Death in a Difficult Position

by Diana Killian

  After the weekend she’d had, A.J. could barely remember they’d had a theory regarding Dally, let alone what it was. She said as much.

  “We thought he might have worked for a Los Angeles paper and known Jill Smithy-Powell.”

  “Right. I remember.”

  Elysia said patiently, “We thought he might wish revenge for her death.”

  “We did?” They must have had some reason, but it sounded a little convoluted now.

  “However, as it turns out, Dally works for a paper in New York. The New York Citizen. He’s worked there for seven years. He started straight out of college. Columbia University Graduate School of Journalism. He’s held to be ambitious, relentless, hardworking, honest, la-di-dah and everyone on the paper loves him dearly, which is always suspicious, but as hard as we tried, we were unable to find any connection between him and Jill Smithy-Powell. Frankly, I don’t think he’s ever even been to California.”

  “Well, it was always kind of a stretch.”

  “I agree. I think it’s far more likely that Goode was knocked off by one of his paramours. I think Sarah Ray looks good for it.”

  “Mother, I think you have it in for Sarah. You seem obsessed with her.”

  “Obsessed? Obsessed with Sarah?” Elysia’s laugh of scorn would have given Lady Macbeth pause.

  “It was very obvious the night she came to dinner that she had no idea Goode was dead.”

  “Nonsense. The girl is an actress. Of sorts. Any first year RADA student can spill a glass of wine and go wobbly chinned.”

  “I don’t think she’s—”

  “Regardless, the reason I rang you up is we have tickets to her show this afternoon.”

  “Her . . . show?”

  “Yes. That paltry made-for-cable thing where she gets up and smirks and preens her way through cooking a dish so elementary a five-year-old child could prepare it.”

  “Since you already know how to cook and I’ve given up on it, why are we going to watch your archenemy film her show?”

  “That little miss is hardly my archenemy.”

  “That’s right. I forgot how many people you actually hate.”

  Elysia’s sniff bounced audibly from cell site to cell site. “We’re going to observe Ms. Ray in her natural habitat.”

  “The scullery?”

  Elysia laughed at that, but she said severely, “And then we’re going to interview her.”

  “From the audience?”

  A.J. would put very little past her mother once she was in full 221-B Baker Street mode, so it was a relief to hear her make an exasperated noise. “Of course not from the audience. We’ll speak to her after her show, when she’s off guard.”

  A.J. sincerely doubted Sarah would ever be off guard with Elysia, but she kept the thought to herself. “What time does she tape her show?”

  “One o’clock. We can have lunch and then dawdle over to the station.”

  “I can’t do lunch. I’ve been gone all weekend. But I’ll meet you outside the studio at a quarter to one.”

  “Roger. See you there, pumpkin.” Elysia signed out.

  A.J. rolled her eyes and got to work, but it seemed only a few minutes later that Emma buzzed her. “Lily Martin’s here.”

  “Huh?”

  “Lily Martin’s here,” Emma repeated without inflection.

  “Okay. Send her back.”

  A few seconds later Lily rapped on the half-open door. “Hi,” A.J. greeted her. “This is a surprise. Have a seat.”

  “Hello. I thought I might as well stop by since I have nothing else to do.” Lily gazed curiously around the office. “It hasn’t changed at all.”

  “You’ve only been with Yoga Meridian a couple of months.”

  “True.” Lily’s mouth thinned. “If I am still with them.”

  “You haven’t heard anything?”

  “No one at Tussle and Rossiter will return my calls.”

  Waiting to see if Lily was exonerated, no doubt. But that was still better than firing her without even waiting for the outcome of a trial.

  “I’m sure it’ll work out.” A.J. hoped that was true.

  Lily stared at the fountain, the bookshelf, the desk with Diantha’s photo. “It’s so strange to be back here. You have no idea.”

  “No, but I can imagine.”

  “I never dreamed of, or wanted to, teach yoga anywhere but here at Sacred Balance.” Lily seemed hypnotized by the fountain in the corner, the water murmuring gently over the bright, smooth stones. She made an effort to shake off her preoccupation, her black gaze turning to A.J. “Are you making any progress finding out who killed David Goode?”

