Dial Om for Murder (20 page)

A.J. shook her head. “No.”

His face was without expression. “Are you sure about that?”

“Did we just wander into a Bette Davis movie? Yes, I’m sure. I care about Andy, I want to help the best way I can, but I’m not in love with him. He’s not in love with me.”

Jake relaxed a fraction. “Okay.”

Her heart rose at his well-concealed but definite relief. Now this
was
encouraging.

“So what are his plans?” Jake inquired. “Because, I’m sorry for the guy, but he’s kind of putting a cramp in our relationship.” His gaze held A.J.’s, and the directness there brought a faint warmth to her face.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “He’s not confiding in me, but I know he feels overwhelmed. He’s not sure he’ll even be able to keep working, and I know he’s eating his heart out over Nick Grant.”

“Where is Grant in all this?”

A.J. shook her head. “Andy hasn’t told him yet. He doesn’t believe Nick will be willing to deal with . . . well, whatever the future entails.”

“I hate to say it,” Jake said, “but he’s probably right. That’s pretty much the gay lifestyle.”

A.J. was surprised at her instinctive irritation at Jake’s offhand comment. “I don’t know anything about the gay lifestyle,” she admitted. “Unless you count watching a couple of episodes of
Torchwood
, and I don’t think Captain Jack is Mr. Gay Average. I guess I was assuming the gay lifestyle wasn’t that different from anyone else’s lifestyle.”

“What about his family? Can’t they help?”

A.J. sighed. “Like me, Andy’s an only child. His parents disowned him when we divorced.” At the time it had been a small but significant comfort to A.J. Now she regretted their attitude. “Andy was always closer to my family.” To Elysia, at least; Aunt Di had not been any fonder of Andy than he had been of her.

Jake studied her for a long moment. His mouth curved wryly. “You’re a good person, A.J.”

“Can you forgive me?”

He laughed.

They were nearly through dessert when A.J. found an opening to ask about the investigation into Nicole’s murder. Jake didn’t exactly avoid talking about—well, come to think of it, maybe he did avoid talking about it.

“I’ve spoken to J.W. Young about doing a documentary on the studio.”

Jake looked up from his pecan pie à la mode. “Any particular reason you picked Young to do this film?”

“Mother recommended him. She’s a fan of his work.”

“Oh, brother,” said Jake. “Tell me she’s not poking that pointy nose into this thing.”

“Hey. Lay off my mother’s pointy nose.”

“I’ll be happy to—provided she stops sticking it in my business.”

If he only knew. A.J. decided to overlook that last comment. “J.W. is absolutely adamant that his ex-wife is not involved, isn’t he?”

“Jane Peters is not his ex. They never divorced.”

“Right, right. So . . . that means J.W.
doesn’t
inherit under the terms of Nicole’s will?”

Jake gave her a long look.

She did her best to look innocent. “Just asking. It’s public record, isn’t it?”

“I guess so. Manning left everything to a couple of wildlife organizations.”

She would.

“And J.W. would know that, of course.”

“Of course.”

“For what’s it worth,” A.J. said, “I don’t think he has—or at least
had
—a clue that Nicole was fooling around.”

Jake studied her impassively. “Go on.”

“When we were discussing filming this documentary, the subject of Barbie Siragusa came up a couple of times, and he never flinched, and I think if he knew Nicole had been unfaithful with Barbie’s son . . . I mean, there was
nothing
there. Mother agreed.”

“Oh, well now I’m convinced.”

“Okay, maybe we’re not trained law enforcement professionals—”

“
Maybe?
”

A.J. forged on. “But in our own way we’re each also in the business of reading people, and we agreed that J.W. Young had no idea what Nicole was up to.”

If she had hoped that by volunteering this information, he would be wooed into sharing his own thoughts, she was doomed to disappointment. Jake continued to eat his pie with the careful attention of a man who knew he wouldn’t be getting another meal break any time soon.

“And,” she pressed, “by the same token I don’t think J.W. is the father of Barbie’s baby.”

Ah. At last she had his attention.

“Say that again.”

