The job could wait a few minutes.
I hit the gas. “Please be going shopping.”
Heather turned right on Yesler, veering east from the downtown shopping district and my heart sank.
I let a yellow taxi cut in front of me to add some distance between me and the Prius, then made the right turn onto Yesler.
As I followed Heather onto Broadway she wove her way past Swedish Hospital and several towering medical buildings, finally turning onto East Madison—not an area of town I was familiar with.
Wherever Heather was heading, my bladder needed her to get there. Quickly.
After a couple of blocks she turned onto a tree-lined side street near Seattle University, then pulled into a parking lot behind a bank.
I breathed a sigh of relief. Not a no-tell hotel in sight. So what was this? A doctor’s appointment?
I parked in the lot of the convenience store on the opposite corner and watched her disappear inside a two-story office building.
A few seconds later, I eased out of the lot and read the carved wooden sign next to the building entrance. Elliott Bay Psychological Services.
Holy cannoli. It was a doctor’s appointment all right. For therapy. And by coming here, Heather was going well out of her way to get it. Understandable since news about her seeing a shrink would spread like a white hot wild fire in Port Merritt.
Besides me and maybe her mother, the only other person who knew that Heather had this appointment might have been at the other end of that phone call.
You have to do this.
I sucked in a breath as icy fingers of realization crawled up my spine. This wasn’t just therapy, this was couples therapy. And Steve could be here any minute. “Shit!”
A car horn blasted behind me. With my pulse racing like I’d just mainlined a gallon of Duke’s coffee, I peered into my rear view mirror and released the breath I’d been holding when I saw an elderly woman gesturing at me to move. Since I needed to make myself scarce before I peed my pants, she’d get no argument from me.
After a quick bathroom break at a fast food restaurant on East Madison, I drove straight to Seattle’s Pill Hill to lay a subpoena on Dr. Roland. Exactly what this deputy coroner should have done in the first place—focus on her job instead of taking a side trip into too much information land.
Because Dr. Roland’s pissy receptionist made me wait until the doctor had finished with his last morning appointment before I could slap the subpoena into his hand, it was almost two o’clock by the time the ferry docked back in Port Merritt. My brain spent the entire crossing chewing on everything I’d learned this morning, worrying about what secrets the medical records in my tote bag held and how angry Steve would be if he knew those records were in my possession. Worse, if he ever discovered that I’d followed Heather to their appointment.
All my mental mastication made my head feel like it was being squeezed through a pastry bag, so I headed for Duke’s for some edible relief—preferably in the form of a grilled turkey club on the house.
While on the hunt for a parking space near Duke’s, I noticed a tall woman with perfectly straight hair glinting red in the afternoon sun—Nell Neary. As she walked down the sidewalk, her bright pink sundress swayed with every step. Unlike Heather and me, Nell had the relaxed appearance of a woman who didn’t have a worry in the world.
Given everything I’d learned today, I had enough worries for the three of us.
The turkey club could wait a few minutes.
I parked the Jag in front of Clark’s Pharmacy and followed Nell inside. Grabbing a plastic shopping basket from a stack by the entrance, I ventured down the candy aisle and tossed in a Snickers bar while keeping a watchful eye on Nell. When she stopped to peruse the hair color Clark’s had on sale, I meandered over and picked up a box with a redhead on the cover.
“Have you tried this brand?” I casually asked.
Her face brightened. “Charmaine?”
“Nell? Wow, look at you. I hardly recognized you.” Which would have been true if I’d said it a week ago.
She beamed. “I know. Donna talked me into going red a few months back. And of course the contacts help. You look …” her smile slipped for a fraction of a second, “… great.”
Since the dark circles under my bloodshot eyes were giving me a Queen of the Undead look, it didn’t take any skill to see she was just being kind. “Thanks.”
“I heard you were back home,” she said, glancing down at the aging linoleum. “In fact, I saw you at Trudy’s funeral.”
