Murder on the Eightfold Path

by Diana Killian

  Uh. . . .

  A.J. said mildly, “Perhaps the toilet was defective?”

  “The plumber didn’t believe that to be the case.”

  Had Lily finally snapped or had she? It was very hard to believe they were having this conversation. Was Lily suggesting that students who broke their diets or missed their daily workouts shouldn’t be allowed to use the restroom? What was she suggesting—beyond the fact that A.J. was not pulling her weight?

  “I see,” A.J. said. “Well, it happens that I agree with you that we should be monitoring the progress of those students who joined us with weight loss goals in mind.”

  “Yes, we should.”

  Ah. There it was. The accusation unveiled at last. “Lily, there is a lot going on in my life right now in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  “Yes, and very little of it seems to have to do with yoga or Sacred Balance.”

  A.J. swallowed her ire. Lily was perfectly correct. Yoga was pretty much the last thing on her mind these days. “You’re right,” she said pleasantly. “But that’s a temporary state of affairs. Anything else?”

  Lily seemed taken aback by A.J.’s calm response. After a stiff second, she said, “For example, this vacation you took last weekend. If you were well enough to be up and about, you should have been up and about here. Where we were short-staffed.”

  Whatever A.J. had been expecting, it wasn’t this.

  “Last weekend was hardly a vacation. My back wasn’t at the point where I could have conducted classes. You know that.”

  “Aren’t you the one who told me your value to this organization went beyond teaching classes?”

  A.J. felt herself redden. There was an element of unpleasant truth to Lily’s observation. Much of what Lily was saying was true. But it was only part of the truth and didn’t take into account the tireless and enthusiastic effort A.J. had put into Sacred Balance over the past year. She replied, trying not to sound as testy as she felt, “That’s true. I did choose to spend the weekend with my mother. This is a stressful time for her.”

  “More stressful now, I’d say.” Before A.J. could respond to that, Lily said, “Why not be honest? You enjoy owning the studio, you don’t enjoy running it.”

  A.J. managed to control her instinctive reaction, settling for a terse, “Not true.”

  “Of course it is. You don’t have to work. Sacred Balance is just a hobby for you. You’re dabbling in managing the studio, and that’s not fair to the rest of us.”

  “I don’t know where this is coming from because I’m at this studio working my tail off nearly every single day. I’m here more than any other staff member—and that includes you.”

  “Maybe at first, but nowadays you’re more interested in playing amateur sleuth than teaching yoga.”

  “You have zero idea what you’re talking about.”

  “I’m not the only one to notice, A.J.”

  “Really?” A.J. sat up very straight. “Well, if anyone else has concerns, they can address them to me directly.”

  “You wouldn’t be so defensive if you didn’t recognize the truth of what I’m saying. Look, I know you care about the studio. I know you view it as some kind of spiritual trust left to you by Di, but if you really want what’s best for Sacred Balance, you’ll hear me out.”

  Here it was. A.J. had known that Lily was angling toward a particular end. She braced herself for what was without a doubt going to be unpleasant.

  “Go on.”

  “Mara Allen of Yoga Meridian contacted me a few weeks ago. She and her investors are interested in making an offer for Sacred Balance.”

  “Sacred Balance isn’t for sale.”

  “That’s emotion talking, not reason. Mara is willing to pay a lot of money for Sacred Balance. Furthermore, she’s willing to let me continue as manager of the studio—I could keep on any instructor or staff member I chose. No one would have to lose their job.”

  “No one has to lose their job now. Including me.”

  Lily’s thin mouth twisted. “Yoga Meridian, and Mara, have a lot of money behind them. Her investors are willing to pay a more than fair price.”

  “Lily, as you keep pointing out, I don’t need the money.”

  “It’s not just about you, A.J. It’s about what’s right for the rest of us, too. What you don’t seem to understand is, if you’re going to be so blindly stubborn about this, we’re going to lose Sacred Balance completely. We can’t compete with Yoga Meridian. They’ve got everything we’ve got plus a day spa and hair salon. Every day we lose more customers to them.”

