Murder on the Eightfold Path

by Diana Killian

  Elysia and A.J. spent the remainder of the day quietly. A.J. enjoyed herself exploring the bookshelves in Medea’s library. In addition to Tolkien, Pratchett, Lewis, and Rowling, there were a number of young adult fantasy novels that A.J. remembered from her teen years: The House With a Clock in Its Walls by John Bellairs, A Wizard of Earthsea by Ursula K. Le Guin, So You Want to Be a Wizard by Diane Duane.

  For a time she lost herself in the exotic worlds of mages and magic. She was startled to realize how swiftly time had passed when her mother joined her at six o’clock suggesting it was time to start discussing possible plans for dinner with their hostess.

  A.J. glanced at the clock behind the statue of Medusa and nodded, surprised that Medea had not put in an appearance before now. Elysia went upstairs.

  She returned a few moments later. “Maddie’s not in her room.”

  A.J. set down the copy of Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell. “Where would she go?”

  “Nowhere. Her car is still in the garage.”

  If Elysia had already checked the garage, she was obviously uneasy. A.J. joined her in a quick, quiet hunt through the house.

  They reunited in the dining room. A.J. shook her head. Elysia’s face tightened. They both jumped at the clatter of a chafing dish on the heavy sideboard. Morag the ferret poked her head out from under the lid.

  “Did you check the back?” A.J. inquired.

  “I glanced out the window. I didn’t see her on the patio.”

  “Maybe she’s working in her garden. I find it soothing sometimes just to pull weeds.”

  Elysia led the way out to the back porch. It was empty, but A.J. spotted a dark form lying on the grass inside the garden.

  “Mother!”

  At the sharpness in A.J.’s voice, Elysia turned, following her down the steps as she hurried across the lawn.

  A few steps away, A.J. slowed and then stopped. Elysia joined her and they gazed in stricken silence. It was obviously too late. Medea’s harsh features were waxen and empty of all emotion. She looked like one of her own macabre statues—except for the blood-soaked blouse and the bullet hole in her chest.

  Fourteen

  The on-scene investigation was winding up when Jake arrived.

  A.J. spotted him striding tall and assured through the crime scene personnel busily searching Medea’s Victorian house of horrors for the gun that had killed her. Jake paused to show his ID to a uniformed officer who pointed out Detective Lennon. Lennon was heading the investigation.

  A.J.’s heart did a glad leap before she remembered that all was not well between her and Jake—and even if all was well, he would not be happy to find her in the middle of a murder investigation. She could understand that since she wasn’t happy to find herself in this situation either.

  She couldn’t help staring as he and the silver-haired Detective Lennon began to speak.

  She and Elysia had informed the police about the nocturnal visit of Bill Zemda the night before, pointing out the garden back gate, but so far no one seemed interested in anything but A.J. and her mother’s movements.

  “I see your inspector is here,” Elysia stated. She was pale but composed.

  “I think he’s your inspector at the moment,” A.J. said grimly.

  Apparently finished speaking with Detective Lennon, Jake glanced around the room, spotted A.J. and Elysia, and made his way over to them.

  Elysia said coolly, “Inspector.”

  “Endora.”

  A.J. covered an inappropriate laugh in a small cough.

  “You okay?” Jake asked her, his features softening infinitesimally.

  She nodded. It would have been nice if he had folded her in his arms—she could have used a hug right about then. Even a smile would have been welcome. Neither looked likely. Jake appeared tired and somber.

  He said shortly, “Next question. What the—what exactly are you doing here?”

  “Excuse me,” Elysia said, starting to turn away.

  “Not so fast,” Jake said. “You’re part of this equation. Of that, I have no doubt.”

  “You’re so wise,” Elysia cooed. “Unfortunately, nature calls and I must obey.” She sauntered away to the downstairs powder room.

  Jake turned back to A.J., his expression, if possible, grimmer than before. “Okay, let’s try this again, what are you doing here?”

