Read A Sensitive Kind of Murder (A Kate Jasper Mystery) Online
Authors: Jaqueline Girdner
A Sensitive Kind of Murder (A Kate Jasper Mystery) (9 page)
“Goodness, are you sure you don’t want any help?” Aunt Dorothy inquired from the kitchen.
“Sit, sit,” Wayne replied.
I thought about calling Laura Summers back. I wanted to know about Steve’s friends, but I couldn’t talk in front of Aunt Dorothy. Maybe I could hide in the bedroom and talk on the extension.
“Oh, this smells lovely. No wonder you own a restaurant,” my aunt’s words came my way on the herb-scented air.
Aunt Dorothy was right. Wayne’s cooking
did
smell lovely. And I knew it would eventually taste lovely, too. I decided Laura Summers could wait and joined my aunt and husband in the kitchen.
Wayne was bent over the stove, stirring some kind of broth with his right hand and checking the lid of another pot with his left. I knew he’d already made salad and dessert ahead of time. It was just as well that I’d left some of my lunch uneaten. I’d need room for dinner.
I sat down at the kitchen table across from Aunt Dorothy. Someone had already set the table for three, and I had a feeling it was the sprite I was looking at. I smiled and leaned back in my chair, feeling relaxed for the first time all day.
“Have you decided on your color scheme yet, dear?” Aunt Dorothy asked.
“For what?” I replied.
She laughed her trademark fairy-godmother laugh.
“Your wedding, dear. Your wedding.”
The meal was great: Vegetarian Vietnamese pho (noodles and tofu and seitan and a perfect blend of spices and herbs in broth), yam salad, saffron rice with raisins, and orange cake and carob sorbet for dessert.
Wayne and Aunt Dorothy got along famously as we all ate. They talked easily, even exchanging cooking tips. Of course, they were united by a common goal—a formal wedding.
After I’d eaten my final zipper-busting bite of cake and sorbet, I remembered the mail I’d never picked up.
While Wayne and Dorothy discussed the relative spiciness of Tex-Mex and Vietnamese cooking, I made my way out the door and down the driveway to the mailbox.
I grabbed a stack of bills, ads, and catalogs and began thumbing through them as I walked back up the driveway. Then I came to an envelope without an address on it. I stopped in my tracks and opened it. stop now, it said in huge felt-tip pen letters. Only the words weren’t right; The “p” in “stop” was turned backward. I immediately thought of Isaac. Was this some kind of dyslexic joke? It didn’t look like a joke. Something about the crude letters made me shiver.
I rushed the rest of the way into the house to show the letter to Wayne, but then I remembered Aunt Dorothy. I put the letter face-down on my desk and helped Wayne with the dinner dishes.
Afterward, we all sat in the living room, Aunt Dorothy enjoying the swinging chair for one while Wayne and I sat in the double chair across from her.
“The first thing you have to do, Katie,” she told me, “is make a list.”
I didn’t have to ask her what she was talking about his time.
“A list,” I repeated bleakly.
“There are so many decisions: colors, the members of the bridal party, gown, caterers, flowers—”
The phone rang and I sprang out of the hanging chair I’d shared with Wayne, leaving it haphazardly jerking in place with Wayne at the tiller, calming it. My rescuer was none other than Jade, my warehouse woman from Jest Gifts.
“Kate,” she greeted me without preamble. “You shoulda never hired that guy to do your computer mouses. He’s a total flake, almost as bad as the first guy.”
“What did he do?” I asked, not even dreading the answer. Jade had saved me from wedding planning; she could complain all she wanted. And she did—about unsatisfactory manufacturing, inadequate delivery, stupid hired help, and the idiocy of the world in general. I heard her out until the doorbell rang. Then I said goodbye and hung up.
Wayne got to the door before I did, but I could see who had come to visit. Garrett Peterson and Jerry Urban were standing in the entryway.
“We have to talk,” Garrett declared as he stepped forward. And then he saw Aunt Dorothy.
His dark skin seemed to darken even more, and stretch tighter over his wide cheekbones. Garrett was a handsome man, there was no doubt about it. I swore at myself. Now I was noticing a man from Wayne’s group, and a gay one at that.
Garrett exchanged a look with Wayne and one with Jerry Urban. Aunt Dorothy was a civilian.
“We came to express our condolences over the death of a dear friend,” Garrett explained.
