Death in a Difficult Position

by Diana Killian

  “Very well. But don’t—” The doorbell, which consisted of the opening bars of the old British crime show 221-B Baker Street, rang through the house, cutting Elysia short. Her cheeks pinked. “That will be Bradley. Have you met that creature he’s seeing?”

  “Sarah Ray? I’ve seen her around. I’ve never been formally introduced to her. What makes you think she’s a creature?”

  But Elysia was already on her way to answer the front door. A.J. stole a final slice of orange and followed.

  By the time she reached the living room the introductions were being made.

  “The creature” was very tall and very thin. She had long blonde hair pulled back from her face by a trademark tortoiseshell clip, and eyes of nearly the same shade as the tortoiseshell. Sarah Ray wasn’t pretty exactly, but hers was the kind of bone structure that might have been designed with a television franchise in mind. “Oh my gosh! I’ve been a fan ever since I was a little girl,” she cooed to Elysia.

  Mr. Meagher blanched and met A.J.’s eye.

  “Mmm. Sweet child,” Elysia murmured in a voice that would have freeze-dried acid. She delivered a look to Dean that had him at her side in an instant. “Help me with the hors d’oeuvres, darling.”

  She vanished down the hallway, Dean in her wake. Mr. Meagher watched them go. Feeling A.J.’s gaze, he met her eyes and offered a crooked little smile.

  He was quite a bit shorter than Sarah, and definitely a bit older, but he was very fit. He still had a full head of perfectly groomed silver hair and a year-round tan. In the year or so since she had moved to Stillbrook, A.J. had grown fond of Mr. Meagher. In fact, she wouldn’t have minded if her mother had discovered her feelings ran deeper for her old mate.

  But some things were simply not meant to be.

  Elysia’s partners in crime were making nice with Sarah in a manner that reminded A.J. of the way her cat Lula Mae used to bat a mouse around before having it for a snack.

  “She’s lovely,” A.J. said under her breath to Mr. Meagher. “Where did you meet?”

  Mr. Meagher beamed. “I was being interviewed at the local TV station. They were doing a segment on reverse mortgages for seniors. Sarah was cooking Irish stew in the studio next door.”

  Elysia and Dean returned, Elysia carrying a tray of fig and blue cheese nibbles and Dean bearing drinks. It occurred to A.J. that she was finally to the point where the sight of her mother near cocktails no longer made her stomach churn with nerves.

  Elysia disappeared down the hall once more. Dean joined the tableau of Petra, Marcie, and Sarah. Sarah smiled in greeting and then did a tiny double take.

  Dean smiled back. His smile grew faintly puzzled.

  “A terrible business, this murder,” Mr. Meagher said in a quiet aside to A.J.

  “Were you a member of Goode’s church?”

  “Saints preserve us!” Mr. Meagher replied, and that seemed to settle that.

  They chatted for a few minutes. A.J. couldn’t help noticing that Dean and Sarah were now talking animatedly together, though their voices were too low to overhear. That ended abruptly when Dean was peremptorily summoned back to the kitchen.

  Mr. Meagher asked Marcie and Petra a number of questions about Golden Gumshoes. To A.J.’s relief neither woman brought up anything about the potential good publicity of solving a real-life murder.

  At last Elysia reappeared in the doorway leading into the dining room. “Dinner is served. Bring your drinks if you like.”

  They filed into the elegant room where the table was laid in Waterford crystal and gold-rimmed Lenox china. The candles were lit, the flames throwing graceful shadows against the olive green walls and the paneled Japanese mural of a full moon behind a snowy flowering tree. Next to the mural, the real moon, bone white and luminous, seemed to fill the window.

  “This is gorgeous!” Petra exclaimed, taking the seat across from A.J. at the long table. “You’re spoiling us, Lucy.”

  “Just a little something I whipped up,” Elysia said airily, and A.J. smiled fondly at her. Elysia had first developed an interest in cooking when she was battling her addiction to alcohol. She had turned into a fine cook and was not unreasonably proud of that fact.

  A.J.’s own culinary efforts were pretty much summed up by soup and salad. It was hard to change the bad eating habits of a lifetime. Her lack of interest in cooking was underlined by the fact that she liked fast food and junk food and processed food.

