Death in a Difficult Position

by Diana Killian

A.J. propped her chin on her fist and contemplated Jake’s empty plate. “Then there must be someone else out there. Someone who recognized Goode and was so overcome with rage they walked in and stabbed him with the first available weapon.”

  Jake nodded. “It’s a tempting theory, I agree. But who? Who is this mysterious person from Goode’s past? You’re the last person to move here from out of state.”

  “It might be a . . .” A light went on in the back of A.J.’s brain. She closed her mouth so hard her teeth clicked.

  “It might be a what?”

  “Visitor.”

  “That’s possible. In a perfect world, someone just passing through.” Jake drained his wineglass. He smiled at A.J.

  She smiled feebly back. She was mentally flipping calendar pages. When had Elysia and her posse arrived? The day before Goode’s murder. No. The night before Goode’s murder. So there really hadn’t been opportunity for any of them to go into town. Right? She tried to remember if anyone had mentioned a trip to Stillbrook.

  “Something wrong?” Jake asked.

  “No! Nope. Nothing. Not a thing.”

  His smile was faintly questioning. “Are you sure? You have a funny expression on your face.”

  “I just remembered there’s something I need to ask Mother.”

  “Now?” Jake glanced at the clock, which indicated it was well past midnight.

  “Er . . . no. It can wait till morning, I guess.” She rose, picking up their glasses and Jake’s plate, carrying them to the sink and running water over them.

  Jake came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her and nuzzling her neck. A.J. closed her eyes and leaned back against him for a moment.

  “Bed?” he murmured.

  She nodded. She opened her eyes, turned the water off, and moved away from the sink.

  Jake followed her, turning off the lights after them. As the last light went, leaving the hall in darkness, he said suddenly, “Damn.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “I forgot. I’ve got court tomorrow and I don’t have a tie here.”

  “Oh.”

  A.J. nearly tripped over Monster as Jake added offhandedly, “It would sure simplify things if we lived together.”

  Elysia cleared her throat and said in a voice like spilled gravel, “’Lo.”

  “It’s me. I have to ask you something. Are you alone?”

  Against a background of mattress springs and tossed bedclothes, Elysia said indignantly, “Anna, do you realize what time it is?”

  “It’s just about six o’clock. Are you alone?”

  Elysia expelled an exasperated breath. “No, I’m not alone. Hang about.”

  A.J. waited, foot tapping nervously, as she was placed on hold. A few seconds later Elysia came back on the line sounding more alert but still exasperated. “All right. I’m alone now. It’s just me and a goldfinch with insomnia. What’s this all about, Anna?”

  “The day after you arrived back from LA, did you all drive into Stillbrook for any reason?”

  “You expect me to remember . . .” Elysia’s voice trailed to a stop. She asked in a very different tone, “Why?”

  “Just answer me. And please tell me the truth. Did Marcie or Petra or . . . Dean come into Stillbrook for any reason?”

  “No.” The word came too quickly and too forcefully after the shocked pause.

  “Mother. Please.”

  “No,” Elysia repeated. “I drove in to pick up groceries.”

  “No one went with you?”

  “No.”

  “It’s going to be easy enough to verify one way or the other.”

  Frost chilled Elysia’s next words. “Are you suggesting I’m lying?”

  “I’m suggesting that you would do whatever you thought you had to in order to protect people you love.”

  Silence.

  Elysia said stonily, “I drove into Stillbrook on my own.”

  “How did you find out about Goode’s murder? Marcie recognized him . . . when?”

  “When she bloody stabbed him with her pen, of course! This is utterly ridiculous. Marcie recognized him when we turned the telly on. We already know who killed David Goode. His unfortunate wife and that journalist.”

  “Did anyone else recognize Goode? Was Marcie the only one who knew him from before?”

  Elysia said wearily, “No one recognized him. No one left the house. Now may I return to bed and get some sleep before I have to drive my friends to the airport?”

  “Yes. But . . . Mother?”

  “Anna?” The word was clipped.

