil?”
“He’s popular because he’s entertaining.” Jake dunked the last bit of doughnut in his coffee. “He’s like reality TV or a traffic accident. It’s hard to look away even though you know watching isn’t doing you any good. Have you heard him preach?”
“No. Have you?” A.J. gazed at Jake in disbelief.
“I went online. His sermons get uploaded onto YouTube right after he delivers them. They’re interesting. He’s a showman. He understands the value of entertainment.”
“I admit I’m not an expert, but one thing I don’t think I’m looking for in a religious leader is showmanship.”
“People like to be entertained. I don’t think anyone in Stillbrook is really changing their religious affiliation. I noticed the parking lots at both the Catholic and Presbyterian churches were packed as usual on Sunday. Folks are still making the trek to the synagogue in Deerfield Township. Personally? I think Goode is a kind of novelty. Once the novelty wears off . . .” Jake shrugged and swallowed the last
dripping bit of doughnut.
A.J. checked her watch again. “Now I am late.” Jake rose, too, and she gave him a quick kiss.
“I’m supposed to have dinner at my mother’s tonight. You’re invited, too. Do you think you can make it or are you going to grab the excuse of chasing the devil?”
Jake’s impassive face softened into a brief smile. “I’ll try to make it.”
“Great. You can meet my future stepdaddy.”
“He’s probably a very nice guy.”
“I know. He seems like a very nice guy. Ignore me.” She turned away, but Jake caught her arm to a deliver another, more deliberate kiss—despite the interest of the college kids in the corner.
“That’s easier said than done,” he said. “See you tonight.”
A.J. was still smiling as she climbed into her Volvo.
The sunrise studio was the easternmost space on the top level of Sacred Balance. The long picture windows faced the mountains and offered a glorious view of the sun rising over the woods. The first rays of light stretched pale fingers across the shining wood floor, and the windows seemed to blaze as soothing music played—in this case Jeff Beal’s moody but lovely melodies.
Seated cross-legged on the floor, facing her eight faithful Sunrise Yoga students, A.J. rested her right hand on her left knee, inhaled slowly and deeply as she stretched her spine. She exhaled and twisted to the left. She drew in another controlled breath and returned to center. She switched sides, left hand on her right knee, inhaling in smooth, deep breaths. She returned to center.
By making these simple exercises part of her morning routine, A.J. found that she was no longer troubled by the stiffness and minor aches and pains that had gradually begun to creep up on her. The slow stretches were a great way to gently transition from the inactivity of the night without adding any stress to a typically busy morning.
The students in this class had been attending before A.J. took over the studio, and there was no need for speech as they moved together through their routine. In fact, A.J. was aware of a sense of peaceful community, enhanced by the haunting music and the misty sunlight.
Even that lump of doughnut in her stomach didn’t unduly bother her, though she generally didn’t eat on the mornings she led the sunrise sessions. Generally speaking, the ideal way to start the morning was never going to be with coffee and doughnuts. Usually A.J. opted for a glass of lukewarm water with a slice of lemon followed by her morning asanas and then a light, healthy breakfast before heading to the studio.
This was not to say she had sworn off Pop-Tarts and Cocoa Puffs for all time, but she did try to limit her consumption of them. The truth was she not only had more energy, she felt better overall when she ate right.
By now the class had moved on to lunges. The lunges were inevitably easier to demonstrate than explain. Balanced on all fours, A.J. slid her left foot forward so that her toes lined up with her flexed fingers. She slid her right leg behind until her knee touched the floor while keeping her spine straight and stretched, her shoulder blades down. She tilted her face ceilingward.
The class held the pose for a silent eight count, continuing to breathe slowly, evenly. They switched sides and repeated.
The sun rose higher and gilded the floor and students in golden light.
On her way back down to her office, A.J. spotted Mocha in a gray sweat suit on her way to her first class.
“Good morning!”
Mocha’s heavily made-up eyes stared at her blankly.
“I hope you have a good session this morning. Let me know if you have any questions or if there’s anything you need.”
Mocha didn’t exactly roll her eyes but the impression was roughly the same. She continued on without comment at all. A.J. sighed and continued downstairs to her office.
She poured a cup of green tea and sat down at her desk to go through her e-mail. There were the usual offers of credit cards, diet supplements, and holiday getaways as well as a note from Andy asking if she and Jake wanted to come to Manhattan for Thanksgiving.
A.J. read the invitation ruefully. It said something that she could even consider the idea of spending the holiday with her ex and his partner. But the truth was, Andy had been her best friend for most of her adult life. She missed him.
She typed out a quick response saying she would have to check with Jake and see what Elysia’s plans were, but if everyone else was up for it, she’d love to.
There were a few other e-mails to deal with. The usual kind of thing. Nothing too urgent. She clicked on the link in the notice from My Yoga Journal and quickly scanned an article on attracting more men to yoga.
