Free A Stiff Critique by Jaqueline Girdner Page B

discussion.”
    “Now what?” Nan demanded with a toss of her blond hair.
    “I’ll make it very simple,” Carrie answered, her round, freckled face deadly serious. Once again, she ran her eyes over each of us in turn. “Does anyone here have any information that might be relevant to the identity of Slade Skinner’s murderer?”
    Her question was greeted with absolute silence. Even Nan kept her mouth shut. Travis jutted his head forward as if he were going to say something, but then seemed to think better of it and leaned back again with his arms crossed.
    “Slade told me he had a date with someone last Saturday after our regular meeting.” Carrie’s voice was stern as she went on. “He said that ‘someone’ was a member of our group. I have asked you each individually, and I will repeat the question once more to all of you. Did one of you have a five o’clock date with Slade Skinner last Saturday?”
    Still no one answered. I looked around the table, Nan was staring up at the ceiling with an expression of strained exasperation. I couldn’t tell if it was real or feigned. Vicky was concentrating on a cuticle she was chewing. At least she was eating. Russell sat perfectly still, his eyes resting lightly on Carrie. Mave’s head was tilted, her eyes wide with what looked like rapt interest in the proceedings. Joyce’s eyes were closed, her hands clasped in front of her. Maybe she was meditating. Donna was smiling sweetly as she twirled a piece of hair around her finger. And Travis was still glowering across the table.
    I had no idea if any of them was harboring guilty thoughts about meeting Slade and/or killing him. Neither did Carrie apparently.
    She sighed deeply, then asked if anyone had any ideas at all about Slade’s murder. At least this time there was a response.
    “Well, uh,” Donna began. “There is my family.”
    “And…” Carrie gently encouraged her.
    “They don’t think it’s appropriate for me to write my autobiography and include them in it,” Donna went on. “They’re in, like, complete denial about their roots, how they made their money and stuff. Especially my dad. He’s been very abusive about the whole thing. Yelling his head off. Not really trying to communicate at all—”
    “What does this have to do with Slade’s murder?” Nan cut in. “If anything.”
    “Uh, I’m not sure,” Donna admitted. “But my dad did send his men out to get the manuscript back from everyone I gave a copy to.” She smiled suddenly. “See, he thought they had all my copies, but they didn’t. Oh, they took my computer and all my papers and everything from my house. But they don’t know that I’ve rented a work space. Everything they took from my house is duplicated there.” She giggled, her face looking more like a ten-year-old’s than ever. I wondered for a moment if she was mildly retarded, then decided against it. “So it didn’t do them one bit of good,” she finished up triumphantly. Maybe she was just emotionally backward.
    “I believe I was visited by your father’s men Saturday evening,” Carrie said, her tone as serious as Donna’s might have been. Carrie wiggled one finger, then another. “They took my copy of your manuscript.”
    “Mine’s gone too,” Russell added quietly. “Although I didn’t see who actually took it.”
    “Good golly!” yelped Mave. “I couldn’t find my copy, but I just thought I’d put it somewhere goofy.” She swiveled her head around abruptly to look behind her, as if to catch the thieves here and now. “Those donkey bottoms better not come back again,” she declared fiercely.
    “Listen, Mave,” Travis put in, jutting his head forward. “If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll come and stay with you. I’ve still got my copy. I checked.”
    “Don’t you worry about me, you sweet boy,” Mave answered, straightening in her seat. “This old woman’s got ways of dealing with these kind of critters.”
    Oh great, I thought. She’s