  She definitely didn’t appreciate him using his cop voice with her, but she managed to say evenly, “I told you I was going out of town for the weekend.”

  “And out of all the hotels and motels and homes of friends and family you could have picked to visit, you just happened to choose to stay here? At a house where a homicide was due to take place?”

  “Naturally we didn’t know about the homicide ahead of time or we’d have booked the Best Western. Or maybe even tried to stop it. Or do you now suspect me, as well as my mother, of murder?”

  Jake looked around as though he thought they might be overheard. “Listen to me because I’m only going to say this once more. Despite the fact that I think she’s a nut-case, I don’t believe your mother killed Dakarai Massri. But that’s just my personal belief, and it doesn’t mean a damn thing. I have to do my job. And that job is to investigate Massri’s homicide.”

  “Can’t you recuse yourself?”

  “I don’t want to recuse myself. I fought like hell to stay on the case!”

  “Terrific. And I’m supposed to be, what? Happy about that?”

  Jake said between gritted teeth, “I fought to stay on the case to make sure the investigation was thorough and careful and impartial. To make sure that nothing was missed or overlooked. I fought to stay on the case to help your mother.”

  A.J. didn’t know what to say. Her idea of helping was such a different thing, but she could see that Jake’s approach was practical and maybe even of more use than blind loyalty.

  Into her silence, he said, “So you want to tell me what you’re doing here, because I find this too much of a coincidence to swallow.”

  A.J. recognized that the time had come to lay her cards on the table. Well, maybe not the full deck, but then she wasn’t sure that, given recent events, she was playing with a full deck. In either case he wasn’t going to like it, but Jake would like lying even less. She recalled a certain conversation a few months earlier. No, lying was not an option.

  “It’s not a coincidence that we’re here, but it might be a coincidence that Maddie is dead.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “That this might not have anything to do with Maddie’s murder, but . . . she used to be married to Dicky Massri.”

  She had the satisfaction of seeing Jake’s jaw drop. He said at last, “That . . . hasn’t turned up anywhere yet.”

  “They were married in Egypt. There were immigration issues, though—among other things. They divorced nearly two years ago.”

  “Go on.”

  “That’s basically it. Mother remembered the marriage—” Despite her best intentions, at the last instant A.J. couldn’t admit to breaking and entering Dicky’s apartment. “We thought that there might be a lead here. Something that would, at least, cast doubt on the case you’re—the police—are building.”

  “And?”

  “I don’t know. Maddie swore she hadn’t stayed in contact with Dicky. Unless she was one heck of an actress, she didn’t even know he was dead. But it’s obvious that she and Mother weren’t the only two women he had romanced with an eye to . . . um . . . fleecing.”

  “Is that what their generation calls it?” Jake was still dour. “Was Maddie being blackmailed?”

  “No. I’m sure she wasn’t. I don’t think she even knew he was in the country. The scam with her was to marry her and then keep asking for money. Eventually she got fed up and divorced him. Like I said, I’m convinced she didn’t even know Dicky was dead.”

  “How did she take that news?”

  A.J. cast her mind back. “She was shocked. She didn’t shed any tears over him, b
ut she wasn’t gloating either.” She admitted, “In fact Maddie burst out laughing when she learned Mother had been involved with Dicky. Granted, she had a very odd sense of humor.”

  “Did she have any theories about who might have popped her ex?”

  A.J. shook her head. “No. The last she’d heard he was still in Egypt. But something did happen today, and I think it has to tie in with her death. Anything else is too much of a coincidence.”

  “Go on.”

  “She found out that a friend of hers, Peggy Graham, had recently committed suicide. Except Maddie didn’t believe it was suicide.”

  “No one ever does. What makes you think it ties into her death?”

  “She was so shocked at the idea. She even said at one point she thought it might be murder.”

  Jake’s green eyes narrowed. “Did she have any grounds for such a claim or was she just talking?”

  “I don’t know, but she was killed only a few hours later.”

  “Who overheard her say she didn’t believe Graham’s death was an accident?”

