Dial Om for Murder (28 page)

It seemed that Barbie had lied about an affair with J.W. in an effort to get back at Nicole—an effort that had back-fired badly when Nicole was murdered.

The last possible suspect—and that had been a stretch—was Bryn Tierney, and A.J. had ruled Bryn out. Not only had Bryn seemed genuinely grieved the afternoon A.J. had accompanied Elysia to collect Nicole’s clothes for charity, but Bryn had left Nicole’s mansion right on schedule, moving home to Virginia to begin planning her wedding.

So that was that.

A.J. went back to her comfortable and peaceful routine. Life was good. Except that she missed Andy and Lula Mae. She missed Jake even more—certainly more than he appeared to miss her—but apparently she was going to have to get used to it. She hadn’t seen him since the evening of Nicole’s funeral.

She toyed with the idea of calling him, but she wasn’t sure she could take the pain of being brushed off. Jake had never struck her as someone prone to changing his mind once it was made up, and she’d had all the romantic rejection she could take for one lifetime. She would just have to hope that maybe time would soften his attitude, although it was more likely he had realized he just didn’t care that much about her.

“You still love me, don’t you?” she asked Monster when she got home Thursday night. Monster agreed, panting adoringly into her face as she ruffled his silky ears.

When the reunion of the mutual admiration society was concluded, A.J. went into the kitchen to try and think of something quick she could make for supper. She wasn’t very hungry these days, but she was determined not to give into the lure of Pop Tarts and Yoo-hoos.

She needed to go shopping, she decided as she checked the fridge’s contents. A head of cabbage and half a head of lettuce. She inspected the pantry and found a can of salmon. Remembering the salmon salad Elysia had served the previous week, she decided to prepare one for herself.

She was on the patio eating her salad and admiring the sunset through the trees lining the meadow when she heard a car drive up. Monster got up and went trotting to the front, woofing in that undecided way.

A.J. rose and followed.

A heavy, plain, middle-aged woman with mousy brown hair was getting out of a Toyota.

“Hi.” A.J. waved from the side of the house.

Spotting her, the woman left the front path and came toward her. “Alice Hart?”

“Who?” Recollection came belatedly to A.J. And then she had it: the night she and Andy had phoned Nicole’s cyber enemy, Lydia Thorne.

Except . . . there was no Lydia Thorne. Just as there was no Alice Hart.

A.J. straightened her shoulders. She had put this ball in motion; she had to play it out. “Lydia Thorne, I presume?”

Lydia stopped short. “You’re not Alice Hart. Alice Hart is a writer. She wrote a book about tea cups. She’s never heard of you. She’s never heard of Nicole Manning. I want to know what you think you’re doing, harassing me?” Behind cute red spectacles, tiny, angry eyes blinked furiously at A.J.

“We’re not harassing you. We—”

Lydia—or whatever her real name was—glanced at the house and repeated sharply, “
We?
”

A.J.’s embarrassment—there really
was
an Alice Hart somewhere?—gave way to unease. “Yes, my husband and I were concerned—”

“Where’s your husband?” Lydia demanded. “I want to talk to him. I want to find out why you’ve been impersonating Alice Hart. That’s against the law. You’ve broken the law. I could have you arrested. It’s against the law to harass people.”

Unwisely, A.J. said, “Then why were you harassing Nicole Manning?”

Lydia’s pasty face went scarlet. She stepped right up to A.J., thrust her face into hers, and said venomously, “That woman was
scum
. She got everything she deserved. I was tired of reading about how everyone loved her, how adorable she was, how pretty she was. She was a third-rate actress and a first-rate
bitch
. She just used people. Used them and tricked them.”

Monster, fangs barred, huff raised, began to bark in short, furious barks. A.J. took a step back, and said, “My dog thinks you’re threatening me. You better calm down.”

“I
am
threatening you! You can’t treat people like this and think you’re going to get away with it. You can’t pretend to be someone else and harass them and try to turn everyone against them.”

Somewhere a cuckoo clock was chiming the hour—warning A.J. it was time to get away from the increasingly virulent Ms. Thorne. Or whoever she really was.

She took another step back, saying, “I’m sorry if you think I invaded your privacy. We just wanted to know what you had against Nicole. We just wanted to ask you that one question. We’re not harassing you, and we—”

“Oh no,” Lydia said. “You don’t get to decide when this is over. I’m going to tell everyone about your studio, Ms.
A.J. Alexander
. I’m going to write every yoga site on the web and warn them about you. About how you’ve harassed me and tried to ruin me and what you’re trying to do with that yoga studio. You’re not even a real yoga teacher. You’re a liar and a cheat and—”

She moved forward into A.J.’s space again, and A.J. put a hand up to ward her off. Lydia slapped her hand away and Monster lunged forward biting her.

It wasn’t a hard bite—Monster wasn’t really much of an attack dog. His sensibilities were outraged, but biting people was not his oeuvre. However, Lydia screamed as though the dog had removed one of her limbs, and began to kick and flail with the remaining ones, shrieking a stream of obscenities.

A.J. ran for the back porch and the broom that she had been using to chase spiders away during her yoga practice. Snatching it up, she returned to the scene of battle. Monster had one of Lydia’s pant legs in his jaws, and he was growling and jerking on it while Lydia screamed and kicked at him the best she could.

“Let go of my dog!” A.J. commanded. She smacked the broom against the stone siding of the house. “Get off my property!”

Monster yanked tug-of-war style on Lydia’s shredding pant leg, and A.J. grabbed for his collar with her free hand. Lydia slapped at her, but A.J. ducked, whacking awkwardly with the broom as she backed away, dragging the dog with her. She retreated quickly into the house.

