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

to the kitchen. “Someone should do an intervention before Sylvia buys another can of tuna.”
    “Be serious.” I added some lukewarm lasagna to his plate. “It’s not a big leap to think that Warren Straitham could be killing his patients.”
    He cocked his head. “Give me a break.”
    “Okay, it is, but you weren’t there when Aunt Alice told him that she wasn’t going to let him get away with it. He looked scared. Exposed.”
    “Hey, she once chased me out of her kitchen with a carving knife. Trust me, the women in your family can be plenty scary.”
    I ignored the cheap shot. “I’m just telling you what I saw.”
    “I’ll take that under advisement,” he said, sniffing another casserole dish.
    “Sure you will. And that’s Mrs. Lundgren’s pesto ravioli.”
    “What the hell is pesto?”
    “Just try it and stop sniffing around.”
    His lips curled into a lopsided grin. “I will if you will.”
    “Am I interrupting something?” Suzy Harte asked, carrying a platter piled high with fresh veggies, her light blue eyes gleaming as they darted between Steve and me.
    Suzy seemed to be the queen of part-time jobs—one as an ER nursing assistant, one as an aerobics instructor at the senior center, and one as a self-appointed dispenser of unsolicited advice. When it came to sticking a nose where it didn’t belong, she even had Lucille beat.
    I took the platter from her. “Not at all. Steve and I were just—”
    “I don’t see Heather anywhere,” Suzy said. “Did she have to leave?”
    All traces of Steve’s smile vanished. “Something like that.”
    “What a shame.” The tiny crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes crinkled as Suzy beamed. Not at him, but at me.
    Not the usual effect Steve had on women.
    With short, straight, sandy blonde hair and a pert turned-up nose dusted with freckles, the slender aerobics instructor had the look of a middle-aged pixie.
    The pixie leaned in, studying my face. “I hadn’t noticed the resemblance before. You do take after your mother.”
    We had the same eye color. Other than that I took after that French bastard , but I didn’t detect any deception in Suzy.
    With eyes wide like a chocoholic in a candy store, she gazed out the dining room window at Marietta, holding court with Mr. Ferris in the shade of a patio umbrella.
    I’d seen the look on Suzy’s face many times before. She was a fan, and I was somebody because I was a child of a somebody .
    “Thanks … for the veggies,” I said, hoping she’d move on to the patio like a good little fan so that she could deliver her adulation in person.
    “I thought there might be a few people who’d want a healthy alternative to all these heavy desserts,” Suzy said as I set the platter next to the bundt cake on the sideboard.
    No one I knew.
    Steve grabbed a celery stick. “Bon appétit.”
    Ignoring him, I met Suzy’s gaze. “Very thoughtful of you.”
    She smiled contentedly, watching as Steve headed into the living room where Donna and several others from our old high school gang had gathered. “You’re cute together.”
    Huh? “We’re just friends.”
    “Obviously good friends.” Arching her eyebrows she waited.
    “Just old friends.”
    She glanced behind me. “Like your mom and Barry Ferris?”
    I turned and saw Marietta fanning herself, showing a lot of thigh as she sat cross-legged under that umbrella with Mr. Ferris. All she needed was a mint julep to make the Southern belle image complete.
    Since the last time she had spent any time with him was when she’d showed up unannounced at my high school science fair, they didn’t exactly meet the usual definition of old friends. But with the way she kept touching his hand, they seemed awfully chummy.
    “I don’t believe it,” Aunt Alice muttered, rounding the corner.
    My thoughts exactly, but I was pretty sure that she wasn’t referring to my mother and Mr. Ferris.
    Lucille lumbered up to the dining room table with a steaming casserole dish