“Maybe he stole a key.”
“Maybe he did, but this is getting totally into the realm of speculation. We don’t know that Cory ever had access to Peggy’s keys, let alone that she ever brought him home.”
“We need to find out.”
“We need to be careful,” A.J. corrected. “For one thing if there is some connection between Maddie’s death and Peggy’s we don’t want anyone to know we’re poking around in this. It could prove extremely hazardous to our health.”
Elysia made a disgusted sound.
“I’m serious, Mother. If Maddie was killed I think there’s a very good chance it was because she knew something about Peggy’s death. Or someone thought she did. And if that’s the case, they acted swiftly and ruthlessly.”
Elysia had no response to that.
“Why don’t we put together a list of questions and I’ll ask Jake-”
“Jake!”
“Yes, Jake. I don’t have another police contact. Do you? Plus I believe him when he’s trying to help you. If we can present him with a viable alternative suspect and motive, he’ll take it to the DA. So let’s figure out what we need to know. Like did they investigate this Cory at all? Was there any record of where the sleeping pills were purchased? That kind of thing.”
“The fact that four people connected to this case are also connected to the same hairdresser is too much of a coincidence for me.”
“I agree. But not everyone seems to think it’s that amazing a coincidence. And, in fairness, The Salon is very popular. Besides, we already knew Peggy went to The Salon,” A.J. reminded her. “Maddie learned about her death at The Salon.”
Elysia sighed. “True.”
They debated a short list of questions A.J. could present to Jake in hopes that he might follow up where they could not. By the time they had worked out their short list, they were pulling into the long, dirt drive that led to the farmhouse at Deer Hollow.
As A.J. got out of the SUV, Elysia leaned across and said, “Anna?”
A.J. bent, absently reflecting that even a week ago she would have been unable to make so simple a move without pain. “Yes?”
“Thank you.”
“Of course!” A.J. said quickly. She wasn’t even exactly sure what her mother was thanking her for, but she was a little embarrassed.
“I know you think we should trust the police and leave any further investigating to them. I couldn’t do this on my own, so… thank you.”
A.J. nodded and let the heavy door swing shut.
She was touched, although she wasn’t convinced that Elysia wouldn’t have forged ahead on her own. She told herself she was acting as a moderating influence, and she hoped that was true. But as much as she wanted to leave the investigation to the police, as much as she wanted to believe that they would find Dicky Massri’s real killer without any help from her or Elysia, she knew things didn’t always work out the way they should.
She watched the Land Rover bouncing and bumping down the dirt road back to the highway, then she turned and let herself inside the house.
It felt warm and a little stuffy, so she opened the windows and went out on the back patio to call to Monster, who came around the side of the house looking guilty in the way only a dog digging for gophers in the flower beds can look.
“What have you been doing?” A.J. said in the deep, deep voice she always assumed for scolding Monster-on those rare occasions he needed scolding.
Monster promptly flattened his ears and looked cowed, although what he made of the deep, deep voice was anyone’s guess. The deep, deep voice was actually as far as A.J.’s punitive measures went. She sort of even secretly hoped that Monster might catch a few of the gophers in a display of natural selection, but she’d never seen any sign of success. Which, on second thought, was perhaps a good thing.
Monster tried to change the subject by indicating it was past his dinnertime, and A.J. fed him, made herself a grilled cheese sandwich. and pulled out Diantha’s box of notes and rough manuscript draft.
As always she found it centering, soothing, to read over her aunt’s thoughts. Diantha had been a mix of practicality and compassion. Well-educated and informed, she had also been imaginative and fiercely loyal to the causes she believed in and the people she loved. She had not been without her flaws, of course. She had also been stubborn and occasionally judgmental. Once she made up her mind, it was difficult to persuade her to see things another way, which was probably how A.J. and Lily had ended up as co-partners when anyone could see that that was a match made in Hell.
Words have tremendous power. Sometimes in the heat of the moment we forget this. We concentrate on winning the battle at hand and forget that winning a particular battle may cost us the war. Why do I speak of war and yoga in the same breath? Because our modern lives are full of conflict. Look around you. We all experience tension, conflict, anger. And what are we angry about? We believe that we have been wronged. What happens then? We scream. We scream to be heard. What then can we do for the angry among us? The first and most immediate thing we can do is listen.
A.J. jotted a couple of notes in the margin of the neatly typed page. Through the open window she could hear the sweet song of a bird settling in for the night, and Monster snuffling along the flower bed.
“Monster!” she growled.
The snuffling stopped. But in the silence she heard the approach of a familiar engine. Heart beating with sudden excitement, A.J. rose and looked out the front window.
Headlights were coming down the road.
The familiar four-wheel drive utility vehicle with police insignia pulled into her front yard and Jake got out.
A.J. went out on the porch to greet him. He kissed her hello-not a deep, passionate kiss, true, but not a perfunctory peck either.
“This is a surprise,” she said.
“Yeah. Well.” He followed her inside the house and down the hall to the kitchen. “I thought since I was in the area I’d come by and tell you what we found out on Dora Beauford.”
A.J. studied his stern profile. She knew Jake well enough to know he was about to give her news he didn’t want to deliver. Perhaps it was about the case against her mother. Perhaps not. Her nerves tightened.
She made herself guess out loud. “Dora Beauford has an alibi.”
He nodded grimly.
“What kind of alibi?”
“She was getting her hair done.”
“Where?”
Jake was already shaking his head. “Not at The Salon.”
“Did you ask?” She handed him a jar of ground coffee; the lid had a tendency to stick.
He opened it automatically, saying, “Of course I asked. I had to verify her alibi.”
“Did you ask her about The Salon?”
He hesitated.
“You didn’t. Why? What would it have hurt? Couldn’t you just this once have-”
“Hold on. Of course I asked,” he interrupted. “And, yes, she was a client for a time. But I think you’re pinning too much on that connection.”
A.J. scooped coffee into the machine. “And to think I believed Mother was jumping to conclusions. Jake, they’re running some kind of blackmail scheme out of The Salon.”
If she’d imagined she would surprise him with that theory, she was disappointed. Jake said, “I know that’s what you think-you might even be right-but nobody tried to blackmail Dora Beauford.”
“You questioned her about that? Specifically?”
“Believe it or not, A.J., I do know how to do my job.”
She had the grace to blush. “Sorry. It’s just…”
“I know. This time it’s personal.”
She grimaced. Personal and painful. Jake’s expression was uncompromising; he met her gaze unwaveringly. “I do understand. I promise you I’m following every lead.”
“Could Dora be lying?”
He shrugged. “It’s always a possibility. I didn’t get that feeling, though.”