  Reluctantly, A.J. said, “Just Mother and I, although Maddie was obviously upset when she left the hairdresser’s.”

  “That wouldn’t be unexpected. She’d just heard of her friend’s death.”

  “There was a phone call while Mother and I were talking in the kitchen after Maddie had gone upstairs to rest.”

  “Who called?”

  “That’s the thing. The phone only rang once.”

  Jake rubbed his forehead. “In other words, someone could have just dialed wrong. So far none of this is getting us anywhere.”

  “What if Maddie went upstairs and phoned someone? And that one ring was the person calling her back to arrange a meeting of some kind? If Maddie was waiting for the call, she’d have snatched it up immediately, which would explain why there was only one ring. You could check the phone records, right?”

  “Yeah,” Jake said slowly. “So you think this person called Maddie back to arrange a meeting of some kind and then killed her?”

  “I think it’s a possibility.”

  “And they killed her because she didn’t believe Peggy Graham committed suicide?”

  “I don’t know why she was killed. Maybe it’s something else entirely. She was pretty wealthy. Maybe it’s something as mundane as that. But there’s some connection here. I know it.”

  Jake looked skeptical. “Did this Graham woman know Massri?”

  “I don’t think so. But I don’t know.” A.J. considered this idea more carefully. “It seemed like maybe something had happened between Maddie and Peggy. She said they weren’t as close as they used to be.”

  “Wouldn’t she have mentioned it if this Graham woman was seeing her ex?”

  “Probably. I know there is one obvious connection.”

  He waited. A.J. knew how it was going to sound before she said unwillingly, “They all went to the same hairdresser.”

  For what seemed like a very long time Jake didn’t move a muscle. At last he said, without any inflection at all, “Seriously?”

  “I know what you’re thinking,” she said quickly. “I know how it sounds. But there’s something there. I mean, just the fact that Maddie was killed after we went to The Salon. That can’t be a coincidence.”

  “It could, actually.”

  “But it’s not. Jake, Maddie was shocked when we left the salon, but she was also frightened. And angry.”

  Jake wearily rubbed his forehead. “You’re grasping at straws.”

  “I’m not. This is fact. Maddie and Peggy both went to the same hair salon. The same salon Mother uses, by the way.” A.J. very nearly slipped and added that Massri—or someone visiting his apartment—had also used The Salon products. As far as she was concerned that was the clincher in her argument, but unfortunately she couldn’t reveal she had been in Massri’s apartment.

  “A.J.—”

  “There’s another fact,” A.J. said stubbornly. “Two of these women, Mother and Maddie, went on Egyptian cruises. Maybe Peggy did, too. You could check, couldn’t you?”

  “Honey. A.J. I know you want to help your mother. But this is . . . silly. This Graham woman and the vic—er, Ms. Sutherland—were friends. Just like your mom and Sutherland were friends. They all probably shopped at the same stores and dined at the same restaurants, too. For all we know they might have read the same books or watched the same TV shows or listened to the same music. It doesn’t prove anything.”

  “You’re not giving this fair consideration, Jake. There’s more to this than it sounds.”

  With an obvious attempt at patience, he said, “These women are about the same age and the same income bracket, correct?”

  “I have no idea what Peggy Graham was like.”

  “Let’s leave Peggy Graham out of it for a second. Your mother and Sutherland fit the same approximate profile. They’re friends. They talk. One likes where she gets her hair done, she tells her friends. One has a good time on a cruise, she tells her friends. There’s no mystery—or even surprise—to any of this.”

  When A.J. didn’t have an answer, he said more gently, “Let’s look at it from a different angle. Say there is a connection here. Say that somehow the beauty parlor and the Egyptian cruise are all linked together. Maybe the salon is getting a kickback for every client they refer. What does this have to do with Massri? How does this lead to murder? How does it lead to suicide?”

  “That would be your job to figure out,” A.J. said shortly.