  “If you mean have I learned enough to clear all suspicion from you, no.”

  Lily’s face tightened. “Have you discovered enough to create reasonable doubt?”

  “I think I have, but I’m not the DA.”

  “What have you found out?”

  Despite the fact that A.J. was only sleuthing in an effort to help Lily, she instinctively felt sharing everything she’d learned would be a mistake. Lily was too likely to fly off the handle, and leaking too much information might jeopardize Jake’s investigation.

  She said neutrally, “Well, for one thing, it sounds like Goode had a number of extramarital affairs.”

  Lily made a dismissive sound. “Is that supposed to be news?”

  “The police seem to think it’s significant. And it might have come as news to his wife.”

  “Her.” Lily’s eyes kindled. “She’s having an affair. Did you know that?”

  “Says who?”

  “Says the PI my defense attorney hired.”

  A.J. picked up a pen, ready to jot down notes. “Do you have any proof of that?”

  “If you mean photos, no.”

  “What about phone records?”

  “They don’t prove anything.”

  “Why not? Who is she supposed to be having an affair with?”

  “Goode’s assistant. Lance Dally.”

  A.J. protested, “That can’t be right. She initially accused him of murdering her husband.”

  “That just proves it.”

  A.J. resisted the temptation to rub her temples. “How does that prove anything of the kind? If they were having an affair, she’d hardly turn him in to the police.”

  Lily gave her a scornful look. “She would if she was just using him.”

  A.J. tried and failed to picture Oriel in the role of femme fatale. “I’ve seen and talked to her. I think she’s genuinely grieving for her husband.”

  “Maybe she is. Maybe she regrets having him murdered. Maybe she did it in retaliation for all those affairs and after he was dead she realized how much she cared. Or maybe she’s good at pretending to be what people want.”

  That sounded more like the late Reverend Goode, in A.J.’s opinion. “Why wouldn’t she just leave her husband if she wasn’t happy? And why would Lance Dally commit murder for her when they could just run away together?”

  “Money.” Lily’s reply was succinct. “Do you know how much money that so-called New Dawn Church has collected in the months that they’ve been in Stillbrook? Thousands and thousands of dollars. All those fund-raisers for the big new church they were supposedly planning to build—you don’t honestly think they were really going to build a cathedral, do you?”

  A.J. was silent. This was an angle she hadn’t had time to even consider yet. It didn’t contradict the little they knew about David Goode. He had faked his identity to marry a yacht heiress. Then he had faked his identity to marry another kind of heiress. Kirkland Bath’s niece was the key to the Reverend Goode’s fame and fortune. He had inherited New Dawn Church and its fund-raising potential, which sounded considerable.

  And if Oriel had realized that she was being duped? Was it possible she might have reacted to betrayal by resorting to violence?

  Even if Goode—or whatever his real name was—had experienced some kind of religious reformation after the death of hi
s first wife, even if he was utterly sincere in his beliefs and his commitment to New Dawn Church, his penchant for romantic affairs might have been the one sin his wife couldn’t forgive.

  Except, according to Lily, Oriel was having her own affair.

  A.J. said slowly, “Do you have any proof of this affair? E-mail records or security footage or good old-fashioned eyewitnesses?”

  “No.”

  “Then how did this PI of yours come to the conclusion they were in a relationship?”

  Lily said impatiently, “He’s an experienced professional, A.J. He has an instinct for this kind of thing. He saw them together and put two and two together.”

  “You mean he guessed?”

  “He has a hunch.”

  “A hunch?” A.J. sighed. “Does he have anything we could take to the police? I don’t think they’ll accept a hunch. Do you have any proof?”

  “Of the fund-raising? Absolutely. It’s not a secret. Goode was boasting about how much money they’d collected at the last service he conducted. Of Oriel’s plan to get Lance Dally to kill her husband?” Lily shook her head. “No.” She added, “Not yet. That’s your job.”

