Murder on the Eightfold Path (26 page)

“It’s unfortunate that we find ourselves in the position of business competitors rather than sisters in yoga.”

“I don’t see why we can’t be both.” A.J. picked up her purse. “Thank you for lunch.”

After
lunch A.J. stopped by Mr. Meagher’s office for an update.

“A.J., me wee girl,” Mr. Meagher said with every evidence of pleasure, although she couldn’t help but notice that he did look briefly past her to see if Elysia was in the vicinity.

“I just dropped by to see how things are going. Mother is getting pretty frustrated with the lack of information she’s getting from her lawyer.”

“We’re still weeks away from going to trial,” Mr. Meagher pointed out.

“I know. But . . .”

Mr. Meagher sighed. “Aye, aye. Your mither was never known for her patience. The truth is, there’s little news to share. Right now it’s a matter of evaluating the police investigation and evidence against her. Her defense team is searching for some reason to have the case dismissed.”

“Is that likely?”

“I don’t think so. I’ve looked at the arrest report and the evidence. The police have been meticulous. If anything, Jake erred in not arresting Elysia faster.”

A.J. knew that had been a favor to both her and her mother. She nodded.

“So defense counsel is investigating the facts, questioning prosecution witnesses, and seeking their own witnesses and forensic experts who may be able to supply a different perspective than the prosecution’s. Not the kind of thing Elysia wants to hear, I know.”

The only thing her mother wanted to hear was that all charges had been dropped and the real murderer was in custody. A.J. knew that as well as Mr. Meagher.

“Did you have any luck tracking down Massri’s gambling connections?”

Mr. Meagher had moved to the cockatoo’s cage to feed the bird a cracker through the bars. The white cockatoo watched him with its bright eyes, then took the cracker delicately in its razor-sharp beak. Mr. Meagher was saying, “I did. I’ve explored that avenue, and it’s a dead end. Oh, Massri liked to play the ponies, true enough, but he never failed to honor his gambling debts. No, if his bookie were to send enforcers after anyone it would be whoever killed young Massri.”

Watching him, A.J. once again had that uneasy feeling that perhaps Mr. Meagher was not being completely honest. She was annoyed with herself for entertaining such suspicions, yet they persisted.

“Why do
you
think Massri was shot in Mother’s yard?” she asked.

Mr. Meagher glanced at her quickly and then away. “Perhaps it was a matter of expediency.”

“But for all the killer knew he was shooting Massri in front of a house full of people. It was Easter morning. Well, late Easter morning—all the more reason to fear a house full of people.”

Mr. Meagher seemed to mull this over as he moved away from the birdcage to his sofa. He scraped the usual pile of newspapers off the cushions to the floor. “Perhaps there was some time factor we’re unaware of. Some reason Massri had to be eliminated right then.”

“The police found an engagement ring in a hollowed chocolate egg.”

Mr. Meagher’s expression was hard to decipher. “I was thinking more in the nature of some vital information he might have revealed.”

“Like what?”

Mr. Meagher shook his head.

“What could Massri have known that would be time-sensitive enough to risk killing him in front of witnesses?”

Unless the killer had known the house would be empty? Was the killer someone who knew what time Elysia’s guests were arriving? Could the killer have possibly known that Elysia had left the house to try and find evaporated milk?

Mr. Meagher seemed to have no answer. He said, “Revenge perhaps?”

“Revenge against Mother?”

“I was thinking Massri, but I suppose the other is possible. I suppose someone might have wanted your mither blamed for the crime.”

That tied all too well into A.J.’s only half-considered theory that Mr. Meagher might have killed Dakarai in such a way as to put Elysia in a situation where she needed his help. It was so . . . so Machiavellian. But beneath his slightly foolish-seeming demeanor Mr. Meagher was a shrewd and intelligent man.

A.J. said awkwardly, “You’ve known Mother a long time.”

Mr. Meagher’s face softened. “Aye. Since she was sweet seventeen.”

