Did we dare try our luck again? I slipped in right behind the fabulous car, admiring the gleaming chrome on the b.u.mper. I gunned the motor just before the gate closed. Success!

I drove like a maniac for several minutes until I knew we were clear of Sanjay's goons. Finally, I stopped at a water-ice joint, ordered two lime slushies at the drive-through window, and turned to Mom.

"What in the world were you doing with a FedEx envelope? You must be a magician. It appeared like a rabbit out of a hat."

"Not exactly, dear," she said, patting her straw bag. "I had an extra mailing envelope with me. I needed to overnight a contract to Edgar, and I was going to mail it from one of those FedEx drop boxes."

"Amazing," I said.

A flash of a wry smile was followed by a happy sigh. "Yes, dear. I really am, aren't I?"

No one can accuse Lola of false modesty.

Chapter 27.

Half an hour later we were heading back to Cypress Grove. I needed to check in with Lark to find out the latest on the case. And I wanted to call Nick and tell him Travis was getting ready to fly the coop and ask him to do a deep background check on him.

What else? I wanted to touch base with the ever-elusive Rafe Martino. I felt a little tingle of antic.i.p.ation at the idea of picking up the phone and hearing that s.e.xy voice. I gave myself a stern reminder that my interest in him was purely professional. It had to be.

But was it? The rational side of my brain, my prefrontal cortex, told me that it made perfect sense to check in with him. How else would I discover what leads he had and whether any new suspects had emerged during the course of the investigation? But the emotional center of my brain, the amyg dala, was doing the happy dance at the thought of seeing him again. A dilemma.

I had no idea how to resolve it, but I knew I needed to get my emotions under control before calling Rafe.

Mom was silent for most of the ride, but she broke into my thoughts as we pulled up in front of my condo.

"That meeting with Travis Carter. It was all very interesting, you know." She was speaking in a stagey way that reminded me of Joan Hickson playing Miss Marple. I waited for her to say that it reminded her of another case, or maybe someone back in Saint Mary Mead. It was obvious that she wanted me to go along with the game, so I took the bait.

"Okay, I'll bite. What was interesting about it?"

"The fact that Sanjay and Travis went deep-sea fishing together."

That was interesting? Who cares? And anyway, how did she know that?

"I missed that."

"It was the photo, of course, that tipped me off to the fishing expedition. You know, the one that Travis slapped back into the box."

The photo? "I didn't get a look at it."

"It was a picture someone took of Travis deep-sea fishing with the guru. And you notice he tucked it away as fast as he could. Either he didn't want me prying through Sanjay's things or there was something significant about that photo. It has to be one or the other, doesn't it?"

"I don't know," I said honestly. The idea that Sanjay occasionally went deep-sea fishing with Travis Carter didn't surprise me. They worked closely together, and maybe Sanjay made it a habit to socialize with his employees. He was always harping on the idea that Team Sanjay was one big happy family. So what was the significance of a fishing trip? I didn't think Mom was going to give me any more hints, so I decided to call Nick as soon as we walked into the kitchen.

Lark was out, but Pugsley greeted me with doggie devotion, winding himself around my legs, begging to be picked up. I gave him a liver treat while he licked my face, delirious with joy at my return. I called Nick and he picked up on the first ring.

"Maggie? What have you got?" he said. I heard Rage Against the Machine blaring in the background. I briefly filled him in on our visit to Travis. "He's hiding something. I know he is. You can check him out for me, right?"

I heard keyboard noises in the background. Nick has an uncanny ability to find out people's secrets. If information exists anywhere on paper or online, he'll find it. The clicking stopped and I heard Nick muttering to himself. I could just see him hunched over the keyboard, chin jutting forward, as he pushed his gla.s.ses up on his nose. "Okay, nothing is coming up on him."

"Nothing?" I was dismayed.

"Nothing incriminating. He won an award for sports fishing." A pause. "Actually, he won a few awards for sports fishing. But that's not the kind of thing you're looking for, right?"

"Unfortunately not." I put Pugsley down on the sofa. "Anything new from the cops?"

Nick's tone thumped up a notch. "Yeah, I was gonna call you tonight. The tox screen came back."

"You're kidding! What's the verdict?

"Sanjay was poisoned. It's conclusive."

Mom glanced over at me, and I raised my eyebrows. Was this good news for Lark, or was this adding to the case against her? I didn't think it was good news.

"What kind of poison?" I pulled out a writing pad, ready to jot down notes.

