Dial Om for Murder

by Diana Killian

The answering machine came on, and A.J. left her message for Waldo. Hanging up, she returned to the breakfast table and sat down across from Jake. He looked awfully good for a guy who’d had very little sleep the night before.

  “Anyway, this is informed speculation. It’s a fact that Nicole backed out of the production company, and it’s a fact that it happened at the same time she came up with this brainstorm for a koala preserve—despite the fact that wildlife organizations were absolutely against it.” A.J. added, “Right there, that was classic Nicole.”

  Jake shrugged, polishing off the last of his jam and toast.

  “This is what I think happened,” A.J. said. “I think J.W. came back from Mexico exhausted, angry, and his luggage is lost. His relationship with Nicole is already on the rocks. They’re not sleeping together anymore and she pulled the plug on this film company, which must have caused some major resentment. He gets home and everything is in turmoil because of this party for Nicole, and Nicole is in full egomaniacal swing, she’s going to make her big announcement about the koala preserve—that everyone in the world thinks is a mistake—and I think she must have said or did something that was simply the last straw. I think he walked out, saw the koala ice sculpture, which pretty much embodied everything he hated about her, and I think he turned around and slammed Nicole over the head with it.”

  “And nobody noticed?”

  “The house was in chaos, and . . . if he hadn’t been noticed coming in, well, he would certainly know how to get out without being seen.”

  “And then—spattered in blood—he drives back to the airport and makes a claim for his luggage?”

  “Depending on which of his bags was lost, he could have easily had a change of clothes with him, and dumping the bloodstained garments wouldn’t be hard. He could have stopped along the way or shoved them in one of the airport garage bins.”

  Jake rose from the table. He wasn’t saying anything—which in itself was a comment.

  “You could examine his phone records,” A.J. suggested, raising her face to his.

  He paused to deliver a quick kiss, which tasted a little like raspberry preserves. “And why would I want to do that?”

  “Because there’s just a chance you might find that he called Mother last Saturday night—threatening us if we didn’t lay off the case.” Catching his expression, she amended hastily, “Warning us to butt out of police business.”

  “That’s what I thought you must mean.” He eyed her grimly, thinking.

  “It’s just a chance.”

  “It wouldn’t prove anything.”

  “No. But it would be a pretty good indication that we—you’re on the right track.”

  Jake gazed down at her for what felt like a long time. Unexpectedly, he pulled out the chair next to A.J.’s, and sat down. Puzzled, she tried to read his expression. He picked up her hand in his, holding it lightly, staring out the window.

  “Listen,” he said finally.

  She had a cold feeling in the pit of her stomach. Suddenly she was reminded of that awful day when Andy had finally told her the truth. She managed to say calmly, “I’m listening.”

  “I need to tell you something.” He stopped.

  A.J. waited. She wondered if her hand felt as icy to touch as she felt on the inside.

  Jake said flatly, “I was engaged once. I won’t bore you with the details. The bottom line is, everything I thought I knew about Jenny was a lie. And it destroyed us—destroyed our relationship. So . . . I don’t know if you want to call it a hang-up or an insecurity or what-the-hell-ever, but it’s important to me to be able to trust any woman I get involved with.”

  A.J. asked politely, “Any woman you get involved with?”

  “The woman I fall in love with.”

  A.J. shut up.

  “Maybe it seems silly to you or . . . I don’t know. But if you give me your word, I’m going to hold you to it. And if you lie to me, it’s going to matter. A lot. Even if it’s just over some stupid little thing. Maybe especially over some stupid little thing.”

  His gaze gravely held hers, waiting for her answer.

  A.J. said slowly, “There’s a lot you’re not telling me.”

  Jake nodded. “Yes. One day I will tell you—when we’re both ready. But in the meantime, if you do want something with us, between us, don’t lie to me or pretend to me. If you’re going to disregard my wishes, then do it to my face.”

  “Is that permission to—?”

  “No.”

  “Just checking.”

