Murder Most Mellow (A Kate Jasper Mystery) (34 page)

Exhaustion tugged at me then. I sank into a steel-and-leather chair and lay my face down on the table. The tabletop was made of glass. I could see my own chair-flattened thighs through it. That seemed grossly unfair. One of the sheriffs, a good-hearted Asian man, asked me if I was okay and offered to get me a cup of coffee.

I was explaining my viewpoint on coffee as a form of poison when I heard a commotion outside. I looked through the kitchen window and saw two sheriffs escorting Vivian to a waiting car. Her muscular body looked small and vulnerable between the two six-footers. The sudden gush of tears that flowed from my eyes seemed unconnected to me. But I knew then that I would mourn the loss of Vivian even longer than the loss of Sarah.

As I watched the Sheriff’s car carry Vivian away, I noticed someone else. Wayne. He was standing in front of a burly uniformed policeman at the end of the driveway. The policeman had one hand on his gun and the other hand held out, palm forward. Wayne’s face was unreadable at that distance. But the hunch of his shoulders told me that he was angry.

I stood up and walked to the window quickly. I waved both my arms at Wayne, semaphore fashion. His shoulders relaxed. His wave back was exuberant.

I heard new voices behind me. I turned and saw Sergeant Feiffer and his dog-faced sidekick. Feiffer pointed toward the chair I’d been sitting in. I blew Wayne a kiss, then sat back down.

Sergeant Feiffer looked tense. I wondered whether he was going to yell at me some more. But he didn’t. He just asked me to tell my story in my own words. When I explained why I had suspected Vivian he kept nodding as if to say, “I know, I know.” Then I wondered if he had known, or had at least guessed, that it was Vivian all along. Hadn’t he said that he had ideas, but no proof, from the beginning? When I got to the part where Vivian flung herself over the vacuum cleaner cord, the sergeant’s sidekick cleared his throat.

“I guess her karma just caught up with her, huh?” he said in a low and sincere voice.

Sergeant Feiffer groaned and walked out of the room.

He never came back. Another less friendly Sheriff’s sergeant marched in with a tape recorder. Then the real interrogation began. It was almost two hours later when he finally let me go. I promised to sign a written transcript of my statement the next day.

Wayne was waiting for me outside.

He held me for a long time. When I finally drew back, he bent over and looked into my eyes.

“I’ll be there whenever you’re ready,” he growled softly.

He climbed into his Jaguar and rolled out past the iron gates before I could say I was already ready.

- Twenty-Five -

“Heavy,” Tony murmured. His voice was barely audible over the whoosh and gurgle of the circulating water in the hot tub.

So far that Sunday afternoon, “heavy” had been his only comment on my account of Wednesday’s confrontation with Vivian. Tony was listening, though. His sincere face declared his attention and concern without words. Unfortunately, his new rainbow Mohawk was sending another message. I pulled my gaze away from his hair and slid deeper into the hot water of the tub. Maybe in time I would get used to the multicolored fan of spikes that divided his otherwise shaved skull. But I wouldn’t bet on it.

Peter bent forward in a posture of impending interrogation. Drops of sweat shimmied down his nose and into the water. Peter hadn’t limited himself to one comment. Objections, arguments and questions had spouted from his mouth concerning each and every piece of my story.

“I can’t believe you were foolish enough to go alone to confront a woman whom you believed to be a murderer,” he lectured peevishly. “What is wrong with you, Kate?”

“Vivian was my friend,” I answered sullenly, wondering why I had said “was” instead of “is.” I hadn’t really believed Vivian was a murderer until the Windex had hit me in the face. “Anyway,” I told him, “Wayne was there.”

“That’s another thing,” he pressed. “What was Wayne doing there?”

“He was following me in his car,” I explained. “When he heard the police cars he thought…”

I faltered. What had Wayne thought? We had spoken by telephone four or five times since Wednesday, but our conversations had been superficial—chitchat on my side, monosyllables on his. Neither of us had mentioned either of the two “M” words, marriage or murder. I hadn’t invited him to see me in person yet. I wasn’t prepared to handle the possibility of his refusal.