"They're keeping quiet on that, at least for the moment. I couldn't even get them to tell me the name of the poison or what cla.s.s it belonged to. Rafe told me off the record that it was fast acting, but that's all he'd say." Nick hesitated. "There's something else I need to tell you, Maggie."

Uh-oh. I steeled myself. This was bad news coming--I felt it. "Go ahead."

"There are only two sets of fingerprints on the bottle of Calming Essence. The fingerprints belong to Sanjay and to Lark. I'm afraid it's not looking good for her."

"The Calming Essence bottle--is that what you're talking about?"

"You got it." I heard more clicking as Nick was checking out something else.

"Nick, she's innocent!" I wailed. "What can we do?"

"Nothing for the moment." He sounded preoccupied, as if he was hot on the trail of another investigation. "Maggie, all you can do is hang in there with her and ride this out. Got another call coming in. Talk to you later."

I sank onto the sofa next to Pugsley and flipped on the local news. I blinked in surprise when I channel surfed for a few minutes and spotted Lenore Cooper on a talk show. She looked younger and more attractive than the last time I'd seen her, and I wondered whether she'd had a makeover. I suspected she'd had her teeth bleached, and her hair was cut in a sleek bob, taking years off her face. She was looking almost telegenic.

Mom wandered out into the kitchen and returned with a dish of maple walnut ice cream, Pugsley's favorite. He immediately abandoned me and crawled into her lap, looking up at her with adoring puppy eyes. She pointed to the TV. "Isn't that Sanjay's wife?"

"Ex-wife. She's the one who got him started in his career, and then he dumped her."

"Ouch."

I turned up the volume. Lenore Cooper was being interviewed about a new series of seminars and book-signing events she was doing. She'd just signed with a new agency, she said gushingly, and she was happy her career was back on track. Happy? That didn't surprise me. Success is the best revenge.

Ironic. Maybe Sanjay's death had given her the visibility she needed. Her book had made both the USA Today list and the New York Times list, and it looked like she was back in the game.

At one time, she'd been my number-one suspect, but now everything had changed. Sanjay's death may have revived her flagging career, but I didn't think that was enough of a motive for murder. It was just a lucky outcome for her.

Lark came in later that evening, looking pale and distracted. She slumped with exhaustion but brightened when she saw us in the living room. "You're back!" She enveloped each of us in a hug. I could tell she had dropped a few pounds from her already-thin frame.

"How are you?" I pulled back to look at her, taking in the gaunt expression and dark circles under her eyes. "You haven't been sleeping, have you?"

She shook her head. "Not really." She put on the kettle and reached for a canister of chamomile tea, which she claims has soothing properties. "I've been going over and over what happened that night."

"The night Sanjay--"

"Yes, that night," she said quickly. She gave a helpless little shrug. I had the feeling she couldn't even bring herself to say the word "murder." Or "death."

"Have the police contacted you again?"

"They've tried to. Nick put me in touch with a lawyer, Sebastian Martin. He won't let me talk to the cops unless he's there with me." She carefully measured out the shredded chamomile into a little silver tea ball. It looked like catnip. "I'm a person of interest. But he said the cops are putting together a mountain of evidence, and depending on how they spin the facts, it could get a lot worse for me." Her eyes filled with tears.

I nodded. "I know. What did he tell you to do? Did he have any suggestions?"

"Just to try to remember everything I could about that night. I told him I've gone over it a hundred times, but I think I have a mental block."

"A mental block?" I immediately thought of suppressed memories--one of Freud's cla.s.sic defense mechanisms. Had something happened that night, something so traumatic that Lark had unconsciously pushed it deep into her psyche? Of course, she had been blindsided by Sanjay's clumsy attempt at seduction, but was there more to the story? Was there some key detail we had all overlooked?

Apparently Mom's mind was running along the same track. Mom loves pop psychology and buys every self-help book on the market. "A mental block? I know how to fix that." She arranged some Lorna Doones on a plate to go with the tea.

I stared at her, trying not to smile. "You know how to fix a mental block?"

"Yes, dear, I do. Perhaps you're forgetting that I played Dr. Ivana Romanoff on Whispers. My character was an expert at hypnosis, and she used it quite successfully on her patients."

I remembered Whispers, all right. It was an afternoon soap that ran on a cable channel. It had overwritten dialogue and improbable plots and lasted only fifteen episodes.