  “That’s ridiculous. Yes, we’ve lost a few customers, but we’ve gained new customers, too. The turnover is normal. It balances out.”

  “You can’t really believe that. You need to look past your own ego and face facts before we lose Sacred Balance completely.”

  A.J. took a deep breath and then expelled it slowly.

  Inhale.

  Exhale.

  Inh—

  “Okay. You’ve made your pitch and I’ve heard you out. I’m not selling Sacred Balance to Mara Allen or anyone else. This subject is now closed.”

  “Don’t be so sure,” Lily flared. “The choice isn’t just yours. I’m willing to sell my share in Sacred Balance to Mara.” Lily’s black gaze met A.J.’s defiantly.

  “You don’t have a share!” Despite her good intentions, A.J.’s voice rose. “You’re a co-manager, not a co-owner. You don’t own any part of this studio.”

  “Try running it without me.”

  “I would love to try running it without you!”

  They glared at each other. Then Lily rose with a nasty little smile.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t be so hasty, A.J. I very much doubt that you’re going to want to hang around this little town managing a yoga studio now that your boyfriend has dumped you and your mother is about to be convicted of murder.”

  For a moment A.J. was so angry she wasn’t sure she could get the words out without choking on them.

  “If I were you, I’d get out of my office.”

  Lily’s dark eyebrows rose haughtily, but get she did. A.J. slammed the door after her. The satisfying bang shook the pictures on the wall, and the framed photograph of Diantha fell over on its face.

  “Well, what were you thinking?” A.J. inquired of the photo as she propped it back on the desk.

  Aunt Diantha’s serene smile had never been more enigmatic. Feeling sheepish at her loss of temper, A.J. took a few moments to regain her calm.

  After all, what was the big deal? Surely, she should be used to Lily by now.

  She went to the window and stared out at the pine trees and meadow. Her anger slowly subsided to be replaced by sheepish humor. Oh, if only she could phone Jake to share that line about toilets being a symptom and not the disease!

  She was grinning ruefully as her door opened and Suze peeked in. She whispered, “Are you okay? We could hear you all the way in the front lobby.”

  “If she ever gets knocked off, I’m going to be the prime suspect.”

  “Take a number.”

  They both laughed uneasily.

  “Is there anything I can do?” Suze asked.

  “Keep her out of my way.”

  Suze nodded although they both knew that was a polite fiction. Nobody was going to prevent Lily from going where she liked and saying whatever she chose to.

  When A.J. cooled down she called Jake partly because she had remembered that she had never got around to mentioning Dicky’s possible gambling debts, and she was quite sure her mother had never shared that information, and partly because—painful though it was to admit—she missed him and wanted to hear his voice.

  “Hey,” he said. He sounded preoccupied but not unhappy to hear from her.

  “Every time we talk I forget to mention this, but Mother told me a while back that there’s a possibility that Dicky had gambling debts. He used to bet regularly on horses, and she said he spent a lot of time in Atlantic City.”
/>   “Is that so?”

  “Yes. She didn’t know for certain that he ever had any problems meeting payments or anything like that, but . . .”

  Jake waited for her to finish, and when she didn’t he said, “Okay. Unfortunately it’s not a whole lot to go on. Any idea where in Atlantic City he used to place his bets?”

  “I don’t know. She didn’t know. She didn’t go on those trips. She tries to avoid casinos and that kind of environment.”

  Aware of Elysia’s history, Jake said, “Right. Well, it’s another rock to turn over. Maybe something slimy is waiting there.”

  “And Mother remembered something else.”

  He didn’t quite sigh, but he sounded wary as he said, “Which would be what?”

  “A few months ago, when Mother and Dicky started up again, she said he was getting abusive phone calls from an ex-lover. A woman named Dora Beauford.”

  “Why didn’t she mention that sooner?”

  “She doesn’t think there’s a connection because the woman hadn’t called Dicky for a while—at least, not that she knew. I don’t know that that’s necessarily true. Dora might have stopped calling because he blocked her phone calls. The fact that Mother wasn’t aware of her doesn’t necessarily mean Dora wasn’t still stalking him.”