I couldn’t admit that I’d also seen her so I had to go with a safer response. “You should have said hello.”
“I meant to, but I was with my boyfriend and since he had to go back to work, we didn’t stay long.”
“What kind of work does he do?”
“He’s a ranger for the Forest Service.” Her cheeks flushed with pride. “You know, one of those outdoorsy types.”
I wondered if he knew Justin. “How did you meet?”
Since Nell was a tax accountant with a home office and had spent most of her adult life taking care of her mother, I was more than a little curious, especially if it had anything in common with how Jayne Elwood or Sylvia Jeppesen had hooked up with the new men in their lives.
Nell shrugged. “You’re going to think it’s silly.”
Doubtful. “Try me.”
“We met last month at a dance. Thomas was there with his mother—”
“His mother?” Was this outdoorsy guy one of those forty-year-olds who still lived with his mother?
“Oh, yes. She’s a very good dancer.”
Okay. Maybe this was the silly part.
“So …” Nell looked up as if she were replaying the events in her head. “… it was Tango Tuesday, and I had punchbowl duty—”
“Tango Tuesday?” She was losing me.
“At the senior center, like it is every Tuesday night.”
Oh. I hadn’t received the memo.
“So, there he was, hanging around the punchbowl, and we struck up a conversation,” she said with a sweet smile.
“No one introduced you?”
“Oh, no, nothing like that. Then, one thing led to another.” Nell shrugged. “And here we are.”
And here I was, getting nowhere fast. “Sounds like it’s getting serious.”
Nell nodded. “We’re going into Seattle next weekend to look at engagement rings.”
“That’s great.” Except everything she’d told me made swiss cheese out of my matchmaking theory. Maybe Steve was right and Bernadette Neary’s death was just coincidentally similar to several other deaths in the past couple of years.
Nell touched my wrist. “I’m sorry, I got completely caught up. I don’t think I answered your question.”
“My question?” It seemed like she had answered everything I’d asked and then some.
She pointed at the box of hair color in my hands. “About trying that brand.”
“That’s okay.” I placed the box back on the shelf. “I don’t know that I’m ready to make a big change. I think I’m just in a little rut.”
Nell nodded, no doubt familiar with the concept after spending over a decade as a caretaker to her mom.
“Maybe I’m just tired.” It wasn’t a stretch.
“You do look a little peaked.”
“I haven’t been sleeping that well. Actually, for a while now.” For exactly a week, since my mother had breezed into town, but who was counting? “Maybe I should make an appointment with Dr. Straitham,” I said to see if Nell would react to the mention of his name.
I waited, watching, but there was nothing except some possible concern on my behalf. Nice, but not helpful.
“You probably should. I’m sure he could prescribe you something or maybe Clark’s has some over the counter medication that could help.”
Again, that didn’t get me any closer to fitting together the puzzle pieces that connected the deaths of Dr. Straitham’s patients.<
br />
Although making an appointment with the doctor wasn’t a bad idea, and I happened to know just the former patient who needed to see him.
Chapter Ten
It was almost two forty-five by the time I got back to the office with a turkey club and a can of Diet Coke.
Sitting at my desk, I slammed back a couple of aspirin with the Diet Coke to do battle with my headache and waited for the carbs in the turkey club to send me to my happy place. Stopping for a mocha latte on the way back would have sent me there faster, but I’d already blown my diet with the Snickers bar and the poppy seed muffin, so I was in damage control mode. Tomorrow, no muffin and no candy. Well, maybe just no candy. I didn’t want to shock my system.
After I dropped off my expense report with Patsy, I poked my head in Frankie’s office. “Would you mind if I left early one day this week? I need to make a doctor’s appointment.”
Frankie looked at me over her bifocals. “This wouldn’t have something to do with Warren Straitham, would it? Because if it does, we need to talk.”
Busted. I needed some deflection, pronto. “Actually, it’s for my mother.”
