Always Kiss the Corpse by Sandy Frances Duncan Page B

WISDOM. That’s the Whidbey Island Sexual Definition Management clinic. But he never actually said if—” She thought some more. “You know, I don’t remember Sandra talking about surgery.” Another thought. “Mostly she seemed content moving ahead slowly.”
    â€œYou have to have surgery, don’t you?” Kyra asked. “Lop off the penis and all that?”
    Noel shrivelled a little.
    â€œAs far as I know,” Ursula agreed. “But surgery usually comes well after the hormones.”
    â€œWhere’s this clinic?”
    â€œOh right here in town. Just up the hill, in fact.” She spotted Brady. “Over here!”
    Brady crossed Sixth with a puzzled expression.
    â€œGet in.” Ursula opened the door. “We’re going to feed Sandra’s cats.”
    â€œHi,” Kyra said. “We met this morning.”
    â€œOh?” Sudden recognition. “Right.” She grinned. “Hi.”
    â€œMy partner, Noel Franklin.” Check out this WISDOM clinic? In fact, no need. As Noel had noted, they’d done their job.
    â€œHi.” Noel smiled.
    Brady smiled in return, climbed in beside Ursula and closed the door. “A drive in the country, how nice.” Brady and Ursula kissed hello.
    Noel, noting the kiss, felt a chill loneliness shake him. It passed.
    Kyra headed out toward highway 20.
    â€œWe’re going down the Island nearly to Clinton,” Ursula, head navigator, said. “How was work, lovey?” This to Brady.
    â€œAnother day, another dollar.”
    â€œIs the sheriff always that cranky?” Kyra asked.
    â€œYou should see him when he really gets a bee in his bonnet.”
    Does Brady need to talk in clichés? Noel unfolded the map of Whidbey Island.
    After a few miles—God, how Noel hated miles, they were so much longer than kilometers—highway 20 morphed into 525. It was a pretty island, gently rolling land cleared for farming. Many fields were muddy, as suited March; some were bright green, also appropriate for March. Kyra asked the two women how they liked Whidbey.
    â€œA lot,” said Ursula. “Every time we go away we can’t wait to get back.”
    â€œDo you usually take the ferry off?”
    â€œDepends where we’re going,” Brady said. “If it’s Seattle we take the ferry, if it’s north we take the bridge.”
    Impeccable logic, thought Noel.
    â€œWhat’s best about the island?” Kyra continued.
    â€œWell, the size,” Ursula replied. “It’s big enough so we can get most of what we need, and small enough to be laid back and friendly and still sort of countrified.”
    â€œHow’d you get here?” Kyra asked.
    Ursula grew up in Seattle, really liked it. “But it just got too frantic, and the prices?”
    â€œThe Microsoft effect?” posited Noel.
    â€œBoeing, Microsoft, all of them.”
    â€œAnd me,” Brady chipped in, “I met Ursula at a friend’s party and it was love at first sight. Head over heels. We moved here quick as a flash.”
    â€œWe concentrate our investigations on islands,” Kyra offered as explanation for her questions. “How would you compare Whidbey to the other San Juans?”
    â€œNo idea,” said Brady, and simultaneously, “Don’t know,” from Ursula.
    â€œWe’ve never lived on another island,” Brady added.
    â€œAnd we’re really not curious, ’cause Whidbey is wonderful,” Ursula finished.
    â€œFeels like a big island.” Noel glanced from the map to his watch. “We’ve been driving for twenty minutes. Why did Sandro live so far away? Working at the hospital, courses in Oak Harbor?”
    â€œShe moved after she took leave from the hospital,” Ursula said. “The house belongs to one of the nurses, he’s in Rwanda for a year. Sandra got cheap rent by caretaking.”
    â€œI