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

something.” Alice’s voice broke as she choked back tears.
    He met my gaze. “I would if I could.”
    But he was in wait mode for the autopsy results as I knew all too well.
    “Time to go,” Gram proclaimed like we were late for dinner. She elbowed me into the center of the aisle, where Heather was standing, waiting, with perfect, blonde-streaked hair, a dark blue, sleeveless sheath, and matching pumps.
    I’d heard from Rox that after Heather’s divorce last year from an advertising executive, she’d moved back home from Boston and was working at a Port Townsend boutique. If anyone ever had needed an employee discount to expand her designer wardrobe, it wasn’t trim, tan, and more perfectly gorgeous than ever Heather. Why wouldn’t Steve want to be with her?
    The bastard.
    “Nice dress,” I said. I knew it sounded lame, but I had to say something to the conniving bitch I’d outed after she tried to steal Rox’s boyfriend back in ninth grade.
    Her gaze lingering on my chignon, Heather responded with a fake smile. “Thanks.”
    “Awkward,” Marietta sang in my ear.
    True, but the queen of awkward silences needed to cut me a little slack.
    “See you later,” Steve said to me as Heather sidled up next to him.
    “Later.” Which translated into another opportunity to make painfully polite conversation with Heather and Steve at the post-funeral nosh-fest at the Bergeson’s that Gram and Alice had helped organize.
    Goody.
    Watching Steve and Heather make their way past Marietta, I noticed that they didn’t hold hands, didn’t touch. It didn’t make me feel any better about seeing them together, but it didn’t make me feel any worse, either.
    “Keep moving,” Gram said, waving me on like a traffic cop. “We need to get Alice out of here before she starts saying things she’s going to regret tomorrow.”
    Easier said than done since Marietta was sauntering down the aisle as if she were working the red carpet at the Oscars.
    She shook Dr. Straitham’s hand and his gaze followed the swivel of her hips as she moved to the next row to schmooze Mr. Ferris, my high school biology teacher.
    I wasn’t the only one watching Warren Straitham’s reaction to my mother. Virginia leveled a cold, hard glare at her husband.
    Unfortunately, Mr. Ferris didn’t have a wife by his side to put out the no trespassing sign.
    Gram extended her hand. “Come along, Alice.”
    With her eyes fixed on Warren Straitham, Alice sidestepped my grandmother.
    Gram sucked in a breath. “Oh dear.”
    “You have some nerve showing up here,” Alice said, her voice cutting through the crowd like a butcher’s knife through butter.
    The tall, silver-haired gentleman in the cheap gray suit blinked. “Pardon me?”
    Alice wagged her index finger at Dr. Straitham. “Don’t think that I don’t know what’s going on.”
    He blanched to a doughy pallor, reminding me of the time I’d caught my ex-husband in the walk-in freezer with Brie, his sous chef. Unlike Chris who’d followed me out the door, all the while trying to spin his dalliance into a palatable confection, Dr. Straitham looked like a human popsicle frozen in place.
    Duke reached for Alice’s hand. “Honey, let’s go.”
    She shook him off. “You’re not going to get away with this,” Alice said as she inched closer to Dr. Straitham. “I’m on to you!”
    The doctor’s silver-brown brows drooped, giving him the appearance of a blue-eyed bloodhound. “Alice,” he said in a hushed tone, sounding like a sympathetic man who understood grief, but his thin lips stretched into something else—fear.
    Standing ramrod straight by his side, Virginia flushed a bloody shade of crimson.
    “That’s enough,” Duke growled, taking Alice by her thin shoulders and pointing her toward the exit. “We’re leaving.”
    I grabbed my grandmother by the arm and squeezed out a smile at Virginia Straitham. “See you later.” Maybe.
    “Don’t you think we should apologize?” Gram