Read Online A Sensitive Kind of Murder (A Kate Jasper Mystery) by Jaqueline Girdner - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jaqueline Girdner
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a lunatic here. Mary’s handbag, we probably are dealing with a lunatic. And everyone keeps telling me how peachy-keen the Summers’ marriage was.” The captain leaned forward again. “Though they say that Steve Summers seemed upset lately, maybe at his wife—”
“The Summers were just like anyone else—” Wayne began.
“Some folks have good marriages,” Marge put in at the same time. I wondered about Captain Wooster’s own marriage, assuming he was married. Was his relationship with his wife the reason he was so hostile to Laura Summers?
“So this Summers guy must have known some secret, maybe like Watergate, right?” the captain said, ignoring both of them.
“Watergate on who?” I asked in exasperation. “Not on his wife. And what secret could be bad enough about an educator to lead to murder? Or a shrink, or an accountant, or a computer consultant?”
“A shrink might have plenty under the rug,” the captain pointed out.
“Not Garrett,” I replied, crossing my arms. “Garrett is a good man.”
“And we already know about the accountant’s kid,” Wooster added. “Trouble brewing there.”
“All teenagers have problems,” I stated with the assurance of a woman without children.
“And you left out the investment guy,” Wooster bulldozed away. “Who knows what he was doing. They screw up, they go to jail these days. And how about his wife? She was in the business, too, right?”
I had a feeling the captain was using the phrase “screw up” in reference to Ted’s professional life, not his personal one, but it was funny how close he was getting. Still, at least it seemed that he didn’t know everything.
“You’re smiling,” he accused, pointing his knuckled finger at me again.
“Huh?”
“You were smiling,” Marge translated.
“Well, I’ve stopped. All right?” I said, my voice cranky. Why was I in this conversation, anyway? Wayne was keeping quiet. Why couldn’t I follow his example?
“And that Eisner guy looks like a cokehead to me,” the captain put in.
I tried to keep my face impassive—no smiles, no frowns, no nothing.
“And just ‘cause Herrick is old doesn’t mean he has nothing to hide,” he ground away. “The longer you live, the more you have to hide. And why’s his wife still hanging out with him if she’s divorcing him?”
“Why don’t you tell me?” I said, taking a phrase from the captain’s guidebook.
But Marge didn’t laugh at that one. She and the captain were gone less than five minutes of abuse later. With promises.
“You haven’t seen the last of me,” Captain Wooster informed us at the door. Then he turned to Wayne. “And you can forget your fancy car, Mister Caruso.”
After we’d closed the door behind them, Wayne murmured, “Well, I guess we’re picking up Aunt Dorothy in the Toyota.”
I threw my arms around him and hugged him tight. He was warm and solid, and smelled like lunch and Wayne. We had faced the Wooster and survived. How to celebrate? I turned up my face for a kiss.
The phone rang just as our lips touched. This wasn’t the kind of electricity I’d hoped for.
Wayne answered it this time, but I could tell who was on the other end just by listening.
“Not to worry, Garrett,” he muttered.
Then, “…no threat to the group,” and “…not your fault.”
I wondered if psychiatrists were just naturally anxious. Maybe that’s what attracted them to the field.
“Don’t know any more than you do,” Wayne was saying. Then he said “uh-huh,” and “uh-huh” again.
I reflected on Jerry’s earlier call. He’d been truly worried about Garrett. Well, why not? Garrett couldn’t be feeling a lot better than Wayne was. And they were both too caring to successfully navigate the real world and its cruelty sometimes.
“Uh-huh,” Wayne said again, then, “Take care,” and then he hung up the phone.
“Garrett,” he told me.
“Right,” I said, imitating Captain Wooster.
Finally, Wayne and I
“The Summers were just like anyone else—” Wayne began.
“Some folks have good marriages,” Marge put in at the same time. I wondered about Captain Wooster’s own marriage, assuming he was married. Was his relationship with his wife the reason he was so hostile to Laura Summers?
“So this Summers guy must have known some secret, maybe like Watergate, right?” the captain said, ignoring both of them.
“Watergate on who?” I asked in exasperation. “Not on his wife. And what secret could be bad enough about an educator to lead to murder? Or a shrink, or an accountant, or a computer consultant?”
“A shrink might have plenty under the rug,” the captain pointed out.
“Not Garrett,” I replied, crossing my arms. “Garrett is a good man.”
“And we already know about the accountant’s kid,” Wooster added. “Trouble brewing there.”
“All teenagers have problems,” I stated with the assurance of a woman without children.
“And you left out the investment guy,” Wooster bulldozed away. “Who knows what he was doing. They screw up, they go to jail these days. And how about his wife? She was in the business, too, right?”
I had a feeling the captain was using the phrase “screw up” in reference to Ted’s professional life, not his personal one, but it was funny how close he was getting. Still, at least it seemed that he didn’t know everything.
“You’re smiling,” he accused, pointing his knuckled finger at me again.
“Huh?”
“You were smiling,” Marge translated.
“Well, I’ve stopped. All right?” I said, my voice cranky. Why was I in this conversation, anyway? Wayne was keeping quiet. Why couldn’t I follow his example?
“And that Eisner guy looks like a cokehead to me,” the captain put in.
I tried to keep my face impassive—no smiles, no frowns, no nothing.
“And just ‘cause Herrick is old doesn’t mean he has nothing to hide,” he ground away. “The longer you live, the more you have to hide. And why’s his wife still hanging out with him if she’s divorcing him?”
“Why don’t you tell me?” I said, taking a phrase from the captain’s guidebook.
But Marge didn’t laugh at that one. She and the captain were gone less than five minutes of abuse later. With promises.
“You haven’t seen the last of me,” Captain Wooster informed us at the door. Then he turned to Wayne. “And you can forget your fancy car, Mister Caruso.”
After we’d closed the door behind them, Wayne murmured, “Well, I guess we’re picking up Aunt Dorothy in the Toyota.”
I threw my arms around him and hugged him tight. He was warm and solid, and smelled like lunch and Wayne. We had faced the Wooster and survived. How to celebrate? I turned up my face for a kiss.
The phone rang just as our lips touched. This wasn’t the kind of electricity I’d hoped for.
Wayne answered it this time, but I could tell who was on the other end just by listening.
“Not to worry, Garrett,” he muttered.
Then, “…no threat to the group,” and “…not your fault.”
I wondered if psychiatrists were just naturally anxious. Maybe that’s what attracted them to the field.
“Don’t know any more than you do,” Wayne was saying. Then he said “uh-huh,” and “uh-huh” again.
I reflected on Jerry’s earlier call. He’d been truly worried about Garrett. Well, why not? Garrett couldn’t be feeling a lot better than Wayne was. And they were both too caring to successfully navigate the real world and its cruelty sometimes.
“Uh-huh,” Wayne said again, then, “Take care,” and then he hung up the phone.
“Garrett,” he told me.
“Right,” I said, imitating Captain Wooster.
Finally, Wayne and I
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