“And?”
“It was sort of depressing, really. It didn’t look like a home, it looked like a magazine layout. I couldn’t imagine living there.”
“ That’s not what I meant,” A.J. said.
Jane bit her lip. “Oh. Well, I could tell immediately which room was Nicole’s office. Her face was plastered all over the walls.” She shook her head. “ The music was blasting, so I knew she was there, and I stepped inside just to say a quick hello and happy birthday. I wanted to get the papers signed and get out of there.” She closed her eyes.
“But she was already dead,” Elysia stated. She didn’t notice the irritated look A.J. directed her way.
Jane opened her eyes and nodded. “Yes. It must have just happened. She was lying behind the sofa . . . twitching. But I could see it was too late. She wasn’t breathing. Her head was . . . it was awful. There were bits of bloodied ice everywhere. I saw what was left of the koala sculpture smashed on the floor.” She swallowed hard. “And I knew I had to get out of there fast. I could see exactly how it was going to look, and I knew my only chance was to run—and pray that no one recognized me.”
Into the silence that followed her words, Elysia said briskly, “It makes perfect sense to me.”
Nobly, A.J. refrained from comment. As the other two women gazing expectantly at her, she said, “I don’t disbelieve you, Jane. But you must know how this will sound to the police. It’s weak. Yes, it could have happened exactly like you describe, but I can also see how someone might argue that you deliberately sneaked into the house when everyone was busy, grabbed the first available weapon—”
“Why wouldn’t she bring her own weapon if she was planning to murder Nicole?” Elysia demanded. “You can’t have it both ways. She either planned it or she didn’t.”
“Fair enough. And I happen to agree with you,” A.J. said. “I’m just pointing out how it’s going to look to Jake.”
Elysia’s expression spoke volumes on her concern over Jake’s opinions.
A.J. said, “It’s not like we’re making any progress coming up with an alternate prime suspect. Yes, plenty of people disliked Nicole, but moving from not liking someone to actually killing them is a big jump.”
“I think we’ve all agreed Barbie Siragusa looks very good for it,” Elysia retorted.
“I agree she’s our best suspect so far. She still can’t even bring herself to be polite about Nicole, and she did sort of threaten her. But no one reported seeing her at the house—and the timing is just a little too close.”
“But not impossible,” Andy said.
“No, not impossible. But everything would have to have gone like clockwork, and how does that happen when she couldn’t have planned the murder?”
“Who says she couldn’t have planned it?”
“Well . . .”A.J. considered. “I guess she could have faked the scene in the studio.”
“She is an actress.”
“That’s debatable.” Elysia spoke at the same time Jane said, “Ha!”
A.J. admitted, “She’s got the best motive of anyone. Two best motives. Her teenage son was seduced by Nicole, and she’s pregnant with Nicole’s lover’s baby.”
“Which, now that I think of it, does give J.W. another motive,” Elysia commented.
“What!” Jane stared from Elysia to A.J. “Are you saying you think Barbie is pregnant with J.W.’s baby?”
“Barbie’s saying so,” A.J. said. “I mean, I don’t know if she’s made a public announcement yet, but she’s apparently told a few people.”
“Has she told J.W.? He’ll be fascinated to hear that one!”
“What do you mean, lovie?” Elysia inquired, narrow-eyed.
Jane laughed, although it was a shaky laugh at best. “I don’t know if that woman is delusional or what, but J.W. is not the father of her child. J.W. is sterile.”
Sixteen
In an unexpected and utterly unprecedented move, Lily called in sick the following morning for the second day in a row.
“On a Friday?” A.J. cried when Suze delivered the message Lily had left on the answering machine. “That’s like publicly announcing she’s taking a day off.”
“Some people do get sick on Fridays. Especially if they were already sick on Thursday.”
“Not Lily. She never gets sick. Her body wouldn’t dare permit a germ access. She’s doing this to me on purpose.” Catching Suze’s expression, A.J. said glumly, “I sound paranoid, don’t I?”
“Yep.” Suze grinned. “But I think you’re right.”
