Read Online Fat-Free and Fatal (A Kate Jasper Mystery) by Jaqueline Girdner - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jaqueline Girdner
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want to share my current thoughts with Barbara. She didn’t need any more reasons to suspect Alice of murder.
We were already across the Golden Gate Bridge when I remembered our five o’clock appointment with Paula Pierce. I’d just have time to do a couple hours of work; then we’d have to return to the city.
My box of paperwork was still waiting for me when we got to Barbara’s apartment. Too bad no one had stolen it. I picked it up off the blue futon and carried it into her kitchen to work at the black-lacquered table there. Barbara withdrew to her bedroom to make more phone calls. Ten minutes later I had written enough checks to keep my major creditors happy for a week, and was starting on the minor ones. I felt a hand on my shoulder.
I turned, expecting to see Barbara, but saw instead a small, slender man with a luxurious mustache and soulful eyes. He was Barbara’s boyfriend, Felix. And he wasn’t smiling. I tensed up, waiting for his harangue. It wasn’t long in coming.
“So, you and Barbara find a stiff, and don’t bother to tell me,” he snarled. “Me, a friggin’ crime reporter! Not a word. No way, José—”
Barbara cut him off mid-sentence with a kiss. I began packing up.
“No howdy-hi?” she asked Felix with a Cheshire cat grin.
He glared at her. “You!” he shouted. “Benedict Arnold Chu! My own sweetie and you don’t even tell me about the murder! Holy Moly, Barbara, I’m a reporter. I’m your old man…”
I threw the rest of my paperwork into the box in a hurry, dropping an eraser on the way. It fell between Felix’s sock-and-sandal-clad feet. I fumbled for it, knocking against Felix’s big toe in the process.
“Yow!” he yelped.
I straightened up and looked into his eyes curiously. I had barely touched him. What was the matter? He fell into a chair, howling.
I looked at Barbara. “Gout,” she mouthed.
I took the coward’s way out. I picked up my box and ran.
Vesta was waiting for me at the door when I got home.
“There’s a call for you on your machine,” she said, smiling.
I smiled back tentatively. Maybe she was trying to be nice. Everyone deserves a second chance. Right?
Vesta followed me to the answering machine. I pushed the replay button.
“Are you the one who killed her, bitch?” a husky voice exploded from the machine. “Huh? Because, if you are, I’m gonna get you!” The voice lowered to a whisper. “That’s a promise,” it said. Then all I heard was the dial tone.
SIX
VESTA CACKLED GAILY behind me. I turned to her, wondering for one wild, heart-thumping moment if she was the one responsible for the message. No, not Vesta, I decided. I turned back to the answering machine, then took three long deep breaths. Who had left the message? I rewound the tape, then played it again.
“Are you the one who killed her, bitch?” it began. I turned it off before I got to the part where the voice promised to “get me” if I was the one.
Was that Dan Snyder’s voice? I tried to recall the sound of his voice from the night before, but all I could remember was the way he’d looked, big and burly in his Hawaiian shirt, his eyes squinting angrily. It had to be him, I told myself. Or maybe his friend Zach.
“Where’d you get the blouse?” came Vesta’s voice from behind me.
I flinched, startled. I had almost forgotten her.
“Doesn’t look like your regular stuff,” she added.
I looked down and recognized the lavender silk blouse I had borrowed from Barbara. “My friend lent—” I began.
“Didja steal the blouse when you murdered the lady?” Vesta asked conversationally.
I swiveled my head around to look into her dark, malevolent eyes.
“I didn’t murder anyone,” I said firmly.
Vesta put a hand to her mouth and giggled. Then she asked me if I had stolen the blouse to impress my new lover.
I left my house within five minutes of having arrived. With my box of paperwork in my arms, I headed toward Barbara’s again. If
We were already across the Golden Gate Bridge when I remembered our five o’clock appointment with Paula Pierce. I’d just have time to do a couple hours of work; then we’d have to return to the city.
My box of paperwork was still waiting for me when we got to Barbara’s apartment. Too bad no one had stolen it. I picked it up off the blue futon and carried it into her kitchen to work at the black-lacquered table there. Barbara withdrew to her bedroom to make more phone calls. Ten minutes later I had written enough checks to keep my major creditors happy for a week, and was starting on the minor ones. I felt a hand on my shoulder.
I turned, expecting to see Barbara, but saw instead a small, slender man with a luxurious mustache and soulful eyes. He was Barbara’s boyfriend, Felix. And he wasn’t smiling. I tensed up, waiting for his harangue. It wasn’t long in coming.
“So, you and Barbara find a stiff, and don’t bother to tell me,” he snarled. “Me, a friggin’ crime reporter! Not a word. No way, José—”
Barbara cut him off mid-sentence with a kiss. I began packing up.
“No howdy-hi?” she asked Felix with a Cheshire cat grin.
He glared at her. “You!” he shouted. “Benedict Arnold Chu! My own sweetie and you don’t even tell me about the murder! Holy Moly, Barbara, I’m a reporter. I’m your old man…”
I threw the rest of my paperwork into the box in a hurry, dropping an eraser on the way. It fell between Felix’s sock-and-sandal-clad feet. I fumbled for it, knocking against Felix’s big toe in the process.
“Yow!” he yelped.
I straightened up and looked into his eyes curiously. I had barely touched him. What was the matter? He fell into a chair, howling.
I looked at Barbara. “Gout,” she mouthed.
I took the coward’s way out. I picked up my box and ran.
Vesta was waiting for me at the door when I got home.
“There’s a call for you on your machine,” she said, smiling.
I smiled back tentatively. Maybe she was trying to be nice. Everyone deserves a second chance. Right?
Vesta followed me to the answering machine. I pushed the replay button.
“Are you the one who killed her, bitch?” a husky voice exploded from the machine. “Huh? Because, if you are, I’m gonna get you!” The voice lowered to a whisper. “That’s a promise,” it said. Then all I heard was the dial tone.
SIX
VESTA CACKLED GAILY behind me. I turned to her, wondering for one wild, heart-thumping moment if she was the one responsible for the message. No, not Vesta, I decided. I turned back to the answering machine, then took three long deep breaths. Who had left the message? I rewound the tape, then played it again.
“Are you the one who killed her, bitch?” it began. I turned it off before I got to the part where the voice promised to “get me” if I was the one.
Was that Dan Snyder’s voice? I tried to recall the sound of his voice from the night before, but all I could remember was the way he’d looked, big and burly in his Hawaiian shirt, his eyes squinting angrily. It had to be him, I told myself. Or maybe his friend Zach.
“Where’d you get the blouse?” came Vesta’s voice from behind me.
I flinched, startled. I had almost forgotten her.
“Doesn’t look like your regular stuff,” she added.
I looked down and recognized the lavender silk blouse I had borrowed from Barbara. “My friend lent—” I began.
“Didja steal the blouse when you murdered the lady?” Vesta asked conversationally.
I swiveled my head around to look into her dark, malevolent eyes.
“I didn’t murder anyone,” I said firmly.
Vesta put a hand to her mouth and giggled. Then she asked me if I had stolen the blouse to impress my new lover.
I left my house within five minutes of having arrived. With my box of paperwork in my arms, I headed toward Barbara’s again. If
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