  Nineteen

  Sarah Ray beamed into the cameras. “So as we’ve seen, there’s just nothing quicker or easier for your summertime menu. Folks think of putting all kinds of meat on the grill, but not a whole chicken. And that’s just crazy because roasted chicken . . . ? Mmm. Mmm. Good!”

  Laughter, blinked the teleprompter overhead. Laughter.

  The Channel 3 in-studio audience obediently laughed.

  Elysia, sitting next to A.J. in the mostly empty tiered seating, gave a sniff like Mary Poppins confronting muddy galoshes. A.J. resisted the temptation to elbow her.

  “See you next week, folks!” Sarah waved to the camera.

  Applause, the teleprompter now urged. Applause.

  The audience clapped enthusiastically.

  The director cued the end credits. Sarah bustled around her TV kitchen, smiling happily as she transferred the roasted chicken to a carving board and checked on the pearl onions boiling in a saucepan. She hummed to herself.

  “I believe that girl’s simple,” Elysia muttered as the applause died away and the overhead lights came on. “Why ever is she grinning like that? She looks like a fool.” Elysia received a few curious looks as she rose.

  A.J. stood, too. As Elysia opened her mouth again, A.J. said sweetly, “If you don’t want me to push you down these steps, hush.”

  Elysia raised her eyebrows and did not deign to answer. They waited for the small audience to disperse. A few people maneuvered their way through the cameras to the stage, where Sarah greeted them warmly and offered thick chunks of warm herb bread.

  “You have to admit, it smells wonderful in here,” A.J. said.

  “She didn’t actually cook anything. The chicken was done before we arrived.”

  “I know, but it still smells wonderful. I think I’m going to try that recipe.”

  Elysia heaved a much-tried sigh.

  They continued to wait until most of the audience had trickled away. Sarah and the director had a short private discussion and then the director left as well, the heavy soundproofed door swinging shut behind him.

  Sarah went back to cleaning up her make-believe kitchen. She glanced up in surprise as A.J., followed by Elysia, edged her way around the lights and equipment.

  “Why, hello! I didn’t see you back there. Did you enjoy the show?”

  “I did,” A.J. said. “Very much. That chicken sounds delicious.”

  Elysia observed, “Pickled pearl onions are rather an unusual accompaniment to grilled chicken, don’t you think?”

  “They are, but they work great with the chicken. Just that added bit of tart sweetness.” Sarah lifted the tea towel from the basket of bread. “Oops. Sorry. All out.”

  “We actually stopped by to see how you’re feeling,” A.J. said.

  Sarah looked puzzled for an instant and then her smile faltered. “Oh. I guess I should apologize for breaking up your party the other night. I don’t know what came over me. I guess I’ve been working pretty hard.”

  “Not a bit of it,” Elysia said warmly. “Of course it was a terrible shock—given what you and David Goode were to each other.”

  “W-what?” Sarah looked startled and then her eyes narrowed. “I’m not sure what you’re insinuating.”

  “We must brush up on our insinuation technique,” Elysia remarked to A.J. “I thought our point was rather obvious. But then, I thought Sarah’s feelings for the good reverend were rather obvious.”

  Sarah changed color. “I understand what you’re saying, but it’s not true.”

  It was such a patent lie that A.J. was moved to say, “Sarah—”

  “Oh, I know!” Sarah interrupted. “You two are supposed to be some kind of idiot savants when it comes to solving crimes.”

  “Uh, I wouldn’t put it like that.”

  “You know what? You know what you really are? You’re just a pair of busybody bitches butting into other people’s personal lives.” Sarah picked up the empty bread basket and hurled it across the make-believe kitchen. It bounced off a stage prop cupboard and flew into the darkness beyond the stage lights.

  A.J. and Elysia exchanged looks.

  “Fine!” Sarah said. She put her hands on her narrow hips and faced them squarely in her flowered apron. “Ask away. What did you want to know? I’m sure you won’t leave me alone till you find out whatever it is you think you have some right to know. Did I kill David? No. And, yes, I do have an alibi.”

  “We don’t think you—”

  “What is this supposed alibi?” Elysia interrupted.

  Sarah bit out, “I. Was. Filming. My. Show.”

