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

wet paper towels at me.
    My mysterious burglar was none other than my cleaning lady, Vivian, here as usual on Monday morning to clean house. Vivian was close to my age but she certainly didn’t look it. Especially that morning with her muscles rippling under her Liz Claiborne jumpsuit, her pretty, tan face registering shock, disgust and, finally, amusement. The amusement was one reason I counted my cleaning lady as a friend. The other was that we were born within a few days of each other, under the same sign. The sign was gossip. We both loved talking about other people’s business.
    “Wanna do tea?” she asked, pointing her spray cleaner toward the kitchen.
    “Yeah, but let me get some clothes on,” I answered, yawning.
    “I suppose you want herbal,” she grumbled, her throaty smoker’s voice loaded with disapproval. She had learned to carry her own Lipton tea bags when she came to my house. And on occasion, her own whisky as well.
    I stifled another yawn, nodded and shuffled back into my bedroom.
    “Hey, you got a shitload of calls on your answering machine!” she yelled behind me.
    Monday morning. I brushed my teeth, washed my face and dressed in a hurry. I’d shower later. I didn’t want to miss a good talk with Vivian.
    I cooked some Rice ‘n’ Shine brown rice cereal while Vivian made tea for both of us. C.C. came slinking into the kitchen, eyeing Vivian warily. She knew who ran the vacuum cleaner, and she didn’t like her. I gave C.C. some KalKan as a consolation prize and joined Vivian at the kitchen table. Vivian handed me my tea, ran her hand through her bleached curls and started in.
    “I don’t see how you can eat that crap without milk or sugar,” she said, rolling her eyes heavenward.
    “Sugar and dairy will rot your teeth and your mind,” I mumbled incoherently. The cereal was gumming up my mouth. A healthy vegetarian lifestyle has its own hazards.
    “You look great,” I told her after I managed to swallow. “Are you still pumping iron?”
    “You better believe it. I’m not going to give up these biceps,” she bragged, flexing as she spoke. “Maybe some guy will appreciate them some day.”
    “If you’d pick someone for his brains instead of his body, you’d have a better chance,” I reminded her. Vivian, according to her own account, had divorced three husbands. Each one had been incredibly handsome and incredibly stupid. She would fall in love with them at first sight and fail to notice their oafishness until about the time the minister said “I pronounce you…”
    “Yeah, I know,” Vivian answered. “Maybe a writer or an artist,” she whispered with a faraway look in her hazel eyes. Then she shook her head and grinned sheepishly.
    “Anyway, the muscles make me feel strong,” she went on in a normal voice. “I could take anyone on. Not like your airy-fairy tai chi. It wouldn’t work worth shit against a real mugger.”
    “I don’t know,” I said diplomatically. I didn’t tell her how tai chi had once helped save me from being murdered. I didn’t like to think about that incident.
    “I’ve heard some amazing stories of tai chi used in self-defense,” I told her instead. “And I’ve seen a movie of the master taking on the Marines. He was fifty-three or fifty-four in the movie, a little tiny man. First, four Marines all tried to push him over. They couldn’t budge him. Then one by one, they punched him in the stomach. He just smiled—”
    “It was probably trick photography,” Vivian cut in.
    I didn’t argue. I practiced tai chi for the exercise, and for the serenity and clarity of mind that followed a good session. I wasn’t in it for the martial arts aspect.
    “It’s a trick,” she repeated, narrowing her eyes. She pulled a pint of J&B whisky out of her purse. “Like this prosperity-consciousness bullshit. Imagine yourself rich and, poof, you will be. Huh! I can imagine being rich. I clean for rich people all day long.” She poured a good dollop of