Diana Killian - Murder On The Eightfold Path

Elysia looked unconvinced. “Well, I can’t help but feel it’s a little disloyal to keep seeing the man who’s determined to put me behind bars.”

“Don’t do this,” A.J. said. Despite Elysia’s light tone, it was obvious that she was serious. “Jake is just doing his job. He’s already said he doesn’t believe you killed anyone.”

“He has a funny way of showing it.”

“Arresting you was not his choice.”

“That’s easy to say.”

A.J. took a deep breath and released it slowly. “I don’t want to argue with you about this. You’re my mother and I love you-and you obviously have my support or I wouldn’t have risked my neck breaking and entering Dicky Massri’s apartment with you today.”

“Just entering.” Elysia corrected.

“It’s not funny, Mother. I also care for Jake. A lot. So don’t ask me to choose because that is not a fair or loving thing to do to me.”

Elysia made an exasperated sound. “Very well. But don’t be surprised if he tries to force the issue.”

The rest of the drive to Deer Hollow was completed in silence filled only by Tom Jones’s 24 Hours.

A cottontail rabbit darted out from the lush flower bed as A.J. let Monster out of the Land Rover, and the dog took off after it with unexpected energy. A.J. walked up the porch steps. A graceful statue of Kwan Yin stood amidst the purple and yellow irises lining the house. The sweet smells of evening drifted across the sunset-gilded meadow.

Inside the house A.J. played her messages while Elysia put the kettle on, but there was nothing from Jake. Nothing on A.J.’s cell either.

Well, he would be busy with the investigation, after all. And she was the one who had said it was an impossible situation and that they should take things slowly.

Her and her big mouth.

Elysia, watching her, said suddenly, “I’ve been thinking that perhaps I ought to contact Maddie.”

For a moment A.J. couldn’t remember who Maddie was, her own problems temporarily outweighing her mother’s. Then it came back to her: Medea Sutherland. Her mother’s wacko friend who was apparently up to her bushy eyebrows in this murder investigation. It was indeed a small world.

She sighed. “I think we should try to find a way to tell the police exactly what we discovered in Dicky’s apartment and leave it to them from here on out.”

“Oh, I’m sure the police already know about Maddie.”

“Then what’s the point of contacting her?”

Elysia looked vague. “This must be a distressing time for her. As her friend-”

“You don’t even know for sure that she’s Dicky’s Medea.”

“Trust me, pumpkin. I’ve one of my hunches on this.”

One of her hunches? Next she was going to be referring to her little gray cells and twirling her imaginary mustache. A.J. managed to swallow several unproductive comments without choking, and said, “Mother, my relationship with Jake is complicated enough without this.”

“I didn’t say you had to be involved,” Elysia said tartly. “I said I would contact my old friend and offer my condolences.”

A.J.’s back was hurting. She was tired and she was disappointed that Jake had not called her-yes, despite the way they had left things the evening before. She missed him. A lot.

“If you think that’s a wise idea,” she managed to say evenly. She was proud of herself for not saying what she thought of the idea.

“Are you going to be all right?”

A.J. nodded. “I can manage. The shot helped.” It would probably have helped a lot more if she hadn’t tried diving out a window, but she managed to bite that comment back, too. Her mother hadn’t kidnapped her; A.J. had been a willing-if not enthusiastic-party to the insanity.

Elysia patted her cheek sharply. “I’ll call you in the morning, lovie. Don’t worry about anything.” And she was gone in a waft of mingled cigarette and Opium scent. The Land Rover roared into life in the front yard and then silence fell.

A.J. fixed dinner for herself and Monster. “It’s just you and me tonight, big boy,” she said.

Monster wagged his tail.

After dinner A.J. sat down with her aunt’s manuscript.

What would Diantha have thought about the choices A.J. had met since inheriting Sacred Balance and the new life that had come with it?

Safe to say many of her choices would not have been her aunt’s.

Life is loss. If we allow ourselves to care, to love, we must accept the pain that inevitably follows. Nothing lasts forever however much we wish otherwise. Yoga teaches us to concentrate on the here and now, on living within the moment. We focus on each breath we draw, and as we focus we become present and grounded in our bodies. Breath is the bridge between what is now and what is not. Grief is part of what is not, and when we are truly living in the moment we are releasing our grief and concentrating only what is now.

A.J. undressed and washed, climbing into the bed that had once been her aunt’s. She listened to the sounds of the house settling down for the night, the crickets outside the window, the owl in the peach tree out back inquiring after his supper.

She wondered what Jake was doing.

The parking lot was full and classes were in session by the time A.J. arrived at Sacred Balance on Thursday morning. It appeared to be business as usual at the studio. She was glad of that, of course, but there was a tiny insecure part of her that wished things weren’t running quite so smoothly without her.

She was moving slowly, but she was moving, and that was the good news. The bad news was there was no possible way she was going to be able to conduct her classes. That morning’s attempt at Sun Salutation had made that much clear.

In a spirit of optimism A.J. had unfolded her yoga mat in the front room with its picture window view of the sun-flushed meadow. It was still a little too chilly these spring mornings to use the back patio as she did in the summer. A.J. sat down on her mat, breathing quietly.

Soft inhalations.

Soft exhalations.

She gathered herself to rise, and her back immediately spasmed. It was all A.J. could do not to cry. Why was this happening to her?

She struggled with her emotions for a few seconds and then was forced to admit that walking up the long staircase at Yoga Meridian had probably not been a good idea, and diving out the window of Dicky Masrai’s apartment had probably been an even worse one.

Once again she was fighting the very tenets of yoga by trying to force her body to do as she wished rather than what was sensible.

Accordingly she arrived at the studio in a somewhat chastened frame of mind.

“Howdy there, stranger!” Emma greeted her from behind the front desk when A.J. pushed through the glass doors. “We weren’t expecting you.”

Emma was a short, slender, sixty-something black woman. Originally, concerned that Emma would not have the necessary energy or attitude for manning the front desk in a yoga studio, A.J. had been a little hesitant to hire her. It had turned out to be one of the best decisions she’d made. She was especially conscious of this as she remembered her visit to Yoga Meridian where every instructor and employee seemed to be under thirty and genetically airbrushed.

“I thought I’d try to catch up on some paperwork. I’m not really here,” A.J. replied.

“Very metaphysical,” Emma said. “Do I hold your calls?”

“No. Put them through.”

There were not many calls, however, and A.J. was able to drink her tea and go through her e-mail in relative peace.

The harmonious sounds of cheerful voices and laughter in the main lobby informed her when the first sessions of the morning ended. She glanced up as someone-Lily-tapped on her door.