A Cry for Self-Help (A Kate Jasper Mystery) by Jaqueline Girdner Page B
Authors: Jaqueline Girdner
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hatchet. I turned my head away, remembering why I avoided those kinds of movies.
“Well, I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m famished,” Yvonne cut in brightly. “And I have heaps and heaps of yummy food in the kitchen—”
But the sound of Diana’s sniffles interrupted her attempt at good cheer.
“I just wanna know what happened to Sam,” Diana whimpered in between escalating sobs. Gary, Liz, and Nathan all moved closer protectively, corralling her in their efforts. Liz put an arm around her daughter’s shoulders.
“The man just fell,” Emma Jett declared brusquely, though there was a hint of kindness beneath the gruffness. She thrust her sharp chin forward, exposing the side of her face that had been draped in red hair. Brass glinted in her ears and nostrils. “Give yourself a break. Don’t worry about all this murder crap. Experience it and get over it. Get on with the next part of your life. Don’t you think that’s what Sam would have wanted?” Those words sounded pretty wise compared to what had been said so far. And from the youngest member of the group. Campbell thought so too, apparently.
“It’ll take time, but you’ll get over it,” he assured Diana, the soothing, musical rhythm of his voice always surprising coming from such a visually unprepossessing man. He stroked his ginger beard lightly. “The thing is not to obsess. Time really does heal.” Did he speak from experience? Or from something he’d read? Reader’s Digest?
“The police will clear it up,” Ray Zappa threw in one more time. His face was grim. But not so grim as Tessa’s next to him. “Let them take care of it.”
Diana shook her teary face. “I have to know,” she insisted through her sobs. She stood straighter and cleared her throat. “Please, if anyone knows anything, anything at all. Or saw something. Or whatever. Call me.”
“Of course,” Yvonne said. Of course? What if you were the murderer?
“And,” Diana added, “Wayne and Kate will be helping me too, so please tell them what you know when they ask.” A sob filled her voice. “Please,” she finished and began crying full force once more.
I was still trying to think of a way to erase Diana’s last words from everyone’s minds, especially my own, when she turned abruptly and headed toward the door, her back as straight as the columns in the ledgers I was avoiding working on today. Gary and Liz followed her just as abruptly. Even Nathan shambled behind the group, only seeming to remember he wasn’t one of the Atherton family when he got to the door. Then he stopped, sighed and closed the door behind them, before turning back to face the rest of us.
“Lunch, everyone?” Yvonne suggested.
No one clapped their hands in appreciation, but at least no one objected. Or started arguing before Yvonne brought out the platters of vegan delicacies. The group was uncharacteristically silent as they dished up the goodies.
As a vegetarian, I probably appreciated the meal even more than most of the others. But even the nonvegetarians were impressed with the garlicky steamed artichokes, the colorful grilled Indonesian vegetables spread out on a star-shaped cut glass platter, the iridescent bowls of Mandarin tofu noodle salad, and the varied homemade breads and spreads that our seminar leader had produced. No wonder her food company was doing so well.
“The perfect wedding must have all the elements of the perfect meal,” Yvonne began as we finished off the cranberry linzer tart that had been the grand finale. (Nondairy “ice cream” optional.) Even Ona and Martina were smiling as they dug into the dessert. “Sumptuous, balanced, and simple, but magically extravagant—”
“With or without tofu?” Ray Zappa asked, his good humor apparently restored.
“With tofu, of course,” Yvonne replied, her laughter like the tinkle of her high-pitched chimes. “And most of all, with love.”
I looked into Wayne’s face then and saw a little of
“Well, I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m famished,” Yvonne cut in brightly. “And I have heaps and heaps of yummy food in the kitchen—”
But the sound of Diana’s sniffles interrupted her attempt at good cheer.
“I just wanna know what happened to Sam,” Diana whimpered in between escalating sobs. Gary, Liz, and Nathan all moved closer protectively, corralling her in their efforts. Liz put an arm around her daughter’s shoulders.
“The man just fell,” Emma Jett declared brusquely, though there was a hint of kindness beneath the gruffness. She thrust her sharp chin forward, exposing the side of her face that had been draped in red hair. Brass glinted in her ears and nostrils. “Give yourself a break. Don’t worry about all this murder crap. Experience it and get over it. Get on with the next part of your life. Don’t you think that’s what Sam would have wanted?” Those words sounded pretty wise compared to what had been said so far. And from the youngest member of the group. Campbell thought so too, apparently.
“It’ll take time, but you’ll get over it,” he assured Diana, the soothing, musical rhythm of his voice always surprising coming from such a visually unprepossessing man. He stroked his ginger beard lightly. “The thing is not to obsess. Time really does heal.” Did he speak from experience? Or from something he’d read? Reader’s Digest?
“The police will clear it up,” Ray Zappa threw in one more time. His face was grim. But not so grim as Tessa’s next to him. “Let them take care of it.”
Diana shook her teary face. “I have to know,” she insisted through her sobs. She stood straighter and cleared her throat. “Please, if anyone knows anything, anything at all. Or saw something. Or whatever. Call me.”
“Of course,” Yvonne said. Of course? What if you were the murderer?
“And,” Diana added, “Wayne and Kate will be helping me too, so please tell them what you know when they ask.” A sob filled her voice. “Please,” she finished and began crying full force once more.
I was still trying to think of a way to erase Diana’s last words from everyone’s minds, especially my own, when she turned abruptly and headed toward the door, her back as straight as the columns in the ledgers I was avoiding working on today. Gary and Liz followed her just as abruptly. Even Nathan shambled behind the group, only seeming to remember he wasn’t one of the Atherton family when he got to the door. Then he stopped, sighed and closed the door behind them, before turning back to face the rest of us.
“Lunch, everyone?” Yvonne suggested.
No one clapped their hands in appreciation, but at least no one objected. Or started arguing before Yvonne brought out the platters of vegan delicacies. The group was uncharacteristically silent as they dished up the goodies.
As a vegetarian, I probably appreciated the meal even more than most of the others. But even the nonvegetarians were impressed with the garlicky steamed artichokes, the colorful grilled Indonesian vegetables spread out on a star-shaped cut glass platter, the iridescent bowls of Mandarin tofu noodle salad, and the varied homemade breads and spreads that our seminar leader had produced. No wonder her food company was doing so well.
“The perfect wedding must have all the elements of the perfect meal,” Yvonne began as we finished off the cranberry linzer tart that had been the grand finale. (Nondairy “ice cream” optional.) Even Ona and Martina were smiling as they dug into the dessert. “Sumptuous, balanced, and simple, but magically extravagant—”
“With or without tofu?” Ray Zappa asked, his good humor apparently restored.
“With tofu, of course,” Yvonne replied, her laughter like the tinkle of her high-pitched chimes. “And most of all, with love.”
I looked into Wayne’s face then and saw a little of
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