Murder on the Astral Plane (A Kate Jasper Mystery) (24 page)

- Twenty-Four -

We were all at Justine’s the next day, even Wayne. Justine’s living room had a warm and welcoming feeling now, marred only by the occasional chill of ghosts. Baking smells drifted out of the kitchen, overwhelming the mingled fragrances of the group. Even Artemisia’s ever-present eucalyptus scent was masked for the moment. I let the warmth surrounding me sink all the way into my bones, wondering how my bones could have gotten so cold. Do bones actually have feelings? Linda popped out of the kitchen as if in answer to my question, bounding across the room with Tibia and Femur yowling at her heels.

“Zarathustra, wanna lick the bowl?” she asked.

Zarathustra straightened up from where he’d been lounging against the knotty-wood-and-grass-cloth wall, his arms crossed and his expression sullen. But Linda’s offer made him smile. And that smile lit up his face. I ignored the eyes in the knotty-wood paneling and concentrated on Zarathustra’s face. It was a good face, a kind face, maybe even a handsome one.

“You think I’m some kinda goofy kid, maybe?” he asked Linda, tilting his head and squinting his eyes, tough guy style.

“Oooh, Zara,” Linda shot back, raising her own weathered features to see him better. “I think you’re some kinda wonderful,
sweet
kid.”

“Oh, that was low, woman,” he yelped in that unexpectedly high voice and then smiled again, racing after Linda as she bounded back into the kitchen, cats streaming behind them.

Artemisia, Tory, and Rich didn’t seem to notice Linda and Zarathustra. The three made an odd triplet where they stood nearby, manifesting the world of evil spirits, the channeling of angels, and an unknown government agency. And still, they were speaking the same language. Maybe. I caught a little as their words drifted by on the warm air.

“…spirits can be controlled by herbs…”

“Rogerio thinks…”

“…um, interesting.”

I didn’t even try to make sense of the words I heard. Maybe no one could.

Justine had taken her place on the ottoman. And Wayne and Elsa sat in the two corduroy armchairs. I stood close by, along with Barbara. I wanted to make sure Wayne stayed seated. He’d insisted on coming with me, and I couldn’t blame him. Anyway, he looked good today, his scarred face pink with new energy, his hooded eyes clear and intelligent. Gil Nesbit marched by us again. He seemed to be pacing continuously.

“Hey, Lotto, Lotto, Lotto,” Gil greeted us, his eyes spaced under his aviator glasses. I wondered when he’d slept last. Gil Nesbit, the Lotto bunny.

Justine looked at Barbara and raised her eyebrows. Barbara blushed and shrugged.
Bad psychic
, I thought at my friend and nudged her in the ribs with my elbow. Wayne looked up at me and smiled slyly. He wasn’t psychic, but somehow he knew what it was all about. I smiled back, lost in affection for the man who
had
forgiven me.

The reunited psychic soiree was complete. Except, of course, for Silk Sokoloff and Isabelle Viseu. And Denise. And no representatives of the Paloma Police Department were present. But I didn’t even want to think about the Paloma Police Department. Today, the sun shone in the big open windows, and the fluffy white curtains fluttered, although there was no apparent wind. No apparent wind, so what was causing the curtains—? No, I told myself, as unbidden, a picture of Silk appeared in my mind, her hand fluttering the curtains as she grinned. Maybe it was safer to think about the Paloma Police Department, after all.

I was truly grateful that Lieutenant Kettering and Chief Wenger had been there to take Denise to the hospital. Truly grateful that they had been there at all. Even if Chief Wenger had been loudly aggravated by having to wait for my hands to stop shaking long enough to loosen the chain lock so he could get to Denise. And aggravated all over again that I’d grabbed Denise’s gun on the way. “Fer Pete’s sake, that’s evidence!” still vibrated down my brain stem. The gun had looked more like a weapon to me at the time. As for thanks, even Gil Nesbit wouldn’t have bet that Chief Wenger would ever give Barbara or me any credit for clearing up the mystery. I was sure of that.

A fresh blast of cinnamon, cloves, and nutmeg flew in from the kitchen. Linda’s work. I love it when other people bake. When I bake, I just burn whatever I’m cooking—and my hands in the process.