  They continued to eye each other. Through the broken window floated the sweet song of a meadow lark.

  A.J. smiled, though her eyes were serious. “Thank you for telling me. I won’t lie to you. No lies of omission. Not even little white lies. I won’t fudge the truth or claim ignorance or pretend I didn’t understand. I won’t fool around with something this important.”

  Jake leaned forward and kissed her—a long, sweet kiss.

  They broke reluctantly, smiling into each other’s eyes.

  Jake pushed his chair back.

  A.J. said, “But I do think you should check J.W. Young’s phone records.”

  It was an ordinary Friday at Sacred Balance.

  A.J. spent the morning interviewing receptionist candidates for the second receptionist position.

  Candidate number one spent her interview texting messages in between distractedly answering A.J.’s questions.

  Candidate number two asked to review her resume as she couldn’t remember what answers she might have put down.

  Candidate number three brought her crying baby in and midway through her interview began to breast feed.

  Candidate number four was a no-show.

  Jake called right before lunch.

  “I thought you’d want to know. Summers finally coughed up her alibi for the night of Manning’s murder. It’s airtight.”

  “What is it?” A.J. couldn’t help the note of disbelief. If ever anyone had struck her as a leading candidate for Psycho of the Year, it was Lydia—Chris.

  “She was in the hospital having surgery.”

  “What kind of surgery?”

  Jake sounded uncomfortable. “Some kind of feminine procedure. A laparoscopic hysterectomy.”

  “Then why didn’t she just say so?”

  “Apparently she was planning some grand lawsuit for false arrest. When we didn’t cooperate by charging her right away in the Manning homicide, she got impatient and admitted where she was. We’ve already got confirmation from her doctor. There’s no way Summers killed Manning. But so long as you’re willing to prosecute we’re still holding her on a variety of charges. Everything from trespassing to assault.”

  “Absolutely I’m willing to prosecute.”

  “Good girl. Another thing. We checked Young’s phone records. There’s no history of a call to Elysia’s.”

  “He could have—”

  “He could have made the call from elsewhere, yes. I know.”

  “So you’re not ruling him out?”

  “I’m not ruling him out. Yet.”

  They chatted amiably, made plans for the evening, and then Jake rang off. As A.J. replaced the receiver, she reflected how very glad she was that their relationship appeared to be well on the road to recovery.

  She was on her way out the door to meet Elysia for lunch when Lily stopped her with a peremptory summons. “A.J.!”

  A.J. tried not to wince. Possibly she didn’t try hard enough. Reaching her, Lily said, “I realize you’re in a hurry, but since you’re taking off early again, I wanted to remind you about tomorrow’s staff meeting.”

  “I haven’t forgotten. And I’m not taking off. I’m going to lunch.”

  “Oh, and I’ll bring the pastries for the meeting.”

  With superhuman strength A.J. managed to force back That’s a first! She said with determined pleasantness, “Wonderful. Thanks for handling that.”

  Lily was smiling at her, but somehow that was even l
ess appealing than her usual scowl. “Have a nice lunch.”

  What did that mean? What was Lily implying now? That A.J. wasn’t carrying her weight? That she was sneaking off for noontime trysts? Who knew? And it was a waste of energy trying to understand the serpentine workings of Lily’s mind.

  Remembering the motto smile, it makes people wonder what you’re up to, A.J. smiled graciously and waved bye-bye. But her stomach was churning as she walked to the parking lot. Lily was obviously confident of the outcome of the next day’s meeting. Somehow A.J. was going to have to find the strength and the grace to accept the choice of her fellow team members.

  Of course she could simply pull rank and refuse to consider any changes to Sacred Balance—cosmetic or philosophical. She and Lily were co-managers, true, but as the owner, A.J. controlled the purse strings, and ultimately had the final say.

  She could do it—she wanted to do it—but she knew she wouldn’t. Not only would she lose her self-respect if she proceeded to behave like a corporate overlord, she would lose the goodwill and team spirit that she had worked so hard to foster over the past year.

