Murder on the Eightfold Path (20 page)

“What about the phone call—the single ring when Mother and I were talking in the kitchen?”

“That’s another point in your mother’s favor. There
was
a phone call. It was placed from a phone booth in Andover. The caller spoke to someone at the house for two minutes and thirty-six seconds.”

The waitress appeared at their table and they gave their orders. When the waitress departed, A.J. asked, “What about outgoing calls?”

“No luck there. The last two phone calls were to a hair place.”

“The Salon!” A.J. exclaimed.

“Right. One was about ten o’clock Sunday morning. The other was at five after three in the afternoon. Roughly two hours before Sutherland was shot.”

“But don’t you see that’s significant?” A.J. demanded. “I told you I thought there was a connection between The Salon and Massri’s death. And now here’s a direct link to Maddie’s death.”

Jake looked pained. “A.J., the first call was to set up hair appointments for all of you. The second call was Maddie asking whether she’d left her glasses at the salon. And before you ask? Yes, she had.”

“Did you—?”

“I did. I went and picked them up myself.”

A.J. racked her brains for a way to bring up what she believed to be the most damning fact: The Salon hair products at Massri’s apartment. “You know,” she said slowly, “Mother brought up a good point.”

He sighed.

“I’m serious. She mentioned that the last time she was at Dicky’s she noticed he had products from The Salon in his bathroom.”

“You’ve
got
to be kidding me.”

“No. Listen to me. The Salon only caters to women—and women of a certain age. Since the shampoo and conditioning rinse didn’t belong to Mother, who did they belong to?”

“Shampoo and conditioning rinse,” he repeated without inflection.

A.J. said steadily, “That’s what Mother said.”

He stared at her for a long moment. “I see. Well, first of all, we have only your mother’s word she didn’t bring those things into Massri’s home. She could be making that up now in an effort to throw suspicion off herself.”

A.J. opened her mouth, but he cut her off.

“Or maybe another woman did bring those items into Massri’s apartment. Maybe he was having an affair with another woman and your mother discovered it and killed him.”

A.J. couldn’t seem to unlock her gaze from Jake’s green one. “She didn’t.”

“I’m just telling you how it might look if you went around sharing this brand-new information too freely.”

She opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again, and said, “You won’t even consider the possibility that if there was another woman involved, she might have killed Dicky?”

“We haven’t found any evidence of another woman being involved with Massri.”

“Well you didn’t find evidence that he’d been married to Maddie either.”

His jaw tightened, and she knew that one had hit home.

“Fair enough. But how about this for an explanation? How about Massri bought the products himself?”

“I told you, The Salon caters to women.”

“Hey, for your information, Avon makes bath oil that works great as a bug repellent. I use it camping, although I guess you’ve probably noticed I’m not generally at home to the Avon Lady.”

Feeling deflated, A.J. sat back in the leather booth. She said stubbornly, “I don’t believe it’s a coincidence.”

Seeming to feel he’d already won that round, Jake asked more tolerantly, “You don’t believe what’s a coincidence? That Maddie and Massri bought hair products from the same place? That’s not that amazing of a coincidence, believe me.” She could feel his gaze on her face. He said, “We’ve turned up another possible lead, though.”

At her look of inquiry, he said, “Massri was fired from his position at the SCA. We haven’t been able to pinpoint exactly what happened, but from everything
not
being said, it sounds potentially serious.”

A.J. said slowly, “So you think it’s a legitimate lead?”

“It’s too soon to tell if it will pan out, but I think it casts reasonable doubt on the case we’re building against Elysia.” He threw her a look from beneath his brows. “Obviously that’s off the record.”

“When isn’t it? Anyway, for the record, Mr. Meagher has already been looking into Massri’s connection with the SCA.”

He gave her a funny look, but whatever he might have said was interrupted by the reappearance of the waitress with their dinners.

They ate for a time in silence that gradually, at least in A.J.’s mind, took on the weight and substance of a funeral pall. With every bite it was clearer and clearer to her that Jake had not invited her out for the pleasure of her company or to discuss the case against her mother. She began to wish that he would just get it over.

The waitress returned to clear away their plates and offer dessert menus.

“Did you want dessert?” Jake asked, frowning over the menu. A.J. nearly laughed. He was clearly desperate not to have this discussion whatever it was.

“No thanks.”

He ordered apple pie and stuffed the menu back in the metal holder.

A.J. waited.

He looked at her and this time he held her gaze. “Look, I owe you an explanation.”

A.J. nodded.

Almost impatiently, he said, “We never specifically said anything about not seeing other people.” He stopped. A.J. nodded. She managed to keep control of her face, but her stomach dropped. Officially she had only been dumped once in her life. That was when Andy had left her for Nick. It had been devastating; devastating enough that just the memory of it could give her dry heaves. Though thankfully not at the moment. The situation was shaping up to be humiliating enough as it was.

Jake’s gaze rose from the wet ring on the table. He said, “But whether we said anything about it or not, I haven’t been interested in dating anyone else.”

“Me neither,” a surprisingly calm voice said on A.J.’s behalf.

There was another pause, and then Jake said, “I’m not good at this kind of thing. What I’m trying to say is—what I’m trying to explain is—”

He stopped in awkward silence.

A.J. got out, “Honestly? It would be easier on me if you’d just say it.”

Jake nodded. “I told you that I was engaged once.”

“Jenny. Yes, I remember.”

“What I didn’t tell you—because I’ve never told anyone—is that Jenny disappeared two weeks before our wedding. No word, no explanation, nothing.”

“You mean . . . something happened to her?”

Now there was a dumb comment, but Jake just nodded. “Yes. But not what I thought. I thought . . . I don’t want to tell you the things I thought. That she’d had some kind of accident or had been kidnapped—or was dead. Maybe even worse.”

