Murder on the Eightfold Path

by Diana Killian

  A.J. and Elysia quickly vetoed this. “It will do you good to get out, petal,” Elysia said cheerfully. “No point hanging about brooding about the long-lost past or where to find replacements for brass keyhole covers.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” Medea muttered, clearly unconvinced of any such thing. “Now if we were going for a game of golf—”

  But Elysia ruthlessly overrode any possibility of golf, and in the end Medea allowed herself to be persuaded. Leaving Morag to guard the house, they drove into the town of Newton in Medea’s giant old black Bentley.

  The historic town of Newton, or “the Pearl of Kittatinny,” was a lovely old town located in the Northwest Skylands. Granted, it was a little limited as far as arts and entertainment day-tripping went. There was the Snow-mobile Barn Museum, which all three women agreed to give a wide miss to, and the Newton Fire Museum. The town boasted no fewer than four terrific golf courses. A.J. and Elysia again had to overrule Medea, who opted they skip the hair appointments for a few rounds. There were a number of cute shops and boutiques, and some charming cafés and restaurants.

  After a leisurely lunch at Andre’s Restaurant and Wine Boutique, they drove to The Salon, a large white building with ionic pillars lining the front like a Greek temple. It wasn’t an ugly building, but it stuck out like a sore thumb amidst the historic architecture of Newton.

  Medea and Elysia were greeted like old friends by the salon owner, Gloria Sunday.

  “Elysia, darling.” Gloria was so exquisite she could have been made out of porcelain. Her makeup was flawless and her champagne-colored hair was so shiny and perfect it could have been a wig. Maybe it was. No concession had been made to her age, which was probably in her seventies. “So lovely to see you.”

  Elysia and Gloria air-kissed and then Gloria turned to Medea.

  “Medea, darling.” Gloria’s smile faltered, but then recovered. “At least you haven’t gone to a competitor. That’s a mercy. Tim awaits you.” She gestured to a slim young man with a goatee and a gold earring.

  “Och,” Medea said, “I wasnae going to—”

  She was whisked away, still feebly protesting. Gloria smiled a tiny, satisfied smile.

  “My daughter, Anna,” Elysia said.

  “Anna.” Sherry-colored eyes flicked over A.J. appraisingly, lingering on her hair. Gloria’s smile stayed firmly in place, but it seemed to require effort.

  Elysia added, “She inherited my late sister’s studio.”

  The sherry-colored gaze sharpened. “Ah. Of course, of course. Welcome, my dear. We have you down for the Athenian.”

  Hopefully the Athenian was a “what” and not a “who.” A.J. said, “I just wanted a trim, really.”

  Elysia and Gloria laughed gaily at the very idea. Gloria appeared to consider and then she gestured like a sorceress summoning a genie. “Alessandro, I think.”

  Alessandro turned out to be a very handsome young Latino from Brooklyn. He had a sultry smile and a short ponytail. When he shook A.J.’s hand he clasped it warmly in both of his.

  “This is a treat for me,” he told A.J. as he settled her in the reclining chair next to a shampoo basin shaped like a golden shell. “I can’t think of the last time I worked with someone who wasn’t suffering hot flashes.”

  A.J. couldn’t help wondering what charming lies he told the menopausal someones. That it was a relief to work with someone mature?

  “You don’t have many male clients?”

  “We don’t have any.” Alessandro sounded definite. A.J. glanced around the salon. All the patrons were indeed female. And all the stylists were male. Young, handsome males. Gloria seemed to have isolated and identified her target market, and, judging by appearances, business was booming.

  Alessandro certainly seemed worth his weight in gold. He had magical fingers, and as he skillfully massaged A.J.’s neck and scalp, she began to toy with the notion of hiring a masseuse for Sacred Balance. They had recently hired a physician for their Sitka Yoga program, so why not a masseuse? Especially since Mara Allen had one for Yoga Meridian.

  Not that A.J. wanted to fall into her old competitive mind-set. Yoga wasn’t just about stretching the body; surely she had managed to stretch her mind a little over the last year? Still, she had no intention of lying there in Corpse Pose while Mara Allen took over her business.