  “Okay, and what am I supposed to be figuring out?” He was equally curt. “What angle am I pursuing here? What is it you suspect the beauty salon of? Overcharging for haircuts?”

  “Maddie was frightened and angry when we left The Salon. She wouldn’t say why, but she was. And obviously with good reason.”

  “If she wouldn’t say why, then maybe she wasn’t frightened. Maybe she was just shocked and upset to hear that a friend had committed suicide. Isn’t that possible?”

  “She was murdered only a few hours later. I thought you didn’t believe in coincidence?”

  He was silent. Finally, he said, “I don’t. I’ll look into Peggy Graham’s death. And I’ll check out the hair salon. Maybe there’s something hinky there. Maybe it’s mob funded. Maybe . . . I don’t know. I’ll look into it.” He met her eyes. “But I don’t think you should pin your hopes on that line of investigation.”

  A.J. nodded.

  “And I think you should also be prepared for the fact that the victim’s connection with Massri and her homicide while your mother is a guest in her home is liable to look pretty bad for Elysia.”

  A.J. swallowed hard. “You think she’ll be remanded to custody?”

  “I’m not going to lie to you. I think it’s very possible. The DA really thinks we’ve got the makings of a watertight case. On top of that, after last year’s allegations of nepotism, he wants to make it clear to the media that no favoritism will be shown to anyone, including celebrities.”

  “So he’s making an example of my mother?”

  “He’s not making an example of her,” he said wearily. “He wants it played by the book. And if this was anyone but your mother, I wouldn’t hesitate a second to put her back behind bars.”

  A.J. nodded tig htly.

  “I’m going to be a while here. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

  A.J. nodded again. Jake’s cell phone rang.

  “Excuse me.” He moved away. A.J. watched his expression change and her heart sank. Something told her this call was not business—maybe it was feminine intuition, but the expression on his face told her the call was personal, private, and not unwelcome.

  For a few seconds she stood frozen.

  “I suppose you’re driving back with that brute?”

  A.J. started. She hadn’t noticed Elysia’s return. “No. Are we cleared to leave?”

  “According to Detective Lennon, yes. And I don’t know why we wouldn’t be. We’ve been interrogated, tested fo
r gun powder residue, and had our luggage pawed through in search of the murder weapon.”

  “It’s not personal, Mother. They do have to investigate us.”

  “I know,” Elysia said bitterly. “But it’s not pleasant either.”

  A.J. did not see Jake again before she and Elysia packed the Land Rover and left.

  As they pulled around the crime scene vehicles, lights flashing in the twilight, A.J. said, “I’m sorry, Mother. I know you were friends a long time.”

  Elysia nodded, for once having nothing to say.

  The trimmed yards and tidy houses rolled by in the deepening twilight, some dark, some lit by cheerful lamps. Comfortable facades that hid . . . well, that was the point. Who knew what lived behind the pleasant surface?

  “Mother, when we were talking with Maddie about Dicky, you said something about your hairstylist recommending the Egyptian cruise line. Was that your stylist at The Salon?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who’s your stylist there?”

  “I’m not really locked into any one stylist,” Elysia said indifferently. “I tend to go with whoever is available.”

  “Do you remember who recommended the cruise line?” Out of the corner of her eye, A.J. noticed her mother’s purse—which was positioned behind the driver’s seat—give a sudden jump. This so distracted her, she nearly missed Elysia’s answer.

  “Alessandro.”

  “The Alessandro I had today?”

  “That’s the one. He’s very popular, from what I understand. I think Roberto actually gives a better cut, but he’s not as personable.”

  A.J. ignored the summation of stylist social skills that followed. When Elysia finally paused, she said, “I’m beginning to think there really might be something to this idea that The Salon is somehow mixed up in all this. Alessandro spent most of his time with me asking me all kinds of personal questions: was I married, did I have a boyfriend, did I have kids—”

  “He probably wants to date you.”

  “I didn’t get that impression.” Elysia’s purse gave another, more forceful jump. “Mother . . . your purse is moving.”