“Barbie’s taking prenatal Pilates courses. The rumor—a rumor
she
started—is that J.W. is the father. Except . . .” she stopped realizing she had almost made the disastrous blunder of revealing Jane’s information that J.W. was sterile.

“Except?” Jake asked, watching her closely.

“Except . . . I don’t think it’s true.” She regained a little confidence. “And for the same reason. J.W. didn’t react an iota to Barbie’s name, and surely he would if they were having an affair?”

Jake rubbed his jaw meditatively.

A.J. asked curiously, “Besides being at the scene of the crime—which includes a lot of people, including me—is there some particular evidence against Jane Peters? Why are you so sure she’s your killer? Does she have a violent past or anything like that?”

“Why do we want to bring her in? You mean besides fleeing the scene—and her continuing efforts to evade a police dragnet? Let’s see. She’s still married to Manning’s live-in lover. She showed up without an appointment at Manning’s home on the afternoon of Manning’s death. After her husband left her for Manning, she made public threats against her.”

“Oh.”

Jake’s smile was sardonic.

A.J. thought it might be a good time to change the subject from Jane Peters. “Have you eliminated Barbie as a suspect yet?”

“We haven’t eliminated anyone as a suspect yet,” Jake said shortly. “We’ve got motives galore here. In addition to means and opportunity.” His cell phone rang. He glanced at it, glanced back at A.J. “Sorry. I’ve got to get back.”

A.J. nodded. She sighed wistfully. “Hey, as the Bard would say, ‘a policeman’s lot is not a happy one.’ ”

Already on his feet, Jake threw her a reluctant grin.

 

 

“ How
come the Master Detective is giving us the evening off?” A.J. inquired as she and Andy ate dinner that evening.

She had been talking to him about some of the online articles she had read regarding yoga and MS. Everything she found indicated yoga appeared to be as beneficial as any traditional aerobic exercise program in helping MS patients combat loss of flexibility, balance, and coordination, and cope with stress and fatigue. Fatigue, in particular, seemed to be one of the most disabling aspects of the disease. A.J. could already see the change in Andy, who had always had boundless energy, and she knew he was frightened by it. It
was
frightening.

Although extensive study remained to be done, there was every indication that yoga appeared to enhance both physical health and quality of life in MS patients. No one had yet determined the impact of yoga on the disease itself, but a number of doctors and yoga practitioners—as well as patients—theorized that yoga might even slow the progression of the disease. Stress seemed to acerbate MS, and yoga was excellent for addressing stress.

In between covering classes, A.J. had read numerous accounts of people with MS practicing yoga and reporting benefits. It was certainly something to think about, but Andy—although he listened politely—seemed unimpressed.

Maybe he was still hoping for a silver bullet, and she couldn’t blame him if he was. Coming to terms with chronic illness wasn’t something that happened easily or quickly.

“Maybe she needed an early night,” he suggested

“
Mother?
”

“She’s not a kid anymore, A.J.” Andy smothered a yawn.

“I know she’s not a kid,” A.J. said a little irritably. It was not a grown up response, but she didn’t like thinking about her mother aging. Aunt Di last year . . . Andy’s illness . . . the people closest to her were all too mortal, and it was a scary realization. “It’s too quiet on that side of the valley,” she continued darkly. “What’s she up to?”

They were interrupted as Lula Mae and Monster got into it. Or, more exactly, Monster yelped and scrambled for the doggie door while Lula Mae smugly investigated his abandoned dinner bowl.

“Lula Mae,” yelled A.J. “
Bad kitty
.”

Andy snickered. “And she acts like she doesn’t even care.”

“She
doesn’t
care.” A.J. balefully eyed Lula Mae, who was now twitching her whiskers in finicky disgust at Monster’s dinner. “She doesn’t even like dog food, but she swaggers in here with her broken beer bottle and threatens poor Monster. I think he’s on the verge of a breakdown.”

Andy was chuckling as A.J. rose and cleared their plates. It had been another very good dinner. Andy wasn’t eating much, he was mostly cooking for A.J., and she was appreciative, but she was also starting to wonder how much longer they were going to continue to play house. As fond as she was of Andy—and as concerned as she was—her lunch conversation with Jake had made her eager to have her privacy again. The fact that she was spending Friday night with her ex-husband . . .