  After the shampoo, Alessandro painted a purple glaze on A.J.’s hair and left her browsing a copy of Vogue under a dryer. She turned the magazine pages and surreptitiously studied the busy salon. Nearly every chair was full this Saturday afternoon. And every chair was manned—no pun intended—by an enthusiastic young sir chatting and charming his client. Alessandro was correct. With the exception of herself, none of the clients looked under forty-five.

  A.J. spotted Medea beneath a veil of black hair. A few stations down she spied her mother; recognized the expression and the moving lips: Elysia was interrogating her smiling stylist.

  Over by the elegant front desk—seemingly designed to look like a marble and gold sacrificial altar—Gloria was speaking earnestly to a tall, thin, courtly-looking older man.

  Alessandro returned and escorted A.J. to the “styling pavilion.” Here A.J. was given a flute glass of champagne to sip while Alessandro asked her a variety of questions about her job, morning routine, and exercise habits in order to determine the best possible haircut for her.

  Back when A.J. had been an up-and-coming freelance marketing consultant she had paid major dollars to have her long, chestnut hair highlighted at the John Barrett Salon on Fifth Avenue. She really hadn’t taken time to get a serious cut and color since she’d moved to New Jersey. Maybe it was time for a new look.

  Alessandro certainly seemed to think so and made numerous suggestions—most of them good. One thing for sure, he wasn’t just a pretty face. He did know his craft, and in between the amiable third degree he snipped and trimmed, eyes narrowed as he measured one side of A.J.’s hair against the other.

  “So you’re just having a girls’ day out, Anna?”

  “Yes. Call me A.J.” She watched the silver flash of scissors. “How long have you worked at the salon?”

  “Just about a year. And your mom used to be a movie star?”

  “In Britain, yes.” A.J. preferred not to go there. Elysia had a startlingly large cult following among young males. Her gaze fell on Gloria who was still talking to the handsome, but increasingly restive-looking, older man. “Who is Gloria talking to?”

  “That’s her partner Stewie Cabot. Are you married, A.J.?”

  “Nope. Not anymore.” She smilingly batted the ball back in Alessandro’s court. “Are Gloria and Stewie involved?”

  “Nah. No way. Stewie’s gay.” Alessandro chuckled. “You’re engaged, I bet?”

  And so it went. Alessandro was charming and attentive and never shut up. No, that wasn’t true. He listened very carefully to all of A.J.’s answers to his questions—and he had many questions. Somehow his interrogation managed to skirt the line of actually being intrusive; Alessandro seemed merely young and guileless. Maybe A.J. was conscious of how many questions he was asking because she was doing her best to question him.

  While they fenced, Alessandro snipped and styled. At the end of two and a half hours A.J. had a short, feathery cut that was stylish but wouldn’t require too much work with her active lifestyle.

  “It’s lovely,” she admitted, holding a hand mirror to examine the close cropped back of her head.

  Alessandro handed her his card. “My pleasure. I would love to see you again, A.J. Anytime.”

  A.J. thanked him. When they shook hands, Alessandro gently, meaningfully squeezed her hand.

  Elysia stood at the front waiting for her. Her eyes widened at A.J.’s approach. “You look absolutely fabulous, pet.” She bade A.J. turn, which A.J. did.

  “The rolling eyes make you look a bit unhinged, but otherwise, a truly lovely job.”

  A.J. noticed that Stewie, Gloria’s business partner according to
Alessandro, was smiling as he observed them.

  “Gorgeous,” he agreed, joining in the conversation. “Of course, it helps when we have such lovely raw material to work with.” He turned to Elysia and expertly delivered the finishing stroke. “Your baby sister?”

  They chatted with the smooth and personable Stewie for a few minutes and then he excused himself to speak to a customer on the phone. Shortly after, Medea joined them.

  One glance at the older woman’s face told A.J. something was very wrong. Medea was visibly shaken, her face white and her eyes red-rimmed.

  “What’s wrong?” Elysia demanded. “You’re not happy with the cut?”