“Oh, my,” Aunt Dorothy murmured. “I’m terribly sorry. Was it a long illness?”
There was another quick exchange of heavy looks, and Garrett opened his mouth to speak again. But before he had a chance, a small, slender figure darted through the still-open door.
“So what’s the news on the stiff?” the figure asked.
“Felix,” I snapped. “Perhaps another time. We have guests.”
“No problemo,” he replied. “Maybe between all of us, presto-pronto, we can figure out who committed this friggin’ murder.”
“A murder?” Dorothy’s voice asked, and she didn’t sound chirpy anymore.
- Ten -
“Black,” I blurted out. Five sets of eyes stared my way. “Black, that’s what I’d like as the color scheme for the wedding.”
“Black?” Dorothy questioned, her head tilted so that one silver-white curlicue poked upward. It was working. She’d forgotten the murder for the moment.
“Holy socks, Kate,” Felix squawked. “Have you gone friggin’ gonzo? Back to the—”
“And the flowers,” I put in, speeding up my rap. “Black. I’ve heard of black pansies. And roses. There must be others…”
Garrett was staring at me intently. Was his expression that of a concerned psychiatrist?
“Kate!” Felix caterwauled. “What about the stiff? What about—”
“And a long, black bridal gown,” I interrupted him. “And Wayne can wear—”
“Katie, is there something you don’t want me to know?” Dorothy asked quietly.
My adrenaline pooled in my stomach. Aunt Dorothy was way too smart to fall for my distractions. Maybe I should have suggested a gray color scheme. Black was a definite tip-off.
“Katie?” Aunt Dorothy asked again.
“A friend of ours was murdered,” I finally admitted sullenly.
“And Kate saw the whole friggin’ thing,” Felix put in helpfully. “Presto-pronto, whiz-bang. Man, how she’s always got her feet nailed to a murder scene before it even comes down just blows me away. I mean, here I am, an honest-to-God reporter, stories up the wahzoo, and do I find the stiffs? Nooo—”
“You did once,” I reminded him. “Twice.”
Felix paled at the memory for a moment; maybe a little more than a moment. Good. But then his mouth began moving again.
“This poor geek who got offed was in Wayne’s friggin’ men’s group—”
“Felix,” I broke in. Dorothy didn’t need to hear all the gory details. “Why don’t you tell my Aunt Dorothy about Barbara? She’s great at wedding planning.”
“Barbara is great at wedding planning?” Felix asked, his soulful eyes squinting in confusion.
“No, my aunt.” I took a deep breath and put on my hostess smile. “Has everyone here met my aunt, Dorothy Koffenburger? This Is Garrett Peterson, Jerry Urban, and…”
I was having trouble even saying Felix’s name. My throat seemed to have closed up.
“Felix Byrne, glad to meet ya.” He saved me the trouble, advancing on Aunt Dorothy, hand extended.
Dorothy shook his hand and nodded at Garrett and Jerry, who were still at the door with Wayne.
“You wouldn’t believe the deep doo-doo Kate steps in,” Felix continued once the introductions were finished. He seemed to be addressing Aunt Dorothy. I could see Wayne stalking Felix out of the corner of my eye. “Here she is, The Typhoid Mary of—”
“That’s enough,” Wayne broke in.
Felix jumped in place. I was glad to see it. I just wished he’d hop out of our house and down the stairway.
“Whoa, Big Guy,” Felix squeaked, taking a couple of steps backward. “I just wanted to tell Kate’s aunt here how cool she is, ya know? I mean, how many females find the dead guy at a
men’s
group? That takes some chutzpah, and Kate’s got it—”
“What do you want here, Felix?” Wayne asked, his voice a quiet growl.
“Hey, we gotta toss this thing around, man,” Felix answered. “The local gestapo is definitely not logged on in Cortadura. Dimes to doughnuts, Kate’s gonna figure out the poop on the perp, if you know what I mean. And I just want to help.”
“Actually…” Garrett took a moment to clear his throat, looked at Wayne meaningfully, and then went on. “Jerry and I came to see you on a similar mission. We thought if we talked out what we knew about Steve’s murder, we might find something communally that we’d missed individually.”
“Yeah, man,” Felix agreed enthusiastically. “Brother Ingenio says there are no accidents. We’re all here for the same friggin’ reason—”
“Felix, my aunt—” I began.
