Diana Killian - Murder On The Eightfold Path

“Back in 1890, the house had both electric and gas lighting. Lightbulbs weren’t fully developed, you see, and didnae cast enough illumination to be the primary source of light. You can see the old gas lines all through the house.”

Medea pointed to a place on the hardwood floor where the heating pipes fed the radiator in the parlor.

“Those don’t still work, do they?” Elysia asked, sounding alarmed for the first time.

Medea laughed heartily at the idea. “The old gas lines were disconnected long ago, although I’d have liked to have the old gas lamps working in a few spots. It’d throw a very nice warm light.”

Ah yes. The better to illuminate the fake cobwebs and plastic spiders.

“You don’t have a television?” A.J. inquired.

“Och, I don’t have time for such nonsense! There’s too much work to be done and too many good books to read.”

“Ah,” Elysia said. Once again her gaze met A.J.’s, and once again A.J. knew exactly what her mother was thinking. Assuming they had the right Medea, Maddie was not aware that Dakarai was dead or that Elysia was suspected of killing him-unless Medea had killed him herself and was playing a clever game with them. A.J. didn’t quite rule that out. Medea certainly had a dark and playful side; eccentric was a pallid word for it.

Medea finished showing them the house-the restoration work she had done was truly impressive even if her ultimate aim seemed to be to turn the place into an upscale haunted mansion-and then they went into the back garden, followed by the ferret Morag.

“Isn’t this lovely,” Elysia murmured faintly. “A shade garden.”

It was indeed dark and shady in the very large and very overgrown garden. The gateposts were made of small wooden coffins topped by resin wolf skulls. There were no flowers, just grass and ivy and green vines. It looked like the sort of garden Edward Gorey might have designed had he abandoned illustrating and gone into the landscaping business. A variety of dark stone urns, pointy obelisks, and odd statues were strategically placed. A.J. recognized what appeared to be a likeness of the Minotaur and, across the lawn, a bronze version of Kali. Toward the back of the garden was a large plot lined by a knee-high, wrought iron fence as though for a vegetable garden, although it was too dark for most vegetables to thrive. Mushrooms might do well. Toadstools.

They watched the ferret scurry across the grass and disappear through the fence.

“She’s visiting Angus,” Medea said with grim satisfaction.

“Angus?”

“My Persian cat. They were grrreat friends. Angus crossed last month.”

A.J. stared at the fenced square and then it clicked. A miniature graveyard; a pet cemetery. “That’s a graveyard?”

“Aye.” Medea placed the pitcher of lemonade she had carried outside on the table and the three of them sat down and watched Morag weaving her swift way through the statuary and greenery. “The final resting place for ma wee furry friends.” Gloom settled on her like rain clouds on Ben Lomond.

“This is pleasant,” Elysia chimed in, in an apparent effort to dispel the doldrums. She sipped her lemonade.

“I’m glad you invited us, petal. Makes a nice change, doesn’t it?”

She looked straight at A.J., delivering her cue. “Yes!” A.J. said enthusiastically to cover the fact that she had been thinking she was out of her mind to have agreed to this weekend.

“It’s nice to have company. It’s a bit lonely sometimes out here on my own,” Medea admitted with seeming reluctance.

Elysia said casually, “I can relate only too well. It’s lovely having A.J. living so close these days.”

“Did you finally give up the house in London?”

“No. I’ve been thinking of letting it go, though.”

This was news to A.J. Although she and her mother had been getting along very well since she had moved to New Jersey, the idea of being permanently in each other’s pockets was a little disconcerting. Or was it? Maybe it was… reassuring. It was just that she was not in the habit of relying on her mother, having spent most of her life learning to not rely on her.

The two older women chatted about people and places unfamiliar to A.J. It was not that she was disinterested, but she had a lot on her mind. Her attention wandered.

She tuned back in to hear Elysia inquire casually, “What was his name, petal? Your handsome young villain?”

Medea’s face took on that unattractive flush again. “Dicky. Dakarai, actually. He was Egyptian.”

Elysia’s gaze slid to A.J.’s. A.J. knew exactly what she was thinking. “Dakarai” was not like John or Kevin or Bill. The idea of two Egyptian men named Dakarai running around New Jersey romancing wealthy widows was pretty hard to believe.

“It’s a shame,” Elysia said. She suggested casually, “You met him on that cruise you took a few years ago, didn’t you?”

“Aye.”

Bingo.

Gloomily, Medea reached a hand out to the ferret, who had scampered up the table legs and popped through the umbrella hole in the table. Now the ferret was investigating the lemonade pitcher. She nipped gently at Medea’s fingers. “You miss him, pet, don’t you?” Medea flicked the ferret’s nose and then reached for her lemonade with the air of one drowning her sorrows.

Elysia was shooting a certain commanding look A.J.’s way. A.J. couldn’t figure out what her mother wanted. She raised her shoulders and Elysia gave her The Look again.

Hoping she was on the right track, and not exactly sure what her mother was up to, A.J. said, “Why, that’s an odd coincidence!”

Elysia offered a tiny smile of approval before saying, as though the thought had never occurred, “Yes, that is strange. You wouldn’t happen to have a photo of him, would you?”

“Angus? Aye.”

“Not Angus, petal. Dicky. Your ex.”

Brow furrowed, Medea gave it some thought. “Why?”

“Because a most unpleasant thought has occurred to me.”

It looked like the unpleasantness was catching. For a lengthy few seconds Medea stared at Elysia, then she scooped up the ferret and nodded at A.J. and Elysia to follow her.

They trooped back into the house and Medea led the way to a side room painted in yellow and black-a color scheme that had all the appeal of a swarm of bees. She dropped Morag to the carpet, and the ferret darted away behind what appeared to be a marble statue of Medusa-or perhaps it was another goddess having a really bad hair day. Medea rummaged through the drawers of a tall secretary. Sheets of sandpaper and bills fell out along with photos and note cards.

“Here we are.” Medea handed the photograph to Elysia who stared at it for several seconds. She handed it to A.J.

The photograph showed a tanned and happy-looking Medea in the loose embrace of a handsome and virile-looking Egyptian young enough to be her son. The young man also looked happy, though not nearly as radiant as Medea.

Though the photo was a few years old, there was no mistaking Dicky Massri, and though she had been prepared for it, A.J. murmured, “Good lord.”

Elysia said crisply, “Petal, I have some disturbing news.”

Medea’s brows drew together as she waited for Elysia to find the words. A.J. could see her mother considering and abandoning various approaches.

“There doesn’t seem to be an easy way to say this,” she said at last. “I knew this young man of yours. Knew him rather well.” When Medea still said nothing, Elysia clarified, “I met him when I was in Egypt last summer.”

Medea’s eyes seemed to start from her head. She opened her mouth and then closed it.

“I’m afraid I made the same mistake that… er… you did, petal.”

Silence.

“He could be a charming scallywag.” Elysia half-swallowed the word. A.J. almost felt sorry for her although she couldn’t help feeling her mother had brought it all on herself. “I didn’t go so far as to marry him, but-”