Murder on the Eightfold Path by Diana Killian Read Free Book Online Page B

the small town in something resembling a state of siege.
    Normally the town of Stillbrook was a quiet and quaint little place, a harmonious blend of historic homes and village industry. Victorian architecture housed bakeries, boutiques, and art galleries—not to mention families that had lived in Warren County since Colonial times. In the center of town was a scrupulously neat village green, which was dutifully decked out in appropriate holiday garb at every turn of the calendar page. Currently, giant colorful Easter eggs, slightly drooping pastel balloons, and wide ribbons in pink and yellow and blue competed with the natural beauty of the blooming flower beds.
    Not that the milling sightseers were paying much attention to scenic beauty—natural or otherwise. News vans were parked around the green oval of the park and a small mob seemed to have gathered outside the brick police station.
    “Maybe they’re planning to lynch her,” Stella muttered, not sounding particularly distressed at the idea. But as they drew nearer, they saw that the crowd appeared to be mostly made up of reporters and photographers.
    “This is crazy,” A.J. muttered.
    “Maybe so. It ought to make your ma’s day.” Stella searched for any space alongside the curb wide enough to wedge the truck into.
    “But she hasn’t made a film in over twenty years,” A.J. protested, taking note of the national television logos on the long line of vans.
    “Doesn’t matter. Easy Mason was big news once upon a time. Every naughty film and risqué photograph she ever posed for will be turning up.”
    A.J. gulped. Not that Elysia had been a porn star, but she had certainly played more than her share of scantily clad ingénues and sirens, and the words sex kitten had been used more than occasionally in reference to her work. A.J. had outgrown her adolescent agony over her mother’s colorful career; in fact she was even proud of her in a conflicted way that she’d probably never admit, but the idea of all those photos of Elysia wearing hot pants, shoulder pads, teased hair—and little else—resurfacing gave her a definite qualm. No one enjoys thinking of her mother as a sex object.
    Stella parked, reached under her seat, and dug out a battered-looking straw hat. “You better wear this, just in case someone recognizes you.”
    Anything that ugly was more likely to draw attention than deflect it, but A.J. reached automatically for the hat. “Why would anyone care? It’s not like I’ve been in hiding for all these years.”
    “Murder changes everything,” Stella said darkly.
    A.J. squashed the hat down on her head and they climbed out of the truck, making their way up the sidewalk and then across the street. She could hear the murmured inquiry as to who she and Stella might be before they reached the front steps. They worked their way through the crowd, cameras whirring, and a uniformed officer let them inside where Mr. Meagher met them, appearing tired and triumphant.
    “They’re bringing her in now.”
    Mr. Meagher looked as though he had literally done battle to get Elysia free. His tie was crooked and his usually immaculately coiffed silver hair was standing up in tufts.
    “Is she all right?” A.J. asked tentatively.
    “Spitting mad,” Mr. Meagher admitted.
    Stella inquired curiously. “How much was her bail?”
    Mr. Meagher named a sum and Stella whistled. A.J. barely listened to this exchange, having heard the familiar brisk footsteps on the checkerboard linoleum floor.
    A stolid-faced, plump female officer appeared, escorting Elysia. She was pale and her eyes looked smudged and dark-circled. Her hair was more than a little tousled, but otherwise she looked like herself.
    “Ah, Stella. You didn’t have to dress up on my account.” Her gaze fell on A.J., taking a moment to recognize her in the oversized straw hat. “And you brought Pollyanna. How sweet.”
    “Mother.” A.J. hugged her. Elysia squeezed her tightly back, and A.J. managed