  Medea shook her head. Paying the cupid-cute male receptionist for her cut with shaking hands, she pushed out through the amber crackle-glass doors. Elysia and A.J. had to hurry to keep up with her.

  “What is it? What’s happened?” Elysia persisted.

  Medea gave another swift shake of her head. They reached the underground parking garage, Medea walking so swiftly the other two had to trot to keep up.

  They found the Bentley amidst the rows of shining, silent cars. Medea unlocked the doors and they got in.

  Slumped behind the wheel, Medea took deep, unsteady breaths.

  Elysia put a hand on her shoulder and Medea’s face twisted up.

  “Maddie, petal, tell me what’s wrong,”

  Medea let out a long, shaky sigh. “Peggy Graham is dead.”

  Thirteen

  “Who’s Peggy Graham?” Elysia asked blankly.

  “Peggy. Peggy Graham.”

  “Yes, got that much, love. Who is Peggy Graham?”

  Medea hiccupped a half-sob. “A friend. I’ve mentioned Peggy, surely?”

  “Er . . . refresh my memory.”

  “Peggy and I sat on the League of Historical Societies.”

  As she began to speak of her acquaintanceship with Peggy, A.J. suddenly remembered the name of the woman who had been harassing Dicky before his death. Had the police investigated Dora Beauford at all? Did they even know of her existence?

  Preoccupied with her own thoughts, she only vaguely heard Medea’s shaky, “Well, she’s killed herself.”

  Following a shocked silence, Elysia said, “When?”

  “Nearly a month ago. They’re saying she took sleeping pills.”

  “Do they know why?”

  Medea shook her head.

  Elysia bit her lip. “I’m so sorry, Maddie.”

  “It’s not true! She wouldn’t have!”

  Elysia patted her back. “Perhaps she was ill. Perhaps—”

  “No.”

  “Then it was an accident.”

  “No!”

  Elysia stared at her. “What are you suggesting?”

  Medea, face working, stared out the window.

  “Are you saying someone killed her? What are you saying, Maddie?”

  “I’m saying it was murder.”

  “Murder? Who killed her?”

  “They did!”

  “Who?” A.J. and Elysia chorused.

  Medea shook her head fiercely.

  When she said nothing else and made no further move, Elysia said, “You’d better let me drive, petal. You’ve had a shock.”

  “I’m fine.” Medea seemed to shake off her paralysis. She started the car engine. She drove carefully, slowly, out of the underground garage and turned onto the main street.

  Elysia asked at last, “When was the last time you saw Peggy?”

  Medea’s gaze stayed glued on the busy road before them. “It’s been a wee while.”

  Why the guilty look?

  “Had you and Peggy been friends long?”

  “Years.” Medea swallowed. “Six years. We weren’t . . . as close as we once were.”

  “Had something happened between you?”

  “No. Not really.” But Medea didn’t sound convinced. “People change. Friendships . . . alter.”

  Yet Medea and Elysia had stayed close even when they were not in regular contact.

  A.J. questioned, “Do you have any reason to believe someone wished Peggy harm?”

  Medea opened her mouth and then closed it again. “No.”

  It was probably the least convincing thing she’d said so far. “If you know something about your friend’s death,” A.J. said, “the best thing to do is tell the police.”

  Medea shook her head fiercely.

  Elysia said, “Or tell us. You said ‘they.’ Who did you mean?”

  Another fierce shake of Medea’s head.

  Did Medea actually have someone in mind, or by “they” did she merely mean the usual suspects everyone referred to by “they”?

  “Do you know if Peggy did take sleeping pills?” Elysia asked, thoughtfully. Clearly her sleuthing instincts were roused, but that really wasn’t saying much since Elysia hoped for mystery like most people hoped for winning lottery numbers.

  “I don’t know. I don’t remember her ever saying so.”

  “Did she take any kind of medication?”

  “I don’t know. The usual things for blood pressure, I suppose.”

  “She wasn’t in ill health that you knew of?”

  “No.”

  “Or depressed?”

  Medea shook her head.

  A.J. said slowly, “I think suicide always comes as a shock to other people. Couldn’t it just be something like that?”