“So, kids, give this ole lady a clue,” Elsa began, her raspy voice loud enough to break eardrums today. She coughed and then raised her eyebrows over the frames of her bifocals. “This Denise gal, she gonna live?”

“Yeah, she was only wounded in the leg,” I told her. This had to be at least my third retelling, but everyone in the room seemed hungry for the words, hungry to hear them again. “They got some blood into her and she’s going to be fine, well, fine…”

“Physically,” Justine finished for me, her deep voice peaceful today.

“Wait a minute,” Tory ordered, closing her eyes. She put her hand to her forehead in the manner of silent movie stars in distress as we all turned her way. “Rogerio has something to say.” She paused. “Rogerio says Denise was always nuts. He says she dressed too conservatively for someone who ran a show about alternative lifestyles.”

I opened my mouth to object, but Tory, or Rogerio, had a pretty good point. I looked at the tons of necklaces and amulets weighing down Tory’s body and wondered what Rogerio wore. Or did guardian angels wear anything at all?

“Whooee, Rogerio!” Elsa put in. “You’re one hell of a smart angel. But funny how you came up with this
after
Denise got herself caught by these two here.” She turned back toward me and Barbara. “So, kids, how’d you figure it out?”

When Barbara didn’t say anything, I fielded the question.

“Denise was the only one with real opportunity,” I answered tentatively, waiting for Barbara to jump in. She didn’t. “Barbara had this computer program and we put everyone in place.” I stopped to look at Barbara, but she was staring at Gil still doing his Lotto mantra on the other side of the room. I turned back to Elsa. “Remember that day, how all our chairs were in a tight circle?”

“Too hard to get out of the circle without somebody noticing,” Elsa rasped in understanding. She looked up as Linda and Zarathustra came back in from the kitchen. “But what about these guys here?” She pointed. “They weren’t in the circle either.”

“They were together,” Barbara threw in. I was glad to hear her finally talking. “So unless Linda and Zarathustra were in a conspiracy, they couldn’t be our murderers.”

Zarathustra glowered at Barbara.

“But of course, they weren’t in a conspiracy,” I added hastily.

“And we all saw the motive,” Barbara kept on. Suddenly, I didn’t think Barbara was a cat. She was really more of a pit bull. Maybe Felix was rubbing off on her. “Silk put the moves on Denise—”

“Hell, Silk put the moves on everyone, even this ole lady—” Elsa interrupted.

“But only Denise got twitchy about it,” Barbara finished. She smiled smugly. Nope, she was a cat, all right.

“Denise was very defensive about her unmarried state,” Artemisia supplemented in a whisper. She looked away as she spoke, but she spoke. “And she kept calling the people she interviewed ‘weirdos.’”

I turned my head to take a better look at Artemisia. Her long, pinched face looked more at ease today. And she was observant. More observant than I had been. Barbara’s smug smile was fading a little around the edges. Artemisia may have also been more observant than Barbara had been.

“Oooh, you know what else?” Linda put in. “Denise was really strong under those little-girl clothes. She must have worked out.”

“She said she lifted weights,” I remembered aloud. When had she said that? When we’d visited her the first time? And then I thought of the Socrates bust she’d used to bludgeon Isabelle. Damn, it was getting cold again. Wayne reached for my hand and held it.

“And her voice didn’t match her body signals,” Linda rambled on blithely. “All that soothing voice, and her body so twitchy, especially about lesbians.”

There was a silence. Not a particularly comfortable one for all the sunshine and good smells. I thought about how many signals I’d missed. And in case I couldn’t remember them all, Linda had more to add.

“Remember, Kate,” she reminded me. “I tried to tell you about Denise being a cat. Her feelings about Silk made her feel unclean. Cats can’t stand to feel unclean.”

“Right,” I murmured. From the mouths of veterinarians.

“But that’s okay,” Linda assured me and turned to walk back to the kitchen.

“Have you ever noticed,” Justine’s quiet voice began, holding the room still with its authority, “how we are most afraid of those who have the traits we are afraid of in our own selves? And even angry at times. Denise saw Silk as the exaggeration of her worst fears.”

