Dial Om for Murder (26 page)

“Beware of women bearing chicken cannelloni,” he said. “How was the funeral?”

“Oh . . . you know.” She dropped down on the sofa beside him. “No one gave themselves away, if that’s what you’re hoping.”

“No ice cubes fell out of anyone’s pants?”

“I’m not about to touch that line.”

He chuckled.

Monster came over to the sofa and laid his heavy head in her lap, gazing up at A.J. with soulful eyes. “Did you feed him?”

“Every time he asks. I keep trying to win him over, but he’s a tough audience.”

Neither of them spoke for a few minutes then casually, she asked, “No messages?”

“No,” Andy said. “No messages.”

They smiled at each other in awkward understanding.

Andy said, “Give him a little time.”

“The problem is, this was my second chance. We’d already argued over this after Aunt Di was murdered.”

“It’s mostly ego,” Andy said. “He’ll get over it.”

“I don’t know if it’s really ego. He’s right in one respect. I did put him in an untenable position and maybe even compromised his investigation.”

“Yeah, well . . . if he really cares about you, he’ll see you’re worth it. He’ll fight for you.”

And suddenly A.J. knew they weren’t talking about her and Jake anymore.

She cleared her throat. “Speaking of egos, Lily wants to revamp Sacred Balance. Starting with scrapping Aunt Di’s slogan.”

“Why?”

She shook her head. “I’m trying to understand why. I guess it partly has to do with the fact that Aunt Di is gone now and Lily wants Sacred Balance to represent her. Us.”

“Her,” Andy said grimly.

“Maybe. I see where she’s coming from. Sort of. She feels like it’s time for a fresh start, a new beginning. Lily’s point is that enough time has passed.”

“Has enough time passed?”

A.J. swallowed hard. She said huskily, “I don’t know if enough time will ever pass for me. I miss her every day.”

No need to ask who “her” was.

“Sacred Balance belongs to you, A.J.”

“But that’s just it,” she said. “Aunt Di didn’t accidentally throw me and Lily together. She wanted us to work together, to find compromises, to . . .”

“Avoid killing each other.”

“You’re the second person to joke about that this evening.”

“Third time’s lucky.”

A.J. tugged gently on Monster’s silky ears. “Anyway, since Lily and I can’t reach an agreement, she wants to have the rest of the staff vote on whether we change the slogan—and everything that goes with it.”

Andy didn’t say anything.

“It’s just a slogan. Not even that original of a slogan. I don’t know why it matters so much to me.”

Andy gave her an affectionate look. “Because it was what Di really believed. She was a survivor. And an optimist. And despite the fact that she was also a hardass, she still believed in miracles.”

“She did.” A.J. smiled reminiscently. “She was a big believer in new beginnings and second chances. But I know there are more important things to spend my energy on. And Lily—I hate to say this, but she’s right. I’ve made a big point of wanting us all to work as a team. It’s only fair that the rest of the staff have a say in this. It’s not just advertising, it’s our mission statement, it’s our core value, it’s our philosophy.”

“You’re not dealing with this well, are you?”

She laughed and shook her head. “No. But this is about more than winning out over Lily or getting my way. I want to believe I’ve learned something in eight months.

“Hey,” Andy said. “It could happen.”

Twenty-two

White-tailed
deer were grazing in the meadow, delicately lipping wildflowers, their hides gleaming red-brown in the early morning sunlight.

“Morning, darlings!” fluted a voice down the hallway—and A.J. nearly jumped out of her skin, turning away from the window over the kitchen sink.

Elysia appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Something smells delicious. Blueberry muffins?”

“Mother! You could knock.”

Elysia’s pencil-thin brows arched. “Why, darling? There’s nothing going on between you and Andrew—so you keep telling me.” She added grimly, “More’s the pity.”

“There are other reasons why you shouldn’t come barging in.”

Elysia looked inquiring, and A.J. sighed, shaking her head.

Not bothering to conceal a tiny self-satisfied smirk, Elysia wandered over to the counter and A.J.’s breakfast preparations. “Where’s Andrew?”

“Practicing yoga on the patio.”

Elysia dipped one scarlet-tipped finger in the blue bowl. She tasted the batter and seemed to consider. “How is he?”

“He’s . . . taking charge. Taking care of himself. Eating right, working out, getting enough rest.” He needed to get himself under a physician’s care again, though, and that was worrying A.J. She was glad his attitude was more positive, and that he felt yoga was helping, but she felt sure he also required traditional medical care.

Elysia sat down at the table, idly playing with a pack of cigarettes. “I heard something interesting on the way over.”

“I really am done with sleuthing, Mother. I know I got a little carried away when we were talking last night—”

“Oh, I know that, pumpkin. No, I just thought it was . . . an amusing bit of local gossip. Oz Siragusa has fled the country.”

“You’re kidding!”

“They’re not precisely calling it that,” Elysia smiled at some inward thought. “No, the official story is he’s left to compete in the French Open.”

“Hasn’t he?”

“I suppose he has, but he is a suspect in a murder investigation.”

“But he has an alibi.”

“Alibis are made to be broken.”

“That one sounded pretty unshakeable. Is there any reason to think the police didn’t give him permission to leave? They’ve got their prime suspect in jail now.”

“I have my sources,” Elysia said mysteriously.

A.J. put dollops of blueberry batter in paper cups in the muffin pan.

Elysia said absently, “I was thinking of asking J.W. to donate Nicole’s clothes to the annual charity auction.”

“That’s not until December.”

“December will be too late. Next week will be too late.”

A.J. considered this. “You mean Bryn will be gone by then?”

“Exactly.”

