Murder on the Eightfold Path by Diana Killian Page B

the yoga studio and she said quickly, “Turn here!”
    Yoga Meridian was housed in what had once been a huge old Greek Orthodox church. The white stone building featured a large blue domed roof surrounded by three golden cupolas and several enormous stained glass windows. The large parking lot was packed.
    “It’s gorgeous,” Elysia murmured.
    It was, though A.J. couldn’t bring herself to admit it.
    “Remind me what we’re doing here,” Elysia inquired as A.J. got out of the Land Rover.
    “Reconnoitering.”
    Elysia raised her eyebrows but said no more.
    Inside the lobby—formerly the church nave—A.J. took in a series of slogans in bright, cheerful colors:
    Come On, Stretch Yourself!
Yoga for Every Body!
Real Yoga for Real People!
    What did that last one even mean ?
    She glanced at the list of offered classes. It was a smorgasbord of traditional and trendy: everything from Hatha Yoga to Laughter Yoga.
    One thing that was no laughing matter was the prices. How could Mara Allen afford to stay in business? Especially with a staff this size?
    She muttered, “We couldn’t keep the doors open at these prices.” That wasn’t exactly true, but it was a source of pride to A.J. that Sacred Balance pay for itself without her needing to dip into the cash reserves of Aunt Diantha’s other investments.
    “If they bring in enough new customers it will be worth it, I suppose.”
    A.J. nodded. Perhaps that was Mara Allen’s gamble. Or maybe Yoga Meridian was simply beating the prana pants off them.
    Followed by Elysia, she walked through to the salon and spa center located in the former narthex of the church.
    “It’s nice, I have to admit,” A.J. said grudgingly. “In fact it’s more than nice. It’s really well laid out, and the prices are more than competitive.”
    “Very.” Elysia, watching her, asked, “What’s wrong?”
    “That’s Michael Batz.”
    Elysia followed her gaze to where a young, athletic man with a head of hair like a Renaissance angel was working on the mat. “And?”
    “He resigned his Sacred Balance membership about a month ago. He said he was taking a break from yoga.”
    “I wouldn’t take it personally. No place is right for every person, after all. Sacred Balance probably had too many painful memories for Michael.”
    Remembering the role Batz had played in her aunt’s murder investigation, A.J. nodded, but she was still unconvinced. That made three Sacred Balance clients that she knew of who had defected to Yoga Meridian in the past five weeks. If the exodus continued at this rate, they’d be out of clients before Christmas.
    “A.J. Alexander,” a carefully modulated voice remarked from behind them. “Welcome to Yoga Meridian.”
    A.J. turned. Mara Allen, tall and willowy in a white leotard, came to greet them. Mara had striking blue eyes and a long, curly, prematurely silver mane made famous by her TV spots.
    “Hello, Mara.”
    “Namaste, A.J.” Mara put her palms briefly together, prayer fashion. “This is an unexpected pleasure.”
    “Er, we were in the neighborhood. Truly.”
    Mara smiled graciously. “May I show you around our facilities?”
    “That would be lovely.” A.J. hoped she didn’t sound as lukewarm as she felt. She suspected, given the little glint of amusement in Mara’s eyes, that she wasn’t fooling anyone.
    “You’ve been so often on my mind, A.J.” Mara led them through a bright airy atrium where students rested quietly on their mats amidst the forest of potted trees.
    “Oh, really?” A.J. replied.
    “Your determination and enthusiasm to carry on for Diantha, despite your lack of training or experience is really . . . heartwarming.”
    “Thank you, but I’ve worked hard to get the training and experience I need.”
    “Of course you have.”
    Mara flashed her professional smile and led them past the steam room and then up the graceful staircase to the “Meditation Arbor.”
    “It’s my greatest joy to share the gift of yoga with my