Death in a Difficult Position

by Diana Killian

  “Some of you have asked about a seven-year pretribulation rapture. I’m here to tell you that the start date of that rapture was 2005.”

  There was nervous laughter from the audience. Goode laughed, too, his eyes seeming to light with wicked amusement, and for the first time A.J. began to see what some of the appeal might be.

  “Yes, 2005. Do the math.”

  More laughter.

  “Have you heard about the mass evacuation? Have you heard about alien rapture tricks? Have you heard of reptiles devouring the ascending?” Goode chuckled, and it was so infectious a sound that A.J. found herself smiling as she watched the clip.

  Goode’s smile faded. His voice lowered. “But brothers and sisters, I’m here to tell you that monsters do exist. Monsters walk among us. . . .”

  Six

  A.J. was reading over Mocha Ritchie’s medical history when Emma’s voice crackled through the intercom. “Lily Martin’s on line one.” Emma had never been a fan of Lily’s. Probably because Lily had treated all of A.J.’s hires with a condescending patience that was worse than downright rudeness.

  A.J. set the file aside and picked up the phone. “Lily. Hi.”

  “Are we going ahead or not, A.J.?” Lily’s manners were just as bad on the phone as they were in person. “I’ve been waiting to hear from you. Did you talk to Vi and the others?”

  A.J. felt a little flare of guilt. She had sort of assumed that Lily, being Lily, would charge ahead with hiring a PI regardless of what A.J. and the other studio owners decided. Plus she’d been a little distracted with her own personal concerns.

  “Not yet. Things have been hectic. I’ll call as soon as I get off the phone with you.”

  “I’ve found the perfect investigator. He’s based right here in Blairstown, but he’s expensive.”

  “How expensive?”

  “More expensive than I want to shell out on my own. I’m not the only one whose livelihood is in jeopardy here.”

  As a matter of fact, out of all the local studios, A.J. would have thought Lily’s position was the least endangered. Yoga Meridian was owned by a pair of business entrepreneurs with a strategy of buying up a number of the nation’s largest and best-known yoga studios in a bid to create their own national chain. If anyone could weather this kind of tempest in a chai tea pot, it would be the employees of Tussle and Rossiter, surely.

  But when A.J. suggested this, Lily replied, “It’s not that simple.”

  “Why isn’t it?”

  Lily hesitated and then said shortly, “It’s like anywhere. When someone comes in from the outside, the existing employees are resentful. Nobody wants change, and because I came in at the time of the buyout and Mara Allen’s departure, I’m seen by some as the enemy.”

  Now there was irony. It was almost an exact replay of Lily’s reaction to A.J. when A.J. had inherited Sacred Balance after Aunt Di’s death.

  But Lily only managed Yoga Meridian. She didn’t own it, and reading between the lines, A.J. suspected there had been enough complaints that Lily wasn’t sure she could survive much more bad press. And by openly confronting the Reverend Goode, she was liable to have put herself right in the line of fire. No wonder she was looking for backup in the form of a united front of local studios.

  “Let me talk to the others.” A.J. was unwilling to commit to hiring a PI, but she did, unwillingly, sympathize with Lily’s plight. Or maybe it was just the fear that if Lily couldn’t make a go of it at Yoga Meridian, she’d be back knocking on the doors of Sacred Balance. A.J. wasn’t sure what the legal ramifications of that were. Lily had left Sacred Balance of her own volition, but the terms of Aunt Di’s will were vague, and A.J. could imagine a case being argued based on what Aunt Di’s ultimate intent might have been.

  “Will you please make it a priority?”

  In all the time A.J. had known Lily it was the first time she could remember Lily actually saying “please” for anything.

  “I’ll call now. In the meantime, stay away from Goode. The last thing you need is another public confrontation with him.”

  “I know.” Lily sounded uncharacteristically subdued.

  A.J. hung up and immediately dialed Vi McGrath of Zen Zone. Vi, a contemporary of Aunt Di’s, had always seemed as down-to-earth as they came, so it was a surprise to hear her voting in favor of Lily’s plan to hire a detective.

  “You don’t think maybe that’s a slight overreaction?” A.J. inquired cautiously.

