Murder on the Astral Plane (A Kate Jasper Mystery) by Jaqueline Girdner Read Free Book Online Page A

listening to all of us as we answered his lieutenant’s questions.
    But Kettering was back in the kitchen before I could answer my own questions about Chief Wenger. And Kettering didn’t even pause for a breath before he took on Gil Nesbit. He typed the Lotto man as a Sagittarius and an adventurer, an enneagram type seven…and a compulsive gambler. That closed Gil’s mouth before he’d barely opened it.
    But when Kettering turned his attention to Rich McGowan, accusing him of sixishness, the rules seemed to change. Rich stepped over to Wenger’s seat.
    “Chief,” he said, his voice hushed but quivering. “We need to talk for a moment.”
    Wenger raised his eyebrows as he appraised Rich. Then he asked, “What about, Mr. McGowan?”
    Rich swallowed and jerked his head toward the doorway.
    “In private, Chief Wenger?” His question came out as a plea.
    Wenger sighed his inevitable sigh, but he stood up from his chair and followed Rich out of the kitchen to the living room. My mind went wild with questions. Was Rich McGowan really some kind of narcotics agent? I didn’t see any sign of drugs at Justine’s. The thought of illegal drugs brought the thought of legal drugs to mind and, of course, Wayne. The doctor had told me he’d be fine alone, but still. It had been over two hours since I’d seen him. Maybe three. What if he needed help? What if—
    “I channel an angel named Rogerio, Lieutenant,” Tory piped up, interrupting my oncoming implosion. There was a hint of flirtation in her voice. “And I’m an Aquarius, an enneagram three, an ENFJ, and my birthday is on the thirteenth.”
    Kettering looked like a man in love as he turned a goofy smile on Tory, who was still perched on the counter.
    “Wow,” he murmured.
    “Do you have a book on guardian angels, Lieutenant?” Tory asked.
    Kettering dived for the books on the table, but came up dry.
    “Sorry, ma’am,” he apologized. “But I’ll get one on angelology right away.”
    “Well,” Denise’s slower, deeper voice broke in. “I’m an Aries, and I did a show on enneagrams recently, so I can tell you that I’m a type five, the observer.” Her voice was almost as soothing as Justine’s, but her hands were twisting together impatiently. No wonder she did radio. “My birthday’s April eighth, and I’m not sure of my Myers-Briggs.”
    Kettering turned to Denise slowly, but turned dutifully all the same, jotting down her information just as Wenger came back in with Rich McGowan.
    Kettering turned to Rich, but Wenger waved him off with a flick of his hand. I wondered just how Rich had received his exemption as Kettering sat back down in his chair and looked over the stack of books on the kitchen table, searching for another victim. His glance lit on Artemisia’s wreck of a face.
    “And you are?” he asked.
    Artemisia just stared at Kettering.
    “She’s Artemisia Twitchell,” Linda answered for her, stepping around the table until she was behind Artemisia’s chair. “She’s usually much more together than this, but this murder deal really freaked her out. Didn’t it, you poor thing?” She patted Artemisia’s shoulder gently.
    Artemisia grabbed Linda’s hand convulsively and a pair of tears squeezed out of her reddened eyes.
    “Ms. Twitchell, what can you tell me about your type?” Kettering asked encouragingly.
    “Unlucky,” Artemisia murmured.
    Good answer, I thought.
    “Do you know your sign?” Kettering bulldozed on.
    “A bad sign, born under a bad sign,” Artemisia sang out.
    And Femur and Tibia began to yowl with her from somewhere underneath the kitchen table.
    “Spirits,” she said, grinning. The grin looked macabre on her makeup-ravaged face.
    Kettering stopped smiling. He moved his chair back and bent over slowly until his head was partway under the kitchen table. I couldn’t tell whether he had his gun drawn from where I was sitting, but I wouldn’t have been surprised.
    “They’re cats, for Pete’s sake,