Diana Killian - Murder On The Eightfold Path

Elysia broke off, interrupted by Medea’s roar of laughter.

They dined beneath a flickering chandelier that looked like it was straight out of the Vincent Price Collection. Keeping in mind that Medea had done most of the home repairs herself, A.J. couldn’t help an occasional uneasy glance at the bronze rosette medallion in the ceiling, sincerely hoping it was not going to give way anytime soon. She could have sworn she heard the occasional faint cracking of plaster-or perhaps the whisper came from the ghostly woodland scene that decorated the walls of the long, narrow room: tall pale trees and silvery mist on another of those decorative wall coverings.

But while Medea might have had a macabre sense of interior design, there was nothing wrong with her culinary instincts. Dinner was fabulous.

Barley soup with porcini mushrooms started off the meal, followed by seared scallop salad with asparagus and scallions. The main course was roasted veal loin with mashed potatoes. For dessert there was bittersweet chocolate tart with coffee mascarpone cream.

Between courses A.J. heard abbreviated versions of her mother and Medea’s wild youth as fledgling actresses in the early seventies.

“Och, hen, remember that time you and Dennis Waterman…?”

“And who was being linked with Patrick McNee in the press, petal?”

These recollections were followed by gales of laughter.

“What about Bradley Meagher? Is that old fox still waiting in the wings, then?”

Elysia’s smile faded. “No, no. Actually, we’re just good friends.”

Medea snorted. “Tell me another.” She studied Elysia with an unexpectedly worldly gleam in her dark eyes, but then changed the subject. “D’you ever think of going back on the stage?”

“All the time!”

More hilarity.

A.J. sincerely hoped Medea was not a murderess because the more she saw of her, the more she liked her. Yes, she was an oddball, but some of the most interesting people were.

Quietly sipping her wine, which was also excellent, A.J. observed both women. Medea, still recovering from the shock of learning that Dicky was dead, downed scotch all through dinner, growing progressively more cheerful and bright. Elysia stuck to sparkling mineral water despite the glasses of wine Medea pressed on her. A.J. experienced the usual tension of watching her mother around alcohol, but Elysia showed no sign of struggling against temptation.

Over dessert she skillfully managed to steer the discussion back to Dicky, and Medea, now well and truly lubricated, seemed to let her guard down once and for all.

“No fool like an auld fool!”

She and Elysia shared a giggle over memories A.J. suspected they would regret her overhearing. She tried not to listen too closely, but it wasn’t easy.

“He was a delicious young rascal,” Elysia admitted. “And those back rubs!”

Medea murmured agreement and A.J. resisted the temptation to cover her ears and say “Lalalalalalalala!”

“Hard to believe it’s been two whole years.” Medea sighed. “Sometimes I think… well. Water under the bridge.”

“Speaking of water,” Elysia said lightly, “how did you happen to pick that particular cruise?”

Medea shook her head. “I didn’t. I won it. All the arrangements were made for me.”

“That’s an awfully nice prize. What contest was that?”

Medea sketched a broad, vague gesture. “Some sort of sweepstakes thingie.”

A.J. asked Elysia, “You didn’t win your cruise trip in a contest, did you?”

“No. Everyone I knew seemed to have been on a cruise, and I was thinking it might be fun to get away for a time. I think my hairstylist recommended the cruise line.” She said to Medea, “Are you saying the sweepstakes prize covered the cost of everything?”

“It covered the cost of the cruise. I had to pay my own airfare.”

“Was there anything odd about the cruise?” A.J. inquired.

Medea shook her head. “Not that I recall. Other than falling in love and getting married, no.” She sighed nostalgically. “Wonderful nosh.”

“How exactly did you happen to fall in love?”

Elysia and Medea exchanged looks. “No sense of romance this younger generation,” Elysia said sadly. “A.J. uses her Palm Berry to schedule her beau.”

“I don’t use a Palm Berry, Mother. Whatever the heck that is. I use my Palm Pre. Anyway, I’m just wondering how Maddie managed to get married in a foreign country when she was only there for a cruise?”

“Eight sunny days and seven starrry nights,” Medea said. “That’s how it happened. After the cruise ended, I stayed on in Egypt until we could be married in a civil ceremony. Then I came home; I was in the middle of renovating the house. Dicky was supposed to follow when his immigration status was resolved.”

“What happened?”

“He continued to come up with excuses for why he couldnae come-meanwhile always asking me for more money. Finally, I had to face facts. The young scoundrel had no intention of joining me here.”

“So you divorced him?”

“Aye.”

“How did he take your decision?” A.J. questioned.

Medea’s mouth twisted. “He tried to talk me out of it. Then he suggested that he fly here for a visit so we could try to work things out.”

“Didn’t you want that?”

“I wanted it. I sent him the airfare, but he never booked the flight. When I taxed him with it, he said he’d had to give it to his mother for an operation.”

“The old ailing mother routine,” Elysia murmured. “He really hadn’t much imagination.”

“Shameless is what he was.” Medea was grim. “So I made my mind up and I divorced him.”

“Did he ever try to blackmail you?” A.J. asked.

Medea looked confused. “Over what?”

Good question. They had been legally married, after all. “I don’t know. Did you ever hear from him again?”

“No. That I never did.” Medea’s expression was bleak.

“Did you want to?” A.J. asked, surprised.

Medea’s gimlet dark eyes studied her. “Aye.” She reached for her scotch.

“I believe her.” A.J. paused in the doorway adjoining the bathroom and Elysia’s bedroom. She brushed a fake spiderweb out of her face.

Elysia, sitting at the gargoyle table next to the window that looked over the back garden, briskly laid playing cards across the marble tabletop. “About what, pumpkin?”

“I don’t think Maddie killed Dicky.”

Elysia made a small, dismissive sound and set the remaining cards in the deck aside. “Of course she didn’t kill Dicky.”

“There’s no ‘of course’ about it, Mother. She certainly had motive. A much better motive than you. And she’s eccentric. She makes you look like a solid citizen.”

Elysia sniffed and turned a card over.

“It’s possible that she caught sight of him one day, realized that he had moved to this country after all-and was up to his old tricks-and in the shock of the moment, killed him.”

“In my front garden?”

“It’s possible.”

“I thought you said you believed her?”

“I do.”

“You saw the way she reacted when I told her Dicky was dead. It was obvious the news came as a complete bombshell.”

“Maybe. But she’s an actress, after all.”

“She was never that good an actress,” Elysia stated with ruthless candor.

A.J. shrugged, stuck her toothbrush back in her mouth, and returned to the sink to finish cleaning her teeth.

“What are you doing, anyway?” she called after she had rinsed, spat, and dried her face.

“Playing solitaire.”