  “Goode’s not the first soldier of the religious right to demonize yoga as a vehicle for his ambition, but he’s by far the most photogenic. The camera loves that man. Have you noticed?”

  “But being really, really good-looking isn’t enough.”

  “Of course not. But he’s also articulate and personable. There’s a cumulative effect to this stuff. In this case, killing the messenger can only help.”

  That seemed to be the consensus of opinion. Greg Kern of Golden Kernel gave Lily’s plan two thumbs up. “Have you heard the rumors about that guy? You know there’s a story there.”

  Lori Faith of Faith in You concurred. “I think discrediting Goode will go a long way to discrediting his message. I’m not suggesting we frame him, but it’s obvious from the stories circulating about him that there’s something not right there.”

  And Zenobia Graham of Graham Studio said, “Have you seen YouTube lately? Stupidity is viral. We need to fight fire with fire.”

  Suze brought in a rough draft of a flyer as A.J. was hanging up from her conversation with Zenobia.

  “What’s this?” A.J. studied the flyer, which turned out to be an invitation for the women’s camping retreat. “Wait. You want to try to schedule the retreat for this weekend? I thought we were agreed on next weekend.”

  “We were, but Jaci and I were thinking with next weekend being Thanksgiving, we’re probably not going to get many people participating, and after that we’re into December. It’s now or never.”

  A.J. raised her hand. “I vote never.”

  Suze made a face. “Come on, A.J. You’re always saying we’re a team and we should take initiative about the direction Sacred Balance goes.”

  It Could Happen. That was the Sacred Balance motto, right? So she could hardly complain when it did happen.

  “But this gives hardly any time to get people interested.”

  “We’ve been talking it up with everyone, and we’ve already had a couple of students sign up.”

  “It just seems like we’re rushing this.”

  “If we’re going to do it this year, we have to do it now. It’s only going to get colder and wetter from here on out.”

  “But if we can’t generate any interest, we might as well wait until the spring, right?”

  “But we are generating interest. Like I said, we’ve got three people signed up already. Besides, we’re mostly looking at this as a trial run for next year when we really make a big deal of it. The main thing is, regardless of how many students sign up, we still get the benefit of the promotion for it.”

  A.J. studied her junior instructor with surprise. That was unexpectedly shrewd of Suze.

  “You’re right.” She quickly read over the flyer, tweaked a couple of things, and handed it back. “Okay. Let’s run with it—though I’m personally praying for snow and a cancellation. ’Cause we’ll still get the promo value that way, too.”

  Suze spluttered, shook her head, and departed. A.J. phoned Lily to give her the good news. Not that A.J. really thought of the decision to go ahead with hiring a PI to dig up dirt on their adversary as good news, but Lily would probably see it that way.

  However, Lily was not in her office, and A.J. ended up leaving a message.

  She spent the afternoon going over the reports on the various subsidiaries of Sacred Balance.

  Though A.J. made a conscious effort to get away from the studio at lunchtime, at least a couple of days a week she found herself eating at her desk while she went over paperwork. It was a bad habit, s
he knew, but it was hard to break it. That day she bought a chicken cranberry walnut salad from the catering van that visited daily. While she ate her salad, she dialed Bradley Meagher and spoke to him about the possibility of Lily returning to Sacred Balance if she lost her job at Yoga Meridian.

  Mr. Meagher greeted her as always. “Sure, and if it isn’t me own favorite client. How are you, me wee darlin’ girl?”

  A.J. could hear Mr. Meagher’s pet cockatoo shrieking rude commentary in the background and what sounded like a nearby vacuum cleaner. She raised her voice to reassure her legal advisor and friend that all was well in her world with the possible exception of the return of Lily. Mr. Meagher was unnervingly noncommittal on that point, saying vaguely, “Grand, grand. No need to shout, me darlin’. Nothing wrong with my hearing. Speaking of which, have ye heard from your mither?”

  Awk. Ward. A.J. was never exactly sure what the relationship was at any given moment between her mother and Mr. Meagher. She knew that Mr. Meagher had great affection—and possibly even deeper feelings—for Elysia, and she knew Elysia was very fond of her old friend and advisor, but beyond that? Angels feared to tread. Let alone A.J. “As a matter of fact, I picked her up at the airport last night.”