“Yeah, Aunt Dorothy,” Felix said, turning his eyes on my aunt. “Whaddaya think of groupthink?”
“Well, I think it might be very interesting,” Aunt Dorothy piped up. “The more perceptions on a problem, the less problematic it may seem.” She paused to look demurely at her navy blue lap for a moment. “And perhaps I can help.”
What a concept. Were fairy godmothers good for more than wedding planning? Yes! Dorothy was a wise woman with more than eighty years of experience with people. If anyone’s perceptions would be useful, hers were the ones I’d bet on.
But I wasn’t so sure about the rest of our think tank. Garrett and Jerry were suspects. And Felix was…well, Felix. Still, a persistent alternative strategy was shuffling up to the front of my mind. We
did
have a variety of viewpoints represented: Felix was a know-it-all, Garrett a psychiatrist, Jerry an engineer, Dorothy a wise woman, Wayne a quiet thinker, and I—
Felix plopped himself down on the couch before I could finish my thought, which was probably good because my major qualification for the group mind experiment was my ability to step in doo-doo, as Felix had so inelegantly put it.
“Why don’t we all sit down?” Wayne invited, only a hint of exasperation flavoring his gruff voice. Still, I knew that invitation had to have been hard for him.
Garrett and Jerry took the hanging chair for two. Aunt Dorothy kept her seat in the hanging chair for one. Wayne and I looked at each other. If two pairs of eyes could sigh, ours did. Then we sat on either side of Felix, where he’d staked his spot in the center of the denim couch.
“If you’d be so kind as to tell me about the man who was murdered and the people you suspect, it might prove a useful place to start,” Aunt Dorothy suggested. I was lulled by her voice. She might have been a teacher explaining the assignment for a class, a simple assignment that had the potential to be successfully executed.
“Steve Summers,” Felix offered up gleefully. “He was this hot-as-hell journalist. Big time. One of those friggin’ I’m-so-ethical types—”
“Aren’t journalists supposed to be ethical?” I asked Felix sweetly.
It worked. He blushed.
“Steve was what we might call a perfectionist,” Garrett put in.
“He set his standards high for himself
and
for others,” Jerry added. “He wasn’t exactly a get-down-and-boogie guy.”
“I see,” Dorothy said, and I had a feeling she did. “Was he married?”
“Sheesh, Lucy, you better believe he was married,” Felix answered. “To Laura Summers, hotshot assemblywoman for Marin County. She’s so hot, you could fry eggs on her, man.”
“She does a very good job representing her constituents,” Garrett translated. “Very well-respected.”
“Was Steve jealous of his wife?” Aunt Dorothy asked.
I looked up, startled. Had he been? I’d never thought about it.
“No,” Garrett answered slowly. “I’d guess that Steve was proud of his wife, actually. Intensely proud.”
I let myself relax, glad that Steve had been a hero in that regard. Not very many men can handle the Mister-husband-of role.
“Laura and Steve were in sync,” Wayne added.
“I don’t want to be indelicate,” Aunt Dorothy said. “But how was Steve Summers killed?”
I let Felix fill my aunt in on the gory details, which he did with glee. The rest of us tried not to flinch.
When Felix was finished, Dorothy nodded sagely. “And who do you suspect?” she asked. I guess that wasn’t as indelicate as her previous question.
“The members of the group,” Wayne mumbled miserably.
“And their significant others,” I added. I didn’t mention the potluck key. There were suspects present, not to mention Felix. “See, they were the ones who knew when Steve would be leaving that day.”
“Who are these people?” Aunt Dorothy asked, leaning forward.
“I’m a member of the Heartlink group,” Wayne admitted.
“And I knew when he’d be leaving,” I added, not to be outdone. “But we both alibi each other, Wayne’s car or not.”
“Yeah, right,” Felix chimed in. He leaned back and crossed his arms. “Married couples are
such
friggin’ reliable alibis. Don’t even have to do the payola thing with community property—”
“I’m a group member also, Mrs. Koffenburger,” Garrett interrupted Felix.
“And I’m his sigo,” Jerry stated defiantly, his eyes mischievous behind his glasses. “His significant other, his life partner.”
But my aunt wasn’t surprised or troubled by Garrett and Jerry’s relationship. She’d probably spotted it the minute they came through the door. In fact, she was probably planning their wedding, too.
“Is there any reason I should suspect any of you four?” she asked.