“Do you think—?” She stopped. How on earth could she ask someone like Mr. Meagher if he was a) in love with her mother, b) jealous enough to kill a romantic rival, and c) crazy enough to frame the object of his romantic interest?

“Our theory is that it was another one of his blackmail victims,” she said instead. “Maybe the person just snatched the first opportunity.” Except where did Maddie’s death fit into all that? “Or if Massri was part of a blackmail ring . . .”

She was thinking aloud now. “Suppose he was sincere about marrying Mother?”

“I can’t see why he wouldn’t be,” Mr. Meagher said gruffly.

“Perhaps someone wanted to punish him for trying to leave the blackmail operation.”

“A ring, is it? Couldn’t Massri have been working on his own?”

“We don’t think so. It seems to be larger scale than that.”

“It’s a wee bit of a severe punishment,” Mr. Meagher pointed out. “And it wouldn’t change the fact that this person or persons would be left shorthanded.”

She thought of the sculptor named Cory who Peggy Graham had been involved with.

“Maybe the killer knew there were plenty more Dakarai Massris where he came from,” she said.

 

A.J.
was reading through her aunt’s manuscript and trying to decide whether she should bother cooking something for dinner or if that evening might be the special night for which she was saving that tub of Oreo ice cream, when a voice echoed from down the hallway.

“Oi!”

A.J. peeled herself off the ceiling. “Mother, what are you doing skulking around here?”

“Skulking? I am not
skulking
. I come bearing gifts.” Elysia held up a bag of KFC.

A.J. moaned. “I’m not supposed to eat stuff like that.”

“I don’t know why not. You spend your day working out. If anyone deserves to eat like this it’s you.”

Elysia led the way into the kitchen. A.J.—and Monster—followed hopefully.

Before long chicken, mashed potatoes, corn on the cob, and biscuits and honey had been dished up, mouth-watering aroma filling the air.

“Not that I don’t appreciate this, but why are you here?” A.J. asked, biting into a honey-slathered biscuit.

“I thought it was time to reflect and review.” Elysia shoved a purple legal pad, curling pages covered in scribbles, across the table. “I’ve made a few notes.”

“A few notes? It looks like you’re planning on writing your memoirs.”

“It’s interesting you mention that. I’ve had two offers this week for my life story.”

“Please tell me you’re not . . .”

“I hardly have the time,” Elysia said. “Perhaps if I wind up nicked, I’ll reconsider.”

A.J. picked up the legal pad, glancing through it. “Unfortunately we have a distinct shortage of suspects.”

“I like Dora for it,” Elysia said promptly. “She has a vengeful nature and makes no bones about wanting poor Dicky punished. She stalked him. Some of those phone messages she left were more than a little scary. She’s not afraid to take risks
and
they may have been partnered in illegal activities with antiquities.”

“She has an alibi.”

“I don’t believe in that alibi. Alibis can be broken, as we both know.”

“No one seems to think this one is breakable. Also I think we can scratch the theory of the homicidal bookie. Mr. Meagher says that’s a dead end.”

“Did you speak to Bradley today?” Elysia’s attention seemed focused on eating corn on the cob without dropping a single kernel.

“I did. I had a lunch meeting with Mara Allen and I stopped by his office.”

Elysia said nothing.

“So,” A.J. continued into that silence, “He says that line of inquiry can safely be closed. Dicky did gamble but he paid his debts promptly and he didn’t win more than he lost. A good customer, in other words, and they’re apparently sorry to lose him.”

Elysia seemed to be brooding.

“Which leads us to the next theory. Angry ex-lovers. Yours and Dicky’s.”

“Mine?” Elysia did look startled at that.

“Yes.”

“I don’t have any angry ex-lovers.” Elysia’s expression altered. “You can’t be serious.”

“According to what Maddie said, Mr. Meagher has had a thing about dating you back to about one million years BC.”