  It was hard, though, sometimes very hard, to do the right thing when the right thing did not correspond with one’s own wishes.

  Elysia was flipping leisurely through a People magazine—shaking her head over the photogenic foibles of the next generation of thespians—when A.J. arrived at Patty’s Pantry.

  “Sorry I’m late.” A.J. sat down on the gingham upholstered bench.

  Elysia tossed the magazine aside. “Well, you certainly had an interesting evening by all accounts.”

  “You heard about that, did you?”

  “Not from you.” Elysia’s tone was sweet, but it was obvious she was a little hurt.

  A.J. brought her very quickly up to speed with the story of Lydia Thorne’s visit and the fact that A.J. and Jake were once more “on.”

  Elysia’s mouth pursed in a little moue of displeasure over the news that Jake was back in A.J.’s life, but she didn’t say anything—for which A.J. was grateful.

  “How did it go with Mr. Meagher?” A.J. asked.

  “Not good. They’ve set Jane’s trial date.”

  “Oh no.”

  Elysia nodded broodingly. She tapped a scarlet fingernail on the table cloth and said, “I’m considering hiring a private detective.”

  “Why?”

  “Perhaps there was something in Nicole’s past that contributed to her death.”

  “Well, before you spend any money on Sam Spade, it looks like J.W.’s alibi might not be as rock solid as we previously thought.”

  Elysia perked up considerably as A.J. filled her in on all she had learned from Jake the night before.

  “But this proves—”

  “It doesn’t prove anything, Mother. Not in a legal sense.”

  “He was always the most obvious suspect. The only thing that kept the police investigating him too closely was that supposed alibi.”

  “According to Jake, he told the police early on that his alibi wasn’t unbreakable. That seems either the action of an innocent man or a pretty gutsy move.”

  “Bryn knew,” Elysia said, looking into some inner distance.

  “I don’t know. Maybe she suspected,” A.J. conceded. “She would know better than anyone what their relationship dynamic was, what the tensions and frustrations were between them.”

  “I believe she’s in love with J.W.”

  “Maybe. He obviously had her loyalty, no question of that. But she was fond of Nicole. Would she have stood by and let her murderer go free? I don’t think J.W. is in love with her.”

  “It’s all clear now. Of course he’s guilty. If we were to work on her—”

  A.J. nearly spilled her iced water. “Absolutely not! Did you miss that part about the crazy woman showing up at my house and trying to dismantle my patio—if not me? We can’t continue poking our noses into crime and not expect to get punched in the schnoz.”

  “Very colorful, pumpkin, but meanwhile dear little Jane Peters who never did a wrong thing in her life is sitting in jail.”

  “Mother, the best way we can help now is to stay out from underfoot and make sure we don’t do anything to compromise the investigation. I gave Jake everything we had—”

  “Speak for yourself,” Elysia murmured.

  “Funny. I know him. He’ll take that information and act on it, but he’s going to do it by the book. Anything else is liable to make things worse for Jane,” A.J. said.

  “Pish and tosh! What could possibly be worse than being locked in prison accused of a murder you didn’t commit?”

  “Being killed by the real murderer.”

  Elysia blinked but recovered. “Well, why should that happen?”

  “Why shouldn’t it happen? If J.W.—or whoever the killer is—has committed murder once, he doesn’t have a heck of a lot more to lose, does he?”

  Elysia frowned. “The man has practically devoted his life to PBS. How ruthless could he be? If he did kill Nicole, it was obviously not a cold-blooded crime.”

  “If—if—he killed Nicole, he’s letting Jane take the rap for him. Who knows how ruthless he might be about protecting himself? Fear drives people to do terrible things.”

  Elysia shrugged a bony shoulder. “At the very least this should throw enough doubt on Jane’s guilt that we ought to be able to get her a bail hearing.”

  A.J. said wearily, “I think you should leave it alone. The last thing we want to do is tip J.W. to the fact that he’s still under suspicion and being watched by the police.”

