Most Likely to Die (A Kate Jasper Mystery) (4 page)

- Four -

“Jeez, I wish I could have been there to see it,” Craig breathed.

“Well I was!” I snapped back. “I saw an old friend die, and let me tell you, it wasn’t any fun—”

“I’m sorry, Kate,” he said contritely.

I kept my sigh internal. Contrition from Craig was not normal. Just one more sign that Craig still hoped that Wayne and I weren’t going to get married. Just one more sign that he still hoped
he
had a chance with me. A romantic chance. For some reason, once Craig had divorced me he’d begun to woo me all over again, and he’d never stopped. I’d tried my best to make it clear that he would never, ever, have another romantic chance with me. Without being too cruel in my rejection. Because Craig was not a bad man. An insensitive man at times. A complete jerk at others. A social idiot—but, anyway, not a bad man.

“Dating any neat new women?” I asked.

“Well,” he answered hesitantly. “I met this woman, Tillie, Scottish country dancing. Someone told me it was a great place for computer nerds to meet women.”

“And…”

“And she’s a vegetarian. Plus, she’s a technical writer.” He paused. “But she has a lot of cats.”

“How many is a lot?”

“Twenty-three,” he whispered.

I tried to imagine that many cats in one room. And succeeded. Suddenly, I could picture each of them in different colors and stripes and spots, all yowling and racing around. My nose began to tickle allergically.

“And you know what else?” Craig’s voice went even lower. “They all sleep with her. In shifts.”

I hung up not long after that, glad I was living with Wayne, not Craig. Glad I was living with one cat and occasional visitors.

But I wasn’t quite sure Wayne was as happy about our living arrangements as I was. I found him sitting in one of the chairs that hung from the ceiling in the living room, but he wasn’t swinging in it like he usually did. He was just sitting, arms crossed, staring out into space.

I put my hands on his shoulders and began to massage. It was like massaging rock. But even rock wears down in time.

“Kate Jasper,” he murmured so low I almost missed it. I didn’t answer. I was pretty sure I knew what was coming.

“Even if you marry me, you’ll still have his name.”

Yup, that’s what I’d thought was coming.

“Wayne,” I said as carefully as I could. “Jasper’s not just Craig’s name anymore. It’s mine. I took it almost twenty years ago. When I called myself Jasper, I didn’t have a last name I was anxious to keep. I didn’t even have an
identity
I was that anxious to keep. But I do now. I’m the Kate Jasper who owns Jest Gifts. I’m the Kate Jasper who’s managed to make my own business from nothing. I’m the Kate Jasper who has a life she loves. And wonderful friends. And a man she adores.”

And, I thought, I’m the Kate Jasper who’s just seen an old friend electrocuted. By my own pinball machine.

Wayne rose from the swinging chair in one swift motion and had a big hand on my shoulder in another.

“Wasn’t your fault,” he said.

At first, I thought he meant it wasn’t my fault my name was Jasper. But then I realized he knew I was thinking about Sid. Had he felt the guilt tingle through my fingertips into his shoulders?

“Oh, Wayne,” I whispered, half in exasperation. How could a man so obstinate in some things be compassionate, verging on telepathic, in others?

“Someone tampered with that machine,” he added.

I opened my mouth to tell him what Craig had said about a second remote control, and shut it again just in time. Wayne’s hand remained reassuringly steady on my shoulder.

“The thing is,” I finally said, feeling my way to the real issue only as I spoke, “I’m not even sure which would be worse. Knowing that Sid was electrocuted by accident, that it was my own machine, maybe my own negligence…” I took a breath. “Or knowing he was murdered, that someone hated him that much—”

The phone rang before I could decide. As if I ever could.

Aurora Kanick was on the line.

“Oh, Kate. I’m so glad I caught you in,” she said, her tone both crisp and serene at the same time. For an instant, I wondered if I could gain that combination of serenity and crispness in twenty or thirty years time.
Nah,
someone in me decided.

