Read Online A Sensitive Kind of Murder (A Kate Jasper Mystery) by Jaqueline Girdner - Free Book Online
Authors: Jaqueline Girdner
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“It’s a karmic thing. I was a resurrectionist in a past life.”
“You were a body snatcher?” Marge asked, her voice high with amazement.
“No, I raised people from the dead, so now I find them dead.” I knew I was babbling, but at least the captain had stopped yelling. Now he was staring at me, his mouth hanging open. Not a pretty sight. “You’ll have to ask my friend Barbara for more details,” I finished up.
“Hell’s bells,” the captain finally said. “You going for an insanity plea or what?”
Marge threw her head back and laughed.
The captain turned to her angrily. “I hate Marin, Marge,” he whined. “I hate this karmic caboodle, you know I do. I hate all the channeling and crystals and wussy men in their wussy support groups. I hate—”
“Didn’t you want to ask Ms. Jasper and Mr. Caruso some questions, sir?” Marge cut him off.
“Right,” he answered, straightening his shoulders. He pulled his chin back a notch. “May we come in to talk?”
I looked at Wayne. The Captain had asked permission. I guessed that meant he didn’t have the right to just barge in. Was the captain better as a friend than an enemy? Wayne asked with his eyebrows. I gave a tentative nod. Wayne blinked and stepped back from the doorway.
“Come in and have a seat, Captain Wooster and…”
I couldn’t believe it. I’d forgotten Marge’s rank and last name.
“Oh, just call me Marge, honey,” she advised, walking past me in a lilac-scented cloud. “Or Sergeant Marge; lots of folks like to call me that.”
If the two of them were playing good cop and bad cop, they certainly had their roles straight.
We sat Sergeant Marge and Captain Wooster down on the wood-and-denim couch where Felix had been before. The captain’s nostrils flared. Could he smell the absent reporter? Or was he smelling our recent feast? Or Marge’s ever-present lilac scent?
“Right,” he repeated once he was seated. “Ms. Jasper, how come you were so quick to mention the other group members and—” he paused and rolled his eyes “—and their ‘significant others’?”
I glanced at Wayne again. Shouldn’t I tell the captain about the key and the potluck? Wayne might as well have had “no” printed on his forehead. I thought maybe I was getting as psychic as Barbara.
“Just logical,” I answered, keeping my voice even. Wayne and I both lowered ourselves into the double hanging chair. “They all knew about the group and when it ended.”
“Okay, let’s go over the timing of these groups,” Captain Wooster suggested, sounding almost human for a moment.
Wayne and I nodded like good puppies.
“Okay, Mr. Caruso, you guys had a group meeting today, right?” he asked.
Wayne nodded again.
“When was the previous meeting of your group?”
“Two Wednesdays ago,” Wayne answered. His voice was slow and careful. “Heartlink meets every other Wednesday.”
The captain bent forward. “What did you talk about at the meeting two Wednesdays ago?”
My body stiffened next to Wayne’s—someone from the group had talked to the captain besides us. The way he asked his question made it clear to me that he knew they’d discussed something out of the ordinary two weeks ago. Did he know they’d talked about their worst secrets?
“I can’t tell you that,” Wayne replied predictably. “Confidentiality.”
Wooster turned to me.
“I wasn’t there,” I stated honestly. I honestly hadn’t been there; never mind that Wayne’s confidentiality had spread to include me in its confines.
“And Scheherazade told good stories, too!” the captain snapped. He didn’t seem human anymore. “You two know plenty—”
‘They’ll tell us in their own way, sir,” Marge interrupted. “Lord, sometimes you’re enough to make a gal wanna wear earplugs.”
I looked at her gratefully, wanting to tell Marge everything. But maybe that was how it was supposed to work. Marge’s crinkly blue eyes were friendly but intent as she
“You were a body snatcher?” Marge asked, her voice high with amazement.
“No, I raised people from the dead, so now I find them dead.” I knew I was babbling, but at least the captain had stopped yelling. Now he was staring at me, his mouth hanging open. Not a pretty sight. “You’ll have to ask my friend Barbara for more details,” I finished up.
“Hell’s bells,” the captain finally said. “You going for an insanity plea or what?”
Marge threw her head back and laughed.
The captain turned to her angrily. “I hate Marin, Marge,” he whined. “I hate this karmic caboodle, you know I do. I hate all the channeling and crystals and wussy men in their wussy support groups. I hate—”
“Didn’t you want to ask Ms. Jasper and Mr. Caruso some questions, sir?” Marge cut him off.
“Right,” he answered, straightening his shoulders. He pulled his chin back a notch. “May we come in to talk?”
I looked at Wayne. The Captain had asked permission. I guessed that meant he didn’t have the right to just barge in. Was the captain better as a friend than an enemy? Wayne asked with his eyebrows. I gave a tentative nod. Wayne blinked and stepped back from the doorway.
“Come in and have a seat, Captain Wooster and…”
I couldn’t believe it. I’d forgotten Marge’s rank and last name.
“Oh, just call me Marge, honey,” she advised, walking past me in a lilac-scented cloud. “Or Sergeant Marge; lots of folks like to call me that.”
If the two of them were playing good cop and bad cop, they certainly had their roles straight.
We sat Sergeant Marge and Captain Wooster down on the wood-and-denim couch where Felix had been before. The captain’s nostrils flared. Could he smell the absent reporter? Or was he smelling our recent feast? Or Marge’s ever-present lilac scent?
“Right,” he repeated once he was seated. “Ms. Jasper, how come you were so quick to mention the other group members and—” he paused and rolled his eyes “—and their ‘significant others’?”
I glanced at Wayne again. Shouldn’t I tell the captain about the key and the potluck? Wayne might as well have had “no” printed on his forehead. I thought maybe I was getting as psychic as Barbara.
“Just logical,” I answered, keeping my voice even. Wayne and I both lowered ourselves into the double hanging chair. “They all knew about the group and when it ended.”
“Okay, let’s go over the timing of these groups,” Captain Wooster suggested, sounding almost human for a moment.
Wayne and I nodded like good puppies.
“Okay, Mr. Caruso, you guys had a group meeting today, right?” he asked.
Wayne nodded again.
“When was the previous meeting of your group?”
“Two Wednesdays ago,” Wayne answered. His voice was slow and careful. “Heartlink meets every other Wednesday.”
The captain bent forward. “What did you talk about at the meeting two Wednesdays ago?”
My body stiffened next to Wayne’s—someone from the group had talked to the captain besides us. The way he asked his question made it clear to me that he knew they’d discussed something out of the ordinary two weeks ago. Did he know they’d talked about their worst secrets?
“I can’t tell you that,” Wayne replied predictably. “Confidentiality.”
Wooster turned to me.
“I wasn’t there,” I stated honestly. I honestly hadn’t been there; never mind that Wayne’s confidentiality had spread to include me in its confines.
“And Scheherazade told good stories, too!” the captain snapped. He didn’t seem human anymore. “You two know plenty—”
‘They’ll tell us in their own way, sir,” Marge interrupted. “Lord, sometimes you’re enough to make a gal wanna wear earplugs.”
I looked at her gratefully, wanting to tell Marge everything. But maybe that was how it was supposed to work. Marge’s crinkly blue eyes were friendly but intent as she
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