Free A Cry for Self-Help (A Kate Jasper Mystery) by Jaqueline Girdner

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    I should have realized sooner. Sam Skyler was a famous man. And an infamous one to boot. His death had to make great media fodder. I tried to take a deep breath, but I couldn’t get past the constriction of my immobilized ribs.
    “So how does it feel—” a blond woman in jeans began, launching a small hand-held tape recorder toward my head.
    But she was deftly shouldered aside by a more elegantly attired woman with a perfect brown pageboy swinging gently over her ears and a slim microphone in her hand moving much less gently toward my gaping mouth. And behind her, yet another woman, this one in khakis with a steady-cam slung over her shoulder, its lens aimed at my face. I closed my mouth, trying to neutralize what I was sure had to be a look of complete panic contorting the muscles of my face.
    “In fact, I’m speaking to Kate Jasper right now,” the elegant woman declared, her delivery quick and crisp. “The woman who discovered Sam Skyler’s body on the rocks only two days ago. Actually, Kate Jasper has found quite a few dead bodies over the last few years here in mellow Marin. So, Ms. Jasper, just how do you explain all these grisly discoveries?”
    “I…I don’t—” I blurted out before I felt the pressure of Wayne’s elbow in my ribs.
    I shut my mouth again. And heard the kaclunk and whir of a picture being taken. My picture? Wayne’s picture? Were we the media event? Not Sam Skyler?
    “House,” Wayne growled into my ear and stepped in front of me, straight-arming the elegant woman with the microphone.
    It took me a moment to respond, and by then a big muscular guy with another tape recorder was standing in front of me.
    “Did you know Sam—” he began, holding his arm out to the side, leaving his chest wide open. When he stepped close enough to me that I could smell a combination of smoke and mint on his breath, I shifted my weight back, letting him move even closer, then shifted forward again quickly, my hands on his chest. He stumbled to the rear, a grimace of surprise on his face. I sent a little psychic message of thanks to my tai chi teacher of eight years.
    Another woman came up on my side, trying to move herself into place where the big man had been. I turned my body from its center, letting my arm swing with the momentum, and swept her away. Actually, this was kind of fun, I decided, and took a good deep breath, unconstricted now. Push hands in action. Then I took a couple of quick unimpeded steps forward, catching up with Wayne, who was still straight-arming himself through the crowd. He was showing an awful lot of restraint for a man with a black belt in karate. But the crowds were still parting as he moved forward.
    I was just beginning to feel in control again when I heard a voice from behind me.
    “Do you think the police might have arrested the wrong people before?” the voice asked loudly. “I mean, look at the body count and always this same woman finding them.”
    I willed myself not to look behind me and kept moving forward, but now I was beginning to shake with the urge to defend myself, verbally as well as physically. I pressed my lips together hard and kept moving.
    “You mean, like, this Jasper woman hypnotizes them into confessing, but she’s really the killer?” a new voice hypothesized.
    What! Keep moving your feet, I told myself. And don’t move your mouth.
    “Yeah, Yeah! Like Bundy or Dahmer. A real serial killer. And the police just haven’t figured it out.”
    “Yet,” someone added helpfully.
    “You think her boyfriend’s in on it with her?”
    I stopped in my tracks, and instantly a short man with a notebook and pencil wedged himself between me and Wayne’s back. I used the same tai chi movement to dislodge him that I’d used on the bigger man, but it wasn’t fun anymore. They couldn’t believe Wayne had anything to do with the deaths, could they?
    “Or a maybe she’s just the Typhoid Mary of murder,” I heard as we made the stairs. It