It was probably the worst morning A.J. had had since taking over the studio. Lily carried a full roster of classes five days a week. She was the number one teacher at the studio, and the gap her unplanned absence made in the schedule was not pretty.
Emma Rice was the heroine of the day, coming in at a minute’s notice—and three days earlier than she was supposed to officially begin work—to help cover the front desk. A.J. taught her own Itsy Bitsy Yoga and Yoga for Kids classes, then took the Beginners class. Her muscles were already feeling the strain even before she realized that after lunch she would have to cover Simons’s Seniors and later Suze’s Teens and Tweens to free the two more-experienced instructors to cover Lily’s advanced sessions.
It was more teaching than A.J. had done since she started, and when she finally escaped back to her own office, her muscles were aching—along with her ego. She was reminded in no uncertain terms of the vital role Lily played within the studio. There was no pretending she was ready—or even wanted—to take on Lily’s role as head teacher.
Although no one came right out and said anything, it seemed to her that—with the exception of Suze—the other instructors were looking at her with silent accusation.
“I feel like I’m getting the silent treatment. They can’t be blaming me. Can they?” she asked when Suze brought her the mail.
Suze looked a little uncomfortable. “Um, the opinion seems to be that you should have consulted Lily before you drafted that letter to all the clients about not using their cell phones in the studio. I guess it looks a little high-handed.”
A.J. stopped rubbing her back and straightened in her chair. “Compared to the stuff Lily does?”
Suze shrugged. “ The thing is, Lily has been here forever, so everyone is sort of used to her little ways.”
Her little ways? That was like referring to a piranha attack as a case of the munchies.
“Plus . . .” If possible, Suze looked even more awkward. “We all always knew—thought, anyway—that Lily was going to be taking over the studio. So it looks sort of bad that you’re trying to maneuver her out of her share.”
It took A.J. a moment to recover from the shock of realizing Lily had made their conflict public. And Lord only knew what version of the truth she was handing out.
“I’m not!” she lowered her voice hastily. She repeated, “I’m not. I’m just trying to eliminate having to work with her. She’s threatened to do the same thing.”
“But you actually consulted a lawyer.”
“Well, yes.” A.J.’s bewilderment grew. “ The partnership would have to be dissolved legally.” She remembered Lily’s accusations. “Suze, you know me. You all know me. I’m not trying to cheat her. I’m trying to find a fair and equitable way out for both of us.”
“But she doesn’t want out.”
“She wants me out.”
Suze looked sympathetic but noncommittal. It gave A.J. plenty to think about as she worked through the rest of the morning—and not all her thoughts were pleasant.
She was eating a Ding Dong at her desk when Jake poked his head in the door.
“Uh-oh,” he commented. “ The hard stuff, huh?”
It was utterly irrational the way her heart leapt at the sight of him—not that his rugged handsomeness wasn’t the stuff guilty dreams were made of. Long and lean, he lounged in her doorway, that crooked smile creasing his tanned cheek.
Silently A.J. offered him a pi
ece of Ding Dong, absurdly pleased when he took a small bite. Immediately and hastily he wiped at his mouth.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
Jake lifted a broad shoulder. “I have a couple of free hours. Do you have time for lunch or did you plan on drowning your sorrows in chocolate frosting and cream filling?”
“Wow. To what do I owe this honor?”
There was a hint of color in Jake’s lean face. “It’s not like we never have lunch.”
“ True. But not usually when you’re immersed in a case.” And all the more remarkable because Jake didn’t have many cases like this one. Stillbrook and its environs were usually pretty peaceful.
He spread his hands. It was . . . disarming. So was the way his eyes smiled into hers.
A.J. crumpled the silver cake wrapping, tossing it in the trash. “I would love you to take me to lunch,” she said and stood up.
They lunched at Patty’s Pantry near the village green. It was a cute little café decorated in cottage style with flowered chintz cushions and swaths of Swiss dotted curtains like a doll house. There were bowls of silk roses on the tables and the dishes were Blue Willow. The food was simple but good: pot pies, quiches, stews, casseroles—and homemade ice cream and fresh baked pie for dessert.