  “Jake hasn’t thought of this yet, but when he does . . .”

  “He’ll be his usual charming self. Yes. I realize that. He seems to be rubbing off on you.”

  The phone was replaced with a soft but very final click.

  A.J. chewed her lip, gazing at the framed photo of Diantha. “She’s lying. I know she is. That’s why she’s so angry.”

  Diantha smiled back with enigmatic serenity.

  The building creaked as the front door opened. A.J. heard the sounds of someone moving around the lobby, heard the front desk computer turning on, heard the slide of drawers opening and closing. She glanced toward the window. The rising sun bathed the morning meadow in amber light.

  Staff and students were arriving. It was time to greet and embrace another day. Time for Sunrise Yoga. All else would have to wait at least until class was over, and the realization was a relief. Very soon she was going to have to deal with this, but not now. The moment of reckoning was postponed.

  For now.

  Twenty-two

  A.J.’s phone was ringing when she returned to her office. She eyed it uneasily and then reached for the handset.

  “A.J. Alexander.”

  “A.J.” The voice was male and vaguely familiar. “This is Dean Sullivan. Is your mother there?”

  “Here?” A.J. instinctively glanced around her office. “No. Is she supposed to be?”

  “No. That is, I don’t know. What did you say to her earlier?”

  “I . . .” A.J. tried and failed to think of a way to put the gist of her phone call with Elysia diplomatically. “It was a personal matter.”

  Dean didn’t respond for a moment. Birds seemed to be squawking in the background of the wind tunnel he was traveling through. He came back on the line. “Look, was it something to do with this murder investigation you’re all messing around in?”

  As A.J. tried to think of a way to answer without compromising her mother’s possible safety, Dean said, “I don’t know what’s going on here, but I’m starting to get worried. Lucy—Elysia, I mean—was supposed to come with us to the airport, but she changed her mind at the last minute. Now the girls are telling me she said something about going to get proof of my innocence. What in the name of the Almighty is going on? Why would Elysia think she needed to prove my innocence? What am I supposed to be guilty of?”

  Surely if Dean was guilty he wouldn’t need this spelled out? Wasn’t the fact that he had to ask a good sign? “Did you go into Stillbrook the day after you arrived from LA?”

  “Sure. Lucy and I drove in and had lunch and picked up groceries.”

  “Did anyone else go with you?”

  “No.”

  “Did you go by the shopping center where the New Dawn Church is located?”

  “How would I know?” Dean made an obvious grab for his patience and clarified, “Not that I know.”

  “Did you see the Reverend Goode and recognize him?”

  “Recognize him from what? What is this? An interrogation?”

  “Had you ever seen him before?”

  “No. Is that what this is about?” In the silence that followed, A.J. could hear the birds shrieking again. She deduced Dean was on his way to the airport with Petra and Marcie. Dean’s voice came back on the line. “Are you telling me she thinks I’m a murderer?”

  He sounded furious. A.J. said, “Obviously she doesn’t or she wouldn’t be trying to find p
roof of your innocence.”

  Dean began to swear. There was more gabbling from Petra and Marcie.

  A.J. said quickly, “Don’t worry. I think I know what her next move will be.”

  “Of course you do,” Dean said. “You’re the one who dragged her into this mess.”

  Dean probably had a right to be irked even if he was unfairly putting all the blame on her shoulders. But if he really thought Elysia was the victim of A.J.’s machinations he was in for one or two unpleasant shocks once they married. That reminded A.J. of something else.

  “What’s going on between you and Sarah Ray?”

  “Sarah? Nothing.”

  “Dean, there isn’t time for this!”

  “How the hell is anything to do with me and Sarah your business?”

  “Where do you know Sarah from?”

  “We grew up together.”

  “Where? Los Angeles or North Dakota?”

  “North Dakota. Look, I don’t know what this is about, but I hadn’t seen Sarah since I was sixteen. She’s not involved in this, whatever you imagine this is.”

  “Are you sure about that? You moved to Los Angeles. Couldn’t Sarah have moved to Los Angeles, too?”