Frankie arched an eyebrow. There was nothing like the promise of salacious celebrity gossip to draw someone’s attention. All the better when it drew that attention away from me.
“Nothing serious.” Which was true. “Just something that requires a driver.” Not so true, but I was counting on Frankie respecting Marietta’s privacy and not asking any questions. “So if you could spare me for a couple of hours …”
“Do what you need to do,” she said, reaching for her ringing telephone.
I wasn’t sure she believed me, but it was a yes. That was all I needed to hear to head back to my desk and punch in the number for Warren Straitham’s office to schedule some face time with the doctor.
A monotone female voice answered the phone, and I told her that I wanted to make an appointment for my mother.
“Is your mother a patient of Dr. Straitham’s?”
“A former patient. It would be under the name Mary Jo Digby.”
There was a long pause. “Mary Jo Digby … the actress?”
I wasn’t surprised the receptionist had made the connection. Most of the old-timers in town called my mother by her real name. “Yes.”
“Cool,” the receptionist said with a breathy giggle. “And what seems to be her problem?”
If she wanted an unbiased opinion, this chick was asking the wrong person.
“I think she might need something to help her sleep.” At least one of us did.
“The doctor will want to do a brief physical first …”
Based on how he had ogled Marietta at Trudy’s funeral, I had no doubt of that.
“… but I’m sure he can prescribe a little something to help her get some sleep.”
I and all the sheep I’d been counting for the past week were depending on it.
By the time I hung up the phone, Marietta had a Tuesday appointment at two-thirty. Now, all I had to do was break the news over dinner.
I called Gram to make sure there was plenty of wine in the house.
Sitting in my grandmother’s dining room almost four hours later, Marietta’s fingertips traced the hollow of her throat as she stared across the table at me. “You want me to do what?”
I picked up the bottle of merlot and refilled her glass. “I want you to see Dr. Straitham tomorrow. You have a two-thirty appointment.”
Her extended eyelashes fluttered. “Whatever for?”
“I need to talk to him, but given how things went at Trudy’s funeral, I think he’d be more willing to see you than me.”
Gram scowled. “Rather underhanded, don’t you think?”
Maybe. I topped off her glass for good measure. “You know it’s true.”
“What I know is that you’re poking your nose where it doesn’t belong,” Gram said.
“I’m just going to go along and ask a few questions.”
Marietta’s eyelids tightened as she met my gaze. “While you’re there at my appointment?”
I had no intention of being in the examination room with her. “More like before and after your appointment.”
“I see,” she said thoughtfully. “So, what you’re really sayin’ is that you need my help to get to the bottom of the mystery of poor Trudy’s death.”
I wouldn’t have used those exact words, but …. “Yes.”
Her collagen-enhanced lips curled into a satisfied smile as she reached for her wine glass. “Well, if you put it that way. I’ll just let Barry know that I’ll have to cut our lunch date a little short.”
She couldn’t be serious. “You have a lunch date tomorrow with Barry Ferris?”
“He’s so sweet. Persistent, too. Ah do like that in a man.”
I didn’t, especially when he was my former biology teacher. “Isn’t he a little old for you?”
“Chah-maine, don’t be silly.”
“He’s practically your age.”
Marietta’s eyes darkened. “Which gives us a lot in common,” she said without a trace of the Georgia peach accent.
Gram and I exchanged worried glances as Marietta sipped her wine.
My mother pointed a manicured index finger at me. “I saw that look.”
Gram pursed her mouth, accentuating the puckers gathered around her lips. “He’s a nice man, Mary Jo.”
“Don’t you think I know that? I wouldn’t be having a lunch date with him if he weren’t. Ah swear, you two are making mountains out of molehills. It’s not like I’m gonna marry the man. I’m just having some fun.”
That’s what I was worried about.
* * *
The next morning I woke up to a metal bracket in the Crippler poking me in the butt like a cattle prod. I lifted an eyelid to peek at the clock. Five twenty-seven.