Peter’s sour voice tugged me back to Sunday once more. “I still don’t understand her motive—”

“Vivian didn’t kill for only one reason,” I interrupted sharply. “Not just for the investment program. Not just for Nick. There were a lot of reasons.” I sank deeper into the tub, letting the hot water flow over my shoulders. “Sarah wounded Vivian deeply. Sarah told Vivian she was entitled, then threatened her entitlement.”

I paused, remembering the hatred in Vivian’s face when she had talked about Sarah. I shivered, wondering how I could still feel so cold while immersed in the steaming water of a hot tub.

“Sarah preached the doctrine of prosperity consciousness,” I said softly, looking down at the swirling water. “Over and over again, she said that everyone was entitled to wealth and success. All they had to do was develop a positive attitude. To create their own reality.” I looked up at Tony and Peter.

Tony nodded. Peter opened his mouth to object. I pressed on quickly.

“Vivian believed in the idea of entitlement literally, like a child believes in fairy tales. So when the magic that Sarah promised didn’t work, Vivian blamed her.” I could almost see Sarah’s grinning face in the steam. She must have driven Vivian crazy. “Then Sarah gave up on Vivian. You know how Sarah acted when she decided someone wasn’t on her path.”

“Like they were invisible,” Peter said softly. Was he beginning to understand?

I nodded and went on. “Vivian was hurting, emotionally and financially. Then she saw a way to get her share of the goodies, by copying Sarah’s investment program and selling it. But Sarah caught her. Vivian wanted that program. And she wanted revenge.”

“But she
had
to know she might be caught,” Peter argued.

“Vivian isn’t big on long-range planning,” I explained, thinking of her disastrous spur-of-the-moment marriages. “The alcohol didn’t help either.” I didn’t want to talk anymore. I felt so tired. I wondered if I was coming down with something.

Tony reached over to give my shoulder a squeeze. I looked up to thank him, but the sight of his Mohawk stopped me before I got my mouth open. I had forgotten about it again.

“What did Jerry want to talk to you about?” Peter probed. “What did he tell his wife exactly?”

“He told his wife he wanted to let me know that he saw ‘the cleaning lady at the computer,’ “ I answered. “He didn’t say
what
cleaning lady, or
whose
computer. And Mrs. Gold didn’t connect the comment with Sarah’s death. She never told the police what Jerry had said.” I shook my head slowly. Jerry shouldn’t have died. Or Sarah. I might have prevented both their deaths if I had been quicker off the mark.

“It wasn’t your fault,” murmured Tony. Was I that transparent? Or had he received psychic powers along with his Mohawk?

I squinted at him. His hair looked better that way. “Thank you,” I said.

“I never considered Vivian as a suspect,” Peter admitted. So that was why he kept arguing with me!

“I didn’t think of Vivian right away either,” I told him. “Though I should have. Programming that robot took time and access, and she was the only one who had plenty of both. Remember Sarah told us that Vivian ‘fancies herself a computer programmer’? Not to mention the fact that Vivian told me the contents of Sarah’s will. The will that was stored on the computer.” I shook my head. I had missed so many clues. Maybe I had missed them on purpose. I hadn’t wanted to believe it was Vivian.

“What’ll happen to her now?” asked Tony.

“I don’t know. I didn’t ask,” I sighed. I hadn’t really wanted to know. “Prison or a mental hospital, I guess.” I closed my eyes. Fatigue was settling down on me again.

“You know, Vivian is going to have one great advantage in either institution,” said Peter in an unusually gentle tone.

“What advantage?” I demanded, opening one eye.

He sat up straight in the tub and smiled. The smile looked good on his sweating face. “I predict she will become the queen of gossip,” he pronounced. “Closed institutions thrive on gossip. She’ll have plenty of subjects.”

“Yeah, really?” I asked, wanting to believe.

“Really,” he assured me. He even reached and patted my knee, then flushed and drew his hand back, probably embarrassed to be caught in an act of kindness.