  Elysia gnawed her lip. “I need to speak to Bradley,” she said abruptly, rising.

  “Can’t it wait till after lunch?”

  “How can I possibly sit here gorging myself on pot pies while poor, dear Jane is sitting in a cell eating prison slop?” She began gathering her purse, magazine, and shopping bags.

  “Whatever,” A.J. said shortly, a little surprised at her own irritation. “Give my regards to poor, dear little Janie.”

  Elysia straightened, studying her. “I will, pumpkin,” she said coolly. “Have a lovely lunch. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Ta-ta,” A.J. bit out.

  But Elysia was already out of earshot.

  Twenty-six

  On Friday nights the studio always cleared out early.

  A.J. was still working at her laptop as Suze, the last staff member to leave, called good night. A.J. called back, wishing her a good evening, and returned to her reports. Jake would not be getting off work until about nine, so there was no hurry to rush home.

  During late nights and early mornings, A.J. was reminded of how far from town, how isolated, the studio really was. The woods seemed to close in when darkness fell—and the deep and peaceful silence grew strangely eerie.

  For a time A.J. continued to work, but she began to feel restless—and a little uneasy. Every creak and squeak of the building was setting her nerves jumping. She signed out of her laptop, closed the lid, and considered whether she would take her work home with her. She decided against it.

  Running upstairs, she quickly verified that the showers were turned off, lockers closed, no cell phones left behind. She walked briskly down the empty hallways, glancing into each room, making sure she was the only person left. Not that she really had to check. The studio had a hollow, empty feel to it.

  Back in her own office, she slipped a sweater on over her sleeveless yellow T-shirt, gathered her things, and went to the front doors. She turned off the lights, set the alarm, unlocked the door, and stepped outside.

  The evening was cool and the surrounding pine trees sighed overhead. A.J. locked the glass door and started down the curving walk, stopping dead at the sound of foot-steps coming toward her.

  A tall figure materialized out of the darkness, and A.J. went rigid as she recognized J.W. Young.

  “Hi,” he said. And then taking in her frozen figure, “Sorry. Didn’t you say it would be okay to stop by any even
ing?”

  “I . . . yes,” she managed. In the excitement over Lydia Thorne and getting back together with Jake, A.J. had totally forgotten about telling J.W. to drop by anytime so that they could discuss making a documentary A.J. had no real intention of commissioning.

  She continued standing there. She did not want to go into the studio with him—memories of her aunt’s murder were still too vivid. And, knowing what she did about him, A.J. was afraid her doubts and suspicions would show.

  She said, “I’m so sorry. Any other night would be perfect, but tonight something’s come up and I can’t stay.”

  “Oh.”

  After a moment he moved to the side, and A.J. understood that he expected her to precede him down the stone walk. And she couldn’t do it. She simply could not turn her back on him and start walking into the darkness knowing he could stoop down, pick up one of the large stones lining the walk, and bash her over the head.

  Not that he had any reason to do so. He couldn’t know what she knew—suspected.

  But suddenly she could see it all so vividly, see him walking up behind Nicole and raising his hand to smash her down with that stupid frozen koala sculpture. She could picture his pleasant face twisted with rage. . . .

  But he had no reason to harm her, no reason to be in a rage with A.J. And he didn’t look angry. He didn’t look anything but puzzled . . . and she was to blame for that, standing here like a nitwit . . . unable to budge while he waited for her.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “No.” She forced a smile and walked forward, muscles strung tense as though by wire as she passed him. He fell in step beside her.

  “Quiet night,” he said.

  “Yes.” Yes. Deadly quiet. The surrounding pines seemed to smother all sound.

  No, that wasn’t true. She was letting her nerves carry her away. If she listened beyond the pounding of her heartbeat, she could hear the pines whispering and crickets chirping and the persistent call of a hunting owl—and far down the road, the distant drone of a motor.

  “How’s the detecting going?”

  She turned her head quickly, and J.W. was smiling, not looking at her.