  “Dora Beauford you said?”

  “Right.”

  “I’ll check it out.”

  After a hesitation, A.J. asked, “How’s it going?”

  “It’s going. Look, A.J., I’m in the middle of something. I’ll give you a call later, okay?”

  “Of course!” she said quickly.

  She clicked her cell shut and put her face in her hands.

  The intercom buzzed.

  “Miz Alexander,” Emma announced.

  Glad for any distraction from her crumbling personal life, A.J. snatched the phone up. “Mother?”

  “I found her!” Elysia said triumphantly.

  “Found who?”

  “Peggy Graham’s sister.”

  “I didn’t know you were looking for her.”

  “Of course I was looking for her. Who else would know whether Peggy killed herself?”

  “How did you find her?” A.J. questioned uneasily.

  “Oh, you know,” Elysia said airily. “The thing is, pumpkin, she’s agreed to meet with us this afternoon.”

  “Meet with us?”

  “Who else?”

  “The police, for one.”

  “Well, we should find out whether she has anything to say before we turn her over to the law, don’t you think?”

  Mindful of Lily’s accusations—and Jake’s warnings—A.J. said, “It doesn’t work that way. I think maybe we should leave this to Jake.”

  “It’s always worked this way for us in the past.”

  “Mother, you make it sound as though we ran some kind of formal criminal investigation agency. The truth is, we’ve just poked around in other people’s business until they got fed up and reacted—sometimes, if you’ll recall—violently.”

  Elysia scoffed at this reminder. “What does it matter what the catalyst for truth is?”

  “It matters if we blow Jake’s case or get ourselves killed.”

  “I. See.” Could there be two more ominous words in the English language?

  “I just think—”

  “ ‘Sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is to have a thankless child.’ ” Elysia interrupted with one of her favorite quotes from Shakespeare—one that A.J. hadn’t heard for a few years, and would have been happy to have kept it so.

  “Mother.”

  “Say no more. If you’re going to abandon me in my hour of need, I shall have to manage on my own. Fortunately I still remember a trick or two from my days on 221B Baker Street.”

  A.J. groaned. Lily was going to love this. “What time is this meeting?”

  “I’ll pick you up at the studio just after three,” Elysia said immediately, cheerfully.

  Seventeen

  “Peg was headstrong. Didn’t like not getting her way.”

  A.J. and Elysia were sitting in Mart Crowley’s large, sunny garden sipping iced tea.

  The garden was decorated with ball-sized Easter eggs and resin lambs and ducks. A giant blue inflatable bunny was lying like a puddle on the lawn.

  Elysia inquired, “Was there any reason to suspect your sister’s death was not suicide?”

  Mart’s jaw tightened. “Plenty. Peg was not the kind of person to take her own life. And I never knew her to take a sleeping pill. She was positive, forceful. Does that sound like someone who relied on sleeping pills or would kill herself?”

  “Was she in ill health by any chance?”

  “Nope. Strong as an ox.”

  “She didn’t leave a note or anything like that?”

  “No.” Mart added grudgingly, “But even if she did kill herself, she wouldn’t have left a note. Peggy had a real thing about her privacy. She wouldn’t have wanted any publicity.”

  “Did you tell the police your suspicions?” asked A.J.

  “Sure. They didn’t exactly tell me that everyone said the same thing, but I got the impression that a lot of people have trouble accepting a suicide verdict.”

  Elysia meditatively tapped one polished fingernail on the glass-topped table. “Was your sister involved with anyone? Sometimes when romances end badly a person can experience an emotional low.”

  “Ha!” At Mart’s harsh laugh the birds in the feeder took flight in bright flashes of color. “Not Peg. She wasn’t the sentimental kind. Oh, she had her disappointing affaires de coeur, but she wasn’t the kind of person to sit around brooding and feeling sorry for herself. No, she did her best to get even with the little ba—creep.”

