Murder Most Mellow (A Kate Jasper Mystery) by Jaqueline Girdner Page A

finally she said it was like ‘trying to pound sand’ and gave up,” he explained. Sadly, I imagined Sarah saying that.
    “Now I eat anything I want,” Nick clamored on. “And I’m as healthy as she is… was—” His voice rose perilously.
    “Listen,” I said, cutting off the threat of hysterics. “I’ll see you in a few hours, all right?”
    “Uh-huh,” he answered and gave me a long, loud order of toxic substances to be delivered. He didn’t offer to reimburse me.
    After I hung up, I picked up the phone book again and found Word Inc., Sarah’s former word-processing business, in the Yellow Pages. I briefly considered the ethics of pumping Myra for information under the guise of looking for word-processing help. Being in business myself, however, I didn’t like to con someone into believing they were going to make money off a nonexistent deal. Then I had an idea. I could really use some word-processing help. I had stacks of letters to write. I could act in good faith, recruiting some secretarial assistance at the same time that I examined Myra’s attitude toward Sarah. Feeling myself to be a woman of integrity once again, I rang up Word Inc.
    A friendly female voice answered.
    “This is Kate Jasper,” I told her. “I’d like to speak to Myra Klein.”
    “Were you interested in our word-processing services?” she asked politely.
    “Yes, I am,” I lied. Well, partially lied.
    “Then maybe I can help you. I’m Susan. What kind of services do you need?”
    I didn’t answer. I had clearly bungled my introduction. Damn. How was I going to extricate myself?
    “Hello, are you still there?” Susan asked.
    “Actually…” I said slowly, “I also wanted to talk to Myra about a mutual friend, Sarah Quinn.”
    “Oh,” said Susan in a cooler tone. Either she knew Sarah, knew of her, or knew of her recent death. In any case, the name alone seemed enough to lower her temperature. Or else Susan was just belatedly deciding I was more trouble than I was worth. She put me on hold.
    At least there was no piped music on their line. I tapped my fingers on the teak surface of my desk and looked at the bulletin board again. My eyes settled on a rare photo of Wayne that my friend Barbara had taken. His eyes were just visible under his low brows. I pulled the picture down from the board as a new voice came through the receiver.
    “This is Myra Klein,” the voice enunciated carefully. “What is it that you wanted?”
    I was beginning to think I was too embarrassment-prone for effective sleuthing. My cheeks were hot as I opened my mouth to speak.
    “I wanted to talk to you about Sarah,” I told her.
    “Are you a reporter?” she asked. Was it the telephone connection or was her voice trembling?
    “No, I’m a friend,” I assured her.
    She sighed, then spoke in a breathy rush. “As you may know, I haven’t been a friend of Sarah’s for some time. I’ve got some very mixed feelings about her right now.”
    “Did you know she was dead?” I asked.
    “Yes, a reporter called,” she answered quickly, then paused. “Look,” she finally said, her voice eager. “I do need to talk to someone about Sarah. Can we meet? I have this afternoon, after four o’clock, free.”
    “I’ll be there at four,” I told her. As I hung up, I felt perversely discomforted by her easy acquiescence. Why hadn’t she needed more convincing?
    I leaned back in my comfy chair and thought of all the work hours I was going to lose while pursuing the questions surrounding Sarah’s death. I picked up Wayne’s picture again as if to ask him what to do. Should I cancel all the appointments I had just made? Then, with a lurch of my stomach, I remembered. Sarah might still be alive if I hadn’t refused to visit her that night. I had to investigate. I had to know what my refusal had cost.
    The doorbell rang. Wayne? I wondered hopefully. I ran to the door and opened it. My ex-husband was on my doorstep.
     

 
    - Five -
     
    “Hey,