Free Murder on the Astral Plane (A Kate Jasper Mystery) by Jaqueline Girdner Page A

she freaked out some folks anyway.”
    Justine’s eyelids lowered. Was she thinking of her nephew? How far had Zarathustra freaked? I looked at the knotty-wood paneling and thought I could see outraged faces there. I blinked and they were gone. Damn. That was spooky.
    “Silk made a carnival show of her sexuality,” Justine’s smooth voice flowed on. “I loved her for that sometimes. It was her way of saying, ‘The emperor has no clothes.’ But I worried too. Because her outrageousness might have made it harder for others who were bisexuals but not…not—”
    “Not obnoxious?” I filled in for her.
    “Yes,” Justine said, her eyes opening wide with amusement. “Just that. Still, Silk could be loving and fun, even if she was unintentionally cruel sometimes.”
    A cool breeze blew in through the window, billowing the white curtains with an otherworldly whistle. I remembered Silk and felt some of Justine’s affection for her in that breeze. But I was chilled too. Someone hadn’t felt affection for Silk.
    “I’ve been thinking about the others too,” Justine piped up, just when I was going to ask if she had.
    Psychic interrogation had its virtues. Speed, if nothing else, Justine raised a finger. “You’ve met our Tory,” she said. “She talks to angels.”
    “Does she really?” I demanded.
    “I haven’t personally sensed their presence,” Justine answered, laying her hand on her stomach again. Did her stomach hurt? “But that doesn’t mean they’re not really there. Different strokes for different folks.”
    Justine raised a second finger. “And you’ve met poor Artemisia,” she went on. “I’m afraid that woman is truly troubled. She says she’s haunted by bad spirits. She practices Santeria—”
    “Voodoo?” I interrupted.
    Justine’s brows rose. Oops, I’d obviously made an occult faux pas.
    “Let’s just call it magic,” she answered kindly.
    “But is Artemisia really haunted?” Barbara asked. I was surprised that Barbara didn’t know the answer to that one herself. And then it got worse.
    Justine just sighed and closed her eyes for a moment before admitting, “I truly don’t know.” And these guys were supposed to be psychic! “Metaphorically, Artemisia is clearly haunted, but beyond that…Again, I’ve never felt an alien presence, but I’m not really into that aspect of healing.” She shook her head. “My guess is the long-term effect of abusive parents. There’s something wrong, that’s for sure. I’ve been working with her for years, but I can only calm her for short periods of time. She thought Silk could help her.”
    “Why?” I asked. My armchair wasn’t feeling so comfortable anymore. I wanted real answers, not metaphors.
    “Silk exuded personal power,” Justine answered simply. “Artemisia needed that kind of power.”
    “But—” I began.
    “Kate,” Justine broke in, leaning forward. “I have no clear-cut answers for you. I get glimpses here and there. Sometimes I can help a body to heal. But beyond that?” She threw her hands in the air and settled back onto her ottoman. “Denise is like you, always asking questions to which there are no answers. She wants to do a radio show featuring psychics. She could really use some work herself, but—”
    Justine shook her head again, cutting herself short.
    “Gil Nesbit,” Barbara prompted. “Cocaine addict?”
    “Classic signs,” Justine answered. Or didn’t answer.
    “Huh?” I said. I hadn’t noticed any classic signs. But then all I knew how to do was ask questions to which there were no answers. I tried to think of some more as I sniffed the cooking aromas drifting into the living room now. An herb, maybe rosemary, and toast and mustard for sure. My salivary glands kicked in. And I wondered if Justine would kick us out. I was pretty sure I was smelling brunch.
    “Would you consider another group meeting here on Wednesday evening?” Barbara asked Justine, and the two of them discussed the