  “She didn’t. Her family moved east. Mine moved west.”

  “Why? To keep you apart?”

  A stunned silence followed. “How did you know that?” Dean demanded.

  “I didn’t. Mother guessed.”

  “Elysia knows?” Dean sounded horrified.

  “She figured it out when you kept running into Sarah every time you went into town.”

  “That wasn’t anything—there’s nothing going on. Sarah and I are just . . .” He couldn’t seem to find the words to explain exactly what they were.

  “Save it for Mother. I’ll find her and call you back as soon as I know something.”

  A.J. didn’t wait for Dean’s answer. Even before the handset hit the cradle, she was clicking on her laptop to find the phone number for New Dawn Church.

  The church site came up. A.J. scanned for the number and began to dial.

  “New Dawn Church,” Lance Dally’s pleasant voice stated.

  Why was he still working there? How much tying up of loose ends was there to do? Surely Oriel could have hired someone to replace him by now? Really, why would he want to continue working there with all that had happened? Especially given his real day job?

  “Oriel Goode?” she inquired briskly.

  “I’m sorry she’s not in today. Is there something I can help you with?”

  Still gazing at the New Dawn Church website, A.J.’s eyes suddenly focused on a sidebar link. Tour de Christ led by Lance Dally.

  “No, thank you,” she said mechanically and hung up. She clicked on the link.

  Photos of helmeted bikers sweating cheerfully in their formfitting Lycra outfits appeared before her along with the information on when and where the New Dawn Church cycling club met and rode.

  It seemed to A.J. she sat blinking at the screen for a very long time, running through all the possibilities, but in fact it was only one minute before her screen saver came on with its calming pictures of the meadows and trees at Deer Hollow. She blinked.

  Lance Dally was a cyclist. He owned a bike and he rode well enough to lead the New Dawn Church Tour de Christ club.

  And that was how he’d managed to get over to New Dawn Church and kill David Goode while his car remained parked out front of his house, providing him with an alibi.

  “Where are you going?” Emma cried behind her as A.J. shoved through the glass doors and ran to the parking lot.

  As she turned the key in the ignition, A.J. reminded herself that there was no danger. Dally was safely across town manning the phones at New Dawn Church. Elysia was in danger from no more than arrest for breaking and entering—even assuming she’d correctly figured out Dally’s involvement. Hopefully she was staking out Oriel’s house. That would be safest of all because she was hardly foolhardy enough to break into the house with Oriel there.

  A.J. found her phone and speed-dialed Elysia. The phone rang and rang and went to voice mail. “It’s me,” she said. “I’m sorry. I was wrong about Dean. Jake and I were speculating that Goode’s killer was someone just passing through, and of course I remembered the Golden Gumshoes cast was visiting from Los Angeles, and Dean was always disappearing to go into town. It was just . . . circumstantial. But I’m almost positive now that Lance Dally killed Goode. I know how we can crack his alibi. Call me as soon as you get this.”

  She disconnected. Then she hit redial. “Please don’t do anything foolish! Call me.”

  Disconnecting that time, she dialed Jake and got his voice mail as well. “Lance Dally owns a bike. That’s how he managed to get across town and back without his car. I’m on my way to his house right now because I’m afraid Mother might do something . . . might try to find proof. I don’t know. She might be staking out Oriel Goode’s. Anyway, call me!”

  She tossed her phone to the passenger seat and pressed harder on the gas.

  Early in her fact-finding efforts A.J. had tried Google Mapping Dally’s house and calculating the distance to the shopping center where New Dawn Church had set up their base of operations. She remembered the address and was able to find the street without too much trouble, although it felt like an eternity before she was turning onto the right block.

  Maybe her mother was right. Maybe it was time to buy a new car with an up-to the-minute GPS system.

  She drove slowly past the house Dally was renting. It was a small, ordinary two-bedroom one-bath recently renovated Colonial surrounded by tall bushes and bare trees. Elysia’s Land Rover was parked four houses down, but there was no sign of Elysia.

