“Right,” I murmured. From the mouths of veterinarians.
“But that’s okay,” Linda assured me and turned to walk back to the kitchen.
“Have you ever noticed,” Justine’s quiet voice began, holding the room still with its authority, “how we are most afraid of those who have the traits we are afraid of in our own selves? And even angry at times. Denise saw Silk as the exaggeration of her worst fears.”
“And Silk threatened her livelihood too,” Barbara cut in again.
Zarathustra cleared his throat, looking out over our heads. “Silk was cool, she could have been a player.” It was a eulogy. “But she knew how to treat people ugly, man.” Or maybe it wasn’t a eulogy. “It was so sad, when she just wanted, I don’t know, maybe love or something. But she could really push your buttons.” He shook his head. “It would be just like Silk to goof on Denise, you know, come onto her just to freak her out. She didn’t know how wigged out this Denise person was, that’s all.”
“Denise had too much imagination,” Artemisia declared. This from a woman who painted her face and burned enough herbs to start a forest fire. But then I remembered the eyes Denise had seen in the knotty-wood paneling. Maybe Artemisia was right. Or maybe we all needed a theory to feel better about someone as seemingly bland as Denise being an actual murderer.
“It’s hard to be at philosophical odds with your employer,” Rich McGowan offered. “And whatnot.”
I nodded. Another good theory. Especially whatever the “whatnot” was.
“But we’re all free to find new employers,” Justine told Rich, sending a meaningful glance his way.
Rich pulled at his hair, apparently considering the possibility. A different government agency? He might as well give up being undercover, as far as I was concerned. Maybe a desk job—
“Especially easy to find a new job if you win the Lotto,” Gil suggested. His eyes glazed over again. “Lotto, Lotto, Lotto.”
This time, Justine and I both looked at Barbara.
“You know, Gil,” Barbara tried, “most people meditate with a spiritual—”
“Hey, hey. Lotto, Lotto, Lotto,” he answered seriously. “I hear you. Lotto, Lotto, Lotto.”
Barbara looked back at Justine and squirmed in place.
“Barbara—” Justine began. But Barbara was saved by Linda Underwood. And two plates of freshly baked cookies.
“Oatmeal spice?” Linda offered under my nose. “Or carob mint?”
I took both. My nose had been smelling them for an hour. Now, my mouth wanted to taste them. But even as I bit into spice, and cookie crumbs cascaded down my turtleneck, I knew I had one piece of unfinished business.
“I dreamt about Silk at the very beginning,” I mumbled through my mouthful of cookie. 1 kept my eyes on the floor. It was the only way I could get the words out. “I dreamt about her before I ever met her.”
“I know, kiddo,” Barbara assured me gently. “I knew who starred in the dream you told me about—”
“Then why didn’t you say something?” I demanded, my cheeks hot all of a sudden.
“You had to work out the meaning on your own,” she explained.
“Well, time’s up,” I fired back. “What was the meaning?”
“Whaddaya think I am, psychic?” Barbara chortled.
“Hey, wanna test my anger meridian?” I began. “How could you—”
“Wait a minute,” Tory put in, her hand raised. “Rogerio is speaking again. He says there’s someone here who wants to write.”
Whoa. I looked down at Wayne. His eyebrows dropped menacingly. He began to rise from his chair. Talk about physical manifestations of anger meridians.
I sat on his lap before he made it to a standing position. He flopped back in his chair with a whoomph. Wrestling at its best.
“You know how I feel about—” he began in a low rumble from beneath me. But another voice drowned his out.
“Oh, you’re right,” Artemisia breathed. “Oh Tory, Rogerio has made me so happy. I’ve always wanted to write. But I needed a sign.”
I circled my head around just in time to see Wayne blush.
“Is there someone here who’d like to go home?” I asked, whispering in his ear.
He kissed the back of my neck in answer.
I got up and pulled Wayne up behind me. He leaned on me ever so slightly as per our agreement concerning walking, and we began our way out of the room, goodbying here and Lotto-Lottoing there.
When we were almost to the door, Justine looked up from her ottoman, her broad face smiling and her liquid brown eyes filled with humor.
“Hey, folks,” she called out. “I feel a prophecy coming on.”
The room went silent.
“Kate and Wayne will be married within a year,” she announced.
“We will?” we asked as one.
She just nodded and got up to hug us both.
Then everyone clapped.
As Wayne and I walked out of Justine’s doorway onto the sun-warmed stone path, I heard Barbara’s voice from behind us.
“I knew that,” she insisted.
“Of course you did,” Justine agreed and laughed.
I turned, saw Barbara’s quick grin, and then the door closed behind us.
Wayne Caruso’s Sweet Bread Spread
12 ounces light silken tofu
10 ounces bottled fruit conserves
2 tablespoons maple syrup
2 tablespoons lemon juice
2 tablespoons vanilla extract
2-4 tablespoons peanut butter
Blend all ingredients.
Enjoy on bread or crackers.
Please note: No living soy beings were harmed in the making of this recipe.
Table of Contents
Kate Jasper Mysteries
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Wayne Caruso’s Sweet Bread Spread Recipe
Murder on the Astral Plane (A Kate Jasper Mystery) Page 26
