his tone, too. Her brows drew together.
“I can’t help how it looks,” she snapped. “Nor can I help people’s narrow minds.”
Mr. Meagher reddened. He replaced his teacup and saucer on the table and rose. His accent was pronounced as he said, “I must be on me way. I’ll see meself out.”
“Oh, Bradley—”
“Good night, ladies,” Mr. Meagher said with injured dignity.
The quiet, careful closing of the front door was worse than any slamming.
Elysia groaned and dropped her face in her hands.
Jake phoned later that evening after A.J. had retired to Elysia’s comfortable guest bedroom. “I’m at your house.”
“I’m at my mother’s.”
“I figured that out. How’s your back?”
“It’s a little better, I think.”
Abruptly they were out of things to say.
Into the yawning, black silence, A.J. said, “This is . . . awkward.”
“I know. The DA plans on pushing all the way. He’s convinced there’s a real case here. And your mother didn’t make things better with her grand performance this afternoon.”
“She’s scared, and she’s angry.”
“I understand that, but—”
“But?”
“Look, you don’t have to take that attitude with me, A.J. I don’t think your mother killed anybody. But that’s beside the point.”
As great a relief as it was to hear Jake admit even that much, she couldn’t help responding, “It shouldn’t be.”
“This is my job.”
“This is my mother.”
“And I can’t allow personal feelings to interfere with how I do my job. That wouldn’t help Elysia.”
A.J. communed within herself. “Intellectually, yes. I get it. But emotionally? This is an impossible situation. She’s having a rough time and my fraternizing with the . . . the enemy isn’t helping.”
“So what are you saying?”
A.J. was silent. “One day at a time? I think we just need to take things slowly for a while. I mean, if this really goes to trial—”
His voice was flat. “Okay.”
Was she glad or sorry that he accepted it so easily?
“One thing, though,” Jake said quietly. “Elysia said a lot of inflammatory things outside the station today. She challenged the police department to find the ‘real’ killer, and I don’t think I’m totally off base thinking she inferred she’d be poking her nose in if we didn’t come up with a result she liked pretty quick.”
“She was angry and emotional.”
She heard what could have been a brusque laugh. “Sure she was. But that doesn’t mean she didn’t mean every word. Do not let her drag you into some dingbat amateur detective scheme. Or you’re going to be wearing matching mother-daughter prison garb.”
“Duly noted, Detective.”
He sighed. “Okay. Well, keep me posted.”
“Likewise.”
She flipped shut the cell phone and gazed up unseeing at the shadowy corners of the moonlit ceiling.
One of A.J.’s unexpected newfound pleasures since moving to New Jersey was her morning yoga routine. Not only did she feel physically better for those few but intense minutes of stretching and limbering, but that period of quiet reflection centered her for the active day ahead. Although it had only been a couple of days since A.J. had injured her back, she was already missing her morning yoga session.
Accordingly, on the morning after her steroid shot, she went through a very cautious, abbreviated workout. She was uneasily conscious that the wrong moves could worsen her situation, but she was sure that if she proceeded carefully, all would be well. She had worked hard over the past months and didn’t want to lose the ground that she had gained.
She started by spreading a quilt on the bedroom carpet and then lying flat on her back. She stretched her arms out from her side in a straight line with her shoulders. Exhaling, she started to raise both legs perpendicular to the floor, but she immediately felt the burn in her lower back, and had to abandon the pose.
Dismayed, but still determined, she rested for
“I can’t help how it looks,” she snapped. “Nor can I help people’s narrow minds.”
Mr. Meagher reddened. He replaced his teacup and saucer on the table and rose. His accent was pronounced as he said, “I must be on me way. I’ll see meself out.”
“Oh, Bradley—”
“Good night, ladies,” Mr. Meagher said with injured dignity.
The quiet, careful closing of the front door was worse than any slamming.
Elysia groaned and dropped her face in her hands.
Jake phoned later that evening after A.J. had retired to Elysia’s comfortable guest bedroom. “I’m at your house.”
“I’m at my mother’s.”
“I figured that out. How’s your back?”
“It’s a little better, I think.”
Abruptly they were out of things to say.
Into the yawning, black silence, A.J. said, “This is . . . awkward.”
“I know. The DA plans on pushing all the way. He’s convinced there’s a real case here. And your mother didn’t make things better with her grand performance this afternoon.”
“She’s scared, and she’s angry.”
“I understand that, but—”
“But?”
“Look, you don’t have to take that attitude with me, A.J. I don’t think your mother killed anybody. But that’s beside the point.”
As great a relief as it was to hear Jake admit even that much, she couldn’t help responding, “It shouldn’t be.”
“This is my job.”
“This is my mother.”
“And I can’t allow personal feelings to interfere with how I do my job. That wouldn’t help Elysia.”
A.J. communed within herself. “Intellectually, yes. I get it. But emotionally? This is an impossible situation. She’s having a rough time and my fraternizing with the . . . the enemy isn’t helping.”
“So what are you saying?”
A.J. was silent. “One day at a time? I think we just need to take things slowly for a while. I mean, if this really goes to trial—”
His voice was flat. “Okay.”
Was she glad or sorry that he accepted it so easily?
“One thing, though,” Jake said quietly. “Elysia said a lot of inflammatory things outside the station today. She challenged the police department to find the ‘real’ killer, and I don’t think I’m totally off base thinking she inferred she’d be poking her nose in if we didn’t come up with a result she liked pretty quick.”
“She was angry and emotional.”
She heard what could have been a brusque laugh. “Sure she was. But that doesn’t mean she didn’t mean every word. Do not let her drag you into some dingbat amateur detective scheme. Or you’re going to be wearing matching mother-daughter prison garb.”
“Duly noted, Detective.”
He sighed. “Okay. Well, keep me posted.”
“Likewise.”
She flipped shut the cell phone and gazed up unseeing at the shadowy corners of the moonlit ceiling.
One of A.J.’s unexpected newfound pleasures since moving to New Jersey was her morning yoga routine. Not only did she feel physically better for those few but intense minutes of stretching and limbering, but that period of quiet reflection centered her for the active day ahead. Although it had only been a couple of days since A.J. had injured her back, she was already missing her morning yoga session.
Accordingly, on the morning after her steroid shot, she went through a very cautious, abbreviated workout. She was uneasily conscious that the wrong moves could worsen her situation, but she was sure that if she proceeded carefully, all would be well. She had worked hard over the past months and didn’t want to lose the ground that she had gained.
She started by spreading a quilt on the bedroom carpet and then lying flat on her back. She stretched her arms out from her side in a straight line with her shoulders. Exhaling, she started to raise both legs perpendicular to the floor, but she immediately felt the burn in her lower back, and had to abandon the pose.
Dismayed, but still determined, she rested for
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