Trudy, Madly, Deeply (Working Stiffs Mystery Series) (11 page)

The last thing I needed this morning was some stink eye from Heather so I did an about face and scurried back to my car. “No problem,” I said to myself as I unlocked the car door. Nature might be calling soon, but there were restroom facilities on the ferry. This time I had no problem with waiting.

By nine-thirty I had a little problem. Not only was Heather on the ferry, her blue Prius was parked next to the stairway leading up to the passenger deck where most all the other ferry riders were enjoying the view, and more importantly, had access to a bathroom. Most everyone but Heather and me.

Now, I’m all for avoiding confrontation with certain females from my past whenever possible, but I needed to pee and that trumped any amount of stink eye Heather could hurl my way.

Just as I reached for my door handle, I saw Heather climb out of her car. From the swipe she’d just made at her cheek, it looked like she had been crying. Because of Steve? I didn’t want to know.

Okay, I was dying to know, but after twenty years of being snubbed by Heather Beckett, I knew I was the last person on Earth that she’d pour her heart out to.

I watched her head up the stairs, no doubt to repair her perennially flawless face in the ladies room, exactly where I should have gone the second I drove onto the ferry and switched off my car’s ignition. I certainly couldn’t go now, not with Heather in there.
Damn.

Ten minutes later, she returned to her car grasping her cell phone. Whoever she was speaking to was getting an earful.

I rolled down my driver’s side window. Not that I make a habit of eavesdropping on private conversations, but since it was Heather, good manners seemed optional.

“I don’t care!” she yelled, gripping the phone as if it were a hand grenade she wanted to launch at someone. “You
have
to do this.”

Do what?

I held my breath waiting for an answer, but the only response I heard was the slam of her car door.

I’d wager that Heather had just been told
no
. Obviously wasn’t happy about it, either, which didn’t break my heart one little bit, especially if that
no
had come from Steve. Really, did she expect him to drop everything—including the murder investigation that he should be working on—and join her in Seattle for some sort of rendezvous?

Even Heather’s allure couldn’t be that irresistible. Could it?

I was asking myself the same thing twelve minutes later, while I watched Heather drive down the ferry ramp. Not that I cared what she and Steve did.

Once she was out of my sight, I turned the key and the Jag rumbled to life. “I don’t care.” Because it didn’t affect me in the slightest.

Liar.

“It doesn’t matter,” I said, easing down the ramp. No more than it had mattered seventeen years ago.

The SUV in front of me slowed to a stop behind a string of cars at a red light to turn left onto 1
st
Avenue South. I merged into the right lane after I made the turn and saw a blue Prius five cars ahead of me.

According to the driving directions to Dr. Roland’s office that I’d printed, I was supposed to turn right on South Jackson. The Prius went straight through that intersection toward the heart of the city, where my grandmother used to take me shopping each August before school started. And beyond Nordstrom and the upscale shops of Westlake Park stood countless hotels that rented by the hour.

My grip tightened on the steering wheel. Should I turn or go straight?

Turn and act like a mature adult who had a job to do or run the light that had just turned yellow and find out what Heather was doing in Seattle?

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.

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.”