“Thank you for reminding me, pumpkin. I’d nearly forgotten those happy days when he used to take me out for pterodactyl rides.”

“Come on, Mother. Even I’ve noticed Mr. Meagher is crazy about you.”

“He’d have to be crazy indeed to shoot someone as foolish and as harmless as poor Dicky. Bradley had no idea I was seeing Dicky, and if he had known it, he’d have quickly seen how utterly unimportant that relationship was.” Elysia’s cheeks were pink and her tone sharp. Apparently, unexpectedly, this line of inquiry was hitting a little too close to home.

“Mr. Meagher knew what time we were having Easter dinner.”

“Of course he did. So did you.”

A.J. said reluctantly, “Did he know you were leaving the house to go buy milk?”

“Of course n—” Elysia’s face froze.

Seeing her startled expression, A.J.’s heart sank. “
Did
he know?”

Elysia whispered, “He called to verify at what time we were eating just as I was leaving for the shop. I told him I was running out to buy a tin of milk.”

A.J. wasn’t sure what to say.

Elysia straightened. “This is bloody ludicrous,” she snapped. “Bradley Meagher is no more a murderer than I am. The case against him is utterly and ridiculously circumstantial. I refuse to discuss this line of reasoning any further.” Her eyes were very bright.

“Okay,” A.J. said mildly. She turned the page of the legal pad.

“Bradley is not a murderer.”

“Got it.” A.J. glanced over the scrawled notes on the next page. “That leaves Dicky’s vengeful ex-lovers.”

“Dora.”

“Besides Dora.”

“We don’t know any of his ex-lovers except for Maddie. Which reminds me. Maddie’s death is somehow connected to Dicky’s, and Bradley Meagher wouldn’t have harmed a hair on Maddie’s head.”

A.J. said thoughtfully, “That’s a good point. What if Dicky and Maddie’s deaths have nothing to do with blackmail at all?”

“What do you mean?” Elysia looked wary, still on guard against further attempts to implicate Bradley Meagher. “They were divorced. What other connection could there be?”

“I’m not sure. I’m just brainstorming here. They were divorced, but what if there was still some financial connection? Some property or business interest they jointly owned?”

Elysia brightened. “That’s very good. Perhaps Maddie never changed her will? She was quite wealthy; although I think she spent a small fortune on that money pit she called a renovation.”

“But Dicky died first,” A.J. pointed out. “So I don’t see how that helps even if Maddie didn’t change her will. Dicky died first so anything he might have inherited from Maddie would surely be null and void.” A.J. propped her chin on her hand, thinking it over. “And where does Peggy Graham tie into this? Assuming she was murdered.”

“She had to have been murdered.”

“Maybe. But if Peggy’s tied into it, then we can probably eliminate the antiquities theft line of investigation.”

“Not so fast,” Elysia said. “Don’t forget that Mart Crowley said her sister was on a number of boards for charities and the arts. Perhaps she was on the board of some museum? Perhaps her death does tie in with the illegal sale of antiquities.”

“Not bad.” A.J. made a note to follow up on that. “There aren’t any bones in that, are there?” she added as Elysia tossed Monster a piece of chicken skin.

Monster caught it in one snap, like a hungry shark.

“Of course not.”

“There is one other theory we haven’t really even considered.”

“What’s that?”

“Maybe Dicky was telling the truth all along.”

“About what?”

“About you. Maybe he was serious about giving up his life of crime for you.”

To her surprise, Elysia flushed. “That’s sweet, lovie. But you needn’t worry about sparing my feelings. There were no illusions on my side.”

“But hear me out. Suppose Dicky
did
want out of this hypothetical blackmail ring. Suppose he wanted you to make an honest man of him. We’ve already established—well, theorized at least—that there are potentially ruthless people running some kind of extortion racket targeting single, middle-aged women. If we’re right about all that, and if it’s true that these people silenced Peggy Graham, then what wouldn’t they be willing to do to stop Dicky from bailing out?”