Most Likely to Die (A Kate Jasper Mystery) by Jaqueline Girdner Read Free Book Online Page A

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.”
    I peered into her face, curious if she really believed that. She just stared back, her round blue eyes open and empty.
    “Sid’s death an accident?” I prodded, going for the jump-start approach.
    “Yeah,” she said, flinging her hand up suddenly as if to drive the point home. “Sid told us he had a heart condition, remember? So he had a heart attack.”
    I nodded. That made some sense. I sat a little straighter myself, hoping for a