A Sensitive Kind of Murder (A Kate Jasper Mystery) by Jaqueline Girdner Read Free Book Online Page B

practicing for the occasion.
    Wayne and I both jumped and bounced in the chair. It was lucky our combined weight didn’t yank the ropes from the rafters. Damn. I jump when yowled at, but Wayne usually doesn’t. He must have been well and truly shook up.
    “Kate, I can’t believe it,” he murmured. “But it must be true.”
    “Sweetie,” I began again. “It’ll be all right. We’ll figure it out—”
    The doorbell rang and I was saved an explanation of how Steve Summers’ death could ever be “all right.”
    I approached the door cautiously. What if Felix had found out about Steve Summers and returned? But it wasn’t Felix at the door. It was Van Eisner.
    “Wayne here?” he inquired, looking over my shoulder. His pointy little features now looked like the cartoonist had drawn them with fear in mind.
    I considered lying about Wayne’s whereabouts, but Wayne had already extracted himself from the chair and followed me to the door.
    “Hey, Van,” Wayne greeted his groupmate quietly, shaking his hand.
    “Oh God, Wayne,” Van replied, his voice shrill. “Did you find out anything from the cops?”
    Wayne shook his head.
    “Are they looking at drugs?” Van plowed on.
    “Why?” Wayne asked, his voice not so quiet now. “Did drugs have anything to do with Steve’s murder?”
    “How would I know?” Van shrilled. He rubbed his sharp little nose. “It’s just, just…” He looked my way pointedly.
    “You can say anything in front of Kate that you can say in front of me,” Wayne assured him.
    But Van didn’t look reassured. His small eyes widened.
    “Hey, I thought you were into this big confidentiality trip. You’re the last one I’d think would be shooting off your mouth—”
    “Steve was murdered, Van,” Wayne reminded him.
    “Well, just ‘cause I do a little coke occasionally doesn’t make me a murderer, for God’s sake.”
    “Are you sure?” Wayne asked.
    “Of course I’m sure. You haven’t told the police anything about my, you know, personal habits, have you?”
    “No,” Wayne answered honestly.
    “Are you going to tell?”
    “Not unless your little habits have to do with the murder,” I put in helpfully.
    Wayne shot me a glance. I suppose it was a guy kinda discussion or something.
    “But I didn’t have anything to do with Steve’s murder,” Van insisted. “Why does it have to be someone from the group anyway? It could have been anybody…”
    Wayne shook his head. Van paled. He didn’t even ask what gave Wayne a reason to shake his head.
    “Well, it wasn’t me, for God’s sake,” Van said. “I mean, look at Isaac.”
    “What about Isaac?” Wayne asked.
    I stared at Van. This didn’t seem to be a conversation that we should be having in the doorway, but I didn’t want to invite Van in, either. I could see why Wayne was on his case. If anyone who’d been at the potluck exuded a seeming lack of moral character, it was Van Eisner. Not to mention the smell of bad aftershave and nerves. And he had yet to utter one word of regret over Steve’s death.
    “Isaac’s a drunken old fool,” Van finally answered. “And what if it got out that he didn’t write his own books?”
    “I don’t think he’d care,” Wayne argued. “He told us , didn’t he?”
    I found myself nodding. It had been Isaac’s game to tell secrets, anyway. He hadn’t been blindsided.
    “Okay,” Van muttered thoughtfully, scratching the side of his neck. “Well, how about Ted? He’s scared to death his wife will find out he’s been fooling around.”
    “Scared enough to kill?” Wayne said.
    “How the hell am I supposed to know?” Van yelled. “Man, this has been a bad day all around.”
    “Especially for Steve,” I put in. I couldn’t help it.
    “Steve! Steve!” Van yelled. “He’s dead. How about the rest of us? We should be protecting each other.”
    “I won’t protect a murderer,” Wayne warned.
    “Well, I’m not a murderer,” Van announced, a small but surprising