She pressed 0, then stopped.
Of course if the person in the office wasn’t Lily, and A.J. called the cops on, say, Simon Crider, she was going to look foolish—and make another enemy of someone on her staff.
To make sure, A.J. tiptoed the rest of the way down the stairs, sneaked along the hall, and poked her head around the corner.
A light shone from Diantha’s office.
Now that was not okay. It was one thing to come in to pick up something forgotten in one’s own office, another to search Diantha’s. Lily. Definitely.
Anger swept aside common sense, and A.J. stalked down the hall, pausing in the doorway to the office and announcing, “Just so you know, the cops are on their way.”
Oops. Wrong again, she realized too late. Not Lily.
The man flipping through the files in the tall cabinet jerked upright and stared at her.
Big shoulders, a blond mop of curls and dark eyes wide with fright.
Michael Batz.
Twelve
After a stricken moment, Batz lunged toward the door.
Wanting to keep something between them, A.J. instinctively grabbed for Diantha’s desk chair, rolling it into Batz’s path. He crashed into the chair and sprawled headlong on the floor.
Apparently stunned, he lay there for a moment, shoulders heaving as though the wind had been knocked out of him.
Seconds passed and he made no move to rise; A.J. realized he wasn’t struggling for breath, he was crying.
“Uh…” she said.
Batz raised a tear-stained face. “I was just looking for my training schedule,” he said.
Okay, granted everyone here took physical fitness way seriously, but this seemed a little extreme.
Warily, she asked, “Why would you be looking for it in Diantha’s files?”
“It wasn’t in her desk.”
Had she stepped into some kind of alternate reality?
“And why would it be in Aunt Di’s desk?”
“That’s where she kept it. My training schedule and my diet plan.” He sat up and mopped his wet face. “Sorry, but you don’t understand the stress I’m under.”
“Well, no, I don’t.”
“Can you please explain to the police? I can’t get arrested. It’ll destroy my chances of making the team.”
“The team? You mean the Olympic team?”
“Right.” His tone implied there was only one team. “Di was helping me get in shape for the 2012 tryouts. It’s my last shot. I didn’t make the cut for this year, and if I don’t make it in 2012, it’s over for me.”
A.J. tried to picture life being over at twenty-something. Apparently being an aspiring Olympian was as brutal as being a fashion model. “Di gave you a key to the studio?”
“Yeah.” His eyes met hers and then slid away. “She was giving me private lessons, working with me one-on-one. It was really paying off.”
Something about the way he said it didn’t quite ring true. A.J. said noncommittally, “You didn’t find the schedule?”
“No. Di called Friday afternoon to tell me she’d completed it for the next four months and to come by and get it whenever I was ready. I meant to stop by that day, but…” He shook his head.
A.J. asked slowly, “Did you search Aunt Di’s home on Sunday?”
“Of course not!”
He seemed outraged at the idea, but again A.J. wasn’t quite sure she believed him.
“Why didn’t you call and ask for your training schedule?” she asked. “Wouldn’t that have been a lot easier?”
Batz raked his curls back with the air of someone pulling himself together. “I didn’t realize it would be a problem. It never was before. I have a key.” He even sounded a little indignant.
“Speaking of which”—A.J. reached out her palm—“may I have that key? I’m having the locks changed anyway, just as a precaution.”
He stared at her for a long moment. Then he pulled his keys out and worked one free of the ring.
“Will you explain this to the police? Please?” he asked as A.J. dropped the key in her bag.
She nodded. “All right.”
“Thanks.” He got up painfully and limped out. A.J. followed him, unlocking the front door and watching him cross the parking lot.
She bit her lip. He could have been telling the truth—or at least part of the truth—but it was fishy that he had left without finding his precious workout schedule and hadn’t even asked her to keep an eye out for it.
Returning to the office, she picked up the fallen chair and sat down at the desk. Opening the top drawer she found the class schedules for the next few weeks. Even before Diantha’s death Lily had carried the lion’s share of classes. It surprised A.J. Diantha had loved teaching, loved being hands-on.
Denise Farber had the lightest load; her classes appeared to be packed, and it looked as if they could have added another session or two of Pilates. Simon was busy with the Beginner classes and Senior Yoga. Clearly they were overdue for hiring another instructor, and the studio seemed to be a thriving enterprise, so it couldn’t have been financial concerns that prevented bringing someone new on board.
It would take A.J. time to get up to speed. And she very much doubted whether Lily was going to want to stay on. Even if Lily chose to stay, A.J. was pretty sure she wouldn’t be able to work with her, although it was clear this was what Diantha had wanted, had intended.
If she was going to do this, she needed to take charge. She flipped through her aunt’s Rolodex and began to make calls.
Simon and Denise both took the news that A.J. had decided to reopen the studio with guarded optimism. They agreed to meet with her on the day following Diantha’s funeral.
There was no answer at Lily’s home. Or, if Lily was there, she was not taking A.J.’s calls.
A.J. was opening a can of salmon for dinner when Andy called.
“How are you holding up?”
“I’ve had better weeks.” In fact, she’d had better years, but why dwell on negatives?
