Read Murder Most Mellow (A Kate Jasper Mystery) for Free Online

help her. To help anyone. It was too late to help Sarah. “Do you want me to come over?” I asked.
    “No, don’t worry about it,” she answered, her voice apathetic again. She made an effort to speak. “My son Billy came over. He’s going to spend the night with me. I’ll be okay.”
    I said goodbye and hung up. I wanted to call somebody, to talk to somebody. To talk to Wayne. But my body seemed wooden and my mind sluggish. From a great distance I realized I must be in shock. I slowly walked into the bathroom, where I swallowed four NatuRest capsules. Then I put on my pajamas and went to bed.
    Sleep pulled me down and my thoughts went again and again to Sarah. Pictures of Sarah pontificating, laughing and telling stories flickered through my mind. I could even hear the tone of her strident voice. And feel the array of emotions she had generated in me—anger, affection, amusement, frustration and admiration. As I finally dropped off, I saw in my mind’s eye her bumper sticker proclaiming, “Too Hip, Gotta Go.”
     
    Early the next morning I awoke from a nightmare with tears on my face. I couldn’t remember what it was about, only that I had been saying “I’m sorry” over and over again. My sheets were soaked with sweat. Looking around the familiar room with growing recognition, I felt the relief of consciousness spill over me. But that relief was quickly displaced by the memory of Sarah’s death. And the questions. How had she died? Why had she died?
    I struggled out of bed and down the hallway in my pajamas. I wanted answers, but I didn’t know who to call. Wayne? I dismissed that sentimental thought, and its accompanying twinge of self-pity, with irritation. Then I thought of Tony. As I dialed his phone number I realized that he probably didn’t know that Sarah was dead at all. Was I going to have to break the news to him ?
    I shouldn’t have worried. All I got were the gentle and loving tones of his answering machine. I banged down the receiver and threw myself into my comfy chair, where I sat shivering in sweat-soaked pajamas. Damn it, I needed to talk!
    I could have called Peter. After all, he had called me. But I didn’t want to be the one to tell him about Sarah. I considered my friend Barbara. But she was probably sleeping. She was not an early riser. And she hadn’t ever met Sarah. I let out a sigh and decided to call Vivian.
    Vivian answered after seven rings with a sleep-saturated “Hello.”
    “How are you feeling?” I asked her.
    “God, my head hurts,” she replied. Her words were slurred. “I took a couple of sleeping pills. I was going to sleep in this morning, but you called,” she said. There was a note of irritation in her tone. It was better than the apathy of the night before.
    “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. What time is it, anyway?” I asked.
    “It’s five-thirty. Don’t you ever look at your clock?” The note of irritation had swelled to a full measure.
    “Look, Vivian, I wanted to talk to you—”
    “Why?” she interrupted.
    “Because I want to know what happened to Sarah!”
    “Sarah died in a hot tub,” she mumbled.
    “You know what I mean,” I pressed. “How did she die? Why? What’s going on?” There was no response from Vivian. I asked, “Aren’t you curious? Don’t you want to talk?”
    There was another moment of silence, and then she replied slowly, “Maybe… but I don’t know any more than I told you.”
    “I just want to understand what happened,” I explained. “And about Sarah, I really did like her, weird as she was. I mean… Oh, I don’t know what I mean!” Suddenly I felt angry. “Do you know Sarah’s boyfriend’s name?” I demanded.
    “Why do you want to know?” she asked suspiciously.
    “I want to talk to someone who cared about Sarah,” I told her. “Maybe he did.”
    After a moment of silence, Vivian spoke.
    “His name is Nick Taos. It’s a ‘spiritual name.’ That means he made it up.” Vivian’s voice was