Dial Om for Murder (13 page)

“Thank you.” He shook her hand but then stiffened. “You’re the one who said she saw Jane running away.”

Bryn caught her breath.

“You’re wrong about Jane,” J.W. said. “I don’t care how it looks or what anyone saw.”

“Hey,” Jake said, and it sounded like a warning.

J.W. ignored him, frowning down at A.J., and she felt compelled to say, “I didn’t really
see
anything. I mean, I saw Jane running away . . . but that’s all I saw.”

“I don’t believe Jane was there.” J.W. didn’t raise his voice, but there was no doubt of his intensity. “And if she was, she had a damn good reason—and it didn’t have anything to do with what happened to Nikki. Jane is a genuinely good person.”

Unmoved, Jake said, “Good people do bad things. Everybody makes mistakes, and sometimes those mistakes are fatal ones.”

“Not Jane,” J.W. said.

Bryn watched him without comment, her expression unreadable. Meeting A.J.’s gaze, she looked faintly apologetic, but A.J. was not offended. J.W. was not aggressive, just absolute in his belief in Jane’s innocence. It was sort of nice, really.

J.W. said to Jake, “I’ve been doing what you asked: racking my brain trying to think of anyone who might have wanted to hurt Nikki. Did you know she received threats from some kind of koala preservation league?”

“But I thought Nicole was active in koala preservation?” A.J. said. Nicole had her faults, but she had been generous with the causes she believed in.

“She was,” Bryn put in. “But Nicole wanted to start her own mini preserve here in New Jersey, and not all conservationists agreed with her on that. In fact . . . none of them did.”

J.W. said, “Nikki had the best intentions, but she had a tendency to view all animals as . . . potential pets. That didn’t go over well with wildlife preservationists.”

“Let me get this straight,” Jake said. “You’re saying wildlife preservationists threatened your wife?”

“Nicole and J.W. weren’t married,” Bryn said.

“Right,” J.W. said, although whether he was answering Bryn or Jake, A.J. wasn’t sure.

“You have letters from these wildlife activists?”

J.W. turned to Bryn. Bryn shook her head. “We didn’t take them seriously. Nicole didn’t take them seriously.” She said earnestly, “But the fact that someone used that koala ice sculpture to kill Nicole . . . well, that can’t be a coincidence.”

A.J. could see from Jake’s expression that he was unconvinced on that point. Personally, she thought it was probable the killer had grabbed whatever was handy to clobber Nicole. It seemed unlikely these crazed conservationists would know what the planned table décor was for Nicole’s party.

“Maybe. Maybe not,” Jake said. To Bryn, he added, “Do you think you can locate names or contact information for these koala kooks?”

“I can try.”

He nodded approval. “Do what you can. We’ll look into this, of course—let you know what we find. In the meantime”—and this was directed toward J.W.—“if you do hear from Ms. Peters, let us know as soon as possible.”

“Will do.” J.W. nodded a curt good night to Jake—and then to A.J. He followed Bryn out of the diner into the May night.

A.J. watched Jake watching J.W. and Bryn.

“What do you think?” she asked.

His expression was sardonic. “Very touching,” he said. “You don’t often hear exes speaking so loyally about each other.” He added, “Present company excepted.”

 

 

A.J.
did not want to say good night to Jake. His mouth moved on hers with warm expertise, but as pleasurable as it was to be in his arms again, she couldn’t quite manage to forget that although the grassy front yard of the farmhouse was empty of Elysia’s Land Rover, the light in the front room indicated Andy was home—possibly even waiting up for her.

She swallowed hard—it was sort of a gulp—as Jake’s mouth trailed down her throat, burning softly through the thin silk of the camisole covering her breasts. Nice. Very nice. It had been a long time since A.J. had acknowledged these feelings—well, maybe not the feelings themselves, but the unsettling power of those feelings. Jake’s touch was setting her nerves on fire, setting uneasy desire crackling through her. He couldn’t have had worse timing if he’d planned it.

“How long is Belleson staying again?” he murmured against her skin.

A.J. shook her head. It was hard to find words. Heck, it was hard to find coherent thoughts.

Jake stroked her hair, her face, ran his hands over her bare shoulders, down her arms, but he was not gathering her close. He sighed, drew back, and said, “I guess that’s just as well. I have to get back to work.”

And though A.J. was disappointed, she was also a little relieved. She wasn’t ready to move her relationship with Jake forward, was she? Not to mention the fact that she just couldn’t relax knowing Andy was a few yards away. He might even be peering out the window at this very moment.

“Good night,” she said hastily, shoving open the door of the SUV.

“I’ll call you,” he said—and there was a funny note in his voice.

The phone was ringing as A.J. let herself into the house.

She patted Monster and swiftly crossed the hall—pausing as she spotted Andy sitting motionless in the front room.

“Hi there! When did Mother leave?”

“About half an hour ago. Let it go to message, A.J.,” Andy ordered as she moved to the phone.

“What?” She was already picking up the receiver.

“Hi, A.J.” The voice that answered her greeting was male, deep, and attractive—unfamiliar to her. “ This is Nick Grant.” Into her silence Nick added, “Andy’s partner.”

Like she could possibly have forgotten the name of the man Andy had left her for?

“Hi, Nick,” she responded coolly.

Andy had moved to the doorway. He shook his head fiercely in answer to her glare.