"Mom, that was a soap opera character. You're an actress, not a shrink. You don't have any training in how to induce a trance."

"I think you're forgetting something. My character was a Russian psychoa.n.a.lyst." She sat down at the kitchen table, her expression serious. "We had a psychologist as an adviser on the set. She told me how to play the character believably, and she even taught me the art of self-hypnosis." She looked aggrieved. "I know more about psychoa.n.a.lysis than you think I do."

Lark and I exchanged a look. "We could give it a try." Her voice was tentative.

"You're kidding. Are you sure you really want to do this?"

"If it will help me remember some important detail about that night, why not?" She turned to Mom. "Where do you want me to sit? Or do I have to lie down?"

"No, sitting up is fine, but we have to get you in a comfortable chair." Mom was bustling around, pleased to be reprising her role as the intrepid Dr. Romanoff. "How about the Barcalounger? That looks comfy."

Lark nodded and, taking her mug of tea with her, sat down in the plush lounge chair. Mom pulled up a kitchen chair very close to her. "I want you to close your eyes," Mom said in a stagey monotone. "I want you to completely relax, and feel all the tension in your body drain away. Take three big breaths and let them out slowly."

"Okay," Lark murmured. She set her cup of tea on the end table and closed her eyes. She sank back into the cushion and wriggled until she was comfortable.

"Are you feeling relaxed? Or do we need to do a visualization exercise?"

"No, I'm relaxed," Lark a.s.sured her. I remembered that Lark was into mediation and relaxation techniques.

"Okay, Lark, I want you to tune out any distractions and just listen to the sound of my voice. Do you think you can do that?" Mom's voice was slow and languid, the words dropping softly, like cherry blossoms in the spring.

"I think so." Lark seemed to be matching Mom's slow cadence. I pulled up a chair and watched, impressed. I was surprised at Mom's hidden talent. Maybe she did know something about hypnosis and trance states after all.

"I want to take you back to the night that you visited Sanjay."

A frown flitted across Lark's face, and Mom hurried to rea.s.sure her. "Don't worry, Lark; nothing bad is going to happen. There's nothing to be afraid of, nothing to worry about. We're just going to drift back in time to the evening when you visited Sanjay in his hotel room. You are completely safe." She paused. "Can we go on?"

"Yes," Lark said softly. "I'm not afraid. I can go back there, if you want me to."

"Good girl. Now, I want you to see yourself in the Seabreeze, walking up the stairs--did you walk up the stairs or take the elevator?"

"I walked up the stairs. The carpeting is brown and burgundy with a diamond pattern on it, and it's a little frayed around the edges."

Mom looked over at me. Lark was getting into this. Some people are very good candidates for hypnosis, and some aren't. Usually people who are creative and have a vivid imagination can be hypnotized and go into a trance state quite easily.

"You are walking down the hall looking at the doorways until you come to number . . ."

"Sixteen."

"Sixteen. Now you are knocking on the door. Can you see yourself doing that?"

"Yes," Lark said, her voice dreamy and distant. It sounded as though she was drifting away.

I shot Mom a worried look, and she whispered to me, "It's okay; she's going into a deep trance state. Look at her hands; they're completely limp, with the palms up." I nodded, not wanting to interrupt the process.

"You're knocking on the door. What's happening?"

"I'm tapping very lightly. I feel shy. I don't want to disturb Sanjay. What if he's meditating or something?"

I roll my eyes and Mom ignores me. "But he's not meditating, is he? He answers the door."

"Yes." Lark's voice is so low and m.u.f.fled, it sounds as though she's underwater. I notice she's slumped a little farther into the Barcalounger, her arms hanging limply at her sides.

"And then what happens?"

Dead silence.

"Lark, stay with the image," Mom said. "You are in the hallway, and Sanjay opens the door. He invites you in. You walk in the room . . ."

"I walk in the room." Lark's voice was robotic, as if she'd been drugged. "Sanjay shuts the door behind me."

"Good, good. Now look around the room. What do you see?"

Silence.

"What do you see, Lark?" Mom raised her voice slightly. Lark is slumped in the chair, very still, her breathing light and shallow. "Don't be afraid, Lark. Take a mental picture of the room and tell me what you see."

"I see . . . I see . . ."

"Yes? What do you see?" Mom's voice ratcheted up another notch. She looked at me and shrugged. Lark's reaction seemed to be unexpected, but since I had no experience in trance states, I decided not to b.u.t.t in.