  “Your show doesn’t begin filming till the afternoon. Goode was killed around nine in the morning.” Elysia met A.J.’s gaze. “According to the papers.”

  “This was our special Thanksgiving show. It’s a big production. Literally. We started filming at seven in the morning and we went all day. And I have a studio audience full of witnesses. I was never out of sight for more than five minutes at a time, and you can’t even get out of this parking lot in five minutes.”

  Elysia continued to look skeptical. A.J. said, “Were you and David Goode still involved at the time of his death?”

  “No. I told you that.”

  “You pretended you’d never been involved and we know that was a lie,” Elysia said.

  Sarah glared at her. “We did have an affair. It didn’t last long. Most of David’s affairs didn’t last long.”

  “Who ended it?” Elysia asked.

  “We came to a mutual agreement.” Meeting their gazes, Sarah made a face. “Fine. David ended it.”

  A.J. got in before Elysia, “Do you know why?”

  “Yes. He’s easily bored. He likes the chase more than the conquest. He did, I mean.”

  “How long ago did your relationship end?”

  “About a month ago.”

  “Do you know who Goode was seeing after you?”

  Sarah shook her head.

  A.J., knowing firsthand how it felt to be dumped by someone you loved, said, “You didn’t try to find out? You weren’t curious at all?”

  “Of course I . . .” Sarah stopped. She sighed. “Yes. I was curious. I was curious and angry and hurt. We used to meet at the Hunter’s Inn in Blairstown, so I went there a couple of times to try and spot him with her, whoever she was.”

  “Very enterprising,” Elysia approved. “Did you succeed in finding them?”

  Sarah nodded. “But don’t ask me who she is because I don’t know. I know her husband owns one of the big local construction companies, and that’s all I know.”

  A light went off in A.J.’s brain. “Could you describe her?”

  “She looked like she’d be right at home in thigh-high boots and a leather bustier.”

  “That could be anyone,” Elysia said blandly, and A.J. brea
thed in the wrong way.

  When she stopped coughing, Sarah was saying, “About forty, but takes care of herself. Not tall. Very trim. Sort of . . . military trim, if you know what I mean. Her hair was very short and silver, but it looked pretty good on her. I mean, I would color it, but I’m not into the whole Bad Nanny thing.”

  “Oh my God. I think I know who she is,” A.J. said. “That sounds like Michaela Ritchie.”

  “Ritchie!” Sarah exclaimed. “That’s it. Ritchie Construction. She’s married to Leo Ritchie.”

  “I think we should go see Bradley as soon as possible,” Elysia said once they were back in her Land Rover and pulling out of the Channel 3 parking lot.

  A.J., in the process of calling Jake, paused. “Why would we need to see Mr. Meagher?”

  “Why?” Elysia’s profile was haughty. “For one thing, I need to make some changes to my will. Since Dean and I are going to be married.”

  “What’s the emergency with changing your will?”

  “No emergency. No reason to postpone either.”

  A.J. considered this doubtfully. “What am I missing? We just get a great lead and you want to go change your will? Now?”

  “Your inspector won’t let us talk to this Ritchie woman anyway.”

  A.J. clicked off her phone. “Okay. I’ll wait to call Jake if that’s what the problem is.”

  Elysia’s mouth pursed but she said nothing.

  “Wait a minute,” A.J. said slowly. “You want to go tell on Sarah.”

  “Nonsense!” Elysia’s ivory cheeks grew pink.

  A.J. couldn’t hide her consternation. “No, it’s not. You can’t wait to go break Mr. Meagher’s heart.”

  “Now that is ridiculous,” Elysia said sharply. “I merely want Bradley to understand what he’s getting himself into with this . . . this . . . slag.”

  “Slag? You don’t think that’s a little harsh? Sarah was obviously in love with Goode. She wasn’t just sleeping around with everything that moved.”

  “He was married.”

  “She wasn’t. Okay. I’ll give you that one. Sarah didn’t show very good judgment. But . . .”

  Elysia said tartly, “But what?”

  A.J. bit her lip. “Easy Mason? It’s not exactly like you built your career on living like a nun.”