  She needn’t have worried about having to break bad news. Mr. Meagher launched into commentary, concluding, “And did she tell you she was planning on marrying the man?”

  “Er, she did say something along those lines.”

  “And himself a great big handsome booby with no more than cotton wool for brains!”

  That seemed a little harsh. Dean was certainly handsome, but he hadn’t seemed particularly boobish. It was hard to say what he’d seemed, given that he’d barely had a chance to string a sentence together between Elysia’s running commentary and that of her fellow Golden Gumshoes.

  She volunteered, “For what it’s worth, I don’t think Dean’s anything like . . . the last time.”

  The last time having been particularly painful for all involved, there was a minute pause before Mr. Meagher launched into another tirade, ending with, “It’s time the wee woman learned to act her age!”

  “I hope you didn’t say that to the wee woman.”

  Mr. Meagher made a sound like an aggrieved billy goat, which A.J. took to mean no, but if the circumstances were right, he just might.

  “Maybe when we get to know him a little better,” A.J. began.

  “Oh, aye. She’s invited us to supper this evening, so I expect we’ll cop an eyeful.”

  The evening sounded less and less congenial, and A.J. fervently hoped no urgent police business came up to prevent Jake from attending. Then Mr. Meagher’s words actually registered.

  “We? Are you bringing someone to dinner?”

  Mr. Meagher coughed as though he’d swallowed cockatoo feathers. “Indeed I am! I’m bringing Sarah.”

  “Sara?” Sara Munsen was Mr. Meagher’s elderly—and married—housekeeper.

  Mr. Meagher read her mind. He clarified, “Sarah Ray.”

  “Sarah Ray? You mean Cooking with Sarah Sarah Ray?”

  “Aye. That’ll be the lass.”

  “Are you and Sarah—?”

  “And why ever shouldn’t we?” Mr. Meagher was sounding more and more like an irate leprechaun.

  “Go for the gold, boyo!” screamed the cockatoo in the background.

  A.J. said hastily, “No reason at all. I just wasn’t . . . I didn’t know.” Wasn’t there about the same difference in age between Mr. Meagher and Sarah Ray as there was between her mother and Dean? Dinner was liable to be an experience. “Well, then, I’ll see you both there.”

  Mr. Meagher concurred and rang off.

  A.J.’s days were typically a mix of teaching and administrative work. She enjoyed teaching the most—particularly the children’s classes she conducted (to the grateful relief of her associates)—but more and more she was finding herself stuck in her office going over reports. Of course, she could have hired someone to do the boring stuff, but she believed it was her aunt’s expectation that A.J. would try to be as hands-on as she herself had been. From the first, A.J. had done her best to meet that unspoken expectation. Sometimes, though, it was a relief to get into the studio and simply work out as another student, to stretch just that little bit further, to push herself just a little harder.

  That afternoon A.J. took Simon’s intermediate class during her own office time, and found the break from routine physically invigorating and mentally relaxing.

  Afterward, she was blow-drying her hair—and trying to decide if she ought to cut it short again—when Suze, Jaci, and Denise burst into the shower room.

  “You’ve got to come downstairs,” Suze yelled.

  A.J. switched off the dryer. She was thinking fire, flood, famine. Thank goodness, whatever the disaster was, Simon hadn’t also felt it necessary to join them in the ladies’ showers.

  “What on earth is the matter?” She was conscious of a handful of students who attended the afternoon courses watching them in surprise.

  “The Reverend Goode is dead,” Suze told her. “And Lily’s been arrested for his murder.”

  Seven

  “No Jake?” Elysia asked when A.J. arrived for dinner at Starlight Farm that evening.

  A.J. shook her head. “He’s stuck working on the Goode murder case.”

  Elysia took her coat. “Oh yes. Of course. Poor Jake.” She didn’t sound particularly sympathetic. “He might as well be a doctor with those hours. Minus the pay, of course, and plus the added danger to his life posed by all the nutters that are out there.”

  “Thanks for pointing that out, Mother.”

