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

to Sarah, it must have happened in another room.
    Sergeant Feiffer asked me why I had come to Sarah Quinn’s house. I explained that we were in a discussion group together and told him how she had called wanting to talk about a “problem” four nights earlier.
    “That’s it?” he pressed. “She didn’t tell you what the problem was?”
    “No,” I answered numbly. “She was… she was enigmatic.” I still couldn’t comprehend her death. I expected her to pop out the door any moment, yelling “Surprise!”
    I looked into Feiffer’s serious eyes and let the expectation die. I straightened my shoulders.
    “Now, you tell me” I ordered. “How did she die?”
    “Whoa!” he answered, putting up a hand to ward off my questions. “We don’t know yet. We’re in the process of investigating.”
    “Was she murdered?” I pressed.
    “We don’t know,” Fieffer repeated, through clenched teeth this time. “We’re in the process of investigating.”
    “But—” I objected.
    “But nothing,” he interrupted. Then he stood up.
    “Just tell me—” I tried again.
    “I’ll talk to you again, later,” he told me firmly. He took my elbow and steered me out the front door. “Be available,” he ordered and turned me over to the sheriff with the mirrored sunglasses.
    I let the sheriff lead me to my car. I looked back briefly at the men and women in front of Sarah’s house, then backed out of her driveway.
    On the way home I kept thinking of Sarah. Sarah the enigmatic. Sarah the immortal. I saw her smug smile in my mind and my eyes teared up. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.
    I shuffled into my house, trying not to cry. C.C. twined around my legs and yowled. I picked her up and squeezed her to my chest. For once she was willing to console me. She purred and even reached her paw up to tap my nose gently, as if to say, “there, there.” Together we sat down in my comfy Naugahyde chair. I saw my answering machine light flashing through a filter of tears.
    I pushed the playback button and listened absently. First there was a hang-up. Then a sales pitch. Then a message from Peter asking to speak to me. Another hang-up and a call from a ceramics firm followed. On the final message I heard a voice I barely recognized as Vivian’s.
    Vivian’s speech was usually raucous. This voice was a shrunken version, small and lifeless.
    It said softly, “Sarah’s dead. Call me. Please, call me.”
    I began to shiver as I dialed the phone. By the time Vivian came on the line, I was shaking so violently that C.C. abandoned ship, leaping from my lap to the floor.
    “I found her. I found her body,” Vivian said in a zombie’s voice.
    The finality of Sarah’s death bore down on me with Vivian’s words. I swallowed, then asked her, “What exactly happened?”
    “I went there to clean today.” She took a rasping breath. “I finished the house and then I went out back. She was in the hot tub. So was one of her robots.”
    My mind created a comfortingly cozy picture of Sarah and a robot chatting over tea. I shook it off impatiently.
    “Was she already dead?” I asked softly.
    “Of course she was!” Vivian bawled. At least her voice was getting back some life, even if it was hysterical.
    “All right, it’s all right,” I soothed her. “What was the robot doing in the tub?”
    “I don’t know. How should I know?” She was wailing now.
    “But what—?” I began.
    “She… Sarah… the body looked terrible,” Vivian stammered. “And the police, they questioned me for over an hour before they let me go. And I called you, but you weren’t there.” She paused and her voice became very small. “Don’t ask me any more questions, please.” Her last plea shook me into sensitivity.
    “I’m sorry, Vivian,” I said gently. Should I tell her I had seen Sarah’s remains in a body bag, myself? No. She didn’t need to hear that. “What can I do for you?” I asked instead. She didn’t answer me.
    Suddenly I wanted to