A.J. tried to eat salad for lunch whenever she could, but it was hard to resist Patty’s chicken pot pie. Even reflecting sheepishly on the linguini of the day before couldn’t stop her from opting for carbs when the waitress arrived to take their orders.
“So when is the ex moving out again?” Jake asked after their meals were served.
“It’s . . . complicated.”
“Yeah?” His eyes were very green as they met hers. “Uncomplicate it for me.”
“Andy’s . . . not well.” She proceeded to explain how unwell Andy was, and Jake listened without expression.
When she had talked herself to a standstill, he asked, “What does this mean for you and me? Are you planning to get back together with him?”
A.J. shook her head. “No.”
His face was without expression. “Are you sure about that?”
“Did we just wander into a Bette Davis movie? Yes, I’m sure. I care about Andy, I want to help the best way I can, but I’m not in love with him. He’s not in love with me.”
Jake relaxed a fraction. “Okay.”
Her heart rose at his well-concealed but definite relief. Now this was encouraging.
“So what are his plans?” Jake inquired. “Because, I’m sorry for the guy, but he’s kind of putting a cramp in our relationship.” His gaze held A.J.’s, and the directness there brought a faint warmth to her face.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “He’s not confiding in me, but I know he feels overwhelmed. He’s not sure he’ll even be able to keep working, and I know he’s eating his heart out over Nick Grant.”
“Where is Grant in all this?”
A.J. shook her head. “Andy hasn’t told him yet. He doesn’t believe Nick will be willing to deal with . . . well, whatever the future entails.”
“I hate to say it,” Jake said, “but he’s probably right. That’s pretty much the gay lifestyle.”
A.J. was surprised at her instinctive irritation at Jake’s offhand comment. “I don’t know anything about the gay lifestyle,” she admitted. “Unless you count watching a couple of episodes of Torchwood, and I don’t think Captain Jack is Mr. Gay Average. I guess I was assuming the gay lifestyle wasn’t that different from anyone else’s lifestyle.”
“What about his family? Can’t they help?”
A.J. sighed. “Like me, Andy’s an only child. His parents disowned him when we divorced.” At the time it had been a small but significant comfort to A.J. Now she regretted their attitude. “Andy was always closer to my family.” To Elysia, at least; Aunt Di had not been any fonder of Andy than he had been of her.
Jake studied her for a long moment. His mouth curved wryly. “You’re a good person, A.J.”
“Can you forgive me?”
He laughed.
They were nearly through dessert when A.J. found an opening to ask about the investigation into Nicole’s murder. Jake didn’t exactly avoid talking about—well, come to think of it, maybe he did avoid talking about it.
“I’ve spoken to J.W. Young about doing a documentary on the studio.”
Jake looked up from his pecan pie à la mode. “Any particular reason you picked Young to do this film?”
“Mother recommended him. She’s a fan of his work.”
“Oh, brother,” said Jake. “Tell me she’s not poking that pointy nose into this thing.”
“Hey. Lay off my mother’s pointy nose.”
“I’ll be happy to—provided she stops sticking it in my business.”
If he only knew. A.J. decided to overlook that last comment. “J.W. is absolutely adamant that his ex-wife is not involved, isn’t he?”
“Jane Peters is not his ex. They never divorced.”
“Right, right. So . . . that means J.W. doesn’t inherit under the terms of Nicole’s will?”
Jake gave her a long look.
She did her best to look innocent. “Just asking. It’s public record, isn’t it?”
“I guess so. Manning left everything to a couple of wildlife organizations.”
She would.
“And J.W. would know that, of course.”
“Of course.”
“For what’s it worth,” A.J. said, “I don’t think he has—or at least had—a clue that Nicole was fooling around.”
Jake studied her impassively. “Go on.”
“When we were discussing filming this documentary, the subject of Barbie Siragusa came up a couple of times, and he never flinched, and I think if he knew Nicole had been unfaithful with Barbie’s son . . . I mean, there was nothing there. Mother agreed.”
