The Stiff and the Dead by Lori Avocato

they do is right or—”
    Her eyebrows rose in what I’d clearly term “annoyance.” I didn’t want to piss off Hildy. She could be helpful. Then again, someone with so much black on and red painted hair teased out as if frightened by the proverbial bogeyman might not be much help. Still, with friends like Goldie, Miles and Adele, I wasn’t choosy. You really couldn’t judge a book by a cover where any of them were concerned. They were all the best, despite appearances. So, I changed my tune and said, “You must be so overworked. Can I get you a drink?”
    She looked at the crowd waiting. “Yeah, tequila. Worm in.”
    After a moment of shock, I chuckled. “How about a soda? Cola?”
    â€œDon’t do caffeine. Anything clear.”
    â€œFine.” I turned to go and stopped. “My name is Pauline. Pauline Sokol.”
    From behind she mumbled, “Hildy Jones. I’ll try to have your prescription filled as soon as Leo gets the chance. But, I can’t promise ‘The Shit’ will cooperate.”
    I smiled to myself.
    When I got over to the clinic side and went into the waiting room where the soda machine sat, I looked around. No Jagger. Where the heck had he gone? Then I reminded myself it really didn’t matter. He’d pop up when least expected. Thank goodness it was usually when my life was being threatened. I hurriedly grabbed a dollar bill from my pocket, got a ginger ale and went back. If I had to wait at the pharmacy, I could maybe do some snooping. Good thing no more patients were around.
    Of course the pharmacy was packed, so I’d have to be careful—and crafty, I thought, on the way back to Hildy.
    After I’d handed the can of soda to Hildy, I sat opposite her desk and decided how to do “crafty,” wishing my buddy Goldie were there. Amazingly enough, Goldie, even dressed like the Fourth of July fireworks, could do sneaky and inconspicuous very well.
    Hildy got up. “I’ll go check on Leo. He’s freaking out with so much work to do. Bastard. Hang it!”
    Hmm. No love lost between Hildy and Leo. This was good. I smelled a possible mole. Dear Hildy who might just serve unwittingly in that role, looked as if she might need a friend—and Pauline Sokol was nothing if not friendly.
    I watched her go, wondering how and why she’d chosen to wear such gigantic platform shoes with her long skirt. I mean, someone could fall off those things and get hurt. As I was pondering Hildy’s clothing, I couldn’t believe my luck. Something caught my eye at the pharmacy counter.
    Well, not something, but someone.
    Someone you’d have to be legally blind to miss. One Sophie Banko, standing there, big as, well, to be charitable, I’d go with the cliché big as day, knowing house would be more appropriate. But, I’d decided, in my new line of work I needed all the help from above that I could get, and insulting someone, even just in my thoughts, surely couldn’t do me any good.
    I leaned forward to try and hear what Sophie was saying to the pharmacist. It wasn’t Leo, I assumed, but someone else. An older gentleman with graying hair, stocky build and wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. Then I saw Sophie give a wave to another man who I guessed was Leo. Back in my floor-nursing days, I’d been known as “psychic Sokol” because I could almost predict when a patient’s condition was going to go into the toilet. Not literally. But more like when they were going to have some complications.
    Gut feeling.
    And I had that right now as Sophie waved again.
    Hmm.
    When Hildy got back and sat down, I looked at her and was about to ask a question about Sophie. A nonchalant question so as not to arouse any suspicion. Then she yawned and I got a load of her tongue. Biggest tongue ring I’ve ever seen. Had to be the size of a sourball. A big silver sourball, which jiggled a bit when