Panting, she locked the back door behind her. Monster was still growling and barking, fur standing on end so that he looked about twice his usual size.

A second later one of the patio chairs hit the back door.

“Oh my God,” A.J. gasped. “She’s crazy.”

No argument from Monster. He was now beside himself with rage. A.J. grabbed for the phone, dialed 911—then dropped it as it occurred to her that the windows all along the side of the house were open to let in the cool evening breeze.

On trembling legs, she raced from room to room, slamming windows and locking them, heart hammering in overdrive as Lydia threw something else—the picnic table?—at the back door. When she got back to the kitchen and picked up the phone, the 911 operator was placidly asking what her emergency was.

“Someone is trying to break into my house,” she gulped.

“That happens to you a lot,” the 911 operator said. And before A.J. could register her astonishment, he added, “Are you in a secure location, A.J.?”

Who
was
this guy?

“Doubtful,” A.J. replied shakily. “She wants in here.”

“Help is on the way. Stay on the line.”

Well, on the bright side, she had plenty of weapons available with which to defend herself. Everything from knives to the heavy cutting block itself.

A flower pot came crashing through the window over the sink. A.J. screamed and the 911 operator began squawking questions.

“Are you still there? Can you describe your attacker?”

“Her name is Lydia Thorne. That’s not her real name, though. I don’t know her real name. But she’s crazy. And not very attractive!”

Abruptly the silence from the back porch reached her. Monster was snuffling frantically at the base of the door. A.J. put the phone down, creeping to the broken window and trying to see out. There was no sign of Lydia Thorne on the empty patio.

Uneasily, A.J. crept to the front room. Lydia’s car was still parked out front.

A.J. realized she had a clear view of the New York license plate number and she repeated it aloud. “AUU 2574.”

The faraway wail of a police siren cut the tense silence.

There came a scrabbling, crunching sound from under the very window where A.J. stood, and to her horror, Lydia Thorne rose up. A.J. jumped back, nearly falling over a small footstool. Lydia banged, frustrated, on the window with her fists, then lumbered to her car, throwing herself in it and reversing in a wild arc.

Shaking, heart thudding in a rush of adrenaline, A.J. watched the car retreat into the deepening twilight.

Lydia had been crouching under the window waiting . . . waiting for what? To attack A.J.? To kill her?

Whoever Lydia was, this changed everything because . . . that woman was nuts. A.J. had no trouble imagining her in a fury, grabbing the first available weapon and striking out.

The sound of sirens grew closer—and then faded away again, and A.J. guessed that the approaching police car had spotted Lydia’s car racing down A.J.’s private road and given chase.

She made it to the phone, informed the 911 operator that help had arrived, then disconnected and tottered over to the nearest chair. She collapsed on the cushions, waiting numbly.

It wasn’t a long wait. A second police car arrived and a pair of uniformed officers got out.

A.J. went to meet them, taking them around to see the damage. They took her statement and confirmed that the driver of a silver Toyota Camry had been arrested fleeing the scene. But more than that, they didn’t vouchsafe, and A.J. could only imagine what kind of story Lydia Thorne (whoever she was—the police had presumably got a real name) told.

After the officers finally left, A.J. went outside once more to re-examine the damage to her property. Besides the broken window and battered door, flower pots had been broken or emptied, furniture tipped over, a statue of Kwan Yin, the Buddhist goddess of compassion, had been knocked down. Lydia had trampled through the flower and herb beds in her desire to peer through windows.

It was terrible—frightening. And yet it could have been so much worse.

A.J. went inside and fixed herself a calming cup of chamomile and lemon grass tea. It was too dark now to see to repot the flowers and plants. She would have to take care of that in the morning before leaving for work—right after she called someone to come and fix her window.

Luckily it was relatively warm at this time of year.

Monster sat beside her and rested his head on her lap, a sure sign that he was still upset. She stroked his head.

“Thank you for coming to my rescue,” she said, and he licked his chops, giving her an expressive look. She chuckled. “You think you deserve a reward for that, do you?”

She rose and got Monster a dog biscuit and then settled with her tea in the old tree swing while the dog crunched away in the shadows. The quiet peace of the garden, the fragrance of the evening gradually calmed her shattered nerves although she was sure it would be a while before she was tranquil enough to sleep. Even the idea of her nighttime yoga routine seemed too . . . defenseless.

She thought of calling Elysia, but she wasn’t ready to hear a dozen new theories about how Lydia Thorne was involved in Nicole’s murder, and how they must continue to do everything in their power to get Jane Peters freed. She thought of phoning Andy to warn him about what had happened, but Andy was safe enough in New York under the protective eye of Nick Grant.

The shadows lengthened, the darkness now complete except for the stars overhead. A melancholy loneliness settled on her as she listened to the soft sounds of the world settling for another night.

And then from down the road she saw a pair of headlights gradually approaching, heard the rumble of a familiar engine.

She rose from the tree swing and went around to the front as Jake’s SUV pulled into the front yard and parked. Jake got out.

Twenty-four

A.J.’s
heart was beating nearly as fast as it had when Lydia Thorne had come after her. “I’m out here,” she said over the wedge in her throat.

Jake turned, fast and easy. She must have startled him, but his voice was even as he said, “I heard what happened.”

“Just don’t say I told you so.” She managed to say it lightly, although she felt anything but flippant.

Monster brushed past her, greeting Jake with snuffles and wagging tail—finally someone Monster was glad to see. Jake patted the dog and then came toward A.J., who still stood by the corner of the house.

“Are you okay?” he asked, and he took her into his arms. She hugged him back fiercely.