Free Plain Jane by Fern Michaels

on.” When Fred scowled, she gave him a come-hither look. “C’mere, Freddie, and give Trixie a big kiss,” she said, puckering up.
    Fred obliged.
    Jane had seen them act like this a thousand times before, bantering back and forth. Anyone who didn’t know them might think they were fighting, but the truth was they never fought. Never. They loved each other too much.
    The minute Fred finished his breakfast, he carried his plate to the sink, washed it, dried it, and put it away. Jane knew that he thought dishwashers were a big waste of time and water.
    â€œI’ve got to get to work,” he said, “or she’ll get so far ahead of me I’ll never hear the end of it. See you tonight, Janie. Don’t spit on any wooden nickels.”
    Jane smiled. “Trust me, Fred, I won’t.”
    Trixie stopped him before he could get to the door. “This is my day to go to the police station, Fred. So, if you need me, call the station, and they’ll page me. I have to drop Janie off at home first. Oh, and be sure to print out a hard copy so I can read it when I get home. And chill some wine, sweetie and we can play house this evening.”
    Fred waddled out of the kitchen, his girth shaking like the proverbial bowl of jelly.
    â€œI just love that man. We’ll be married fifty-five years in two months. And everyone we knew back then said it wouldn’t last,” Trixie cackled.

3
    Trixie shifted into fifth gear as she risked a sideways glance at Jane, who was holding on to the Jesus Christ strap as if her life depended on it. Trixie knew she tended to speed, but so did Jane. Driving fast was just one of the many things they had in common. No, it wasn’t her driving that was causing Jane’s anxious expression. Something was seriously bothering her beloved godchild. “Wanna talk about it, kiddo?”
    Jane shot her a sideways glance. Trixie always knew when something was wrong. Always. It was positively uncanny. “Not really,” she said, her feelings uncertain. “Well, maybe. No, I need to . . .”
    â€œIs it that same old stuff ? I wish you’d stared it in the face back then and dealt with it,” she said, throwing her hands up in a gesture of frustration. A split second later she grabbed the wheel to swerve around a slow-moving pickup truck. “Asshole!” she shouted, one skinny arm shooting out the window to offer up her middle finger in a single-digit salute. “I’m sorry, honey, what were you saying?”
    â€œIt was nothing,” she said, waving her hand to dismiss the subject. Trixie was assuming that she had been thinking about Connie Bryan. Jane did think about Connie, almost daily, but that wasn’t what was on her mind today. It was Brian Ramsey who occupied her thoughts. “I just have a lot going on right now. I feel a little overwhelmed. You know how that goes.”
    Trixie kept her eyes on the road. “It might be good for you to talk about it. Isn’t that what you tell your patients, to talk about what’s troubling them?” Once she was out of traffic, she pressed the pedal to the metal and flew through the streets to the edge of town.
    â€œYes, that’s what I tell them,” Jane said, relieved to see her house coming into view. “But in this case, I’m governed by patient confidentiality.”
    Trixie screeched the four-by-four to a stop in front of Jane’s house.
    â€œHome sweet home,” Jane said, looking out the passenger window at her domain. “Oh, listen.” She leaned to the right to listen to the birds. She loved their early-morning litany. One of these days she was going to get a book on how to attract birds to the garden so there would be even more than there already were. “Thanks for bringing me home, Trix.” She grabbed the plastic grocery bag with the two T. F. Dingle books in it and opened the car door.
    â€œOh, wait a minute,”