Trudy, Madly, Deeply (Working Stiffs Mystery Series) by Wendy Delaney Page B

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