Murder on the Astral Plane (A Kate Jasper Mystery)

by Girdner, Jaqueline

  Then Barbara looked back toward the house, her damp face losing color as she did.

  “No,” I said automatically.

  “Right, as usual, kiddo,” she replied and turned back to me.

  “Can I have that in writing?” I asked.

  “Huh?” she answered.

  I laughed. Here we were outside a murdered woman’s house, a woman who’d probably been dead for days, and I was laughing. Laughing, because for once my psychic friend wasn’t on top of it. For once my friend wasn’t following my thoughts. I might have been the one laughing, I realized, but Barbara was as hysterical as I was in her own way.

  “I want you to sign a paper saying I am quote, right, as usual, unquote,” I explained, gentling my voice. Actually, I wanted to get her joking again. For her sake, as well as mine.

  Barbara smiled back wanly. But she didn’t look for a pen and paper.

  Instead, she started down the dark street where Isabelle Viseu had lived. On foot. Joke time was over.

  “Wait a minute,” I called to her, after a couple of steps. “How about your car phone?”

  “I left it at home,” she said.

  I followed her without any more questions.

  It took only three blocks to find a convenience store. And the store had a phone outside. Barbara made the call to the Paloma Police Department. If Isabelle had to die, I was glad it was in Paloma. We wouldn’t have to explain about Silk Sokoloff, and how Isabelle Viseu’s death might be tied into the psychic soiree. All we had to do was report finding the body. Simple. Chief Wenger could take it from there.

  I guess my brains were still scrambled by the shock of finding Isabelle. Because the only thing that was simple about our next two hours with the Paloma Police Department was my naiveté in believing that it would be simple.

  Within minutes of our phone call, a squad car showed up, siren blaring, where Barbara and I still stood at the pay phone.

  The car screamed to a stop, bleating the final siren notes as a door opened. Officer Yuki jumped out of the car, leaving Officer O’Dwyer at the wheel.

  For a moment, I felt relief at their familiar faces. But Yuki’s familiar face wasn’t smiling.

  “Get in the back of the car,” she ordered.

  “But—” I began.

  “In the back,” she repeated, patting the gun on her belt. It looked like a bazooka strapped to her small body. A bazooka she could use efficiently.

  Barbara and I got in the back of the car.

  “I just thought we could walk—” I began again.

  “No talking till the chief arrives,” O’Dwyer advised, his voice a little gentler than Yuki’s.

  My heart got better exercise riding those three short blocks back to Isabelle Viseu’s house than it would have walking. Heart calisthenics. Hup, one, into the throat. Hup, two, down into the stomach. Hup, three, jumping jacks in the chest.

  And it was still practicing its new exercises when we arrived.

  Yuki stayed with us in the police car. I guess the mesh screen between her and the two of us was enough to make her feel safe. And her bazooka.

  Meanwhile, Officer O’Dwyer opened the little gate to Isabelle’s house and disappeared up the path that led to her front door.

  When he returned a few minutes later, his round face was pale and grim.

  “Call for backup,” he ordered, and turned to retrace his steps up the path to the house.

  Yuki called for backup.

  And then we sat. I thought about the dead woman. I remembered Isabelle Viseu’s round, golden eyes. Sad eyes. I realized I’d never seen her really smile. Isabelle had been a widow. A widow who saw auras. I just hoped she was with her husband now. But who had killed her? I wondered why it had taken me so long to think of the question. Because someone had killed Isabelle. Brutally. Had it been because of an aura she’d seen? She’d mentioned something the day that Silk was killed, something about colors. Had her second sight gotten Isabelle murdered? Had she been the one psychic who’d actually seen something?

  My mouth went dry. Two women dead now. Silk and Isabelle. Two women whose only apparent association was their presence at the soiree. I heard the car door opening and tried to bring myself back to the ugly present. I got some help. A booming voice practically blasted me into the ceiling.

  “You two!” Chief Wenger shouted, his head thrust into the car. “Okay, didya kill her?”

  “What?” Barbara and I replied together. Uh-oh, Barbara was still as dazed as I was. I reached out for her hand and received a reassuring grip, though her flesh was cold as the night air around us.