Nick said very casually, “I’ve been out of town for a few days and . . . anyway, I wondered if by any chance . . . Andy was staying with you?”

A.J. looked at Andy. He stared back at her, willing her to say nothing. No. Willing her to lie for him.

Which took a fair bit of gall given their history and the fact that she was unlikely to be sympathetic to the idea of Andy lying to anyone ever again. But as she glared at him she couldn’t help noticing how drawn he was—the faded bruise on his cheekbone stood out starkly—and she heard herself say, surprised at how calm and collected she sounded, “No, he’s not. Is he supposed to be?”

“Not that I know of,” Nick said. There was an undernote in his voice that A.J. couldn’t quite pinpoint. Disappointment? Frustration? Worry? She could imagine how hard this must be for him, having to call his lover’s ex-wife and basically admit that he didn’t know where Andy was. Presumably Andy had a good reason for this subterfuge. Because if he
didn’t
, this wasn’t just selfish, it was downright cruel.

“I’m sorry, Nick,” she said. And she meant it.

There was a beat, and then Nick said quietly, “Me too. If you hear from him, will you ask him to give me a call? Please?”

“Yes,” A.J. said, scowling at Andy. “I will.”

The phone was replaced softly on Nick’s end. Not so softly on A.J.’s. She turned to face Andy.

“Well, that was interesting. Maybe you better tell me what’s going on.”

She thought he wasn’t going to answer, but at last Andy scrubbed a hand across his face. His gaze met hers. “I’ve left Nick.”

Eleven

“Oh,
I think I got that part,” A.J. said, beginning to give in to her temper. “Did you bother to tell Nick you were leaving him? Because he sounds a little confused.”

“I left him a letter.”

“A
letter
?”

For a moment A.J. was so angry she wasn’t sure she could speak without screaming. This was the relationship for which Andy had shattered their own decade-long marriage. And now, after less than a year, he was walking away from that, too, this time leaving his bewildered spouse with nothing more than a letter to explain his hurtful, cowardly, selfish actions.

“Who
are
you?” she demanded.

He said with difficulty, “You don’t know . . . the full story.”

“Well, what’s the full story?” Her suspicions returned. “ That bruise on your face. Nick hit you, didn’t he?”

There was no mistaking the genuineness of Andy’s reaction as he gaped at her. “
Nick?
You think Nick
hit
me?”

“Didn’t he?”

“Hell no!”

“ Then
what
is the big mystery? You show up without warning, you’re limping, your face is bruised, you won’t talk to Nick. What is going on?”

“He’s never laid a hand on me. He’s . . . he wouldn’t ever . . .” Words seemed to fail Andy.

“ Then what? You want to play the field? What?”

“
A.J
.” He stopped. Took a deep breath. “I have MS.”

She stared. “What?”

“I’ve been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis.”

A.J. knew she should say something but nothing occurred to her.

Andy said with surprising steadiness, “I found out for sure a few days ago. I’ve been having problems with my balance and coordination, stiffness in my joints. Tremors in my hands. My vision goes in and out. I’m tired and feeling weak all the time. I kept thinking it was different things. Stress or fatigue or . . . Anyway, about a week ago I fell down. Just . . . fell. That’s when I got this.” He touched his cheekbone. “And I knew something was really wrong.”

A.J. felt winded. She groped for words, found them at last. “And you haven’t told Nick?”

Andy shook his head.

“Why on earth not?”

“Because we were already having problems. Arguing over his schedule and the fact that his job comes before everything else.”

“Oh my God, Andy. And so . . . what? You don’t want to burden him? It’s not a burden when you love the person.”

“Of course it is! It’s just that when you love someone you’re willing to take on the burden. But Nick and I . . . we don’t have that kind of relationship.”

“I thought you were both
so
in love.” She couldn’t help the trace of acid there, although she did try.

“We do love each other. But Nick didn’t bargain for this.”

“How do you know? You haven’t given him a chance—”

Andy interrupted sharply, “I know, all right? Before this ever happened we talked about our schedules and the future and what we both want and . . .” He struggled briefly with his emotions, then said more calmly, “ The kind of MS I have is the kind that progresses fast. I’m . . . probably going to be disabled. I mean, like in a wheelchair.”

What a way to realize you still loved someone. A.J. took a deep breath. “Are you . . . going to die?”

Andy shook his head. “MS doesn’t usually mean a shorter life span. But I’m going to be more and more dependent, and I can’t—I don’t want to do that to Nick. Even if he wanted that. Which he wouldn’t.”

All at once A.J. understood Andy’s desire to lose himself in amateur sleuthing. No wonder he didn’t want to deal with his own real-life problems. She said, “But you’re not giving Nick the choice.”

He said a little bitterly, “Nick didn’t have time for me when I was well.”

She absorbed that silently. Nick Grant didn’t strike her as the nurturing kind, that was for sure.

“I still think you should tell him.”

She saw the tension leave Andy’s face as he realized he had won the most immediate battle. “I will,” he promised. “I just need a little more time to come to terms with it myself.”

There really wasn’t much she could say to that.

“‘Everything
happens for a purpose.’ As the Bard said.”

A.J. quit trying to calculate whether the difference in fat content between a skinny iced cinnamon dolce latte and a chai frappuccino would compensate for a slice of zucchini nut bread. She stared at her mother.