Diana Killian - Murder On The Eightfold Path

The assorted stress and strains of the last two weeks got the better of A.J.’s temper, and she snapped, “Well, do you blame her?”

He stared at her for a long, bleak moment. “No,” he said finally. “I don’t blame her. I’d probably try to do the same thing, but she’s liable to get herself deeper in hot water-and drag you in, too.”

This was such an unexpected relenting of Jake’s previous attitude that A.J. didn’t know what to say. He solved that problem by asking her to fill him in on what she and Elysia had learned from Mart Crowley.

Jake heard her out in mostly silence and sipped his coffee. At the end of A.J.’s recital he said, “Okay, so maybe Peggy Graham’s decision to take action against the extortionists made someone nervous and they decided to deal with her. But it wasn’t Massri, obviously, since Graham wasn’t seeing him.”

A.J. bit her lip. “You’re saying it’s a dead end.”

He sighed. “I’m saying… that there does seem to be a connection between these women and The Salon, but it’s not enough. I don’t buy the blackmail angle as sufficient motive for murder. You don’t kill the goose that lays the golden egg.”

“Then what do you buy? Because if nothing else, it’s ridiculous to think my mother would shoot someone in her front garden.”

“Listen, you don’t have to convince me. I don’t believe Elysia shot Massri. I admit I initially wondered.” He clarified hastily, “It crossed my mind, that’s all-but having interviewed her several times since the incident, I agree. She’s not our perp. But an argument like that doesn’t get us anywhere. People kill other people all the time in stupid and brutal ways. Murder doesn’t take a mastermind. It takes someone whose self-interest knows no boundaries, be it a brain surgeon in the Hamptons or a junkie in Harlem.”

“Your point being?”

“You’re going to have to come up with a better line of defense.”

“What about the scandal at the SCA?”

“I’m still working that angle. It appears that Massri accepted bribes not to investigate allegations of illegal excavations and the smuggling of antiquities.”

“That sounds promising.”

“Maybe. There’s no question that illegal trade in antiquities is still big money. Unscrupulous collectors, private and public, are always on the lookout for valuable artifacts. High quality relics are freely available on the international market if you know where to look and so long as the interested parties are prepared to pay enormous sums. And Egyptian antiquities are pretty much as popular as ever.”

“Maybe Massri crossed the wrong people?”

“Maybe, but as far as I can tell the people he crossed were the Egyptian government and his colleagues at the SCA. I don’t think either of those entities came gunning for him in Elysia’s front yard.”

“How could Massri get away with that kind of thing?”

“He was in the perfect position to get away with it-he was supposed to be one of the watchdogs.”

“That’s pretty low. Trading in national treasures.”

“It is, but the money being offered for some of these antiquities is mind-boggling. And the people buying aren’t always what you’d think. More than one museum curator has been nailed in the illegal trade of antiquities. Sure, sales at reputable auction houses are supposed to be carefully monitored. I guess they are for the most part. Details of the provenance of objects are supposed to be provided.”

“Provenance?”

“Documented history of the ownership of an object. They’re supposed to get publication details of similar pieces, and a history of the movement of objects through the market. But the system isn’t foolproof. To say the least.”

A.J. nodded. It was getting late and she was getting tired, although she was doing her best to seem bright and cheerful. The last thing she wanted to do was hurry Jake off. For these few hours she could pretend that everything was still good between them. That they were building toward something that might sustain them through all the years to come. Something more than friendship, although she valued Jake’s friendship, too.

He yawned, glanced at his watch.

“Can Dora Beauford’s alibi be broken?” she asked quickly, at random.

“I doubt it. Only her hairdresser knows for sure.”

“Ouch.”

“You asked.” He was grinning at her and she grinned back, warmly conscious of the ever present tug of liking and attraction between them. No, that hadn’t changed.

Jake seemed to recollect himself. He said more seriously, “I’m double-checking that one. But I wouldn’t pin my hopes on it.” He hesitated. “I guess… I ought to get going.”

No you oughtn’t. A.J. opened her mouth. She closed it again. She wasn’t going to put pressure on him. And she sure wasn’t going to beg. Or even ask politely. In case it was misconstrued. This was something Jake had to work out for himself; he knew-could hardly fail to know-how she felt.

“Okay,” she said, rising. “Thanks for stopping by.”

He stared at her for a funny moment, then rose, too.

They walked out together to the front porch.

He seemed to hesitate. “Night.”

“Night,” she murmured as he kissed her cheek.

She watched him walk across the yard, boot heels scraping the flagstone walk. The door slammed as he got in the SUV. He backed up slowly, flashed the headlights at her, and drove away into the night.

Morag was making herself right at home. It was not a pretty sight. The contents of Elysia’s purse were scattered across the kitchen counter and in the sink. The trash bin had been turned over, the contents of the silverware drawer were scattered over the floor-along with less benign tokens of the ferret’s presence.

“Yikes,” A.J. said, watching Elysia deal quickly, if grimly, with the mess. The pointy-faced culprit gazed down at them from the recipe books on the shelf above the stove. “Is that-?”

“It is,” Elysia said darkly. “We’re working on potty training.”

“Uh oh.”

“Oh, she’s not so bad,” Elysia said quickly. “A little mischievous, perhaps. In fact I was thinking Monster might like a little sister.” As convincing performances went, she’d given better.

“You’ve got to be joking,” A.J. said. “A little snack maybe. A little sister, no. He’s definitely an only child.”

They both studied the ferret peeking out at them.

“She’s very cute,” A.J. said.

“Yes. I suppose she’s missing Maddie.”

“Well then she’ll probably settle down, don’t you think?”

“I think she’s a fiend from Hell in cuddly clothing,” Elysia stated for the record. “On the bright side, I’ve been reading up and they don’t live that long. Usually six to ten years, and I believe Maddie said something about her being seven years old.”

“Mother.”

“I’m just being realistic, pumpkin. She’s as adorable as a stuffed toy, yes, and if she were stuffed, we’d get along beautifully. As it is, she’s one hell of a nuisance.”

A.J. had to bite her lip to keep a straight face. “Look at that little face. That little pink nose, those little beady eyes.”

Elysia sniffed. Morag sniffed back. Or perhaps she hissed. It was uncertain at that height.

“Maybe next time you’ll think twice before you nab someone’s pet.”

Elysia ignored this and went back to restoring order to her ransacked kitchen. A.J. found a sponge under the sink and scrubbed the granite counter as she filled her mother in on everything Jake had told her the evening before.