  A.J. had to admire that skilful look of attentive inquiry from Elysia.

  “He was an artiste,” Mart said. She waved her hands as though playing pat-a-cake. “A sculptor. You know the kind of thing. Nudes that look like Buddhas and sumo wrestlers. My grandkids do a better job with Play-Doh. She should have known better at her age.”

  “What happened?”

  “What you’d expect. She paid a fortune for art classes she didn’t need and art supplies she never used. Why not, anyway? They were both consenting adults.”

  “Why not, indeed,” murmured Elysia.

  “But Peggy fell in love?” A.J. suggested.

  Both Elysia and Mart snickered. “Bless your heart,” Mart said. “No, babycakes. Nothing like that. Oh, she was fond of the kid, I guess, but it was just a holiday romance. Except at home. You know the kind of thing.”

  Elysia sighed and nodded wisely, auditioning for the part of Woman of the World.

  “I don’t think she gave him another thought once it was over and she was busy with her friends and charity work. But then the letters started.”

  “What kind of letters?” The penny dropped. “Blackmail?”

  “Smart girl,” Mart said to Elysia. “Yes, blackmail. There were pictures. Graphic pictures—and plenty of them. Well, Peg was furious, but what could she do? She had her name and position to think of. Not that Peg really cared about that kind of thing, but you know how people can be. She was on a lot of committees with a lot of stuffed shirts who would have taken a dim view of any hanky-panky.”

  “How was she approached? E-mail? Snail mail?”

  “Yes. Real mail. The letters were sent from Hamburg and the payments were made to a post office box in Newton.”

  “Newton,” Elysia said quickly.

  “It’s the county seat,” A.J. pointed out. “We can’t make too much of that.”

  “Where did she meet this boy?”

  At the same time, A.J. asked, “Did they meet on a cruise by any chance?”

  “No.” Mart sounded sure. “No, Peggy never went on a cruise. She was deathly afraid of water. To be honest, I can’t remember where she said she met him.”

  “Where did your sister get her hair styled?” Elysia asked.

  “Oh that overpr
iced place in Newton. The Salon or whatever they call it.”

  A.J. and Elysia exchanged looks.

  “Did she approach this boy after the blackmail began?”

  “Ohhhh yes,” Mart said with grim satisfaction. “Did she ever. And she kept approaching him.” She laughed heartily. “He claimed he wasn’t blackmailing her. That it was nothing to do with him. He was romancing some other rich widow by then, and Peg did her best to stick a spoke in that wheel.”

  “Did she try approaching the woman directly?”

  “No. I asked her about that. She said it wouldn’t do any good. The woman wouldn’t believe her or was too crazy about the kid to care—and Peg hadn’t paid fifty thousand dollars to protect her good name just to reveal it to some stranger who was old enough to know better.”

  “Fifty thousand dollars,” A.J. repeated weakly. “What about those blackmail payments? Did your sister ever try to find who was picking them up from the post office box? Whether it was this boy or not?”

  Mart said slowly, “I don’t know. She talked about it at one point. I don’t know if she ever really did pursue it. If she did, she didn’t tell me about it. Peg was private. That’s why she let them extort money from her, I guess. Me? I’d have said publish and be damned.” She took a defiant swig of iced tea.

  “Would Peg have been likely to confront the blackmailer?”

  “It’s possible. If she could have done it safely—I mean, done it and kept her secret.”

  “She should have gone to the police,” A.J. said. Both Mart and Elysia gave her scornful looks. A.J. insisted, “She’s dead because she didn’t speak up.”

  Elysia dismissed this with a graceful flutter of fingers.

  A.J. ignored her and asked, “Do you remember what this boy’s name was? Was he Egyptian, by any chance?”

  “No. Blond and blue-eyed as I recall. His name was something like Cory. I don’t remember a last name. I don’t think Peg ever mentioned it.”

  “Would you have an address for him or any idea of how to get in contact with him?”

  Mart shook her head.

  “What about your sister’s papers? Do you think there might be something there that might provide a lead?”