  “Best to be realistic, pumpkin. Do you think Lily did it?” News certainly traveled fast. As a matter of fact, A.J. had been thinking of little else all afternoon. Lily had her flaws, no question there, but murder? That was pretty hard to believe.

  “I doubt it. I know Lily has a temper, but if there’s one thing yoga teaches, it’s restraint.”

  Elysia led the way to the living room. She’d had the farmhouse redecorated once again while she was in Hollywood. The new décor was streamlined and modern. White custom sofas from Schaefer Studio, glass-topped cubic tables, blackened steel lamps, and modern primitive paintings in muted yellows and tangerine.

  Dean sat at the piano near the front windows, tinkling abstractedly at the keys. He looked up and smiled at A.J.’s entrance. “There she is,” he said cheerfully.

  Marcie was clicking on a laptop. Facebooking? Petra was signing a stack of 8 by 10 glamour-shot glossies depicting the Golden Gumshoes in a pose that seemed to parody the old Charlie’s Angels promo pics.

  “A.J. doesn’t believe Lily Martin did it,” Elysia announced. “Exonerated on grounds of her yoga training.”

  “I didn’t exactly say that.”

  “Then you do think she did it?”

  “No. I think it’s unlikely. I don’t know. I haven’t heard enough to make my mind up either way. The news has been pretty sketchy.”

  “It’ll make the national news tonight.” Petra paused to sip her coffee. She went back to tapping away at her computer.

  “We never really know anyone, do we?” Marcie asked brightly, continuing to scribble her signature across photographs with a broad, flamboyant hand.

  “Gina, er Petra, thinks Lily is the perp.” Elysia turned away. “Come help me in the kitchen, pumpkin.”

  “She did it, all right. One look at those eyebrows and I knew. She’s got Joan Crawford eyebrows.”

  A.J. met her mother’s eyes. Elysia shrugged and nodded for A.J. to join her at the sidebar. A.J. followed Elysia to the newly refurbished kitchen, which smelled tantalizingly of roasting meat and fresh herbs.

  “Dean seems nice,” A.J. volunteered, taking a stool at the counter. She selected a slice of orange from a plate.

  “He’s lovely, isn’t he? The girls and I have been thinking what a marvelous promotional opportunity this murder case is.”

  A.J. a
voided her mother’s eyes. “What happened to Morag, by the way?”

  Morag was the dearly beloved pet ferret of Elysia’s friend Maddie Sutherland. Elysia had “inherited” the ferret (in a manner of speaking).

  “Morag is with my trainer in Beverly Hills.”

  “What’s Morag training for?”

  “Ha. Very amusing. Beth had a ferret of her own, which was apparently suffering from a broken heart, so I gave her Morag, and they all lived happily ever after. I’m quite serious about the girls and me solving this crime.”

  A.J. groaned and dropped her head in her hands.

  “Now don’t be silly, pumpkin. We have an excellent track record. One hundred percent solve rate of our cases so far.”

  “That’s a TV show, Mother! It’s in the script that you solve all your cases.”

  “I’m not talking about the show,” Elysia snapped back, equally exasperated. “You and I have a one hundred percent solve rate on our cases.”

  “Cases? You make it sound like we had a plan. We just stumble into other people’s personal disasters.”

  “Oh tosh. You’re selling us both short. We have a knack for this kind of thing. We’re born detectives.”

  A.J. could hear Jake now. “Detectives aren’t born. They’re trained. We’re not trained. We’re lucky. And one day our luck is going to run out.”

  “Now that’s where you’re wrong. The girls and I have a police advisor on the show and we’ve received quite a bit of instruction over the last few months.”

  A.J. shook her head and reached for another slice of orange. Lunchtime’s chicken walnut salad was only a fond memory by now. “What’s in the casserole dish?”

  “Baked beetroots for the salad. Orange salad with beetroot and fennel.”

  “Sounds dreadful. Whatever happened to iceberg lettuce and Wish-Bone dressing?”

  “I sobered up.” Elysia gave her a chiding look. “Quit trying to change the subject. We’re going to solve this case with or without your help.”

  “It’s going to be without my help, then.”