Yes, recruiting men might compensate for losing a few students to the economic crunch. In fact, recruiting men might even wind up bringing in more women students, but figuring out a way to do that was more daunting than tackling all the Vedic mysteries in one go. A.J. had tried to get Jake to commit but though he occasionally attended a class, it quite obviously had more to do with pleasing her than any concern with gaining flexibility or experiencing alternative forms of training.
Even though yoga was historically taught and practiced by men, in Western culture it was perceived as a primarily feminine endeavor. And the male instructors and students A.J. encountered were, typically, a bit more sensitive and enlightened than the guys shooting pool down at Terry Mac’s Pool Room. That was probably part of the difficulty in attracting male students. A lot of guys felt that yoga just didn’t seem very . . . masculine.
Suze poked her head in the doorway.
“Did you hear the latest?”
“About?”
“The Reverend Goode. He was on the news this morning. Well, Channel 3.”
A.J.’s heart sank. “Oh no. What now?” She was prepared to hear something dire like the reverend was urging a boycott of all yoga studios.
“He claims that he had to do spiritual battle with the Jersey Devil last night.” Suze grinned cheerfully, apparently untroubled by the idea of good and evil duking it out in her backyard.
“How does an attempted break-in turn into spiritual battle?”
“I don’t know, but that’s not all. He was talking about how all these sightings of the Jersey Devil are a sign that our unthinking and godless behavior is leading up to disaster.”
“Disaster? What kind of disaster? You mean like the Apocalypse?”
“Well, he didn’t go that far.”
“What does he mean?” A.J. was bemused. It was almost funny, and yet . . . not really. “Higher gas prices? More dead cows? Are people really buying into this?”
Suze shrugged. “I don’t know. I was at home watching with my cat.”
“What did your cat think?”
“She likes fishy things. Anyway, it’s not like he’s getting national coverage.”
“No. That’s true. Not yet anyway.”
They chatted for a few minutes more and then Suze ducked out only to be replaced by Denise.
“Traitor,” A.J. told her without heat.
Denise looked guilty, but then she laughed. “I hate camping, too, but it is a good idea. Simon and Jaci sound like they’ve had a lot of experience. It’ll probably be fun.”
“If by fun you mean we probably won’t all die of exposure, you’re probably right.”
“Have you ever been camping?”
“No. My parents were not the camping types. Neither was my husband.”
“You might like it.”
“Stranger things have happened.”
They discussed issues with a couple of clients and then Denise departed to conduct her first class.
A.J. turned back to her laptop and Googled the New Dawn Church. More than six hundred thousand hits popped up in .20 seconds.
Holy moly. And no pun intended.
“Great.” She studied the page and quickly determined that New Dawn Church was a very popular name for a lot of religious entities that had absolutely nothing to do with one another.
She refined h
er search to include David Goode and New Dawn Church. This brought up more focused results.
Women’s Bible Study Group led by Oriel Goode. That was more like it. Christian Couples Counseling led by the Reverend David Goode. A.J. snorted. Tour de Christ Cycling Club. She kept reading and finally found what she was looking for.
The New Dawn Church had been founded in the 1960s by a man named Kirkland Bath. Bath, from what A.J. could discern, had been the well-educated only son of a wealthy but strict Presbyterian New England family. For reasons unclear in anything A.J. read, Bath broke with his family while in his early thirties and moved out west to establish a small, fundamentalist sect. There was a lot of information on the church’s doctrine, which was something to do with Dispensationalism. Dispensationalism, according to a quick side trip to Wikipedia, was “the rediscovery of early Christian millennialism.” At that point, A.J. conceded defeat and went back to searching out what information she could find on David Goode.
The timeline on when he had joined up with Bath was vague, but at some point in the last decade he had married Bath’s niece, Oriel Hatton. A.J. studied the tiny web photos closely. Oriel Hatton did appear to be the current Mrs. Goode. The church had continued to grow. Bath had dropped out of the picture, which wasn’t surprising considering that he’d be in his eighties by now. Goode had decided to take his ministry east.
Why he had settled on Stillbrook was anyone’s guess. A.J. would have expected him to aim a little higher than Warren County. Not that Warren County wasn’t a wonderful place to live, but it was largely rural and not densely populated. Of course, maybe that was what Goode liked about it.
Remembering what Jake had said about listening to Goode’s sermons, A.J. surfed over to YouTube and searched for the Reverend David Goode. She blinked at the number of video clips that came up. Someone had been a very busy boy.
She pressed play on the most recent video. There was a clip of a dove flying through the spring blue sky and a snippet of music from a popular Christian group, and then there was a surprisingly skillful cut to David Goode delivering an impassioned sermon to a packed community center.
Death in a Difficult Position Page 5
