Murder on the Eightfold Path (28 page)

Elysia scowled at her purple sheaf of notes. “Can we at least agree that The Salon seems to be at the center of everything?”

“Yes. The Salon does seem to be the common denominator for every line of query except two: Dora Beauford and this Mabel Chalthoum, whoever she is.”

“And yet I find it very, very coincidental that Dora Beauford’s alibi is that she was at a hair salon at the time of Dicky’s death. A hair salon on Easter morning?”

“I hadn’t thought about that,” A.J. admitted. “That does seem odd. But Jake had to have checked. That’s not something he would miss.”

Elysia looked unconvinced.

“We could check ourselves,” A.J. pointed out. “Mr. Meagher would be able to get the name of the salon for us. Your criminal lawyer has access to all the information uncovered in the police investigation.”

“I’ll follow up on Dora’s alibi,” Elysia said grimly.

“Just stay clear of Dora herself. I get an odd feeling from her.”

Elysia brushed this aside. “We also need to follow up on this Mabel Chalthoum, whoever she might be.”

“Yes, but we need to proceed cautiously there, too,” A.J. warned. “Mabel could very well be our Madame X. Dicky’s unknown jealous lover. She sponsored him so she’s probably someone who stayed involved in his life. He never mentioned her or you never saw any signs of her?”

“Signs? What did you have in mind, pet? Rhino spore in the bedroom? Perhaps the hair products in the bathroom were Mabel’s. Which, again, leads us back to The Salon.”

“He never mentioned her and you never thought to ask about the details of his coming to this country?”

Elysia sighed. “We talked a great deal, but . . . none of it was really of a practical nature. He did speak of his family and home in Egypt. He was a little homesick, you know. I think we avoided specifics because they would have inevitably reminded us of unpleasant reality.”

“Like the fact he was blackmailing you?”

“Exactly.”

A.J. shook her head. “Okay, well we need to investigate this Mabel. I suppose the easiest thing might be to start at The Salon. If she was a customer there, that simplifies things. What actually do you know about The Salon? The website says they opened in 1990 and that Gloria was a former model and Stewie worked for the studios.”

“She was a catalog model,” Elysia said dismissingly. “Discount clothing and farm equipment.”

“Well, what does that matter? She was a model. What about Stewie?”

“Supposedly he did work for Paramount or something like that. My understanding is that they were friends for years before their careers stalled out and they decided to take their investments and go into business together.”

“How successful is The Salon?”

“Very.”

“Are either of them married?”

“Stewie’s gay.”

“Do the words
my ex-husband Andy
mean anything to you?”

“As far as I know, Stewie is still playing the field. Gloria . . . might be married. She’s always been close-mouthed about her private life.”

“Two thoughts occur to me—”

“It’s the quality not the quantity, pumpkin.”

“Ha. The first is that the male and female voices we heard at Dicky’s apartment could have belonged to Gloria and Stewie.”

Elysia’s eyes narrowed as she sought to remember. “Did the voices sound like Gloria or Stewie?”

“I can’t remember. It’s been too long. But so far they’re the only mixed pair we’ve come across. Everyone else we’ve talked to has been pretty much a solo act. But Gloria and Stewie are both connected to The Salon and The Salon does seem to figure in here somewhere.”

“True. What would they have been looking for?”

“I have no idea, but that brings me to my second point, which is if there
is
some kind of blackmail ring being run out of The Salon, Gloria and Stewie would probably have to be involved in it. They might even be the masterminds.”

“Ah.” Elysia sat back on the sofa, fingers pressed together prayer-style as she seemed to channel her inner master detective. “Yes. I think that’s an excellent point.”

“So if Dicky was working for them as a part of their blackmail scheme, they’d have to scramble to try and find any incriminating evidence—anything that might lead the police back to them. That would be true whether they had anything to do with his death or not.”

“Do you think—?”

“I don’t know. Not necessarily. If Dicky was threatening to quit the operation and go straight, so what? So they would have to replace him. Killing him wouldn’t solve that problem. It would actually make it worse because surely a full-scale homicide investigation would be the last thing they’d want.”

Elysia nodded. “Agreed.”

“And, I might be wrong about this, but I don’t get the impression that Dicky was the kind of person who would consider it necessary to go to the police and make a clean break of everything as part of his going straight process.”

“No.” Elysia smiled faintly. “That would be the last thing he would do. He would be terrified of being chucked out of the country.”

“So I really don’t see that Dicky’s plans to marry you would be a threat to any nefarious business going on at The Salon. I think it’s more likely that one of Dicky’s clients flipped out when she learned she was being blackmailed or used.”

“Madame X,” Elysia said with dark satisfaction.

“Yes. We’ve heard about how Peggy Graham reacted to the threat of blackmail, and we’ve seen how Dora reacted even when she wasn’t being blackmailed, so what if this Mabel Chalthoum, for example, sponsored Dicky into this country and then discovered that she was being used—maybe even blackmailed?”

Elysia’s expression brightened. “Yes. Yes, I see . . . As the Bard said, hell hath no fury—”

“The Bard didn’t say that,” A.J. interrupted. “I just read that on my box of muesli. It was William Congreve in
The Mourning Bride
.”

“The point,” Elysia said patiently, “is that a woman scorned is a dangerous and unpredictable creature.”

“Yes. And if Madame X knew about you—as Dora seems to have—that might have made everything worse. That might be the reason Dicky was shot in your front yard and suspicion thrown on you. Not because of your reputation as a sleuth, but because you were a romantic rival.”

Elysia nodded slowly.