“I’ve been thinking on Sid’s death,” Aurora went on. “And the more deeply I consider the circumstances, the more I believe we must act collectively.” Then she paused.

Was I supposed to agree?

“Collectively as in, um, what?” I asked instead.

“Well, first off, we all need to sort out our feelings. I’m certain Sid Semling’s death had a profound impact on each of us. But times of difficulty can be transformed, don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” I answered slowly.

“So, I imagined we could all get together for lunch tomorrow around one o’clock. Since it’s Sunday, I would think most of us might be available.”

“You mean the people from Sid’s party?” I interrupted. My soggy brain didn’t seem to be keeping up with Aurora’s crisp one.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Kate,” Aurora said with a laugh like the tinkle of wind chimes, steel wind chimes. “I’m not being very clear, am I? Yes, I did mean the people who were present at the time of Sid’s death. Do you suppose you and Wayne could come?”

I put my hand over the receiver and turned around. Wayne walked toward me, frowning.

“Do you want to meet with the people from Sid’s party, at Aurora Kanick’s tomorrow?” I whispered.

“Why?” he whispered back, the frown deepening.

“Because…”

I saw Sid’s face in my mind for an instant, caught as he’d been remembering Robert Weiss with affection. And suddenly I was remembering Sid Semling with affection. And remembering that it was Hot Flash that had killed him.

“You’re not thinking of investigating?” Wayne asked softly but urgently.

“No, no,” I assured him automatically. But I kept thinking that if I could look into everyone’s eyes just once, maybe I’d see…

Wayne took another step forward, bent down, and looked into
my
eyes.

“You have to go, don’t you?” he said.

I was nodding my head before I even consciously heard his question.

“Okay,” he agreed. “Together.”

He straightened back up as I took my hand from the receiver to pass on the message.

“I thought it would be best if we all met at Jack and Lillian’s house in Gravendale,” Aurora told me. “It’ll be easier for you to find than mine. I’m living in a cottage out in an experimental community in Lupton now. But Jack and Lillian and the kids are living in the very same house that Jack grew up in. Maybe you remember?” A grainy image of a white house with green shutters floated through my mind as she gave me the address and directions.

“And, Kate, thank you,” she added finally. “I know you must be as concerned as I am.”

I wanted a translation. But Aurora had said goodbye and hung up the phone before I could ask if “concerned” meant anything like “worried to death that Sid was murdered.”

I turned to Wayne to ask him. I even opened my mouth. And then the doorbell rang. Almost as if they were connected.

Wayne and I moved toward the door as a pair, he doing the final honors with the doorknob. But it was my arms that Becky Burchell stumbled into. No, I corrected myself, she was Becky Vogel now. But she was still stumbling.

“Whoa,” she breathed into my face. “Hey there, Kate.” A connoisseur could have identified the brand of whiskey she’d been drinking from her breath. Even for me, the fumes were enough for a contact high.

Which made me wonder how she’d gotten here. I looked out over her shoulders onto the driveway and saw a Fiat parked at an angle across the gravel. Lucky it was a short car. It would have been in the flowers otherwise.

“Had to come,” Becky explained, her voice too high and too loud. She uncurled her spine until she was standing straight on her own two feet. Then she took a deep breath in. And out again.

I backed up a step, holding my own breath, and regretting my earlier impulse to give everyone at Sid’s party my business card (with my home address and phone number conveniently stamped on the back).

“Like to come in?” Wayne asked politely from my side. I could hear the forced note in that politeness, but I doubted if Becky could.

“Well, thank you, kind sir,” Becky replied with a shaky little bow. Then she tilted her head sideways and stared up at Wayne’s face for a moment. And another moment. And another.