  But she was trying. And she was making progress.

  Once everyone was seated, the plates and wine began to circulate. The main course was roasted filet with Stilton and crispy shallots served over mashed potatoes.

  “What’s the herb in the potatoes?” Sarah inquired, her pale brows drawing together as she sampled the first bite.

  “Celery root.”

  “Mmm. That explains it.”

  Elysia’s eyes kindled. “I think it gives the potatoes a lovely, earthy bottom.” Never had spuds sounded so risqué.

  “Elysia is a marvelous cook,” Mr. Meagher put in. As Sarah turned her gaze his way, he added, “As is Sarah.”

  It was a fine line between diplomacy and disloyalty.

  “It must be true that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. You’ve put on weight, Bradley,” Elysia commented.

  Mr. Meagher reddened and fell silent.

  Dean launched into a funny story of a recent calamity on the Golden Gumshoes set. Marcie and Petra chimed in, and soon everyone was safely past the moment of indigestion. The meal was perfectly cooked, in A.J.’s opinion—although she didn’t care for the orange and beetroot salad—and everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves until the topic turned to Lily’s incarceration.

  Afterward A.J. couldn’t recall who had mentioned the murder itself, but Sarah dropped her glass. The crystal didn’t break, but the red wine spilled across the gleaming surface of the table like blood.

  No one moved.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry!” Stricken, Sarah stared at Mr. Meagher and then at the surprised faces gazing her way. “Did you—I thought I heard you say David . . . David Goode was dead.”

  “We did, my dear,” Elysia said coolly, making no effort to mop up the spreading red tide. “He was murdered this afternoon. Someone stabbed him through the throat with a ballpoint pen.”

  “I’ll just get something to mop that up.” Dean rose. No one paid him any attention.

  Sarah’s mouth opened and closed. She blinked like someone waking from a trance.

  “It was all over the local news,” A.J. said. She didn’t mean it unkindly; it was just surprising to her that Sarah could have missed hearing about Goode’s death.

  “I’ve been taping all day. It’s our big Thanksgiving show. I only had time to run home and change before Bradley arrived to pick me up.”

  “So you knew the Reverend Goode,” Elysia probed. The other two Golden Gumshoes were watching poor Sarah with equal intensity. Did they imagine this was the last act of one of those manor house mysteries and Sarah was about to confess to murder? It seemed clear to A.J. that Sarah hadn’t had a clue Goode was dead until this very moment—either that or she was a better actress than anyone at the table.

  Sarah’s throat moved. “I knew of him,” she faltered. “Of course. Everyone knew David. I used to attend his church.”

  “Used to?” Elysia leapt on this.

  Dean, who was back with a fistful of paper towels and was busily mopping at the pool of wine, threw Sarah a look of sympathy that wasn’t going to win him points with his fiancée. “She’s obviously not going to be attending anything but his funeral service now.”

  Sarah visibly winced.

  Elysia, sounding like the Sunday School Police, ignored him. “When did you stop attending church?”

  “I-I don’t know.” Sarah looked helplessly at Mr. Meagher, who seemed to finally shake off his frowning preoccupation.

  “Is it the third degree you’re giving the girl now, Elysia?”

  “T
hird degree?” Elysia laughed merrily, the sound tinkling ominously off the crystal up and down the table. “What an odd comment, Bradley. I’m merely . . . making dinner conversation with my guests.”

  Mr. Meagher snorted. Elysia colored in annoyance.

  Sarah recovered some of her composure. “To be honest, I found some of David’s views to be a little extreme for my taste. I’m attending Emmanuel Episcopalian now.”

  “Delightful, I’m sure. So your relationship was strictly spiritual?”

  “Of course!” Sarah was a shade of holiday cranberry.

  “I believe that’s enough of that,” Mr. Meagher said, briskly. “You’re not on the telly now, my girl.”

  Both Sarah and Elysia blinked at him in surprise. A.J. bit back an inappropriate laugh.

  Elysia opened her mouth, but Sarah spoke first. “I’m sorry, but I’m not feeling very well,” she apologized. “I hate to drag you away from your friends, but . . .”

