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

Silk. I wondered if no one wanted to sit next to Silk in the dark. I certainly wouldn’t want to.
    The wicker basket was passed around and we each took a mask. I put mine on and saw black. And suddenly, I could hear better. Much better. I heard the cats fussing, the rustle of chairs, and whispers and groans, not to mention the passing traffic from the open windows. It was a relief to still have my hearing.
    Justine asked Linda to start the music from the other room, and then my sense of sound was blanketed as well, by oboes and cellos and violins and other instruments I couldn’t identify. I wondered if this was how sensory deprivation worked.
    “Okay, everyone,” Justine’s soothing voice came as if in overlay. “Just open yourself to any impressions. Breathe and relax.”
    I breathed, but I didn’t relax. It was too spooky, all alone in the dark. I couldn’t see anything but the black of my mask, or hear anything but the ubiquitous classical music. I concentrated on the feel of the hard chair beneath me for a while. The discomfort was oddly now a comfort to me. Something to hold on to. Along with the feel of the breeze from the open window. And the smell of incense, cats, patchouli, and people. I began to orient myself back to reality.
    Justine said, “Barbara.” I jumped in my chair like a piece of popcorn meeting a blast of hot air. Damn. Well, at least no one could see me, since we were all masked.
    I tried to direct my thoughts to Barbara. But I liked the feel of the hard chair better. And the effect seemed to be the same no matter whose name was called. Except for Silk’s. I saw her laughing face as I heard the hisses and yowls of a cat fight erupting. Somehow, that made sense.
    “Is someone in pain here?” Justine asked. No one answered but the cats. From the yowling, I guessed the answer was yes.
    And that’s how it went. For an eternity.
    And then Justine clapped her hands and called the session to an end. The sound of the classical music died abruptly, and I yanked off my mask, too fast, temporarily blinded by the light. As my eyes adjusted, I listened to the sound of chairs being pushed noisily back. Then I heard excited whispers. It was good to hear again. And to see. Sight, what a gift. I turned my head and noticed a knot of people gathered around Silk’s chair…upset people.
    And I saw the stillness of Silk’s body and the length of cat-toy wire twisted around her neck. Not that I really needed my newfound sight. Because Silk was in the center of a group of people…and she wasn’t talking. She was just slumped in her chair.
    And anyway, I was there, in a group.
    Silk Sokoloff had to be dead.
     
     
    - Three -
     
    “She’s dead, Silk’s dead!” someone screamed. The voice seemed to come from a long distance. Was that Tory Quesada screaming?
    I willed myself to raise my head to see if it was Tory, but I was frozen to my chair, my face averted from Silk’s slumped form. The form that was still imprinted on my mind.
    It was true then. I was in a group of people, and someone was dead. Not just dead. I tasted bile. Murdered. A cat toy twisted around her throat, while her pink boa lay limp on the floor. Silk!
    Silk had been too alive to be dead. Tears for a woman I barely knew stung my eyes. And then I remembered my dream. And the flash of Silk’s laughing face as we had practiced our exercise in intuition. My skin prickled on my frozen body.
    “I told you,” someone else added, low but distinct. “The spirits demanded a sacrifice.” Artemisia was that someone, I was sure. “Nobody believed me. Maybe you believe me now—”
    “Okay, breathe, people.” Justine’s soothing words broke in. “Breathe and—”
    “What happened?” a new voice demanded. I took the breath that Justine advised and turned in my seat to look at Denise, her cheeks pink as she came through the door to an adjoining room. “I heard a scream…”
    Her voice faltered as her eyes traveled to Silk’s body. I