  A.J. parked even farther down the block, having to wedge in behind a pickup truck on wooden blocks and a battered black Toyota.

  She got out, looking up and down the street. A yellow school bus trundled past her, and a man with a briefcase left his yard and climbed into his red MG.

  A.J. checked her phone, but no one had left her a message.

  She locked her car and walked briskly up the leaf-strewn sidewalk, eyes peeled for her mother. She paused by the Land Rover and glanced inside, but there was no sign of Elysia. A.J. continued toward Lance Dally’s house.

  In the house next door to his, a woman stood at the sink doing dishes. She stared at A.J. and A.J. smiled and raised a polite hand. The woman nodded, unsmiling.

  Dally’s yard was not fenced. A.J. walked up the straight cement path, still keeping an eye out for her mother, although it was hard to picture Elysia lurking in the bushes and not speaking up.

  A.J. climbed the steps to the porch and knocked. No one came to the door—she’d have been startled out of her wits if they had. She rang the doorbell.

  Same response.

  That was, of course, the good news.

  She went back down the porch steps and walked around the side of the house. A tall wooden fence and fruit trees provided concealment from the neighbors on both sides.

  “Mother?” she called softly, stepping over a garden hose.

  There was no answer. In fact, there was no hint that Elysia had ever been on these premises, let alone that she still was.

  Behind the house was a long, cracked cement driveway with a detached garage at the end of it. A.J. considered it, then turned back to the house. A narrow flight of stairs led up to what must be a mud porch. The basement was a full walkout. Its narrow windows peeked up over the patchy lawn and driveway.

  A small dog began to bark from behind the tall fence on the other side of the driveway.

  A.J. ignored it and tried the basement door. It was locked.

  Okay. Not a surprise. Now what?

  She stepped back from the house, and as she did her gaze fell on one of the basement windows. She looked closer. The window was slightly open. So slightly that she’d missed it the first time.

  Next door a man called to the dog, and A.J. heard the jingle of
its tags as it trotted away still growling disapproval.

  She squatted down and pushed the glass. The window panel opened with a jarring squeak. A.J. looked nervously around but there was no sign that anyone—including the neighbor’s dog—had heard it.

  “Mother?” she whispered.

  Nothing.

  Great. What now? If she went inside and was caught trespassing, she could get arrested. Jake would not be happy, to say the least. But if Elysia was here—and where else could she be with her car a few yards down the street?—she was inside this building.

  A.J. made a couple of uncomplimentary observations on her esteemed parent as she thrust her legs through the opening and wriggled through. It was a tight fit, but not impossible.

  Dropping down a couple of feet to the basement floor, she brushed her hands off and stood, looking around. There was a dusty AG oil tank in one corner and a new hot water tank in another. There was a barbecue pushed to the side, a couple of Styrofoam coolers, and patio furniture stacked on top of itself. A couple of wooden tennis rackets hung from the wall along with a couple of empty picture frames.

  Nothing remotely sinister.

  “Mother, are you here?” A.J. called, more because she wanted Elysia to be there than because she actually thought she was.

  She went to the door leading out to the back patio and unlocked it, poking her head out and listening.

  There was no sound to indicate anyone was aware of her trespass. The wind sent a few dead leaves scraping across the cement drive. The dry tree branches rattled.

  A.J. closed the door but left it unlocked in case she had to leave quickly. She didn’t plan on climbing through those windows again if she could possibly help it.

  Turning, she spotted the stairs leading to the upstairs. She started toward them when something red caught her eye. She stopped and stared, then stepped forward to get a closer look.

  Her first thought was that she was looking at a Halloween costume, but as she took in the crimson, misshapen head, the limp and drooping wire and rubber wings, she realized it was more sinister than that. She was staring at the latest incarnation of the Jersey Devil.

  The sudden unmistakable squeak of a floorboard sent A.J.’s heart rocketing into her mouth. She ducked down and waited, still trying to make sense of the costume hanging a few inches above her head.