  “Don’t give it a thought, me darlin’,” Mr. Meagher said gallantly, rising to the occasion, both figuratively and literally.

  The Golden Gumshoes exchanged knowing looks as Sarah also rose. She rested a hand briefly on her stomach. “I think the potatoes may have been a little heavy for me.”

  Elysia’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

  “Don’t give it a thought,” Dean assured Sarah while Mr. Meagher made soothing sounds.

  Elysia murmured regretfully, “Oh dear. You’ll miss out on the chocolate clementine cake with hot chocolate sauce, Bradley.”

  Mr. Meagher hesitated a fraction of a second. Sarah shuddered, and he snapped to.

  “I’ll have you home before you know it,” he promised, fetching coats and organizing their departure in record time. Despite his orders that no one disturb themselves, everyone rose from the table and escorted them to the door.

  Sarah was charmingly apologetic, managing to convey simultaneously graciousness and a conviction she’d been poisoned.

  Elysia switched on the front porch light, and they went out into the crisp November night.

  The door closed behind them. Elysia said acidly, “There’s no fool like an old fool.”

  A.J. awoke to the comfortable, familiar sounds of Jake moving around her kitchen.

  She rose, threw on her soft blue Nandina bathrobe, and padded down the hallway. The butter yellow stove light dappled the dark polished floor and cherrywood cabinetry. Jake stood at the counter buttering thick slices of honey oat bread. Country ham was frying in the iron skillet.

  For a few seconds A.J. watched him against the backdrop of her affectionate memories of Deer Hollow. She had replaced the old-fashioned appliances with new stainless steel ones, but the navy and white tile backsplash, the copper canisters, and the pig cookie jar on the gleaming fridge top were all straight out of her childhood.

  It was a lovely moment, this merging of past and present. Jake was now as familiar with her kitchen as she was.

  “She’ll have both our hides if I feed you this late at night,” he was telling Monster, who sat licking his chops and watching hopefully.

  The floorboards squeaked beneath A.J.’s feet, and Jake glanced around.

  “Sorry. I was trying not to wake you.” He put down the butter-smeared knife and reached for A.J. as she walked into his arms.

  “I didn’t think I’d see you tonight.” She kissed him. Jake’s face was cold against hers, his hair damp beneath her fingertips. He smelled of faded aftershave and rain and something uniquely Jake.

  “Nice PJs.”

  A.J. looked down at her Nick & Nora baseball patterned pajama set. “I left my negligee at the castle. How’s Lily doing?”

  “She’s well on her way to getting herself convicted.”

  A.J. picked up a fork and checked the sizzling ham. “She hasn’t confessed, has she?”

  Jake shook his head. “No. She hasn’t stopped explaining why Goode got exactly what he deserved long enough to actually confess.”

  A.J. winced. “Even so, she couldn’t have done it, Jake.”

  “You say that about everyone I arrest.”

  A.J. chuckled. “Well, not everyone. Eggs?”

  “I was going to make do with a sandwich, but eggs would be great. I’m starving. I didn’t have lunch or dinner.”

  A.J. took out three eggs. “Sometimes I’m right. You have to admit that.”

  “I admit that you’ve been. . . .”

  “Sorry?” she asked innocently, cracking the eggs on the side of the skillet. “I didn’t catch that.”

  “Occasionally you’ve been helpful with an investigation or two.”

  “Don’t worry. I won’t let it go to my head.”

  He got a plate from the cupboard. “Are you having breakfast, too?”

  “I’m still full from dinner. I brought you a piece of chocolate cake, by the way.”

  “Thanks. How was dinner?” He sat down at the table, watching as A.J. moved around the kitchen.

  “Interesting. Mr. Meagher was there with Sarah Ray, who’s apparently his . . . I don’t know. Girl toy?”

  “Sarah Ray? Cooking with Sarah, Sarah?”

  A.J. nodded. “I think she might have been one of David Goode’s paramours.”

  “Paramour. There’s a word you don’t hear every day.” He was absently, gently, tugging Monster’s ears. The dog panted up at him with adoration. “You’re probably going to be called as a witness. You realize that, right? You were there for the altercation between Lily and Goode outside the Happy Cow Steak House?”