“I don’t think so,” Garrett said solemnly, looking up at the ceiling as if it might answer the question more fairly.
“Hey, wait uno momento here,” Felix objected, bouncing on the seat between us. “You think they’re going to admit anything?”
“No,” my aunt replied stoutly. “So why don’t we just move on to the other possibilities?”
Felix glared at her, obviously confused by her logic.
“Four other members of the group,” Wayne began. “Ted Kimmochi—”
“Ha!” Felix barked. “Hanky-panky Ted. Wonder what his wife, Janet, would do if she found out about his extracurricular bouncy-bouncy? Huh-huh? That woman’s meaner than a camel with a bladder infection, man—”
I whirled my head around to glare at Felix.
“How’d you know about Ted, anyway?” I demanded. “Only the group members—”
“I’ll give you a friggin’ clue,” he told me. “Maybe two clues. A big, square auto who’d like to cut off his ear.”
“Van Gogh,” Wayne said and sighed. I thought I heard Jerry chuckle. “Van.” So much for group confidentiality. First, Isaac Herrick, and now Van Eisner.
“Yep,” Felix agreed cheerfully. “The Van man himself. He’s almost as busy spilling everyone’s—” Felix lowered his voice melodramatically—”
worst secrets
as he is doing recreational chemicals. Guy’s looney tunes, if ya ask me.”
The room was silent. The phrase
worst secrets
seemed to thrum in the air, chanting in our ears and kicking us in our stomachs. Except for Aunt Dorothy; she just tilted her head, bobbing her white curlicues like a bird. Of course, she didn’t know what secrets Van and Felix were talking about.
Garrett cleared his throat.
“Ted has told me that he isn’t going to see Belinda anymore,” he announced. “And I believe him.”
“Belinda is the woman who…” I didn’t want to finish the sentence in front of my aunt.
“Yes, Belinda was the teacher at the tantra and bondage seminar Ted and Janet attended, but Ted—”
“Bondage seminar?!” I gasped. Then I looked at Wayne. He didn’t look back. He’d known about this!
“Ted fell in love with his teacher,” Wayne whispered, eyes lowered.
“Teacher?” I repeated. “I thought you said he met her at Spirit Rock.”
“He did, and then he and Janet took her class…”
“Belinda is a dominatrix,” Jerry supplied. There was no question that his eyes were laughing now, even if the rest of him wasn’t.
“The one with a whip?” I bleated.
Jerry nodded. “Actually,” he stage-whispered, as if someone might be listening at the door, “I don’t think they really use whips. Just a lot of fantasy. Whoop it up and then go home with your mate for some, um…” He looked at my aunt and his speech faltered.
“Marital experimentation?” she suggested mildly.
“Yes, ma’am,” Jerry said, his round face flushing. “Mind if I get a glass of water, Kate?”
I nodded, remembering Jerry’s diabetes. Was his thirst due to his illness or to a need to be away from Aunt Dorothy’s eyes? I wanted to avoid her eyes, too. My mind boggled at the idea of Ted and Janet experimenting at anything, much less fantasy bondage. For a moment, though I
could
picture Janet with a whip. But tantra was supposed to be spiritual, wasn’t it? Tantra and bondage? The two words didn’t belong in the same sentence, much less the same seminar. But then, maybe I didn’t understand. I wanted to ask for more details. But I forced my mouth closed. This wasn’t getting us any closer to finding Steve’s murderer.
“So,” my aunt’s voice cut through my tangled thoughts. “Wayne, Garrett, and Ted are group members. Kate, Jerry, and Janet are significant others?”
I nodded.
“Who else?” she prodded.
“Van Eisner,” Felix supplied. “The man is some kinda sleaze-ball, if ya ask me. And is he baked on chemicals or what? No friggin’ significant other for him, man. He’s not even serially monogamous. And that guy gets more humma-humma than—” Suddenly Felix stopped and turned to Dorothy as if he’d forgotten her, closed his mouth temporarily, then turned back to Wayne and started over. “Just a warning, man: Van’s a druggie. He’d turn in your whole group for mass execution in exchange for a free stash license.”
Wayne wriggled his shoulders. The truth can make your muscles tight instead of setting you free.
“And Isaac Herrick and Carl Russo are group members.” Garrett finished the list.
“Isaac Herrick?” Dorothy said, her eyes widening in her wrinkled face.