  “I . . . I wouldn’t have thought so.”

  “Where are you going with this, pumpkin?” Elysia inquired, clearly displeased at the suggestion of an accidental death when there was a possibility of foul play.

  “I don’t know,” A.J. admitted. “Sleeping pills seem like an unreliable way to kill yourself. But they also seem like an unreliable way to commit murder.”

  “Sleeping pill overdose is the method most commonly used when women wish to commit suicide.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I remember once on 221B Baker Street . . .”

  A.J. quickly put up a hand. “Point taken. Anyway, I’ll grant you sleeping pills are the kind of thing that could, in theory, be tampered with.”

  “I’m not following. If someone already wished to kill herself why would you need to tamper with the sleeping pills?”

  “Well, but what if someone didn’t? What if—”

  “Stop it!” Medea cried suddenly, jamming on the brakes. “I canna bear it.”

  A.J. and Elysia lurched forward and then subsided into stricken silence. Medea shuddered over the steering wheel while cars behind them honked in outrage.

  “Let me drive,” A.J. said quickly. She scrambled out of the car, holding the door so that Medea could trade places with her in the backseat.

  When they were once more on their way, Elysia turned to the backseat. “Maddie, my dear . . .”

  But Medea was shaking her head fiercely. “Let me be, Elysia.”

  The short drive back to the house in Andover was accomplished in a tense silence that gradually grew heavy and then settled into abstraction.

  Reaching the house, Medea apologized for her behavior and then excused herself, claiming she had a terrible headache. Promising to be down in time to fix dinner, she went upstairs with the ferret clinging to her shoulder.

  A.J. and Elysia retreated to the kitchen. Elysia made tea and they sat at the oval table, talking quietly.

  “Are you sure we’re not in the way here?” A.J. said. “Maybe she’d prefer to be on her own right now.”

  Elysia waved this off.

  “Well, at the least we should probably order takeout or a pizza so she doesn’t have to cook for us.”

  “I can’t possibly think of food at a time like this.” Elysia sipped her tea, then put the cup down in its saucer. “Anyway, she likes to cook. Cooking will keep her mind occupied.”

  A.J. opened her mouth, then gave up. She said instead, “She seems very upset considering Peggy wasn’t a close friend.”

  Elysia said tartly, “The fact that
they weren’t as close as they’d once been doesn’t mean she didn’t still feel affection for her.”

  “Did it seem like there was more to it than that?”

  “What do you mean?” Elysia’s blue eyes studied her.

  “Did she seem . . . I don’t know . . . guilty to you?”

  “No.”

  The phone rang. They both jumped, then turned, listening. The phone did not ring again.

  Elysia amended, “I think everyone feels guilty when a friend or someone close commits suicide. You think you should have seen the signs, should have noticed something was wrong, should have prevented it.”

  “I can see how that would be true. It’s just that Maddie’s reaction isn’t what I’d expect. It seems . . . extreme.”

  “Mmm.”

  A.J. instinctively dropped her voice even lower. “That comment about ‘they killed her.’ Did you have the impression she meant a general ‘they’ or that she had someone specifically in mind?”

  “What specific ‘they’ could she have meant? Peggy’s family? Maddie said she was unaware that Peggy had problems with anyone.”

  A.J. nodded though Maddie’s opinion didn’t necessarily mean much since she hadn’t been in contact with her friend for some time. “She didn’t want to confide in us. That was obvious.”

  “True.”

  A.J. said grimly, “We’ve already got one murder case that we’re not equipped to handle. We don’t need to take on another.”

  “No,” Elysia said reluctantly. “I suppose you’re right.”

  They chatted a little longer about various things. A.J. went to call Sacred Balance and make sure all was well.

  A brief phone call to Emma Rice seemed to confirm Lily’s assertion that A.J.’s presence was not essential to the success of Sacred Balance.

  “You know where to reach me if there’s a problem,” she told Emma.

  “There’s nothing here we can’t handle for a day or two,” Emma said with disheartening confidence. “You don’t need to worry about us. You just take care of yourself.”