Murder on the Eightfold Path (10 page)

Elysia shoved the window screen out of its track and into the shrubbery beneath. “Can you climb?” she mouthed.

A.J. had no idea if she could climb or not, but she was not about to be caught in that room. It had already occurred to her that if the intruders were not the apartment management or Massri’s family, one or both of them might have had something to do with his death.

From down the hall the woman said, “Stop complaining. The faster we do this, the faster we get it over with.”

“You should have been a philosopher.”

The philosopher said something very rude. A kitchen drawer banged hard.

Elysia made a cup with her hands, and A.J., biting her lip against the flare of pain shooting down her hip and leg, stepped into the makeshift step and boosted herself up. Even though she was braced for it, the pain caught her by surprise. She closed her mind to it, and hauled herself out through the wide sliding window and lowered herself to the hedge below. It made for a prickly but reasonably sturdy landing, and she half-rolled, half-wriggled off, landing gracelessly on the walkway in a shower of leaves.

Elysia came scrabbling out the window a moment later, flopped onto the hedge, and dropped to the walk.

“Scarper!” she gasped.

One of her best ideas in a long time, that was A.J.’s opinion as she scuttled after her mother.

They hurried down the path to the parking lot. With all the gratitude of a shipwrecked sailor spotting land, A.J. recognized the blue and white Land Rover right where they had left it.

Elysia used her key fob to unlock the doors while they were still a yard away. They sprinted the last few feet and slammed inside the vehicle.

Hand to her throbbing back, A.J. gasped, “That was too close!”

Elysia smirked—in between pants—and turned the key in the ignition.

“Never again, Mother. I must be insane to have gone along with this. I must be taking way too many pain meds. I must be—”

“Don’t be so poor spirited, pumpkin.”

“If that had been the apartment manager, we’d be on our way to jail right now. In fact that’s probably optimistic. Never mind getting caught, we could have been in real danger. For all we know one of those people was Medea.”

Elysia wrinkled her nose. “I don’t believe so.”

“I didn’t catch any names. Did you?”

Elysia shook her head. There was a dead leaf in her dark hair, which somehow made her certainty all the more annoying.

A.J. demanded, “Well then?
Why
couldn’t that woman have been Medea?”

Elysia’s wide green eyes met hers. “Because I know who Medea is.”

They were hurtling down Interstate 80 back toward Stillbrook, Elysia driving pedal-to-the-metal as though the combined law enforcement agencies of New Jersey were in hot pursuit.

She answered absently, “Yes what?”

“Who is she?” A.J. demanded.

“Medea Sutherland.”

A.J. lowered her car seat trying to find some relief for her throbbing back. “Why is that name familiar?”

“You remember Maddie. She’s an old mate of mine.” Elysia sighed reminiscently. “I remember once when she made a guest appearance on
221B Baker Street
to help us solve the murder at the Peking Opera—”

“Oh my God,” A.J. exclaimed. “
Maddie Sutherland
. I remember now. She’s the one who used to make those Hammer Horror films.”

“Yes. Among other things.”

“The crazy one.”

Elysia made a disapproving sound.

“Mother, she invited the
National Enquirer
into her home to interview the ghosts she thought lived there. That’s pretty crazy by any definition.”

“You do have such a long memory for other people’s . . . foibles. Anyway, Maddie believed the house was haunted.”

A.J. decided to overlook the “foibles” crack although her tone was crisp as she responded, “Then she should have called an exorcist or whatever they’re called. Because it looked like either a publicity stunt or that she was stark, raving bonkers. Or both.” She examined Elysia’s uncommunicative profile. “What makes you think this Medea is your Medea?”

“When was the last time you met someone named Medea?”

“There must be women around named Medea. Especially in Greek communities.”

“Be serious, pumpkin. Anyway, I recall Medea writing me a few years back to tell me she was getting married. And she does rather fit the profile of the kind of woman Dicky used to . . . romance.”

“Crazy old ladies?”

“So amusing, Anna,” Elysia murmured, sounding not the least amused.

A.J. considered the ceiling of the Land Rover as they raced along. “Maybe Medea knocked Dicky off when she found out he was two-timing her?”

The Land Rover suddenly reduced speed. “It’s hard to imagine a less violent soul.”

“Even so, the spouse or lover is usually the prime suspect. And your old mate Medea certainly always seemed a little . . . unpredictable.”

“But I don’t think they
were
still married.” Elysia’s eyes were in the rearview as a police cruiser drew behind. “Try to act natural, pet,” she said out of the side of her mouth.

“Why?”

“The coppers are after us.”

A.J. gulped. “How much more natural can I act than sitting here?” She did her best to appear to be innocently and leisurely enjoying the spring landscape as it slid by at a much more sedate pace.

She couldn’t help worrying. Had there been some development in the case? Was there now an APB out on Elysia’s car?

Neither had much to say for the next few miles, and then the cruiser suddenly put on his lights and zoomed ahead of them.

Elysia relaxed. “Bloody coppers,” she muttered as the cruiser disappeared in the distance.

“This is such a disaster. Because
we
were in that apartment illegally I can’t even tell Jake about the other intruders searching it.”

“You could. He’ll probably throw you in the hoosegow, but if you feel it’s your civic duty . . .”

“Don’t you see that if Jake knew about those two it would take some of the heat off you?”

“I wish that were true. But the fact of the matter is that, given Dicky’s occupation, it’s no surprise that people are attempting to search his apartment. The only surprise is we didn’t run into more people searching it.”

She had a point. A.J. reflected how alarming it would be to find out that someone with access to your deepest, darkest secrets had died—perhaps leaving those secrets where anyone might stumble over them.

