A Stiff Critique by Jaqueline Girdner Read Free Book Online Page A

bread?” she asked me over her shoulder.
    I nodded. I needed something to do with my hands. My earlier rush of adrenaline had left them twitching. Not to mention the rest of me.
    Carrie pulled a loaf of Alvarado Sprouted Sourdough from the refrigerator and handed it to me. Then she tossed the minced garlic into the sesame oil with a pinch of herbs from a jar near the stove. I sliced the bread while the garlic and herbs began to sputter. The aroma filled the room and I began to salivate. I was actually hungry, I realized. Then a vision of Slade’s mangled head intervened and my mouth went dry again.
    “Donna gave each of us group members a hard copy of her manuscript at last Saturday’s meeting,” Carrie said. “She was afraid her father’s business associates—read ‘hoods’—would steal her own copy. They have before. She also warned us that they might attempt to retrieve the copies she gave to each of us.”
    “And you think those were the guys in the Armani suits?” I said slowly. “Are we really talking Mafia?”
    Carrie didn’t answer me right away.
    Instead, she dipped the slices of bread in the garlic mixture one at a time, then put them all into the microwave to heat. After that, she minced some fresh basil and added it to what was left in the saucepan, then poured in a can of minestrone soup and a splash of sherry.
    “I’m not certain that the men in the suits are actually members of a specific crime organization. Or even that they are connected to Donna’s family,” she answered finally. “But the latter does seem probable if we assume Donna is telling the truth about her family. How many other men would come to steal her manuscript?”
    “But you don’t think they murdered Slade.”
    “No, I don’t believe so,” she said briskly, opening the refrigerator door again with a hard yank that shook the bottles on the shelves. “Wouldn’t our visitors have roughed me up at the very least if they were that violent? They just ran, Kate. I couldn’t have scared them that much.” She looked into the refrigerator for a moment. “Not to mention the fact that Slade said he was meeting someone at five from our group, someone who probably killed him. The two men in the Armani suits were not in our group, I can assure you.”
    “But—” I began.
    “On the other hand,” Carrie went on, “one of the many questions I would like to ask Donna is whether she thinks her father’s hoods are capable of murder.”
    “After you ask her if they’ve been out retrieving manuscripts,” I said. I still wasn’t sure that we had established that fact. My stomach began churning. Anxiety or hunger? Both, I decided.
    Carrie pulled a bunch of butter lettuce, some tomatoes and a glass jar from the refrigerator.
    “Marinated green beans, capers, kidney beans, onions, olives and mushrooms,” she told me. “My own recipe.”
    I rinsed the lettuce and tomatoes quickly as Carrie stirred the soup. I chopped them up in an even bigger hurry once the microwave pinged. In spite of the shocks of the day—or maybe because of them—I was really hungry now. Even thinking about Slade couldn’t quell my yearning for food.
    In a few more minutes the meal was on the table. I crunched into a piece of bread, burning my lips. The burst of garlic, sesame and herb flavors was worth the pain. I chewed happily, then opened my mouth to ask Carrie what herbs she had used. But her mouth was faster than mine.
    “So, what do we do now, Ms. Jasper?” she asked me, her tone light. The tone didn’t fool me for a minute. I could see the way her hands were clenched together on the tabletop. And she hadn’t touched her food yet.
    “Eat?” I hazarded.
    “About the murder,” she added in a heavier tone. A much heavier tone.
    “I don’t know,” I told her defensively. “I’m not a detective. I’m just a gag-gift maker.”
    “Well, I’m just an attorney and not a criminal attorney at that,” she shot back. Her hands came apart and