“What did you want to do this evening?” She dumped the dirty dishes in the sink and ran water over them.

Andy shrugged and then his gaze sharpened. “We could try calling Lydia Thorne.”

A.J. turned off the water and rejoined him at the table, propping her chin on her hand. “What a super idea! Who wouldn’t love to spend a quiet evening chatting with a psycho stalker? Then again, we could always just play Scrabble.”

“Well, I wasn’t thinking purely of our pleasure. Our names were mentioned in an article about Nicole’s problems with her fan club.”

A.J. sat up. “You’re not serious.”

“I wish I wasn’t.”

“I can’t believe anyone would bother to drag that up. It was
years
ago.”

“They don’t have anything else to talk about,” Andy said. “There haven’t been any major breakthroughs in the case so far.”

A.J. groaned and ran her hands through her hair. “Did the papers really mention our agency?” She raised her head to stare at him.

Andy nodded wearily. “Don’t worry. I realize it’s not your problem. You’re out of it now. I bought your share of the business.”

A.J. said quickly, “Of course, it’s my problem too. And, anyway . . . I’m as curious about this as you are.”

“You are? Seriously?”

“Process of elimination, right?” she said staunchly. “Maybe we can cross her off the list once and for all.”

This seemed to cheer Andy up. He went off to find the phone number, presenting it to A.J. a few minutes later. “You want to call from here? I’ll get on the other phone and listen in.”

Now presented with the deed, A.J. felt slightly uneasy. “You know, she’s probably not going to answer. . . .”

“Sooner or later, she has to.”

He seemed so touchingly sure. A.J. said reluctantly, “Should I leave a message if she doesn’t pick up? Andy, I have no idea what to say to this woman.”

“It’ll come to you,” he assured her, moving down the hall to the other phone.

A.J. gazed after him in disbelief. She shook her head and then quickly dialed the number before she had time to chicken out.

The phone rang once, twice—and to A.J.’s utter shock someone picked up. A deep voice, which could have been—but was not necessarily—feminine, said sleepily, “Hello?”

“Lydia?”

There was a pause and the voice said warily, “Who’s asking?”

“This is . . .” A.J. blanked for a second and then pulled a name out of thin air. “This is Alice Hart. I’m the . . . the current president of Nicole Manning’s fan club. I was wondering if I could talk to you for a few moments.”

“Why?” The voice was harsh, but A.J. was now certain “Lydia” was a woman.

“Well, after the terrible tragedy of Nicole’s death—” A.J. broke off as Lydia burst into raucous laughter.

“I’m sorry?”

“I’m not! That conniving bitch deserved exactly what she got.” Lydia finished starkly, “I don’t have anything to say to you or anyone else.”

The phone slammed down.

The dial tone buzzed in A.J.’s ears for a few heartbeats before she held the receiver away as though she could stare down the line.

“Holy Hell,” Andy called from the other room. “So much for letting bygones be bygones.”

“One thing for sure: whatever happened between Lydia and Nicole, Lydia hasn’t forgiven her.”

Andy appeared in the doorway. “Too bad you couldn’t keep her on the line.”

“Yes, what a darned shame! We were really hitting it off.” A.J. replaced the receiver. “I have to tell Jake about this call. At the very least, Lydia Thorne’s attitude is . . . suspicious. He’ll want to question her further.”

Andy looked thoughtful. “He’s not going to be happy if he finds out you’ve been meddling in his case.”

“That’s what I keep telling all of you!”

His blue eyes met hers solemnly. “The thing is, if you tell Jake about Lydia, there’s going to be an argument, and if during that argument you neglect to tell him about Jane . . .”

A.J.’s eyes widened. “I . . . see what you mean.” Only too well. In fact, she had already trespassed into this ethical no man’s land during their lunch that afternoon.

“I’d wait till you can make a clean breast of it,” Andy advised into her stricken silence. “It’s not like we really have anything at this point. Sure, Lydia Thorne’s attitude is suspicious, but Jake already knows that she hated Nicole.”

“Very Machiavellian,” A.J. said shortly, and it wasn’t a compliment.

Seventeen