  Chief Wenger shook his head in disgust. His intelligent, gaunt face looked more sour than ever. His cheeks were so hollow he might have been sucking on a clogged straw. For a moment, I wondered if he was ill. But only for a moment. Because I knew he was still waiting for a sensible answer from me. From us.

  “No,” I told him calmly. At least that’s how I wanted it to sound. “Neither Barbara nor I killed Isabelle Viseu.” My voice wasn’t as calm when I added, “Do you think we’d call you if we killed her?”

  “Why not?” he shot back. “For Pete’s sake, you could be playing any kind of game here. Isn’t one body enough! I’m sick to death of this whole twinkie case. Psychics, paah!”

  He turned to the two larger figures looming behind him.

  “Secure the house,” he ordered.

  “Yes, sir,” two voices replied as one, and the figures went tramping up the path.

  Officer O’Dwyer came back down the path in a few minutes and closed the little gate behind him. I was glad he didn’t have to stay with the dead woman. He seemed like a nice man. At least in comparison with the rest of his police department.

  “Okay, take ‘em to the station,” Chief Wenger commanded.

  “Us?” I said stupidly.

  “ ‘Us?’ “ he mimicked. “Who do you think? Maybe your spirit guides wanna take your places for interrogation?”

  Interrogation? He really thought we were suspects. Just because we’d found a body. Now the sickness over Isabelle was giving away to armpit-drenching fear. Did Chief Wenger really think we’d killed Isabelle Viseu?

  Yuki and O’Dwyer didn’t give us any clues on the short drive to the Paloma station house. For once, I wished I had Barbara’s psychic abilities. It would have been nice to have had a little subvocal conversation about then. A nice cheery one, about flowers or movies or even Felix. Anything.

  The Paloma police station was a vinyl kind of place: green vinyl couches and an orange vinyl chair in the cramped waiting room; a blue-uniformed vinyl officer behind the glassed-in counter, or maybe he just looked that way under the artificial light; and something that looked like matching green-and orange-checked vinyl covering the floor. I wondered if it was easy to clean. I wondered if a lot of people threw up in here. In fact, I wondered if maybe I was going to throw up in here as Officer Yuki shepherded Barbara and me to the green vinyl couch. Because it didn’t smell good in this vinyl waiting room. Years of sweat had imbued the room with a gymlike aroma. No, that wasn’t quite right. Actually, the old sweat smelled of fear. Maybe a gym for unwilling gladiators? Unwilling gladiators about to be interrogated.

  I pried my mind away from thoughts of gladiators and tried to breathe through my mouth. Then I turned to Barbara. Yuki was watching us now, enforcing the no-talking rule, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t look at my friend. Barbara looked back at me and attempted a wink, but she still didn’t seem her usual self. Even silent, Barbara usually presented a picture of mischievous wisdom. Now, she just looked small and scared. I thought strength at her. She straightened her back, and mouthed a “thank you” my way. So, Yuki could shoot us, but I felt a lot better.

  Then Wenger came storming in, and I didn’t feel better anymore.

  “So, you hadta wait till I’m eating dinner to find the body,” he accused.

  “Sorry,” I said. What else could I say?

  “We could have waited for de
ssert,” Barbara added. Uh-oh, maybe she was feeling a little too much better.

  “The Two Stooges, huh?” he commented. “So which of you wants to go first?”

  “Me,” Barbara volunteered and stood, her posture strong and straight.

  I was still working on “go first.” To the rack? To jail? To leave? The last thought was far too optimistic, I realized, as Wenger led Barbara down a murky hallway.

  “Is he going to, um, question her?” I asked Officer Yuki.

  She looked at me, looked around, and gave me a quick nod. Maybe she wasn’t so bad, after all.

  “How long do you think—” I began, pressing my luck.

  “No talking,” Yuki told me. Okay, she was so bad after all. If I threw up on their vinyl, it would serve her right. I thought about asking to go to the bathroom, but decided against it. Officer Yuki was fooling around with her gun again.

