Murder on the Astral Plane (A Kate Jasper Mystery) Read Online Free

old-fashioned Peter Pan collar and neatly pressed gabardine trousers, clothing more unique to the day’s gathering by its conservative nature than Silk’s feather boa or Zarathustra’s leather and piercings. Her hair was arranged in a tasteful, blond pageboy that framed her girlish face perfectly.
    “I’m here to research psychics for my radio show Acceptance ,” she explained quickly. The glare that she threw toward Silk told me that her “acceptance” didn’t necessarily extend that far.
    “Oh, I’ve listened to your show,” I told her, glad I finally had something to say. I didn’t add that it was hard to believe that she was behind the voice that interviewed UFO abductees and transvestites for a living. “Have you known Silk long?” I asked instead.
    “Goodness, not really,” she whispered conspiratorially. “I knew Silk in college.” She paused and added, “Silk hasn’t changed much, I’m afraid.” There was no humor in her assessment, as far as I could tell. “I’m really only here to observe Justine. I’ll be interviewing her for Acceptance soon.” She sighed.
    The sigh was contagious. My eyes slipped away, looking for someone else to play with. At least Silk had been more fun than Denise, in her own scary way. Now, Linda Underwood looked good. She was down on the floor, playing with a large tabby who’d wandered in the door. She was making a yard of wire dance. The wire was threaded with little pieces of wood and larger pieces of wood for handles. The cat was jumping at the handle at the other end of the wire from Linda’s hand. A second, marmalade cat came wandering in to join the game. I wondered if they’d mind a third, but turned my attention back to Denise politely.
    But Silk was back. “Listen,” she declared loudly. “How about a good old-fashioned orgy instead of this soiree bit? I haven’t had a good orgy in years.”
    Denise turned her head away. She wasn’t alone. Once again, Isabelle Viseu was averting her face. In fact, only Gil Nesbit looked interested in Silk’s offer.
    “God, it’s good to see you again, Denise,” Silk persisted.
    Denise didn’t respond in kind. I didn’t blame her.
    But apparently Silk did.
    “Jeez, Denise, how about a break here?” she pressed. “I’ll bet your oh-so liberal listeners would like to know just how accepting you really aren’t. God, you remind me of my mother, all priss and bitch.” Silk’s eyes seemed to float away. “I thought about her this morning. It was weird. I haven’t thought about my mother in years.”
    In that moment, Silk didn’t look the forty or so I’d pegged her for. She looked old. I wanted to reach out to her, to give her some comfort. Silk Sokoloff, of all the people in the world!
    But the newcomer bustling in the door took center stage before I could act on any ill-conceived instincts.
    “Hi, kids,” she called out, her voice thin and raspy with age. I guess she had a right to call us “kids.” She looked about eighty, with a lined, impish face under swept-back silver hair and heavy bifocals.
    “Elsa Oberg,” Silk whispered in my ear. “She is one cool old broad.”
    “Well, hot damn, y’all waited for me,” Elsa went on. “Just dropped Mr. Right off for the afternoon. What a sweet patootie.” She shook her head, her eyes glazed for a moment. “So, is he my soulmate? He may be only sixty, but he’s cute as a button. What do you kids think?”
    “Scratch the orgy,” Silk whispered in my ear. I couldn’t stop the snort of laughter that escaped my lips.
    But then Silk was advancing on Elsa, her face alight with sincere interest.
    “So, how’s sex at eighty?” she inquired. All she needed was a tape-recorder in her hand. Was everyone here doing research?
    “Hon, you just wouldn’t understand,” Elsa rasped with a wink at the rest of us. “You’re too young to even imagine this ole woman in action.”
    “So how old is everyone here?” Silk demanded of the room.
    “My age is a