I’d wanted to get over to Chimacam Memorial to talk to Cindy Tobias before I had to be in court, but even my ex-husband had the good sense not to poke me this early with any appendage he wanted to keep.
After a long, hot shower, I took a little extra time doing the hair and makeup thing. If I was going to make an appearance at the hospital, I might as well look halfway decent doing it, especially if I was going to run into Dr. Forsythe. Or any other doctor for that matter.
An hour later at Duke’s, I ladled some oatmeal into a white ceramic bowl, grabbed a small dish of strawberries, and took them over to the counter and sat next to Stanley.
The ninety-year-old stared through his thick glasses at my bowl.
“What?” I asked, dumping the sliced strawberries into the oatmeal.
He gave me a curt nod. “Very sensible.”
“It happens every once in a while.”
“Must be a full moon,” Steve said as he parked himself on the barstool to my right.
I shot him my best glare.
He stood deferentially. “Where are my manners? I should have asked. Is this seat taken?”
Between Stanley and a burly trucker slurping his coffee at the other end of the counter were seven empty seats, including Steve’s usual spot in front of Duke’s grill.
I shrugged. “Sit wherever you want.”
Settling back into his seat, Steve motioned Lucille over with the coffee carafe. “I thought I’d better ask in case you were waiting for a date.”
I was tempted to ask whether he’d had a date in Seattle yesterday but kept my mouth shut.
Lucille’s gaze shifted to me as she poured his coffee.
“Nope, I’m flying solo this morning,” I said.
Stanley elbowed me as Lucille topped off his coffee cup. “What am I, chopped liver?”
“Sorry, Stanley.” I turned to Steve. “You and everyone else will have to get in line.”
“Now you’re talkin’,” Stanley said with a rheumy chuckle. “I do like my women to have spunk.”
Steve stirred creamer into his cup. “You’re living on the edge with this one, Stan.”
; Stanley reached past me for the sugar. “What can I tell ya. I’m a livin’ on the edge kind of guy.”
What a happy bunch of liars we were this morning.
“The usual?” Lucille asked Steve.
He glanced at my bowl. “I’ll have what she’s having.”
One corner of Lucille’s mouth twitched into a hint of a smirk as she refilled my coffee cup. “It must be a full moon.”
After taking a sip of the steaming, dark-as-molasses brew, Steve dumped in another mini-cup of creamer. “So, what’s going on today?”
I figured I’d better steer clear of any topic of conversation that involved Heather, Warren Straitham, Kyle Cardinale, or Trudy, so that left just one thing to talk about.
“Marietta has a lunch date with Mr. Ferris.”
Steve grinned. “No shit.”
“It’s not funny.”
“I think it’s kind of funny,” Stanley chimed in.
Swell. “I don’t.”
Steve stirred his coffee. “I’m sure it’s harmless. He’s too old for her.”
I scraped the bottom of my bowl for the last spoonful of oatmeal. “That’s what I told her.”
“And?”
“She didn’t take it very well,” I said as Lucille delivered Steve’s breakfast.
“How much longer is your mother going to be in town?” he asked.
“Good question.” One that I had been asking since the day she arrived.
Aunt Alice inched around the corner with a tray of doughnuts. What had me concerned more than her slow progress to the bakery display case was the sight of her walking with a slight limp.
Lucille reached out to take the aluminum tray. “Let me help you with those, hon.”
“I can manage,” Alice barked.
Steve turned to me. “Why is she limping?”
“I don’t know.” I twisted out of my seat. “But I’m going to find out.”
I grabbed a cup from the rack under the counter and filled it from a freshly brewed pot of coffee. “Good morning,” I said to Duke as I entered the kitchen.
Grimacing, he flipped a pancake on the grill. “Don’t be so sure about that.”
I edged closer. “What’s wrong?”
He fixed his gaze on his wife. “Something’s hurting her. She won’t tell me what.”
Wendy Delaney - Working Stiffs 01 - Trudy, Madly, Deeply Page 9