I stared at her face as she stared at Wayne’s, trying to figure out what she was looking for. What was she thinking? But her face wasn’t giving out any clues. She still had the same delicate bone structure and open blue eyes that she used to, though there were a hell of a lot more wrinkles and even a few broken blood vessels in that face. And her smile was just as lopsided as it had been twenty-five years ago. Especially when she drank a bit too much. Or smoked a bit too much. Or—

Something squeezed at my chest. What now? 1 thought. And then knew. Sadness. It wasn’t just Sid dying. It was seeing Becky like this. She’d been wild in high school, but sharp. And witty and fun and kind. And I’d cared for her. How had she become this drunken woman standing in front of me? When in the last twenty-five years had it happened?

Becky gave her head a violent shake, and her face disappeared under a curtain of permed blond hair. Then she took an unsteady step into the entryway. Wayne gave her the elderly aunt treatment, steering her toward the living room with a hand on her elbow.

“Wowie, zowie!” Becky whooped, opening up her arms and knocking away Wayne’s guiding hand in the process. “What a cool place. The sixties live!”

I looked at my own living room, outraged. The sixties? True, the room was wall to wall with overflowing handmade bookshelves and a jungle of houseplants. True, our only furniture consisted of a set of swinging chairs suspended from the wood-beamed ceiling by rope, a handmade wood and denim couch, and piles of mismatched pillows. Oh, and a futon. But it was neat. And there wasn’t any macramé in sight, by God.

Then she turned her face toward the corner where the two pinball machines, Hayburners and Texan, stood. Her head jerked back as if slapped. Then her eyes filled with tears.

“Oh, Becky,” I whispered. “I’m sorry.”

I put my arms around her and held her, trying not to breathe too deeply, ashamed of my earlier thoughts. Just because Becky was drunk this night didn’t mean she was always drunk. She had seen Sid die just as I had. No wonder she was drinking now. And she had come to me. And I hadn’t wanted to see her.

I led her to the wood and denim couch and set her down gently, then sat next to her. I didn’t think she could handle one of the swinging chairs.

“My fault,” she murmured through her hair, which was hiding her face again. “My fault.”

“What exactly is your fault?” Wayne asked softly, still standing.

And for a chilling heartbeat, I wondered if Becky
was
here to confess murder.

“Say again?” she answered, bringing her head up, her blue eyes wet and shining.

“You said something was your fault—” Wayne began patiently.

“Coming here!” she cried, with a wave of her hand. “Coming here, drunk like this. Sorry, sorry. What a dope I am. But I had to. Had to talk to someone.”

“About?” I prompted.

“Sid!” she yelped. “Oh, Jeez, Sid. He was always so funny, you know. Making me laugh all the time.” She laughed then, a high-pitched laugh that hurt to even hear. “Kate, remember the Jell-O in the swimming pool? Gad, that was hilarious. And when he and the other guys carried Mr. Harper’s Volkswagen bug around the corner. And the black lace bra on the flagpole. I know that was Sid’s. And the talking toilets.”

I nodded unenthusiastically. I’d been one of the idiots who’d sat on the talking toilet. And talked back.

“He made that pinball machine say all that stuff today,” she added. “I’m sure of it. And then, and then…”

She put her face in her hands.

“It was just like Robert all over again!”

I stiffened next to her on the couch, unable to hear the next few sentences that poured out of her mouth.

Because it
was
like Robert all over again. Robert doing a magic trick, then exploding. Sid doing a prank, then electrocuting. But what did that similarity mean? Nothing, probably. Robert’s death had been investigated by the police at the time. Thoroughly. We’d all been questioned. Especially about where the fireworks had come from. They’d finally figured out that Robert had bought the fireworks out of state on a trip with his parents. And there was no way Robert’s death could have been rigged. No one could have timed a rocket to fizzle then explode at the same moment the conjuror chose to bend over it.

“…it’s like they were connected,” Becky was saying when I tuned back in.

“But how?” I asked seriously.

“I don’t know, I don’t know,” she whimpered, shaking her head. “God playing with the people I love while I watch.” She laughed bitterly. “Of course, with me at the center of the universe.” Then she sat up straighter, looking as sober as I’d seen her yet that night. “Gad, I’ve gotta stop this. They were both just horrible, horrible accidents.”