Fat-Free and Fatal (A Kate Jasper Mystery)

Fat-Free and Fatal (A Kate Jasper Mystery) by Jaqueline Girdner Read Free Book Online

Book: Fat-Free and Fatal (A Kate Jasper Mystery) by Jaqueline Girdner Read Free Book Online
Authors: Jaqueline Girdner
that she’d take the hint. Her face was a fairy-tale witch’s, with small navy blue eyes under low brows, a long, crooked nose and a thin, malicious mouth, all topped by a long tangle of dyed black hair. The only thing that was missing was the pointed hat. Wayne’s homeliness filled me with love. Vesta’s didn’t. Not that I have anything against witches. Glinda, the Good Witch of the North, had been my personal hero when I was a child. Unfortunately, Vesta had more in common with the Wicked Witch of the West.
    “Ask her what she’s been doing,” she commanded Wayne. She pointed an accusing finger in my direction.
    “Mom, don’t,” Wayne begged softly. He held out a hand. Was it for me?
    Vesta strode toward him and laid claim to the hand before I had a chance. Wayne gazed at me over her shoulder, his rough face a study in frustration. Maybe I wouldn’t wait for Vesta to leave.
    “The woman who owned the restaurant—” I began again.
    “Waynie,” interrupted Vesta, her voice suddenly quavering. “I had a chest pain just now. Do you think it was a heart attack?”
    He looked into her face. “Are you serious, Mom?”
    “Oh, yes,” she answered. “I hate to trouble you, but it scared me a little.”
    “I’ll call the doctor,” he said brusquely.
    “No, no,” she whispered. “I’ll talk to a doctor tomorrow…”
    Wayne sighed, then put an arm around his mother and led her down the hall to the back room, now her bedroom. Another round to Vesta. I believed her report of chest pain about as much as I believed politicians who said they just wanted to be of service.
    I waited for a few minutes, still standing there in the entryway, hoping that Wayne would be back. Then I stomped into the bedroom alone, changed into a bathing suit and stomped out onto the back deck to soak in the hot tub.
    My cat, C.C., joined me after I had climbed into the tub. She sat in a chair a safe foot away and complained. I slid in deeper, letting the hot water boil away the tension in my muscles. If C.C. was meowing about Vesta Caruso, I was in complete agreement.
    Vesta hadn’t been born a Caruso, or even married one. She had been born Vesta Skeritt, but had changed her name to Mrs. Caruso when Wayne was born, listing the father as Enrico Caruso. Wayne didn’t know exactly why she had chosen the opera singer’s name. A joke? Defiance? Wishful thinking? I had felt such pity for Vesta, starting off at eighteen as a single mother in the days when single mothers were identified by far less positive descriptions. I still felt for her occasionally, at least when I wasn’t in her malign presence.
    Maybe his illegitimacy was the reason that Wayne had wanted to marry me so badly. Whatever his reasons, I was glad he had finally settled for living with me. My first, and last, marriage had left me gun-shy. And up to the time of Vesta’s arrival, Wayne and I had been happy together, fixing our separate vegetarian and meat meals, but sharing our lives and a bed.
    Sweat dripped down my forehead. I closed my eyes. That wasn’t a good move. Sheila’s strangled body flashed into my mind instantly. My eyes popped open and I wondered how much time would have to pass before that image would fade from my mind’s eye. I splashed my way out of the tub much to C.C.’s loud disapproval. Wayne , I thought, I’ve got to tell Wayne .
    He was waiting for me in the bedroom, sitting on my velour-draped Goodwill couch. His face was creased by lines of misery.
    “Kate,” he greeted me as I walked in, the lines in his face softening.
    He was with me in three long steps. He scooped me up in his arms and held me to him, soaking the front of his flannel shirt. If he noticed I was wet, he didn’t say so.
    By the time he set me back down, he was apologizing about Vesta, about himself, about everything. Two hours later, he was still apologizing and making plans to move Vesta out of my house. I never did get a chance to tell him about Sheila Snyder’s

Similar Books

Beginning Again

Mary Beacock Fryer

The Perfect Arrangement

Katie Ganshert

Hot As Sin

Debra Dixon

The Way We Live Now

Anthony Trollope

Come Clean (1989)

Bill James

Scones, Skulls & Scams

Leighann Dobbs