Part 6 (1/2)
Note to self: Ask Cyrus to find more entertaining guests.
Something to ponder: Did the fact that Guru Sanjay turned up dead after doing my show hurt my chances of getting A-list guests?
Later that evening, after stopping at Johnny Chen's for our take-out order, I cautiously unlocked the front door to the town house. I tiptoed inside, wondering whether Lark was awake and functioning, and was pleased to see her curled up on the sofa watching television with Pugsley at her side.
Then I noticed that she was staring blankly at the Weather Channel, and I knew her mind wasn't on rainstorms in Topeka or the bl.u.s.tery Santa Anas in Southern California.
”Hey,” I said, setting the little white cardboard cartons with wire handles from Johnny Chen's on the coffee table in front of her.
”Is that dinner?” she asked listlessly.
”No, I adopted a bunch of goldfish from Mike's Marine World.”
I took a close look at her and saw that her eyes were red rimmed from crying.
”Bad joke,” I apologized, handing Pugsley his steamed dumpling on a napkin. He swallowed it in one gulp, and I took the remote out of Lark's hands to kill the distracting chatter about c.u.mulus clouds forming in the Pacific North-west.
”We need to talk,” I said gently. It was dim in the room, and I switched on the ginger-jar lamp on the end table, flooding the room with soft pink light.
”Okay.” A tiny, ghostly voice and a hopeless shrug.
”But we can eat first if you want,” I added, taking in the stricken expression on her face. Her mascara was smudged from crying and she looked very small and vulnerable with her blue and white vintage afghan tucked around her legs.
She reached for her carton of veggie stir-fry and stabbed at the contents in a desultory way with a plastic fork. We ate in uncomfortable silence side by side for a few minutes, with Pugsley hovering around us like a hungry jackal, watching our every bite, his little feet tapping a staccato on the polished oak floor.
Finally Pugsley curled up under the coffee table. The town house became very still except for the solemn ticking of the grandfather clock in the entryway. Why wasn't Lark speaking up, telling me she was innocent? I was convinced she had nothing to do with Guru Sanjay's death, but for some reason, I needed to hear her say the words.
Then I gave myself a mental head slap. What in the world was wrong with me? How could I even think Lark could be capable of violence? She's so softhearted, she even rescues ants, carrying them outside in an envelope and setting them down gently in the garden.
The idea of her killing someone was ridiculous. Even someone as odious as Guru Sanjay.
Yet, something wasn't right. My stomach started to p.r.i.c.k with anxiety, and my nerves were strung as tight as piano wire.
I drew in a long, slow breath, hoping to relax, and found that my chest ached from the effort. I shoveled in more veggie lo mein to soothe my jangled nerves with a little carb rush. Chinese food therapy: works every time.
”Okay,” Lark said finally, breaking the silence. She shot a sidelong glance at me, pushed the afghan aside, and sat up straighter. ”I think I'm ready to tell you what happened last night.”
Finally, the moment of truth! I knew what was coming next. Lark would tell me what I already knew--that she had nothing to do with Guru Sanjay's death and it was all a case of mistaken ident.i.ty. The kind of thing that could happen to anybody--right?
”Okay, let's hear it.”
She took a long, shuddering breath, and then she let out a little sigh. Her blue eyes were s.h.i.+ning with intensity and her pupils were dilated. Her gaze dropped to her hands, folded primly in her lap.
”Maggie, I think I may have killed him.”
I felt like I'd been sucker punched and nearly dropped my carton of noodles on the polished oak floor, causing Pugsley to yip with excitement. My breath caught in my throat, as if it couldn't make it all the way down to my lungs.
”What? This is a joke, right?”
”It's no joke. It never should have happened this way. I never meant to hurt Guru Sanjay.”
”I believe you, but start from the beginning.” I tried to rein in my rampaging emotions. So much for eight years of psychoa.n.a.lytic training! I was an emotional wreck, and my thoughts were swirling like dry leaves in the wind as I struggled to make sense of what she was saying.