  Officer O’Dwyer came in before Yuki got too worked up, though. He gave her a fond look as she glared at me. Barbara had been right! O’Dwyer had a crush on Yuki. I wasn’t absolutely sure it was reciprocated, though. The return look she gave him wasn’t a lot friendlier than the looks she’d been giving me. But maybe she’d never had to guard a murder suspect before.

  I sighed and closed my eyes, doing my tai chi form in my head again. That amused me for all of maybe ten minutes; then I began to worry some more. Did Chief Wenger seriously suspect us? Would Wayne be missing me? He’d told us to take in a movie, but I didn’t think this was the one he’d meant.

  It was funny the way my mind kept shying away from the important question. Who had killed Isabelle Viseu? Probably my mind couldn’t stay with that question because I didn’t have a clue to the answer. So, I thought about gag-gifts for a while and the deer that were eating my garden and a million other things before I got to Wayne. Ah, Wayne, there was a subject for contemplation that could keep me from throwing up for a good long time.

  More than an hour later, “Your turn!” blasted me out of the warm bed where I’d imagined myself cuddled up with my sweetie.

  There are limits to creative visualization. Chief Wenger of the Paloma Police Department being a major one.

  At least Barbara look unharmed when I opened my eyes, even relieved as she sat back down on the green vinyl couch to wait for me.

  I reminded myself what Hemingway had said about courage as I followed Chief Wenger down the hall. “Grace under pressure.” But then, hadn’t Hemingway killed himself? Sweat began dampening my whole body now. The armpits were just the beginning.

  Wenger sat on one side of a vinyl-topped desk and gestured at a brown vinyl chair on the other side.

  “A seat, Ms. Suspect?” he offered, smiling. I flinched. I really wished he wouldn’t smile like that. Not before Halloween, anyway. It just made gaunt features more prominent, more ghoulish.

  By the time I’d perched on the interrogatee’s chair, the smile was gone anyway. He was back to his sucking expression.

  “So,” he began. “You seem to be attracted to dead bodies.” He pulled out his handkerchief and blew his nose with a honk loud enough to attract ducks from across the border. “What’s the matter with you, anyway?” he finished.

  “Bad karma?” I tried. I even tried a little joking smile.

  “Hah!” he exploded. I jumped in my chair. “Now you’re gonna complain about your childhood and how traumatized you are. And not just your present childhood, but your previous childhood. And the one before that. Fer Pete’s sake, don’tcha think I’ve heard this manure before? Marin! There used to be sane people here, you know.”

  How do you answer something like that?

  “Well?” he prodded.

  “Listen,” I said softly, “if I knew why I found dead bodies, I’d stop doing it immediately. I didn’t kill—”

  “If you didn’t wanna find a dead body, why’d you enter a house without being invited in, huh, lady?”

  I opened my mouth, but nothing came out of it. I tried to remember. Barbara had said something that had convinced me, but I’d forgotten what it was now. The sight of Isabelle Viseu had torn it from my mind.

  “Your friend is a psychic, right?” He pronounced the word “psychic” like another person might pronounce the word “pervert.”

  I closed my mouth and nodded, hoping Barbara had given him a reasonable explanation for our actions.

  “So why would a psychic go in a house where there’s a dead woman?” he demanded.

  “ ‘Cause it was important to know for sure?” I guessed.

  Wenger threw up his hands. “If she’s psychic, she did know for sure. Why didn’t she just call us?”

  I wished Barbara was here to answer her own questions. How could I explain her on-and-off powers? I never got a chance.

  “And that still doesn’t explain why you went in,” he bulldozed on. “Explain that to me, Ms. Jasper. Will you please do that little ole thing for me? Explain why you went in.”

  “I…I—The door was open,” I remembered.

  “And do you always check the doorknob and go into strange houses when they’re open? Ever hear of burglary?”

  “I—”

  “So, how did you know Isabelle Viseu previously?” he asked before I could even begin to unravel the unanswered questions. Didn’t burglary mean stealing? Or did just entering a house count?

  “Isabelle Viseu?” Wenger brought me back.

  “Oh, I didn’t know her,” I answered hastily. “I never met her until the soiree, I mean—”

  “Did your friend know her?”