“Oh, well now I’m convinced.”
“Okay, maybe we’re not trained law enforcement professionals—”
“Maybe?”
A.J. forged on. “But in our own way we’re each also in the business of reading people, and we agreed that J.W. Young had no idea what Nicole was up to.”
If she had hoped that by volunteering this information, he would be wooed into sharing his own thoughts, she was doomed to disappointment. Jake continued to eat his pie with the careful attention of a man who knew he wouldn’t be getting another meal break any time soon.
“And,” she pressed, “by the same token I don’t think J.W. is the father of Barbie’s baby.”
Ah. At last she had his attention.
“Say that again.”
“Barbie’s taking prenatal Pilates courses. The rumor—a rumor she started—is that J.W. is the father. Except . . .” she stopped realizing she had almost made the disastrous blunder of revealing Jane’s information that J.W. was sterile.
“Except?” Jake asked, watching her closely.
“Except . . . I don’t think it’s true.” She regained a little confidence. “And for the same reason. J.W. didn’t react an iota to Barbie’s name, and surely he would if they were having an affair?”
Jake rubbed his jaw meditatively.
A.J. asked curiously, “Besides being at the scene of the crime—which includes a lot of people, including me—is there some particular evidence against Jane Peters? Why are you so sure she’s your killer? Does she have a violent past or anything like that?”
“Why do we want to bring her in? You mean besides fleeing the scene—and her continuing efforts to evade a police dragnet? Let’s see. She’s still married to Manning’s live-in lover. She showed up without an appointment at Manning’s home on the afternoon of Manning’s death. After her husband left her for Manning, she made public threats against her.”
“Oh.”
Jake’s smile was sardonic.
A.J. thought it might be a good time to change the subject from Jane Peters. “Have you eliminated Barbie as a suspect yet?”
“We hav
en’t eliminated anyone as a suspect yet,” Jake said shortly. “We’ve got motives galore here. In addition to means and opportunity.” His cell phone rang. He glanced at it, glanced back at A.J. “Sorry. I’ve got to get back.”
A.J. nodded. She sighed wistfully. “Hey, as the Bard would say, ‘a policeman’s lot is not a happy one.’ ”
Already on his feet, Jake threw her a reluctant grin.
“ How come the Master Detective is giving us the evening off?” A.J. inquired as she and Andy ate dinner that evening.
She had been talking to him about some of the online articles she had read regarding yoga and MS. Everything she found indicated yoga appeared to be as beneficial as any traditional aerobic exercise program in helping MS patients combat loss of flexibility, balance, and coordination, and cope with stress and fatigue. Fatigue, in particular, seemed to be one of the most disabling aspects of the disease. A.J. could already see the change in Andy, who had always had boundless energy, and she knew he was frightened by it. It was frightening.
Although extensive study remained to be done, there was every indication that yoga appeared to enhance both physical health and quality of life in MS patients. No one had yet determined the impact of yoga on the disease itself, but a number of doctors and yoga practitioners—as well as patients—theorized that yoga might even slow the progression of the disease. Stress seemed to acerbate MS, and yoga was excellent for addressing stress.
In between covering classes, A.J. had read numerous accounts of people with MS practicing yoga and reporting benefits. It was certainly something to think about, but Andy—although he listened politely—seemed unimpressed.
Maybe he was still hoping for a silver bullet, and she couldn’t blame him if he was. Coming to terms with chronic illness wasn’t something that happened easily or quickly.
“Maybe she needed an early night,” he suggested
“Mother?”
“She’s not a kid anymore, A.J.” Andy smothered a yawn.
“I know she’s not a kid,” A.J. said a little irritably. It was not a grown up response, but she didn’t like thinking about her mother aging. Aunt Di last year . . . Andy’s illness . . . the people closest to her were all too mortal, and it was a scary realization. “It’s too quiet on that side of the valley,” she continued darkly. “What’s she up to?”
Dial Om for Murder Page 14