“Are the police—?” He paused delicately, and A.J. said, “So far I remain at large.”
“Do you think they have any other suspects?”
“It’s not like I’m in their confidence.”
“Have you talked to a lawyer?”
“Only Mr. Meagher. You’ll be interested to know that I just inherited eighteen million dollars. But don’t get your hopes up. I’m changing my will.”
Andy made sputtering sounds. “Well, I would have thought you already did,” he said at last.
Because he had?
“It wasn’t exactly foremost on my mind. I’m going to have to go now,” A.J. said. “My dinner is on the stove.” And it was; she had set the can of salmon on the stovetop when she went to answer the phone.
“Wait a minute,” Andy said. “When is the funeral?”
“Mine?”
“What the hell has gotten into you? Of course not yours! Diantha’s.” It took quite a bit to rattle Andy, but A.J. seemed to be scoring tonight.
“As soon as the authorities release the body for burial,” she answered.
“And when are you coming back to town?”
“I haven’t quite decided. In fact…” She hesitated.
“In fact?” prodded Andy.
“I was thinking of staying here for a while. Would you mind hanging on to Lula Mae?”
“Why in the world would you consider spending an extra hour in that place?”
“Because I have some things to sort through.” She wasn’t merely talking about Aunt Di’s belongings, although she rather hoped Andy took it that way.
Andy, unfortunately, knew her far too well. “For God’s sake, A.J. New Jersey? Rural New Jersey? Look, sweetheart, I know you’re feeling a little…lost, but you need to come back to town and have your nervous breakdown in a civilized place.”
“You haven’t been here in eleven years. You have no idea what this place is like. You’d be surprised. It’s kin
d of nice. Sort of artsy-craftsy. They have wineries and balloon rides and organic farms.”
“It’s the home of the Jersey Devil,” Andy said. “It’s mob country. Didn’t you ever watch The Sopranos?”
“Aunt Di left me the studio. I think she really did mean for me to run it.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I haven’t made my mind up, but I’m considering it.”
“Does Ellie know?”
Now that was truly low: threatening to tell her mother.
“There’s nothing to tell at this point. I’m just weighing my options.”
Andy would have gone on arguing, but apparently his lord and master had arrived home. He promised—it was more like insisted—he would call A.J. back later, and hung up.
A.J. returned to the kitchen and had another whack at the salmon with the old-fashioned can opener. She had managed to detach half the top and bend it in half—just wide enough to scrape out the salmon—when she heard the sound of a car door slamming out front.
She muttered under her breath, banged the can back down, and walked out onto the porch. Her stomach knotted at the familiar sight of the police SUV and Detective Oberlin.
Monster waved his tail enthusiastically as Oberlin approached the stairs.
“Thought you’d want to know we found the vehicle involved in that attempted hit-and-run,” he informed her. “It turns out the driver left the keys in the ignition while she ran into the market. A couple of local kids decided to play a prank.”
“A prank?”
“They decided to take the Hummer for a spin.”
“Who was the driver? The official driver, I mean.”
“Alice Kennedy.”
A.J. shook her head; the name meant nothing.
“She’s the housekeeper for the Stevensons. Apparently the daughter, Jennifer Stevenson, and a couple of her pals thought it would be funny to take the Hummer for a spin. Kid stuff.”
Walking up the steps, he headed toward the door, apparently bent on another one of his house calls.
“And did they think it would be funny to run over someone?” A.J. found herself leading the way down the front hallway.
“Jennifer’s story is—” He broke off. She heard that funny scrabbling sound behind her again. She glanced around in time to see Monster picking himself off the floor and shaking his coat.
She gave the cop a suspicious look. Oberlin met it with an expression of total blankness.
“Jennifer’s story is what?”
“Hmm? Oh, Jennifer’s story is that the Hummer was harder to control than she’d expected. It’s a lot of horsepower, that’s for sure.”
A.J. sighed. “I guess I’d prefer to think I was just in the way rather than an actual target.” She went to the counter and finished draining the can of salmon. Monster sat down and wagged his tail.
“I think you can rest easy on that score,” Oberlin said. His steady gaze made A.J. uncomfortable. Not just his gaze. The confident arrogance with which he stood taking up more than his share of floor space, the scent of his aftershave, the warmth of his body a few feet from her own. It was really annoying.
She glanced sideways at him. “So…have you made any progress on finding out who killed my aunt?”
He didn’t seem to hear her. “You feed your dog salmon?”
“My dog? This is my dinner.”
Oberlin raised his eyebrows.
“I’m trying to eat healthier,” she explained, although why she was explaining to him, she had no idea.
“With all the mercury in that salmon you could probably find work as a barometer.”
A.J. bit her lip against an unwilling laugh. She covered by asking, “What do you know about Michael Batz?”
“Hometown hero. Runner and track star, Olympic hopeful. Why?” He watched her dump the can of salmon in a bowl. So did Monster. The dog shifted on his haunches and licked his chops noisily.
A.J. gave the dog a quelling look, which was totally ineffective. To the detective, she said, “Batz says Diantha was helping him with his training. That she was giving him private lessons, creating a special diet for him and special workout schedules.”
