Diana Killian - Murder On The Eightfold Path

A.J. sipped her tea and frowned over it, but although it was hard to accept, perhaps it wasn’t any of her business. She changed the subject and said, “Did you happen to know this young man she’s accused of shooting?”

“Elysia and I don’t travel in the same social circles.”

“I’m not sure Mother and this Dicky Massri traveled in the same circles.”

Stella made a sound somewhere between a snort and a laugh.

“I think he was younger than me,” A.J. said. “Aunt Di did the same thing-started a relationship with someone young enough to be her son. I don’t understand it.”

Stella eyed her thoughtfully. “That’s because you’ve never been lonely.”

“I’ve been divorced, that’s pretty lonely.”

“I mean years of being lonely.”

Stella spoke so matter-of-factly that A.J. barely registered what she was saying. When she did, it was with a sharp tug of sympathy that she felt instinctively would make Stella uncomfortable. She hated to think of Stella being lonely, and she hated even more to think of her mother being lonely.

But surely there was a medium ground between senior bingo nights and Egyptian gigolos?

“I just don’t understand why she couldn’t have found someone more her own age. She wouldn’t be in this mess now.”

Stella said patiently, “Because falling in love is scary. Hot sex with a man toy is just tiring.”

A.J. blinked at the idea of Stella having hot sex with anything, let alone with tiresome man toys. She said at random, “Mr. Meagher is really worried. He seems to think the police might be able to build a strong enough case to go to trial.”

Stella selected another cookie, crunched in that same meditative way-like a thoughtful squirrel-and said, “I guess it’s occurred to you that your ma really might have killed him?”

A.J. inhaled cookie crumbs and spent an agonized couple of seconds coughing before she managed a hoarse, “I’m sorry?”

Stella said, “Elysia’s got a temper when she’s riled.”

“She’s not violent.” She closed off memories of her mother hurling glasses, plates, and, on one memorable occasion, a brass paperweight at her father during some of their livelier arguments. That had been back in the bad old days when alcohol had formed the foundation of Elysia’s daily food pyramid.

Stella, unmoved, said, “She’s always had her own ideas about the law.”

“What does that mean?”

Stella shrugged. “I think Elysia believes laws are for other people.”

A.J. knew her instinctive rejection of this statement was illogical. Certainly Elysia did often behave as though the laws of the land did not apply to her. Sometimes that zany attitude was sort of charming-and sometimes it wasn’t.

“We’re not discussing exceeding the speed limit here, we’re talking about murder. And I can’t see my mother committing cold-blooded murder. She just… wouldn’t.”

“Not cold-blooded murder, I agree,” Stella said. “But if she felt threatened or she was angry enough?”

A.J. stubbornly shook her head despite uneasy memories of the things her mother had done back when she had been drinking. Those things could be attributed to the alcohol. And while it was true that Elysia did rather live in her own world, that was still a far cry from the sort of loss of control Stella was suggesting.

A.J. was marshaling her argument when the phone rang. Stella rose to answer it, returning a few moments later. “That was the Stillbrook Streamer. They were hoping for an interview.”

“Yeah, well, hope springs eternal,” A.J. said shortly.

“That’s pretty much what I told them.”

“Why doesn’t Mr. Meagher call?”

It was a rhetorical question, but Stella replied seriously, “It’s a homicide charge. They might not be able to get bail. Or the judge might decide to set it high, given your ma’s financial resources and nationality.”

A.J. stared in horror. “You don’t think they’ll keep her?”

Stella said gruffly, “I think Jake wanted me here just in case.”

This time A.J. was less touched by Jake’s thoughtfulness.

A.J. spent the afternoon reading through her aunt’s manuscript.

No thinking person can deny that we live in a time of crisis. We look around and witness financial, environmental, and social upheaval. We turn on the television and see a world at war. Our ideals, our very faith in the greater good is challenged. Yet this is also a time of extraordinary spiritual opportunity. It depends on how we respond. At the core of the most painful experiences lie the seeds of philosophical awakening, of epiphany.

A.J. reread the paragraph slowly. It was unexpectedly comforting in her particular time of trouble to read her aunt’s words. Diantha’s memoirs were almost like hearing her speak.

The phone rang off and on, but it was always members of the press. The Stillbrook Streamer, the Star-Ledger, Chicago Sun-Times, the New York Times: the papers mounting in importance as the news of Elysia’s arrest hit the wires. Stella staunchly fended them off but it was clear that even her nerves were growing frayed as the afternoon wore on.

It was after five o’clock when Mr. Meagher finally called, and the news was not good.

“Well, you see, it’s complicated, me wee girl,” he began when A.J. picked up the phone.

“What does that mean?”

“We’re… eh… probably looking at tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? She’s going to have to spend the night in jail. But why?”

“It’s complicated, me darlin’. There’s already a lot of media attention. Too much in the opinion of that great fascist swine of a superior court judge. There’s also the fact that your mither has considerable financial resources-as do you. They’re viewing her as a flight risk.”

“You mean they might not let her out at all?” A.J. felt a childish and utterly disconcerting urge to burst into tears. It had to be the combination of meds and back pain.

“Don’t fret,” Mr. Meagher reassured her quickly. “I’m pulling every bloody favor I ever did anyone in this miserable town.”

A.J. realized then how angry Mr. Meagher was because she’d never heard him speak with anything but love for his adopted country and home. She swallowed down her anger and fear as it was clear he had plenty of his own to deal with.

“So… what do we do?”

“You just rest that back of yours and leave the rest to me. I’ll have her out by tomorrow or me name isn’t Bradley Jamieson Meagher.”

A.J. thanked him sincerely and replaced the phone on the hook with an unsteady hand. Her anger at Jake was now sky-high even though a tiny voice in the back of her mind loyally pointed out that he probably hadn’t had a choice. Part of her wrath was based on the knowledge that he apparently really did suspect her mother capable of such a crime. And even though A.J. had also experienced an uneasy twinge or two maybe partly because of that, it seemed a severe betrayal.

She picked at the chicken noodle casserole Stella had fixed for their dinner, listening with half an ear as the other woman talked about a séance she had conducted for a recently widowed woman.

“I know what people say, what they think, but it brings comfort to my clients to know there’s something on the other side.”

A.J. remembered what Stella had said earlier about being lonely. Loneliness led people into doing all kinds of dangerous and foolish things. Attending séances might even be one of the less foolhardy.