”I'll try, but some of the evening is a blur. I think I must have blocked part of it out of my memory. I told that to Detective Martino, but he didn't believe me,” she added ruefully. ”He thinks I'm guilty, you know.”
”Don't worry about Detective Martino right now. He thinks everybody's guilty. Just tell me what happened,” I said firmly, ”and don't leave anything out.” I gave her a sharp look. ”That bit about going out to the drugstore last night wasn't true, was it?”
”No, it was just an excuse,” she said, flus.h.i.+ng a little. ”I went straight next door to the Seabreeze as soon as I left here. I knew you'd think it was crazy, so I felt too embarra.s.sed to tell you the truth.”
So Carmela was right, I thought grimly. I wondered whether Lark knew she'd been spotted in the hotel lobby and had probably already been positively identified by the front-desk clerk. That must be why Martino had dragged her down to the station this morning. Otherwise, why would he have reason to suspect her?
”I was going to call Guru Sajay on the house phone to ask him to autograph my copy of Heal the Cosmos--”
”You had it with you, right? That's why you were carrying that big yellow Coach knockoff; you had the book in there.”
Lark nodded, drawing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. With her choppy blond haircut and winsome features, she looked about twelve years old.
”Yes, and I brought along a little gift for him, a bottle of my Calming Essence.” Lark makes her own herbal essences from dried flowers, and, generous soul that she is, she loves to give them out to her friends. You just add a few drops to a gla.s.s of water and instant nirvana.
”Go on.” I was beginning to wish I had poured us both a gla.s.s of wine before hearing what Lark had to say. A hefty flute of Pinot Grigio would hit the spot about now. I looked longingly toward the kitchen but didn't want to interrupt Lark's train of thought.
”Well, I was heading for the front desk when I spotted him walking down the hallway to the back stairs. I don't know how I got up the nerve to speak to him, but I did. I ran right up to him and told him I'd read all his books and had brought him a little present. I told him I'd love to have him autograph his book for me.”
”And of course he agreed,” I prompted. I could just picture it. A fat middle-aged man meeting a devoted follower who just happens to be a gorgeous young blonde. It didn't take much to connect the dots.
”Yeah, he agreed all right, but I got more than I bargained for,” she said, letting out her breath in a whoosh. ”He invited me up to his room for a minute, and that's when things got crazy.”
Despair laced her voice, and her tiny hands were knotted in fists, clutching the afghan as if it was a lifeline. Pugsley gave a nervous little nip, probably tuning in to the desperate tone in her voice.
”Crazy how?”
Lark blushed, a slow red burn that crept up her neck. ”Well, first I asked him a lot of questions about his philosophy, and he seemed really interested in explaining it all to me.”
I nodded, remembering how much Guru Sanjay liked to talk about himself.
”And then suddenly he gave me a funny look and his whole att.i.tude changed. He was like a different person, Maggie. He lunged at me and tried to kiss me. I couldn't believe it! How could I have been so stupid? He was a complete lech. He didn't want to talk about metaphysics; he just wanted to get into my pants!”
”Ah.” A beat of silence pa.s.sed. ”Okay, so he was a jerk and he made a pa.s.s at you. What happened then?”
”I tried to leave,” Lark said slowly, ”and he blocked my way. He was standing right in front of the door, trying to put his arms around me.” She gave an involuntary little shudder at the memory, and her voice suddenly became high-pitched and girlish.
”He sounds like a creep! What did you do?” Pugsley's eyes darted back and forth between us, as if he was following the conversation with rapt interest.
”I managed to slip past him and get my hand on the doork.n.o.b, but he caught me. So I turned around, put my hands against his chest, and pushed him as hard as I could. Maybe he tripped or maybe I'm stronger than I thought, but he stumbled backward.”
”Onto the floor? Or onto the bed?”