A.J. said, “This Mabel may or may not be connected to The Salon, but I think The Salon remains the obvious starting point for us. But we have to proceed carefully. We can’t just barge in there and start asking a bunch of questions. For one thing, if Dicky was killed by a jealous lover, I’m not sure how that connects with Maddie’s death or Peggy Graham’s. For another, we’re both known—you especially—by Stewie and Gloria.”

Elysia’s face took on the grim expression it had worn in many a thrilling episode of
221B Baker Street
. “If your theory is correct,” she said darkly, “those blighters are going to pay.”

A.J. murmured noncommittally. She agreed with the sentiment, but they were still a long way from being able to prove any of this.

Elysia sat up. “Why, it’s so simple. I should have thought of it sooner. We’ll set up a sting operation!”

“Mother—”

A.J. might as well have saved her breath.

“What we have to do is get them to blackmail one of us.”

“Uh, they’re
already
blackmailing you. Or were. And even if Dicky was running his own extortion sideline, that’s still not going to work for the reasons I’ve just said. They already know both of us.”

Elysia subsided, scowling into some bleak distance. Then her face lit up. “
Andy
.”

“No,” A.J. said firmly. “Absolutely not. Nick will have both our heads if we drag Andy into another murder investigation. Besides, Andy’s not blackmailable. He’s out. And even if he wasn’t, this ring targets women. Women of a certain age and income bracket. Whoever is behind it, the focus is fine-tuned to the clientele of The Salon. I don’t think
that’s
a coincidence.”

Elysia subsided, frowning. She sipped her tea. “Who else do we know?”

A.J. shook her head. “It needs to be someone—”

“Expendable.”

“What? No, not expendable! It needs to be someone under the radar, but also of the right age and income bracket.”

Elysia said nothing, continuing to stare off bleakly into space.

“I don’t know anyone like that. She’d have to be willing to go along with us, for one thing. . . .” Her voice trailed as she uneasily absorbed Elysia’s expression.

Elysia was smiling, but it was the kind of smile that generally had the minions of evil overlords quivering in their pointy-toed boots.

“Mother,” warned A.J.

“I have just the person in mind.” Elysia practically purred the words. “Yes. Yes, she’ll do perfectly. In fact it couldn’t happen to a nicer person.”

“Mother . . . ?”

“Let’s ask Stella Borin.” Elysia’s eyes were glinting like a hunting cat’s in the night. “I believe she owes me one.”

“I
don’t know about this,” Stella said.

They stood in the front parlor of Little Peavy Farm, Stella’s home. The room was a bewildering visual gallimaufry of patterns and colors: green and red flowered chintzes vied with black and yellow checks and blue and pink stripes for air space. The only consistent motif was cats. Live ones—four full-sized and very friendly cats were closely investigating the visitors—and representational ones. A cat-faced wall clock offered a Cheshire grin, cat-shaped throw pillows littered the sofas and chairs, and there were paintings of cats, cat-shaped candles, and numerous cat statues.

“You’re beginning to sound like a broken record. It’s quite simple,” Elysia was apparently working from the hypothesis that if she kept playing her own broken record long enough someone would be bound to believe her. “You’ll get in and establish your cover, that you are filthy rich, have a big fat mouth, and are lonely and desperate. Then you’ll bugger off. With a new hairdo. What is there to object to in any of that?”

Stella stared at her long and steadily. “They’re not just going to instantly start trying to blackmail me. It’ll take time to find me the right man.”

“A lifetime. But they’re not actually going to
try
to find you the right man,” Elysia said. “You do realize, I hope, that all this is not in aid of improving your social life?”

A.J. put in hurriedly, “Don’t worry, we’re not going to try to crack the blackmailing operation ourselves.” She ignored Elysia’s obvious displeasure; they had argued this point at length. “We’re not expecting you to do any real investigating. All we’re trying to do is show the police that there are sufficient grounds here for their own in-depth investigation—and that Mother is not the only viable suspect.”

Elysia smiled sweetly when Stella glanced at her.

A.J. said, “So all we really need is for the blackmailer or blackmailers to approach you, to make the first move in setting up a scenario that would obviously leave you vulnerable to blackmail. We can take that to Jake who can then take it to his superiors.”

“Like what kind of scenario?”

“Well, for example, if a young, handsome man suddenly asks you out.”

“We all know how unlikely that is,” Elysia drawled. A.J. shot her a look, which Elysia blandly ignored.

Stella still looked doubtful.

A.J. said, “I promise you don’t have to go through with anything you don’t want to.”

“I just don’t think I’d be any good at this kind of thing.” Stella said.

“It doesn’t matter,” Elysia replied. “We’re going to sweeten the deal and make you all but irresistible. We have a theory that they’ll be looking for one quick, easy score. They have to know time is running out on their operation.”

That was Elysia’s theory; A.J. wasn’t convinced.

“But what if these people running The Salon
are
the murderers? If they’ve killed three people to protect this blackmail operation, I can’t imagine they’ll abandon ship now,” Stella said.

“We think Stewie and Gloria are probably in cahoots in a blackmail operation, but we don’t think they’re killers. Of course, we don’t
know
that for a fact, it just doesn’t seem like very good business.”

“
There’s
an assumption,” Stella commented.

“There’s no danger. They have no reason to connect you with us or with any investigation. As far as they know you’re just another lonely, frumpy dowager.”

“Dowager!” Stella gave a hoot of laughter.

A.J. shot her mother a repressive look. “We don’t think there’s any danger, but you would have to be careful, obviously. These murders may not be connected. We don’t even know for sure that Peggy Graham
was
murdered. But if someone was frightened or desperate enough to kill once, there’s no telling what they might do if she or he thought you were snooping.”