Read Online A Sensitive Kind of Murder (A Kate Jasper Mystery) by Jaqueline Girdner - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jaqueline Girdner
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searched our faces. I kept quiet.
Finally, the captain began again. “Okay, so your Heartlink group had a meeting today and a meeting two weeks ago. And in between those meetings, the members of the group and their ‘significant others’ went to a potluck?”
“Potluck was last weekend,” Wayne confirmed quickly. He didn’t say anything about the missing key.
I wondered once more who’d been talking to the captain. I squirmed in my chair. How much had the captain heard?
“How about you two?” he hissed. “What are your worst secrets?”
My heart rammed itself against my ribs like it was trying to escape. The captain had heard too much, that was for sure. Someone had told him, but who? And what, exactly?
My heart was still ramming like a demented bull when Captain Wooster pointed a knuckled finger at me.
“You hate journalists,” he said, accusingly. For a moment, I thought he meant Felix, but then he expanded on the theme. “Heard you karate-kicked one on TV. And Steve Summers was a journalist.”
I took a deep breath. “I just used tai chi to get that particular journalist out of my way,” I explained. “She assaulted me first.”
“Hellfire,” the captain muttered, the hint of a smile on his face. “Wish I could do that myself, once in a while.”
Marge’s laughter made us all one happy family, for about a minute.
“And you,” he went on, pointing at Wayne. “You let your boss die when you were supposed to protect him.”
The blood pulsing through my veins seemed to pull me up and out of the hanging chair.
“That is not true!” I roared, surprised at my own volume. “Not any more than I could say you let Steve Summers die when you were supposed to protect him. Wayne did his best—”
“It’s okay, Kate,” Wayne admonished gently. He reached up and placed his large hand on the small of my back. “It’s okay,” he repeated.
Only then did I realize how easily I had fallen into the captain’s trap.
“Captain Wooster,” Wayne said formally. “I often feel that I failed my boss. I feel the weight of it almost every day, but I try to forgive myself. And I’ve done nothing illegal.”
I wanted to clap, to cheer. But I couldn’t, so I sat back down next to Wayne and put my hand on his muscled thigh. My eyes were watering now, with indignation, with pain for Wayne, with love. I blinked and tried to think of anything that would calm me down. I settled on sorbet. I imagined my favorite sorbet, the blueberries melting on my tongue. My eyes dried slowly.
“Captain,” Wayne was saying when I tuned in again. “Do you have any ideas you can share with us?”
“No,” the captain said. Wooster sorbet, I thought. It wouldn’t taste good, but it would sure be fun to make.
“No one saw anything,” the captain elaborated. “No one heard anything. Like your wife figured out so logically, it’s gotta be one of your little band of fruitcakes—”
“If you’re talking about Garrett—” I began, standing again.
“Joseph’s garters!” the captain objected. “I can’t say one piddly little thing without everyone getting up in arms. No, I didn’t mean your ‘gay’ friend Peterson or his ‘gay’ friend Urban. I meant all of you, anyone who was in that group or knew when Summers would be leaving.”
“Any motives?” Wayne tried again, pulling me back down into the hanging chair by my waistband.
“Why don’t you tell me?” the captain suggested. He smiled evilly.
We were mute. How many secrets had the captain heard? And were any of them the secret?
“Right,” he said. “And then there’s the terrorism possibility.”
“Terrorism?” I asked, trying to make sense of the word.
“Summers was married to a state assemblywoman.”
“So, you think someone who didn’t like how their property taxes were being spent retaliated?” I scoffed. “Someone in the group?”
“Not so funny, Ms. Jasper. Do you like the way your taxes are spent? We might be dealing with
Finally, the captain began again. “Okay, so your Heartlink group had a meeting today and a meeting two weeks ago. And in between those meetings, the members of the group and their ‘significant others’ went to a potluck?”
“Potluck was last weekend,” Wayne confirmed quickly. He didn’t say anything about the missing key.
I wondered once more who’d been talking to the captain. I squirmed in my chair. How much had the captain heard?
“How about you two?” he hissed. “What are your worst secrets?”
My heart rammed itself against my ribs like it was trying to escape. The captain had heard too much, that was for sure. Someone had told him, but who? And what, exactly?
My heart was still ramming like a demented bull when Captain Wooster pointed a knuckled finger at me.
“You hate journalists,” he said, accusingly. For a moment, I thought he meant Felix, but then he expanded on the theme. “Heard you karate-kicked one on TV. And Steve Summers was a journalist.”
I took a deep breath. “I just used tai chi to get that particular journalist out of my way,” I explained. “She assaulted me first.”
“Hellfire,” the captain muttered, the hint of a smile on his face. “Wish I could do that myself, once in a while.”
Marge’s laughter made us all one happy family, for about a minute.
“And you,” he went on, pointing at Wayne. “You let your boss die when you were supposed to protect him.”
The blood pulsing through my veins seemed to pull me up and out of the hanging chair.
“That is not true!” I roared, surprised at my own volume. “Not any more than I could say you let Steve Summers die when you were supposed to protect him. Wayne did his best—”
“It’s okay, Kate,” Wayne admonished gently. He reached up and placed his large hand on the small of my back. “It’s okay,” he repeated.
Only then did I realize how easily I had fallen into the captain’s trap.
“Captain Wooster,” Wayne said formally. “I often feel that I failed my boss. I feel the weight of it almost every day, but I try to forgive myself. And I’ve done nothing illegal.”
I wanted to clap, to cheer. But I couldn’t, so I sat back down next to Wayne and put my hand on his muscled thigh. My eyes were watering now, with indignation, with pain for Wayne, with love. I blinked and tried to think of anything that would calm me down. I settled on sorbet. I imagined my favorite sorbet, the blueberries melting on my tongue. My eyes dried slowly.
“Captain,” Wayne was saying when I tuned in again. “Do you have any ideas you can share with us?”
“No,” the captain said. Wooster sorbet, I thought. It wouldn’t taste good, but it would sure be fun to make.
“No one saw anything,” the captain elaborated. “No one heard anything. Like your wife figured out so logically, it’s gotta be one of your little band of fruitcakes—”
“If you’re talking about Garrett—” I began, standing again.
“Joseph’s garters!” the captain objected. “I can’t say one piddly little thing without everyone getting up in arms. No, I didn’t mean your ‘gay’ friend Peterson or his ‘gay’ friend Urban. I meant all of you, anyone who was in that group or knew when Summers would be leaving.”
“Any motives?” Wayne tried again, pulling me back down into the hanging chair by my waistband.
“Why don’t you tell me?” the captain suggested. He smiled evilly.
We were mute. How many secrets had the captain heard? And were any of them the secret?
“Right,” he said. “And then there’s the terrorism possibility.”
“Terrorism?” I asked, trying to make sense of the word.
“Summers was married to a state assemblywoman.”
“So, you think someone who didn’t like how their property taxes were being spent retaliated?” I scoffed. “Someone in the group?”
“Not so funny, Ms. Jasper. Do you like the way your taxes are spent? We might be dealing with
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