Free Dial Om for Murder by Diana Killian Page A

with the short red hair?”
    “In the DKNY flutter-sleeve top,” A.J. agreed.
    “What about her?”
    “Does she look familiar to you?”
    Andy narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “Maybe. Why?”
    A.J. reached for her purse and cell phone. “I’m almost positive that’s the woman I saw running away from Nicole’s house right before I found Nicole’s body.”

Eight

    “What are you doing?” Andy asked her, still watching the woman reflected in the mirror across the room.
    “Calling Jake.”
    Andy was shaking his head. “She’s already paid the bill. She’s leaving.”
    Glancing up, A.J. saw that he was right. The woman was gathering her belongings.
    A.J. bit her lip. An idea occurred. She said, “I’m going to stall her for a couple of seconds. Can you go outside and see what car she gets into and try to get the license plate number?”
    “You’re going to stall her how ?”
    “Just . . . leave it to me,” A.J. said rising.
    She started walking toward the entrance. As she passed the woman who was now on her feet and also moving to the lobby, she stopped.
    “Oh! Aren’t you . . . ?” A.J. paused as though trying to rack her brain for a name.
    The woman hesitated, looking doubtful, and Andy, with a muttered apology, squeezed past the two of them and went out through the lobby and the front door.
    Good old Andy , A.J. thought with genuine affection. Aloud, she said, “You were in . . . that movie, right? I can’t think of the name of it.”
    The woman smiled a sickly smile. She was several inches shorter than A.J. Cute rather than pretty, with very short red hair and freckles so perfectly placed that they could have been painted on.
    “I . . . um . . . I’ve been in a few things,” she admitted.
    “Lydia Thorne!” A.J. said triumphantly. “That’s it, isn’t it?”
    The woman shook her head. “Jane Peters.”
    “Right, right. Can I get your autograph?” A.J. looked around as though seeking something the woman could write her name on.
    “I . . .” Jane Peters took a step toward the restaurant entrance. “I really have to . . .”
    “It’ll just take a second!” A.J. now had her purse open and was giving every appearance of ransacking the contents. “I’m so excited to meet a real movie star!”
    “We’re in the way here,” Jane objected, continuing to sidle toward the door.
    “No, no. Here you go!” A.J. grabbed a back page out of her day planner. “Just sign any-old-where.”
    Jane Peters looked at her as though she thought A.J. herself might be missing a crucial page or two, but she scrawled a hasty signature and thrust the sheet back at A.J. “ There you go. Thank you!”
    “ Thank you !” A.J. called.
    Jane had already turned away and was making for the front door.
    A.J. went to the table by the window and picked up the leather sleeve with the restaurant receipt. As she’d hoped, there was a credit card slip. The imprint read Jane Peters.
    The name meant nothing to her. Jane Peters hadn’t so much as blinked at the mention of Lydia Thorne, so it seemed unlikely that it was one of her aliases, but who was she and what had she been doing at Nicole’s the afternoon she was killed?
    She leaned over, trying to see out the window, and spotted Andy walking back from the parking lot. She waved to him, but the window glass was tinted and he did not see her.
    Returning to their table, she met the curious glances of one or two other dining patrons and picked up her cell phone once more, dialing Jake.
    As usual, she got his voice mail.
    “It’s A.J.,” she said crisply—if quietly—into her phone. “I’ve just spotted the woman I saw leaving Nicole’s. Her name is Jane Peters . . .”
    Andy dropped into the chair across from her. He said, “She’s driving a black Saturn VUE, Jersey license plate JAA 00B.”
    A.J. repeated this information faithfully to Jake’s voice mail and rang off.
    “How can he possibly resist you?” Andy inquired. “You’re like the girl of his