A Cry for Self-Help (A Kate Jasper Mystery) by Jaqueline Girdner Page A

want her to be a murderer. Or worse yet, to be that treacherous. Could anyone be that treacherous to someone they supposedly loved enough to marry?
    “Don’t really think it fits either,” Wayne said, as if he’d heard my unspoken objections.
    I leaned back against the cushions.
    “Had a point about Yvonne,” Wayne added. “How well did she and Sam know each other? Neither of us has an answer to that question. And Yvonne set up the whole event. Could have been arranging the perfect murder.”
    “And she brought those heavy vases,” I muttered. “But…”
    “Yeah,” Wayne agreed. “Same as Emma. Just can’t imagine it.” He paused. “Ona, on the other hand…”
    “Or Diana—”
    His glower told me I should have kept that one to myself.
    But before the glower could be translated into anything more than a facial expression, our doorbell rang again.
    I motioned Wayne to be silent. He nodded in agreement and stood up quietly from his swinging chair, then crept over to the couch to sit next to me. Without a word.
    “Excuse me,” a voice shouted through the door. Even the shout had an air of politeness to it I recognized the voice immediately. Park Ranger Yasuda. “Yvonne O’Reilley thought I should speak to you,” he went on.
    Wayne and I huddled together on the couch holding our breaths, hearing each other’s rhythms like drumbeats.
    “Excuse me, but I know you’re in there,” Yasuda said, his voice at normal volume now. We could still hear him clearly.
    And we still kept quiet.
    And then from behind us a small figure jumped up onto the back of the couch and yowled into my ear.
    “Damn it, C.C.!” I yelped.
    Wayne gave me one look from beneath rapidly descending eyebrows, stood up abruptly, and strode over to the front door.
    His sigh was a nine this time. Maybe even a ten.
     
     
    - Eight -
     
    I didn’t blame Wayne. I could have joined the sigh Olympics too about then. Why couldn’t everyone just leave us alone?
    I turned to glare at C.C. She yowled one more time and jumped off the back of the couch, slinking off with her own feline sigh. Actually it was more like a grumble, or as close as she could get, considering her vocal cords. I had a few choice replies to that grumble, but didn’t have a chance to express them as the tip of her tail disappeared around the doorway.
    “So, Ms. O’Reilley suggested I speak to you,” Park Ranger Yasuda was saying to Wayne when I finally rose from the couch to be a good host. Well, maybe not a good one, but minimally polite at least. I figured I could handle that.
    Within a few minutes Park Ranger Yasuda, or David, as he asked us to call him, was sitting between us on our ratty old denim couch and telling us his problems. I was too tired to do anything but listen. And watch. Which wasn’t hard to do.
    David Yasuda was a good-looking man, Japanese-American with square, even features and dark, intense eyes under thick, arching eyebrows. And long black hair pulled back in a ponytail. He looked about thirty, but I figured Yvonne’s mental age had to be at least half that in any case, so maybe he might not be too young for her fifty-plus real-time years. Assuming she actually did have the crush I was pretty sure she had on him. It was his intensity that was so attractive, I decided as he spoke. And his sincerity.
    “Point Abajo doesn’t really have any grounds for legal jurisdiction,” he was saying. “My boss doesn’t think we should get involved.” He twisted his hands together, mottling the skin around his knuckles into patches of beige and white. “But I feel involved! If Ms. O’Reilley and I hadn’t arranged the wedding, Mr. Skyler wouldn’t have died.”
    “Never helps to say ‘if,’“ Wayne offered, his voice sounding as stressed as I felt. But at least he was trying. “A thousand things could have gone differently and Sam Skyler might not have died. Not your fault. The only one to blame is the one who actually killed Skyler.” He