  “It wasn’t much of an altercation. If that’s all you’ve got, you might as well arrest me, too. I probably had more face-to-face run-ins with Goode than Lily did.”

  “Maybe. But so far no one has come forward with reports that you threatened him. And we didn’t find your fingerprints all over the murder weapon.”

  “You found Lily’s fingerprints on the murder weapon?”

  Jake admitted, “In fairness, we don’t have the forensics report yet. There were several sets of fingerprints, mostly smudged. Lily’s were definitely among them.”

  “The murder weapon was a ballpoint pen?”

  “Yep. With the Yoga Meridian logo on it, plain as day.”

  “Somebody’s got to be setting Lily up.”

  Jake groaned, and Monster’s ears perked in surprise. “Please don’t tell me that you think Lily couldn’t have done it because she wouldn’t incriminate herself by using her own pen. We both know Lily well enough to know that in the heat of the moment she’d be perfectly capable of grabbing the nearest thing to hand up to and including her personalized license plate.”

  “She doesn’t have a personalized license plate. Anyway, I agree with you about the lack of impulse control, but she’s not violent. As far as I know Lily’s never done a violent thing in her entire life. The fact that someone’s not very good at interpersonal relationships doesn’t mean they’re potentially homicidal.”

  “And it doesn’t mean that they’re not. Most people who resort to murder do so because they’re not very good at interpersonal relationships.”

  “But you know what I mean.”

  “Sure. And I hope you know what I mean. When people resort to violence, especially homicide, it generally comes as a shock to the people who know them. But the fact is, we’re all capable of violence given the right set of conditions.”

  A.J. used the spatula to bathe the frying eggs in butter and the juices from the ham. “Let’s say I agree with you. If Lily didn’t try to kill me during the last year, I find it hard to believe she’d resort to killing the Reverend Goode. She already had a plan for dealing with him—and I and the other local yoga studio owners were with her. So I just don’t see her suddenly losing it and deciding to kill Goode.”

  “It wasn’t premeditated. It looks like someone came into the office when Goode was there on his own, argued with him, and ultimately lashed out in anger.”

  A.J. shivered. “People are so fragile.”

&
nbsp; “Especially with a sharp object stuck in their jugular.” Jake looked apologetic at the glare A.J. threw him.

  A.J. slid the ham and eggs onto the heavy china plate. She carried it to the table and set the plate before Jake. Taking the chair across from him, she folded her arms and watched him begin to eat.

  Jake sighed in appreciation. “Now this is heaven.”

  “Yeah, maybe literally. That stuff will kill you.”

  He shook his head. “What’ll kill you are preservatives and worrying about what’ ll kill you. Anyway, it’s not like I make a habit of eggs and ham at two o’clock in the morning.” He reached for his coffee mug.

  “If the rumors about Goode are true, there are any number of people who might lose their tempers with him. Including Mrs. Goode. Aren’t you the one always telling me spouses are always the first to fall under suspicion?”

  “True. But Mrs. Goode has an alibi. Lily doesn’t. Or at least not one that holds water.”

  “What’s her alibi?”

  “Whose? Mrs. Goode’s alibi is she was doing one of those live radio interviews for a Christian station. Lily’s alibi is that she took time out to go walking in the autumn woods.”

  “Lily? Oh.” That did sound sort of fishy. A.J. never thought of Lily as the nature-loving type. But then people probably didn’t think of her as the nature-loving type, and she enjoyed walking in the woods. Although today it had been pouring rain all afternoon. Maybe Lily also liked walking in the rain. A.J. persisted, “Are you sure this radio interview was live?”

  Jake slapped his forehead. “I never thought of that! Maybe you should join the police force and solve all my cases for me.”

  A.J. scowled.

  Jake shook his head and calmly went back to eating his late night supper.

  Eight

  The next day A.J. got a call from Lily’s court-appointed lawyer. According to Ms. Martinez, Lily was requesting that A.J. visit her in jail.

  A.J. drove into Stillbrook. The town was old and charming. Effort had gone into preserving the historical integrity of the houses and shops while still catering to the needs of a new generation. Victorian architecture housed bakeries, boutiques, and art galleries. A number of families had lived in Warren County since Colonial times.