She watched unseeing as trees and barns and road signs flashed by. A sign for a winery, a sign for Yards Creek Soaring glider rides, a sign for Yoga Meridian.

“Do you mind?” A.J. said on impulse. “I want to check something out.”

Elysia threw her a curious look but nodded. They drove down Blairstown’s Main Street. Though a little larger than Stillbrook, Blairstown had the same quaint, old-fashioned vibe to it—which wasn’t surprising given that the area had been settled all the way back in the 1700s.

“Did you know they filmed scenes from
Friday the 13th
in Blairstown?” A.J. murmured as they passed the bright blue historic building Roy’s Hall. “They always pick peaceful places like this for horror movies, don’t they?”

“Still waters run deep.”

As the Bard said? A.J.’s attention was caught by another sign advertising the yoga studio and she said quickly, “Turn here!”

Yoga Meridian was housed in what had once been a huge old Greek Orthodox church. The white stone building featured a large blue domed roof surrounded by three golden cupolas and several enormous stained glass windows. The large parking lot was packed.

“It’s gorgeous,” Elysia murmured.

It was, though A.J. couldn’t bring herself to admit it.

“Remind me what we’re doing here,” Elysia inquired as A.J. got out of the Land Rover.

“Reconnoitering.”

Elysia raised her eyebrows but said no more.

Inside the lobby—formerly the church nave—A.J. took in a series of slogans in bright, cheerful colors:

What did that last one even
mean
?

She glanced at the list of offered classes. It was a smorgasbord of traditional and trendy: everything from Hatha Yoga to Laughter Yoga.

One thing that was no laughing matter was the prices. How could Mara Allen afford to stay in business? Especially with a staff this size?

She muttered, “We couldn’t keep the doors open at these prices.” That wasn’t exactly true, but it was a source of pride to A.J. that Sacred Balance pay for itself without her needing to dip into the cash reserves of Aunt Diantha’s other investments.

“If they bring in enough new customers it will be worth it, I suppose.”

A.J. nodded. Perhaps that was Mara Allen’s gamble. Or maybe Yoga Meridian was simply beating the prana pants off them.

Followed by Elysia, she walked through to the salon and spa center located in the former narthex of the church.

“It’s nice, I have to admit,” A.J. said grudgingly. “In fact it’s more than nice. It’s really well laid out, and the prices are more than competitive.”

“Very.” Elysia, watching her, asked, “What’s wrong?”

“That’s Michael Batz.”

Elysia followed her gaze to where a young, athletic man with a head of hair like a Renaissance angel was working on the mat. “And?”

“He resigned his Sacred Balance membership about a month ago. He said he was taking a break from yoga.”

“I wouldn’t take it personally. No place is right for every person, after all. Sacred Balance probably had too many painful memories for Michael.”

Remembering the role Batz had played in her aunt’s murder investigation, A.J. nodded, but she was still unconvinced. That made three Sacred Balance clients that she knew of who had defected to Yoga Meridian in the past five weeks. If the exodus continued at this rate, they’d be out of clients before Christmas.

“A.J. Alexander,” a carefully modulated voice remarked from behind them. “Welcome to Yoga Meridian.”

A.J. turned. Mara Allen, tall and willowy in a white leotard, came to greet them. Mara had striking blue eyes and a long, curly, prematurely silver mane made famous by her TV spots.

“Hello, Mara.”

“Namaste, A.J.” Mara put her palms briefly together, prayer fashion. “This is an unexpected pleasure.”

“Er, we were in the neighborhood. Truly.”

Mara smiled graciously. “May I show you around our facilities?”

“That would be lovely.” A.J. hoped she didn’t sound as lukewarm as she felt. She suspected, given the little glint of amusement in Mara’s eyes, that she wasn’t fooling anyone.

“You’ve been so often on my mind, A.J.” Mara led them through a bright airy atrium where students rested quietly on their mats amidst the forest of potted trees.

“Oh, really?” A.J. replied.

“Your determination and enthusiasm to carry on for Diantha, despite your lack of training or experience is really . . . heartwarming.”

“Thank you, but I’ve worked hard to get the training and experience I need.”

“Of course you have.”

Mara flashed her professional smile and led them past the steam room and then up the graceful staircase to the “Meditation Arbor.”

“It’s my greatest joy to share the gift of yoga with my students so that we can bring our lives, bodies, and minds into balance.”

A.J. smiled politely.

“Of course,
you
know that,” Mara said. “I love the Sacred Balance philosophy.
Just do it.
It’s so . . . succinct.”

“That’s Nike,” A.J. said. “Sacred Balance’s slogan is
It could happen
.”

“Of course it could,” Mara said encouragingly. “And here is the massage lab. If we weren’t already booked into next week, I’d offer you both a complimentary Thai yoga massage.”

By the time the gently condescending Mara had finished giving A.J. and Elysia their quick tour of the fabulous spa facilities, A.J. was struggling against uncharacteristic depression.

“Pretentious cow,” Elysia said when they were once again outside the building and the soothing sound of flutes and running water had died away with the closing of the painted doors. “Remind me why we needed to subject ourselves to the sight of that many middle-aged bodies in leotards?”

“I don’t know,” A.J. admitted. “I just thought maybe I should scope out the competition.”

“You’re not worrying about Suze’s mystery phone calls?”

“No. Yes. It’s too soon to know for sure. If Mara really was calling Sacred Balance to set up something like a charity benefit, why didn’t she mention talking to Lily?”

“Because Lily has already taken care of whatever the matter was?”