It wasn’t a bad ploy. Bryn was the natural choice to help sort through Nicole’s belongings, assuming that task hadn’t already been completed. And now that Bryn had come up on Elysia’s sleuth-o-meter it was inevitable she would want to question the young woman. Besides, Nicole’s PA was bound to know all kinds of things about Nicole and J.W.’s relationship that might be worth knowing.

Elysia continued, “Assuming that Bryn really is leaving to get married.”

“That should be evident fairly soon.”

The doorbell rang, forestalling A.J.’s answer. Monster scrambled off the rug and loped down the hallway, barking.

A.J. followed the dog, pausing to glance out the window in the front room. There was an unfamiliar white car—a Porsche—parked in front of the house. She went to the door and looked out the peephole.

She had a quick impression of a tall, well-built man with dark hair. There was something vaguely familiar about him. . . .

She opened the door and Nick Grant, Andy’s partner, stared somberly at her.

A.J. stared back. Nick was in his late thirties and crag gily handsome. Right now he looked as grim as someone about to serve a search warrant.

“A.J., I need to talk to Andy.”

A.J. opened her mouth but then closed it. Not only was this not her fight, this was not a fight anyone could win. Clearly Nick was going to have it out with Andy come hell or high water, and she respected him for that.

“He’s on the back patio,” she said, beckoning him to follow her. He did so in silence, and A.J. could imagine how very embarrassing this was for him, and how determined he must be if he was willing to track Andy down to his ex-wife’s house.

They walked into the kitchen and Elysia looked up from the magazine she had been idly thumbing through and blinked.

“You remember Nick,” A.J. said.

“Er . . . yes!” Elysia said, putting a hand to her upsweep of hair. “Nicholas. How lovely to see you again.”

Nick said shortly, “I’m sorry to interrupt your Monday morning, but Andy and I need to straighten this mess out. Now.”

Elysia looked like she wanted to object as A.J. led Nick to the back door, but she subsided at the look A.J. shot her.

Nick went straight through, opening the porch door and stepping outside. Looking past him, A.J. saw Andy, who was sitting at the wooden picnic table and staring at the meadow, glance around. He stiffened.

“What are you doing here?” he said without any indication of pleasure.

And Nick replied equally curt, “I came to bring you home.”

“Then you wasted a trip.”

Not a great beginning, but this was something they had to work out on their own. A.J. let the screen door close and went back into the kitchen.

Elysia was nowhere to be seen.

Curious—uneasy, in fact—A.J. went looking for her. She found her mother in her own bedroom hovering next to the window that looked out onto the patio. A.J. could hear the murmur of Andy’s voice through the open window.

“Mother!” she hissed. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Not that it wasn’t evident.

Elysia held up a hand like a stage manager cautioning the backstage crew. Then she nodded for A.J. to join her at the window. Unwillingly—though, in all honesty, she was every bit as curious—A.J. moved over to the window, staying to the side, well out of view of the men on the patio.

Andy was saying wearily, “We already had this out. You said your career was more important than spending time with me.” A.J. risked a quick peek and saw Andy nervously massaging his knee with his hand. He was staring in the direction of the orchard, not looking at Nick. “ This doesn’t change that. I don’t want you with me out of guilt or pity. I don’t want you trying to glue this back together just because you feel sorry for me.”

A.J. ducked back as Nick dragged one of the benches over, wood scraping loudly on bricks. She heard the squeak of wood as he sat down, heard him say calmly, “I don’t feel sorry for you. I love you. What happens to you, happens to me.”

“Look . . .”

“No, you look. I
love
you. That’s what I came up here to tell you, okay? It was one thing when I thought you didn’t want to be with me anymore. I’m not going to hold you hostage to commitment vows if you don’t love me. But you do love me, Andy. I know you do.”

With great difficulty, Andy said, “You don’t understand. I’m . . . probably going to be . . . in a wheelchair.”

“I don’t care if you’re in a damned iron lung. You’re coming home. We’ll work it out.”

“I like him,” Elysia whispered very softly. A.J. put a finger to her lips. Nick was still talking, still arguing but with a patience—a gentleness—that A.J. wouldn’t have expected.

“Listen, when I said my career came first I was doing what people always do. I was assuming we had all the time in the world to spend together. I was thinking we could always take time off to play, but that for right now we had to put business first. You’re just as driven and ambitious as me, Andy. Before this happened you were mostly pissed because you had to keep rearranging your schedule.”

Andy said huskily, “You don’t know what I felt because you never asked.”

After a second or two Nick said, “You’re right. I’m sorry for that. We should have talked more. I thought there was time for that, too.”

Andy didn’t say anything. Elysia opened her mouth as though she was going to chime in, and A.J. shook her head frantically. Elysia arched one brow but waited.

Nick said, “It never occurred to me that I was choosing between you and my job, because there is no choice there. Of course you come first.”

A.J. stole another look. Andy was still staring away from Nick. His jaw worked, but he didn’t say anything.

“Of course you do,” Nick repeated softly, and he put his arm around Andy’s shoulders, leaning his head against Andy’s.

And A.J. realized that concern was one thing, but this was verging on voyeurism. She grabbed Elysia’s wrist and dragged her away from the window.

“Blimey, pumpkin!” Elysia freed herself.

“This is indecent,” A.J. said. “They deserve a little privacy.”

“
This
is indecent?” Elysia looked sorrowful. “I knew you weren’t getting out enough.”

They returned to the kitchen and pretended to be busy.

“Do you think they’ll feel like eating breakfast?” A.J. asked, sliding the pan of muffins in the oven.

Elysia raised her shoulders. She drifted toward the back door and A.J. said warningly, “Mother.”

“I’m concerned, that’s all. Andrew is like a son to me.”