“That sounds plausible. Your aunt mentored a number of local athletes.”
“He has—had—a key to Sacred Balance.” She hesitated. She had told Batz she would not say anything about his unauthorized visit to the studio, but it wasn’t like she owed him her silence or loyalty. She wasn’t sure she even believed his explanation. Did promises made to potentially dangerous intruders count?
Oberlin grunted. “On that subject, it wouldn’t hurt to get the studio rekeyed.”
“I plan on it.” She glanced at him. As tall as she was, she had to look up to Oberlin. It was sort of disconcerting. She had stood eye-to-eye with Andy. “I found him searching my aunt’s files today when I drove over to the studio.”
“When was this?”
“This afternoon. I went over to look around and work out.”
“By yourself? In an empty studio where your aunt was murdered a couple of days ago?” His expression was grim; A.J. could practically see him mentally totting up the numbers: she hadn’t been afraid to go to the studio because she was the killer.
“I thought it would be safe with the studio locked up. I didn’t realize everyone on staff—and a few other people—had keys.”
“Those are the kinds of questions it helps to ask up front.”
Man, he was annoying. “You’re right. I should have. But even so, no one has a motive for hurting me. You just said my nearly getting run over was an accident.”
Oberlin continued to stare at her in that narrow-eyed way. It was probably very effective with suspects—whether they were guilty or not.
At last, he said grudgingly, “From what we can tell, your aunt was killed when the studio was open—which appears to be most times she was on the premises. Which doesn’t change the fact that going there by yourself wasn’t the smartest move you’ve made.”
Maybe for a variety of reasons.
A.J. was getting ready to argue her point, but he went on before she could speak. “So what happened with Batz?”
“He tried to run out the door when I surprised him. He, um, fell over a chair and we talked.”
“He fell over a chair and you talked?”
“Right. He said he was looking for his workout schedule and his meal planner.” At Oberlin’s expression, she said, “I’m just telling you what he said. I’m not sure I believe him, either, but why should he lie? I mean, what else could have been of interest in Aunt Di’s files? I looked. They’re all customer files: emergency contact information, height, weight, medical problems, what the client’s goal is.”
“Goal?”
“Like if they want to lose weight. Or get their blood pressure down. A lot of people have a certain goal in mind when they begin a fitness program.”
“So then what happened with Batz?”
“Nothing. He said was under a lot of stress and he really needed that workout schedule. I said I’d keep an eye out for it.” A.J. fished a fork out of the drawer.
Silence.
“Well,” A.J. said, “is that it? You just dropped by for a quick interrogation? You don’t actually have anything to report?”
His mouth quirked, as though—against his will—he found something funny.
“You’ve got a smart little mouth,” he observed at last.
“Why, thank you,” A.J. said. “It goes with my smart little black dress.”
He did laugh then. “I’ll bet. Look, why don’t we go grab a burger somewhere and I’ll bring you up to date on the case?”
A.J. blinked. He wanted to have dinner with her? Okay, it was just a burger, and he was putting it on very casual terms, almost businesslike terms, but still…
Surely Elysia couldn’t be right about—no. Elysia’s hints notwithstanding, A.J. didn’t sense any particular interest on Detective Oberlin’s part; if anything, he was probabl
y trying to lull her into a false sense of security so he could later trap her into some admission of guilt.
The smartest thing would be to politely decline.
She knelt down to set the plate of salmon in front of Monster. “Okay,” she said.
Thirteen
They ate at Bill’s Diner on the outskirts of town.
Walking through the front door was like stepping through a time tunnel. At Bill’s it was forever the 1950s. A jukebox belted out Patsy Cline while a buxom waitress with the name tag “Flo” led them to their booth beneath a display of vintage lunch boxes. Come to think of it, maybe the lunch boxes weren’t vintage; maybe they belonged to the staff. A.J. was willing to believe it.
“Do you think her name is really Flo?” she asked Oberlin after Flo handed out the menus, took their drink requests, and sashayed away.
Oberlin’s brows drew together; it seemed to be his habitual expression around A.J. “Her name is Flo.”
Andy would have caught the joke immediately, but what did it matter whether Detective Oberlin was on her wavelength or not? This was not a date. That had been made more than clear on the drive over, which Oberlin had spent talking exclusively on his car radio and cell phone.
“What’s good here?” A.J. asked.
His menu was already closed and placed to the side. “Pretty much anything. I think tonight’s special is the meatloaf.”
She managed not to shudder. Glancing over the menu, she closed it and set it aside.
Flo returned to take their order. Oberlin requested the Brawny Burger, and A.J. had the same, requesting a chocolate milkshake for good measure. Flo bent over the table to pick up the menus, offering Oberlin a close-up and personal view of her plump bosom, but he didn’t so much as bat an eyelash.
Aha, Watson, A.J. thought. Just as I suspected.
True, with the possible exception of his lack of interest in impromptu female anatomy lessons, Jake Oberlin was as different from Andy as two men could be. Of course, she didn’t have a lot of dating experience, since she and Andy had been inseparable through college and had married shortly after.
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