Worse than dead? Then A.J. remembered that Jake was a cop and had probably seen things that she didn’t want to know about—things that might be worse than being dead.

She tuned back in to hear him saying, “I spent weeks, months trying to find her. Trying to . . . find an answer.”

“Did you find one?”

“Yes. I did. Or, more exactly, the answer found me. She’d gone into the WPP.”

“The what?”

“The Witness Protection Program. Jenny worked for a real estate agent who turned out to have mob ties. Anyway, one night when she was working late, she saw her boss killed by none other than Jackie Palermo.”

The name was vaguely familiar to A.J. Was Palermo a mob boss? Somebody connected to organized crime, she was pretty sure.

“Palermo’s goons spotted her, but Jenny managed to get away, and she went straight to the cops who put her in contact with the feds. She agreed to testify, but Palermo put a contract out on her. To keep her alive, she was moved into the WPP.”

“She didn’t leave word for you?”

“No. It was deemed too risky. Palermo had a lot of clout, a lot of contacts—there was fear that it might reach all the way into the police department.”

A.J. began to understand why Jake was such a fanatic for the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. As the last puzzle piece fell into place, she said, “Chess is Jenny.”

Jake nodded.

“I don’t understand why she didn’t get word to you. You were her fiancé. Spouses are moved into the program—well, I mean, from what I’ve seen on TV.”

He said shortly, “She wasn’t thinking clearly. She wasn’t prepared for that. Who is?”

Clearly a sore spot. She said mildly, “Okay. Just wondered.”

Jake was instantly apologetic. “No. It’s a valid question. I asked it myself plenty of times. Why did she let me go through all that time believing the worst?”

“Would you have gone into the program with her if she’d told you?”

He stared at her. “I . . . don’t know,” he admitted. “It’s so long after the fact it’s hard to say what I’d have done then.” He sighed. “Anyway, I thought I’d never see her again.”

“So . . .” For the life of her, A.J. couldn’t think of what to say. Her first instinct was to ask if Jake had proof that Jenny was telling the truth, but she knew Jake well enough to know he didn’t accept anything at face value. Jenny must indeed be telling the truth. It was an amazing story, and A.J. knew that she should probably be ashamed that her primary reaction was the essentially selfish one of wondering whether she was losing Jake to his exfiancée.

At last she managed—almost steadily, “Are you still in love with her?”

“No. I don’t know.” He stopped, wincing. “I don’t know what I feel. I thought I’d never see her again. I never had the chance to say good-bye to her. Everything ended and I had all these unresolved feelings. Can you understand that?”

And the problem was, A.J. could. She could totally identify with those feelings. In fact the only hard part was picturing Jake having them. He always seemed so tough, so in control.

He said suddenly, urgently, “The thing is, I have feelings for you, too, A.J. I care for you. A lot. More than I thought I was ever going to care for anyone again.”

If he told her they would always be friends, she was probably going to bean him with the saltshaker. But he didn’t say it. He didn’t say anything else. He just stared at her in that grim, pained way, waiting.

Waiting for what? Waiting for A.J. to say something? Waiting for her to break it off?

“Where does this leave us?”

“I don’t know. I just know that I had to tell you. That I couldn’t leave you wondering what the hell was going on with me.”

She nodded absently. “Are you . . . seeing her?”

“Yes. I’m seeing her. I’m not dating her. I don’t know what I’m doing, frankly. We’re just talking.”

Reliving old times? Trying to figure out if there was enough there for a future? Aware of Jake’s gaze, A.J. said slowly, “I’m not sure what to say.”

They stared at each other across the gulf that had unexpectedly appeared between them.

How simple it would be if A.J. could just give Jake an ultimatum.
You’d better make your mind up quick, buster!
Or if she could hate him for being confused and torn now. But neither of those was a realistic option. She cared too much for him to risk throwing down an ultimatum. For both their sakes—for all their sakes—he needed to make the right decision now. And, yes, while way down deep inside she was hurt and a little angry that Jake couldn’t see that she was the best thing that had ever happened to him, apparently she had learned enough during the last year or so to recognize how unfair and unrealistic that attitude was.

In fact it was impossible not to be sympathetic to the pain he must have felt when Jenny—Chess—had disappeared. It was also impossible not to feel anger at the other woman. No matter what the circumstances, to have left Jake without a word was beyond cruel. And if Chess hadn’t known him well enough to trust him with her life, she hadn’t any business getting engaged to him in the first place.

So A.J. swallowed her pride and ego and fear. She said with calmness she was a million miles from feeling, “Thank you. For being honest, I mean. I care too much about you—and about us—to try and push you. For a decision. I know you’ll tell me once you know, once you’ve worked out, what you’re feeling.”

He reached across the table, offering his hand. A.J. rested her hand in his palm, and to her astonishment, he raised their joined hands and kissed her fingers. It was the last gesture A.J. expected, but she found it incredibly moving—maybe because it was so obviously sincere.

She laughed shakily. Jake released her and they both reached hastily for their coffee cups.

The
next morning, Tuesday, A.J. and Elysia drove back to Stillbrook to see Bradley Meagher at his home office. Mr. Meagher greeted them cordially enough although he seemed just a little stiff with Elysia.

He led the way down a short hallway to his office in the basement of the gracious old Victorian house. It was a comfortably cluttered room with a collection of mismatched and battered furniture. Framed law degrees and honorary diplomas adorned the walls. The remnants of a TV dinner sat on the table next to a long leather couch. A white cockatoo in an enormous old-fashioned birdcage scooted along his perch and harshly called out, “You da bomb!”