“Thanks, Peter,” I whispered. My cold hands grew a little warmer as I imagined Vivian regaling rows of inmates with her tales.

Peter cleared his throat. “I have a theory about the seance,” he announced.

“Yeah, what?” I asked.

He steepled his fingertips before beginning his lecture. “Much of New Age conjecture is insensitive to the needs of those who are truly less fortunate,” he elucidated. “If Sarah finally realized this basic concept, she might have realized that she had made a mistake with Vivian, as well as with others.”

“So, she said, ‘whoops,’ “ I concluded for him. It was an interesting theory, but I had my doubts. It didn’t sound like a concept that Sarah would understand, even in death.

“I’ve been thinking, too,” began Tony diffidently. The spikes of his Mohawk were beginning to wilt in the steam. “Sarah was an immortalist. She believed she could live forever. And her will was so strong she probably would have, too.”

“Perhaps,” Peter granted impatiently.

“But isn’t immortality in this lifetime the ultimate limitation?” Tony argued. His eyes were wide and moist with emotion. It felt good to be able to trust his sincerity again. “Maybe it was important for her to go on to the next stage—”

“But—” Peter began.

“I think that’s what she realized when she sent us ‘whoops,’ “ Tony finished quickly.

Peter opened his mouth to object again, but apparently thought better of it. He let his mouth close and leaned back against the tub’s wall, his face pinched in thought. I leaned back too and considered Tony’s theory. I didn’t really buy it. It supposed a message from the dead in the first place, and insight from Sarah in the second place. Before I could get to the third place, Sarah’s voice came into my mind reminding me that nothing was impossible. All right, all right, I told myself. Maybe it’s true.

Peter’s face began to relax, the flesh loosening around his jaw and cheekbones, hints of a smile at the corners of his mouth. Tony’s Mohawk was even more relaxed. It looked less like a fan now, more like a row of colorful spider chrysanthemums. I smiled, then noticed the crisp blue sky for the first time, and the smells and sounds of October that were lazily floating around us. A radio was playing rock’n’ roll somewhere; someone was barbecuing, and C.C. was meowing.

She came racing around the side of the house, her eyes blinking with pleasure. The object of her excitement was shuffling close behind: Wayne.

I gazed at his battered face. I couldn’t remember a lovelier sight since I had retrieved my teddy bear from premature burial in the garbage can some thirty years ago.

Wayne kept his eyes on the ground as he walked toward us, lifting them only for a quick nod at Peter and Tony, then lowering them again.

“Brought you something,” he growled softly.

He moved close enough to the tub to touch me. But he didn’t take advantage of the opportunity. He stuck his hand in his pocket instead and pulled out a small purple velvet box.

He brought his eyes up from the ground again briefly. I saw the uncertainty in them; then they were obscured by his brows as he looked back down.

“Here,” he said. He held the box out to me on his open palm like a tourist feeding a wild animal.

I reached a wet hand through the steam and plucked the box from his palm. I examined it cautiously. It looked like a jewelry box. Wayne rubbed his empty hands together anxiously.

“For God’s sake, open the thing!” Peter snapped.

I opened it. A ring was nestled inside, a ring with an unusual setting. Small sapphires sketched a rod and a circle. The circle was filled with tiny sparkling diamonds. Damn. What did it mean?

I looked up at Wayne. His gaze remained fastened on the ground. “An award for the best sleuth I know,” he explained in a low rumble.

Finally, I recognized the shape. It was a detective’s magnifying glass. I leaned my head back and laughed.

A magnifying glass set into a ring. What a great present! Then my stomach lurched. Was this an engagement ring?

“No,” Wayne said, as if he had heard me. Was everyone psychic now? He lifted his head and gazed at me with an intensity that could have fried eggs.

“It’s a living-together ring,” he said, his rough voice stronger now. “I’m offering to make you a dishonest woman.” He paused. “Okay?” he asked softly.

“Okay!” I agreed and launched myself out of the water and into Wayne’s arms, triggering a small tidal wave which soaked everyone.

C.C. and Peter howled in unison. Tony yelped, “My hair!”