Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #3: Books 9-12 (A Dead Cold Box Set) by Blake Banner (read with me .TXT) 📕

I went on, “The motivation to murder is, in practically every case, the product of a close, intimate relationship, usually sexual. So what motivation would interstellar travelers have to murder Danny and Jane?”

Don sighed loudly. “Again, Stone? I have already told you! They are hunters, predators…”

“That build churches on the animals they hunt?” I looked at the colonel, who was studying me carefully as I spoke. “That take twenty years between one hunting expedition and the next? Oh, but wait, I am getting confused, was it a religious mission or a hunting expedition? Or do they roll both into one to save time and expense?”

Paul spoke for the first time and his voice was sullen. “You are out of order, Detective.”

“Two people have been murdered, Paul, and there are elements of your alien hunter theory that don’t add up. Is it a spiritual expedition to build upon the rock of Kirkpatrick, or is it a hunting safari? I just don’t buy that it’s both, and I don’t buy that they came twenty years ago, killed Danny, went away and came back again to kill Jane. I’m sorry. The theory has too many holes in it.”

The kitchen door opened again and Jasmine returned carrying a tray. On it she had two huge meat pies. She brought them to the table on rapid feet, struggling with the weight of the tray. May stood and expostulated, “Let me help you!”

But Jasmine shook her head. “No! No, I can manage!” She placed the tray on the table and gave a small laugh. “You can cut and dish up, if you want to help. Don, we need red wine now.”

“I know, goddammit!” He snarled, “Do I look like an ignorant…” He trailed off, stood, and made his way to the sideboard, where he retrieved four bottles of red wine and brought them to the table, while his wife returned to the kitchen to get potatoes and vegetables. Don distributed the wine. Stuart and the Colonel started to pour. As Don sat, Stuart looked at me and said, “Just because we don’t understand it, Detective, it doesn’t mean it isn’t real.”

I nodded. “I couldn’t agree more, Stuart, but it is equally true that we should not project explanations onto things we don’t understand, just to try and get them to make sense. And I fear that is what is going on here. Danny’s death was inexplicable. And though your book, Don, makes a very powerful case for the existence of extraterrestrials, it does not, actually, explain Danny’s death.”

May said, “But neither did the police.”

I smiled at her. “But the police left the case open. They didn’t close it with an unproven theory.”

Don said, “And you think that is what I have done.”

I nodded. “I don’t think it’s what you’ve done. It is what you have done. And proof of that fact is that, without any of you knowing any details about Jane’s murder, you are all attributing her death to the same cause as Danny’s.”

The kitchen door opened again and Jasmine returned with another tray, bearing large dishes of potatoes and vegetables. She laid it on the table, looked at May and made a mock cross face. “Ahh! May! You didn’t start dishing out pie! Naughty May!”

May covered her face and laughed too. “Oh, Jasmine! I am so sorry!”

I looked up at Jasmine and smiled, and in that moment I caught her staring at Don. She frowned a moment, then her eyes went wide, her face went white, and she screamed hysterically. Next moment, her eyes rolled back in her head and she dropped backward onto the floor, dragging the tray with her, scattering dishes, potatoes, and vegetables in a shattering crash.

Nineteen

Dehan was on her feet, moving to help Jasmine. Paul was right behind her. Within a second, the colonel followed with Stuart on his heels. May had pushed back her chair and was staggering backward to her feet, screaming. But she was staring at where Jasmine had collapsed on the floor, so I was pretty sure what had scared her was Jasmine’s face—not what had scared Jasmine.

Dehan was barking orders at everybody to stand back and give her space. I turned to look at Don. He hadn’t moved. He still had his sullen scowl on his face. The only change was that his breathing had grown deeper and faster. He swiveled his eyes to look at me.

I said, “Is this a trance?”

He nodded. I stood and walked over to where Jasmine was lying on the floor trembling. I touched Dehan on the shoulder and said, “Let’s get her to the sofa. She may have something to tell us.”

We moved in a solemn procession over to the fire. As I laid Jasmine on the sofa, May announced importantly that she was going to run upstairs and get a blanket. Nobody answered her, and after a moment we heard her heels hammering up the wooden stairs and along the landing. Jasmine was now giving the odd tremble, but her breathing was becoming slow and shallow. There was a deep sigh, almost a groan, from the table and Don got to his feet. He came over and stood looking down at his wife.

“Please,” he said, “sit. They are about to communicate.” He lowered himself into a chair. “Paul, perhaps you would dim the lights.”

As Paul went to turn down the lights, May clacked back down the steps carrying a blanket. She strutted purposefully over and covered Jasmine, making sure she was tucked in properly and her feet were covered.

“May…?” It was Don.

She turned to look at him.

He said, “We’re waiting. Would you take a seat, please?”

She gave the blanket one last tuck and went to sit next to her husband on the other sofa. Paul joined them. We waited.

Ten minutes passed, with only the sound of the logs