Murder Most Mellow (A Kate Jasper Mystery) Read Online Free PDF Page A

tea. I never did get any more information out of Vivian about Sarah. Or about Sarah’s boyfriend. But I hoped I had cheered her up a little.
    While Vivian vacuumed the living room, I played back the messages on my answering machine. My ad copy for Christmas ornaments had been mangled and would need redoing. The manufacturers had run out of red cloth for the attorneys’ shark ties and wanted me to consider green. An enthusiastic voice wanted to sell me a new retirement plan. A less enthusiastic voice wanted to sell me a course in shamanism and cosmic power. It was definitely Monday morning. There was no time to trim C.C’s nails. I had to get to work.
     
    I was dead tired by the time I came home from the Jest Gifts warehouse on Thursday. I had spent the whole day there straightening out messes. True, I owned the messes, but that fact didn’t comfort me.
    It was a little past six o’clock, early for me to knock off work. But I had promised to visit Sarah. What I really wanted was a nice bowl of leftover potato-leek soup and a soak in the hot tub. But I put the fantasies of relaxation on hold, ignored my blinking answering machine, and got back in my Toyota to drive to Sarah’s. I dutifully put on my new glasses before starting up the car. I needed glasses to drive now, according to my eye doctor. Damn. I had thought we were supposed to get more farsighted as we got older.
    Sarah and I both lived in that unincorporated area of Mill Valley under the shadow of Mount Tamalpais, which the locals called “Tam Valley.” Here, modest, older wood-frame and stucco homes sat side by side with the newer, skylighted, sun-paneled, upwardly mobile residences. Architectural styles ran rampant. I passed, among others, a Swiss chalet, some ranch houses, a few redwood cottages like my own, and what looked like a Moroccan castle as I drove toward Sarah’s. Buildings sat on anything from standard quarter-acre lots to three-acre parcels. And the landscaping was as mixed as the architecture.
    Sarah’s redwood Gothic habitat sat in the back corner of a hilly, full-acre lot overlooking a stream. Her yard was surrounded by tall hedges, some trimmed into whimsical fish shapes.
    As I turned onto Sarah’s street and sighted the fish hedges, a Marin County Sheriff’s Department car came gliding toward me. It turned before passing me, however—into Sarah’s yard. My shoulders tightened. I pulled my own car in on the sheriff’s tail. Once inside the hedges I could see a half-dozen vehicles jammed into Sarah’s circular driveway. The scene might have been festive except that most of the vehicles belonged to the county. My pulse began pounding noisily in my head. What kind of surprise did Sarah have for me this time?
     

 
    - Three -
     
    I parked my Toyota behind one of the sheriff’s cruisers and reached for the door latch. But before I had a chance to get my door open, a man in uniform marched up to my Toyota and held up his hand in a warning to stop.
    I rolled down my window. The sheriff was tall, with a mustache, mirrored sunglasses and no discernible expression. I couldn’t see his eyes at all. My stomach tightened.
    “May I see some I.D., ma’am?” he asked without preamble. His voice was as soulless as his face.
    “What’s going on—” I began.
    “The I.D., ma’am,” he repeated.
    Obediently, I fished in my purse for my driver’s license, but my mind continued its questions. What was the sheriff doing here? Had Sarah done something criminal?
    I handed him the license. “Are you going to give me a ticket?” I joked nervously.
    “No, ma’am,” he answered seriously. I clenched and unclenched my hands. I didn’t like this at all. What had Sarah done?
    The sheriff jotted something down in his notebook and handed my license back. Then he asked me what business I had there.
    “I’m a friend of Sarah Quinn’s,” I answered.
    “No visitors today, ma’am,” he said, his voice thawing for a moment. “But the