  “Only at the soirees, I think.”

  “How about your boyfriend?” he pressed on.

  “My boyfriend? You mean, Wayne?”

  “How many boyfriends do you have, Ms. Jasper?” he asked, smiling again. Yuck. I pressed my back into vinyl. Double yuck. To both the question and the smile.

  “I have one boyfriend, Chief Wenger,” I told him, a little angry now, just enough to keep my voice from squeaking. “And to my knowledge, he never knew Isabelle Viseu.”

  “You expect me to buy that?” the chief demanded, leaning forward in his chair, his eyes on mine.

  “Hello, sir,” a new voice announced from behind me. “I got here as soon as I could.” There was no mistaking the eagerness of that voice. I knew it was Lieutenant Kettering before I even peeked over my shoulder.

  “I thought I might facilitate the interrogation, sir,” Kettering went on. “As a five and a Scorpio, Ms. Jasper—”

  “Will you put a lid on it!” Chief Wenger shouted.

  “Certainly, sir,” Kettering complied, hurt flavoring his voice.

  Chief Wenger threw up his hands.

  “Twinkies to the left of me, bliss-ninnies to the right. How the heck is a man supposed to think straight around here?”

  “Well, sir,” Kettering offered. “I’ve always found a quiet moment of meditation—”

  “Out!” Wenger bellowed.

  I heard a little sigh, the shuffling of feet and paper, and then the door closed behind me.

  “Okay, we’re just gonna get this done,” Wenger said to me. “No more wiggling out of things—”

  “But I never—”

  “Did you kill Isabelle Viseu?” he asked me.

  “No,” I answered.

  “Did your friend?”

  “Uh-uh.” I shook my head.

  “Did your boyfriend?”

  “My boyfriend!” I began. I saw the look in Wenger’s eyes. It was tired. It was angry. “No,” I finished meekly.

  “Do you know who killed Isabelle Viseu?”

  I shook my head.

  “Do you have any idea at all who killed her?”

  I shook my head again, beginning to feel a little sorry for Chief Wenger.

  “You opened the door to Isabelle Viseu’s house and entered without permission?”

  “Well, yes…” I faltered. I didn’t feel sorry for the chief anymore.

  “Did you leave the house exactly as you fou
nd it?”

  “Yeah, I think so,”

  “She thinks so,” he said to some unseen friend behind him. “The woman says she thinks so.”

  “I’m pretty sure—”

  “Fer Pete’s sake, you’d better be,” he told me and let that sink in as a clock I hadn’t noticed before clicked from the top of the desk.

  “Anything else you wanna tell me?” he asked finally.

  “Um, no,” I muttered.

  “Then get outa here,” he told me.

  I ran out the door so fast, I practically knocked down Lieutenant Kettering. I had a feeling his ear had been pressed to that door, but I just smiled and helped him pick up a book on guardian angels. I was free!

  And I was as wet as if I’d been swimming in my clothes, which I realized as Barbara and I left the police station and a gust of wind hit me. I was glad it wasn’t the dead of winter. I’d have been an instant icicle.

  My teeth were chattering by the time we made it down the endless, dark blocks to Barbara’s trusty Volkswagen bug. I suppose we could have asked Officer Yuki or O’Dwyer for a ride, but we’d both been in too much of a hurry exiting the police station.

  “I’ll put on the heat, kiddo,” Barbara promised as she let me in my side of the car with a little shoulder hug. I couldn’t blame her for not wanting to give me the whole treatment. It’d be like hugging a wet puppy.

  We were roaring down the highway when the heat kicked in, stirring up dust and mold from the car’s entire lifetime. I sneezed. She turned up the heat another notch. Her psychic radar was definitely down. And apparently she knew it. Barbara was driving carefully. I couldn’t decide if this was cause for feeling assured or alarmed.

  And Barbara was quiet. She didn’t say a word the whole musty ride home. And neither did I. After Chief Wenger, I didn’t ever want to talk again.

  Barbara pulled into my driveway slowly.

  “Sorry, kiddo,” she told me.

  “Barbara, it’s not your fault,” I objected and sneezed again.