The Last Resort (A Kate Jasper Mystery) Read Online Free Page A

occasion. A flowing purple caftan. And her face could have been a wise gypsy’s, brown and crinkly with a long hooked nose, generous mouth and all-seeing black-button eyes.
    “There’s a lot of compassion in you, and intelligence,” she announced finally. She gave me another quick hug and stepped back. I felt my face flushing. This kind of scrutiny was usually reserved for prospective in-laws.
    “Craig needs plenty of support right now,” she added. Great. Another member of the Craig Jasper fan club. Didn’t any of these people see him as a murder suspect? “He needs to mourn properly. You can help him do that.”
    At least she wasn’t asking me to play detective. But how was I supposed to help Craig mourn properly? Before I could form my thoughts into a coherent question, she had turned on Craig with an even more fervent hug than the one she had given me. I hoped it was what he needed.
    The man at the table rose to introduce himself. He was a small slender man, shorter than I was, and probably lighter. He watched Ruth with a look of amusement on his long weasel face. His pinched nostrils quivered over a wispy greying mustache, and his close-set eyes were smiling under wire-rimmed glasses. His clothing was not amused however. His duckbill-cap demanded “Food Not Bombs” over badly cut brown hair, and his T-shirt ordered “CIA Out of Central America.” I groaned to myself. Aggressive social consciousness always sparks my own guilt over good causes long ignored, marches unjoined and contribution requests unpaid.
    “Terry McPhail,” he said and offered his slight hand for shaking.
    “Kate,” I replied shortly as I pumped his hand. No use confusing him with my surname.
    “Ruth thinks a hug can cure everything,” he said, with a thumb pointed in her direction. She still had Craig locked in her loving grip.
    “And Terry thinks political activism will solve everything,” came her retort, muffled by Craig’s chest. “But only eventually. And meanwhile, as we wait, we must suffer nobly.” She released Craig and held him at arm’s length, as she had done with me. “At least a hug is immediate,” she concluded.
    I began a question for Terry. “Is Ruth your…?” Mother, girlfriend, wife? I figured Terry was about my age. Ruth must have been at least twenty years his senior.
    “No,” he answered with a chuckle. “I’ve just met her. We just argue like family.”
    Ruth motioned us all to join them at the end of the long table. I sank gratefully into a chair. Craig sat next to her, his eyes bleary again.
    “The lecture begins,” warned Terry as he took his seat.
    Ruth reached for Craig’s hand and held it. She peered into his eyes. He stared back, mesmerized. I began to fidget, uncomfortable in this role of intimate observer. “Don’t deny your grief,” she advised him. “You have to pass through the tears, the fears, the anger, the guilt. But there will come an end to the worst of the mourning. If you don’t hold back.”
    “Give sorrow words,” Terry added softly. “The grief that does not speak whispers the o’er-fraught heart and bids it break.”
    Ruth turned to Terry, her eyes wide with astonishment. “Shakespeare?” she asked.
    “ Macbeth ,” he confirmed.
    “And I thought all you read was the People’s Daily World ,” Ruth said.
    Terry’s face went pink. He opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by the bark of Craig’s laughter. We all turned to stare at him. His head was thrown back and tears glistened in his eyes as he laughed uncontrollably. He quickly subsided into a few muffled snorts as we watched.
    “I’m sorry,” he said, choking back the last of the snorts. “It’s not you—”
    “We understand,” said Ruth gently. Did we? I wondered.
    “Hey, man, it’s okay,” added Terry. “But let me give you some real advice. Don’t let the cops hassle you. Stand up for your rights.” Craig’s face paled in response. “They’ll pull all kinds of shit if they