distance, and A.J. definitely felt it behooved her to keep an eye on Elysia. Especially now that Elysia seemed determined to take an active role in solving Massri’s murder.
“Did you know they found an engagement ring in the remains of that Easter basket?” Elysia said suddenly, seeming to shake off her preoccupation.
“No,” A.J. replied. “But that’s good, right? That proves that there was no ill will between yourself and Dicky.” She tried to read Mr. Meagher’s expression in the rearview mirror.
“Those bloody fools gave me a glimpse of it. Three stones. Baguettes with a two-and-a-half carat center stone. A total of five carats. Do you have any idea what that would have cost the poor dear boy?”
“Do you remember how the poor dear boy would have raised the money?” A.J. inquired. “Because that’s what got us into this jam.” She really didn’t think she could handle her mother getting sentimental over that lying, cheating, sneaking little blackmailer. No one deserved to be murdered, but A.J. was willing to bet Massri had reaped what he sowed.
Mr. Meagher cleared his throat. “The police theorize that Massri might have tried to blackmail your mother into marriage and that’s why she shot him.”
“That’s ridiculous. That’s not logical, it’s just hokey melodrama.”
“That’s what we’re dealing with,” Elysia said. “The filth likes me for it, and that’s that.”
“The . . . filth?”
“Coppers,” Mr. Meagher reminded her out of the side of his mouth. “Pejorative term.”
“I remember now. I must have blocked it out of my mind. Mother, it’s not going to help things if you keep antagonizing the police or the DA or the superior court judge.”
“It’s not going to help kissing their arses either.”
A.J. caught Mr. Meagher’s gaze in the mirror. He shook his head very slightly and, unwillingly, she subsided.
When they reached Starlight Farm, however, and she saw the crime scene tape in the front yard and took in the mess that the police had made searching her mother’s home, A.J.’s anger at Jake surged again. If he didn’t believe her mother was guilty, why was he going along with this garbage? Why wasn’t he doing anything to help? Was he so ambitious that he was willing to sacrifice anything and anyone to his career?
“I’m going to sue the police department,” Elysia said, moving down the hallway and straightening the series of eighteenth-century London watercolors as she went. “Starting with that great, bloody bully boy you call a boyfriend. And I shall enjoy wringing every last penny from their coffers.”
A.J. ignored that. “Haven’t they found the weapon yet?” she asked Mr. Meagher.
“Not yet.”
“Well, surely that’s a positive.”
Elysia drawled, “They think I dumped it in the Delaware when I was driving around the countryside with my evaporated milk.”
A.J. sighed and lowered herself to the long sofa, stretching out. “I have to lie down. My back is killing me.”
Some of the hardness left Elysia’s face. “I thought you said you’d had an injection, pumpkin. Didn’t it help?”
“I’m sure it will. But it takes a little while to kick in.”
She closed her eyes. When she opened them again Elysia was setting a tray with a pot of tea and a plate of lemon madeleines on the low table.
A.J. realized she must have dozed off for a few minutes because Mr. Meagher was in the middle of saying something about the police checking into Elysia’s bank records and finding proof that she had been making payments to Massri.
Elysia opened the silver cigarette box on one of the side tables, seemed to recall that she had company, and flipped it shut again. “Is this supposed to be a big break in their case? I’ve already admitted it.”
“The point is, Elysia, it looks very damaging.” It was one of the only times A.J. could remember Mr. Meagher actually sounding sharp with her mother. Her mother seemed to hear the difference in
“Did you know they found an engagement ring in the remains of that Easter basket?” Elysia said suddenly, seeming to shake off her preoccupation.
“No,” A.J. replied. “But that’s good, right? That proves that there was no ill will between yourself and Dicky.” She tried to read Mr. Meagher’s expression in the rearview mirror.
“Those bloody fools gave me a glimpse of it. Three stones. Baguettes with a two-and-a-half carat center stone. A total of five carats. Do you have any idea what that would have cost the poor dear boy?”
“Do you remember how the poor dear boy would have raised the money?” A.J. inquired. “Because that’s what got us into this jam.” She really didn’t think she could handle her mother getting sentimental over that lying, cheating, sneaking little blackmailer. No one deserved to be murdered, but A.J. was willing to bet Massri had reaped what he sowed.
Mr. Meagher cleared his throat. “The police theorize that Massri might have tried to blackmail your mother into marriage and that’s why she shot him.”
“That’s ridiculous. That’s not logical, it’s just hokey melodrama.”
“That’s what we’re dealing with,” Elysia said. “The filth likes me for it, and that’s that.”
“The . . . filth?”
“Coppers,” Mr. Meagher reminded her out of the side of his mouth. “Pejorative term.”
“I remember now. I must have blocked it out of my mind. Mother, it’s not going to help things if you keep antagonizing the police or the DA or the superior court judge.”
“It’s not going to help kissing their arses either.”
A.J. caught Mr. Meagher’s gaze in the mirror. He shook his head very slightly and, unwillingly, she subsided.
When they reached Starlight Farm, however, and she saw the crime scene tape in the front yard and took in the mess that the police had made searching her mother’s home, A.J.’s anger at Jake surged again. If he didn’t believe her mother was guilty, why was he going along with this garbage? Why wasn’t he doing anything to help? Was he so ambitious that he was willing to sacrifice anything and anyone to his career?
“I’m going to sue the police department,” Elysia said, moving down the hallway and straightening the series of eighteenth-century London watercolors as she went. “Starting with that great, bloody bully boy you call a boyfriend. And I shall enjoy wringing every last penny from their coffers.”
A.J. ignored that. “Haven’t they found the weapon yet?” she asked Mr. Meagher.
“Not yet.”
“Well, surely that’s a positive.”
Elysia drawled, “They think I dumped it in the Delaware when I was driving around the countryside with my evaporated milk.”
A.J. sighed and lowered herself to the long sofa, stretching out. “I have to lie down. My back is killing me.”
Some of the hardness left Elysia’s face. “I thought you said you’d had an injection, pumpkin. Didn’t it help?”
“I’m sure it will. But it takes a little while to kick in.”
She closed her eyes. When she opened them again Elysia was setting a tray with a pot of tea and a plate of lemon madeleines on the low table.
A.J. realized she must have dozed off for a few minutes because Mr. Meagher was in the middle of saying something about the police checking into Elysia’s bank records and finding proof that she had been making payments to Massri.
Elysia opened the silver cigarette box on one of the side tables, seemed to recall that she had company, and flipped it shut again. “Is this supposed to be a big break in their case? I’ve already admitted it.”
“The point is, Elysia, it looks very damaging.” It was one of the only times A.J. could remember Mr. Meagher actually sounding sharp with her mother. Her mother seemed to hear the difference in
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