“And Silk threatened her livelihood too,” Barbara cut in again.

Zarathustra cleared his throat, looking out over our heads. “Silk was cool, she could have been a player.” It was a eulogy. “But she knew how to treat people ugly, man.” Or maybe it wasn’t a eulogy. “It was so sad, when she just wanted, I don’t know, maybe love or something. But she could really push your buttons.” He shook his head. “It would be just like Silk to goof on Denise, you know, come onto her just to freak her out. She didn’t know how wigged out this Denise person was, that’s all.”

“Denise had too much imagination,” Artemisia declared. This from a woman who painted her face and burned enough herbs to start a forest fire. But then I remembered the eyes Denise had seen in the knotty-wood paneling. Maybe Artemisia was right. Or maybe we all needed a theory to feel better about someone as seemingly bland as Denise being an actual murderer.

“It’s hard to be at philosophical odds with your employer,” Rich McGowan offered. “And whatnot.”

I nodded. Another good theory. Especially whatever the “whatnot” was.

“But we’re all free to find new employers,” Justine told Rich, sending a meaningful glance his way.

Rich pulled at his hair, apparently considering the possibility. A different government agency? He might as well give up being undercover, as far as I was concerned. Maybe a desk job—

“Especially easy to find a new job if you win the Lotto,” Gil suggested. His eyes glazed over again. “Lotto, Lotto, Lotto.”

This time, Justine and I both looked at Barbara.

“You know, Gil,” Barbara tried, “most people meditate with a spiritual—”

“Hey, hey. Lotto, Lotto, Lotto,” he answered seriously. “I hear you. Lotto, Lotto, Lotto.”

Barbara looked back at Justine and squirmed in place.

“Barbara—” Justine began. But Barbara was saved by Linda Underwood. And two plates of freshly baked cookies.

“Oatmeal spice?” Linda offered under my nose. “Or carob mint?”

I took both. My nose had been smelling them for an hour. Now, my mouth wanted to taste them. But even as I bit into spice, and cookie crumbs cascaded down my turtleneck, I knew I had one piece of unfinished business.

“I dreamt about Silk at the very beginning,” I mumbled through my mouthful of cookie. 1 kept my eyes on the floor. It was the only way I could get the words out. “I dreamt about her
before
I ever met her.”

“I know, kiddo,” Barbara assured me gently. “I knew who starred in the dream you told me about—”

“Then why didn’t you say something?” I demanded, my cheeks hot all of a sudden.

“You had to work out the meaning on your own,” she explained.

“Well, time’s up,” I fired back. “What was the meaning?”

“Whaddaya think I am, psychic?” Barbara chortled.

“Hey, wanna test my anger meridian?” I began. “How could you—”

“Wait a minute,” Tory put in, her hand raised. “Rogerio is speaking again. He says there’s someone here who wants to write.”

Whoa. I looked down at Wayne. His eyebrows dropped menacingly. He began to rise from his chair. Talk about physical manifestations of anger meridians.

I sat on his lap before he made it to a standing position. He flopped back in his chair with a
whoomph.
Wrestling at its best.

“You know how I feel about—” he began in a low rumble from beneath me. But another voice drowned his out.

“Oh, you’re right,” Artemisia breathed. “Oh Tory, Rogerio has made me so happy. I’ve always wanted to write. But I needed a sign.”

I circled my head around just in time to see Wayne blush.

“Is there someone here who’d like to go home?” I asked, whispering in his ear.

He kissed the back of my neck in answer.

I got up and pulled Wayne up behind me. He leaned on me ever so slightly as per our agreement concerning walking, and we began our way out of the room, goodbying here and Lotto-Lottoing there.

When we were almost to the door, Justine looked up from her ottoman, her broad face smiling and her liquid brown eyes filled with humor.

“Hey, folks,” she called out. “I feel a prophecy coming on.”

The room went silent.

“Kate and Wayne will be married within a year,” she announced.

“We will?” we asked as one.

She just nodded and got up to hug us both.

Then everyone clapped.