Read Online Most Likely to Die (A Kate Jasper Mystery) by Jaqueline Girdner - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jaqueline Girdner
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resided.
“In the one I’m writing now, the evil captain has taken over another ship. This ship’s captain is a woman. Captain Penelope Page. Captain Page is a courageous and ingenious woman. She sails a tiny ship for the spice trade, with male and female deckhands…”
My head came up. The story was beginning to sound more interesting. Especially the surprising touch of feminism in Rodin’s world.
“…and a ship rat too. But Penelope knows her rat, knows her personally and cares for her. Rolanda Ratus.” Charlie sighed and his eyes glazed over. “Rolanda’s a brave rat, a female with silky brown fur, a scrap of red velvet for a cap, and a two-inch hat pin for a sword. And big brown eyes. Like no other rat that Rodin has ever known.”
I wondered if Rolanda was Pam in disguise. Ratus Eroticus? And if she was, would Pam like being imagined as a rat, no matter how silky and brave?
“But the evil captain can’t stand a woman being in charge of even so small a crew. So he rams her tiny ship and boards it, taking Captain Penelope Page and all her hands prisoners. And Rolanda too, unbeknownst to him. The evil captain wants Penelope’s ship. And her crew. He tells her he’ll kill her the next day if she won’t agree to his terms. Then he ties her to a chair and leaves her to think it over. That’s when Rodin and Rolanda meet. When they both come out of hiding in the same instant to chew the bonds from Penelope’s hands and feet—”
The doorbell rang and I jumped in my seat. Damn. I was ready for the next installment.
“I’ll get it,” I said unenthusiastically.
Wayne didn’t argue. Maybe he was waiting for the next installment too.
I didn’t recognize the man standing on my front porch. Not at first. He was a short, sharp-nosed man with a beard and a clipboard in his hand.
“Hi, how are you this evening?” he began.
A solicitor.
“Have you seen my signs?” I demanded.
I had three of them. The first, a twelve-inch-long, red metal sign on the front fence reading, “no solicitors,” ditto right above the doorbell, and my new homemade one thumbtacked to the middle of the front door which said in inch-high letters, “If you are a solicitor and you ring the bell you will just make me angry, not only at you but at your cause. Please don’t ring the bell.”
“Oh, but I’m not a solicitor,” he assured me. “I’m here to help you save the environment—”
“You want to help me to save the environment personally?” I interrupted.
“Yes,” he said enthusiastically. Then he shoved a sheaf of papers toward my face. “Did you know that the rate of—”
“By asking me to give you money for your cause,” I continued as if he hadn’t spoken.
“Well, yes,” he agreed. “And you could also give your time. This period is crucial. Last week, more than forty thousand—”
“You are a solicitor,” I concluded.
“Not really—”
“Yes, really. Now go away.”
I started to shut the door, but I wasn’t quick enough. He shoved his clipboard into the gap.
“You know, I came here on a weekday, a month ago,” he told me. “And you said you worked during the day and that that’s why you had all the ‘no solicitors’ signs up. And I understood completely. But this is Saturday night and you’re not working—”
“I am working,” I told him.
“No, you’re not,” he told me back.
“I’m working on a murder investigation at this very moment,” I whispered at him.
“A murder?” he blurted, jerking his head back, his eyes widening in concern.
“Yes.” I lowered my voice even further and bent my head forward conspiratorially. “A murder of a solicitor.”
He lurched back a foot. I pressed my advantage and stepped forward, shortening the gap between us.
“Maybe you can help me,” I suggested. “Do you know of any reason at all why someone would want to murder an uninvited solicitor?” I asked pleasantly.
He had turned and was down my front stairs in the time it
“In the one I’m writing now, the evil captain has taken over another ship. This ship’s captain is a woman. Captain Penelope Page. Captain Page is a courageous and ingenious woman. She sails a tiny ship for the spice trade, with male and female deckhands…”
My head came up. The story was beginning to sound more interesting. Especially the surprising touch of feminism in Rodin’s world.
“…and a ship rat too. But Penelope knows her rat, knows her personally and cares for her. Rolanda Ratus.” Charlie sighed and his eyes glazed over. “Rolanda’s a brave rat, a female with silky brown fur, a scrap of red velvet for a cap, and a two-inch hat pin for a sword. And big brown eyes. Like no other rat that Rodin has ever known.”
I wondered if Rolanda was Pam in disguise. Ratus Eroticus? And if she was, would Pam like being imagined as a rat, no matter how silky and brave?
“But the evil captain can’t stand a woman being in charge of even so small a crew. So he rams her tiny ship and boards it, taking Captain Penelope Page and all her hands prisoners. And Rolanda too, unbeknownst to him. The evil captain wants Penelope’s ship. And her crew. He tells her he’ll kill her the next day if she won’t agree to his terms. Then he ties her to a chair and leaves her to think it over. That’s when Rodin and Rolanda meet. When they both come out of hiding in the same instant to chew the bonds from Penelope’s hands and feet—”
The doorbell rang and I jumped in my seat. Damn. I was ready for the next installment.
“I’ll get it,” I said unenthusiastically.
Wayne didn’t argue. Maybe he was waiting for the next installment too.
I didn’t recognize the man standing on my front porch. Not at first. He was a short, sharp-nosed man with a beard and a clipboard in his hand.
“Hi, how are you this evening?” he began.
A solicitor.
“Have you seen my signs?” I demanded.
I had three of them. The first, a twelve-inch-long, red metal sign on the front fence reading, “no solicitors,” ditto right above the doorbell, and my new homemade one thumbtacked to the middle of the front door which said in inch-high letters, “If you are a solicitor and you ring the bell you will just make me angry, not only at you but at your cause. Please don’t ring the bell.”
“Oh, but I’m not a solicitor,” he assured me. “I’m here to help you save the environment—”
“You want to help me to save the environment personally?” I interrupted.
“Yes,” he said enthusiastically. Then he shoved a sheaf of papers toward my face. “Did you know that the rate of—”
“By asking me to give you money for your cause,” I continued as if he hadn’t spoken.
“Well, yes,” he agreed. “And you could also give your time. This period is crucial. Last week, more than forty thousand—”
“You are a solicitor,” I concluded.
“Not really—”
“Yes, really. Now go away.”
I started to shut the door, but I wasn’t quick enough. He shoved his clipboard into the gap.
“You know, I came here on a weekday, a month ago,” he told me. “And you said you worked during the day and that that’s why you had all the ‘no solicitors’ signs up. And I understood completely. But this is Saturday night and you’re not working—”
“I am working,” I told him.
“No, you’re not,” he told me back.
“I’m working on a murder investigation at this very moment,” I whispered at him.
“A murder?” he blurted, jerking his head back, his eyes widening in concern.
“Yes.” I lowered my voice even further and bent my head forward conspiratorially. “A murder of a solicitor.”
He lurched back a foot. I pressed my advantage and stepped forward, shortening the gap between us.
“Maybe you can help me,” I suggested. “Do you know of any reason at all why someone would want to murder an uninvited solicitor?” I asked pleasantly.
He had turned and was down my front stairs in the time it
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