Always Kiss the Corpse by Sandy Frances Duncan Page A

little hair.
    He covered the corpse, de-gloved, de-gowned, made preliminary notes. “Thanks, Billy.”
    He got to the last ferry for Mukilteo with twenty minutes to spare. From the car he called Herb in Seattle for an instant consult, describing the body. It sounded to Herb as if Sandro had been undergoing substantial hormone treatment. For what? Impossible to tell without examining the corpse. Maybe some kind of sexual readjustment, some hormone combination that had increased both the man’s masculinity and his femininity. With the facial hair gone and the enlarged breast tissue, the best guess was he’d been treated with a range of female hormones. Hormonal shifts that powerful could lead to strong mood shifts, possibly contributing to suicide. Philip should definitely locate Sandro’s doctor.
    Would Herb be willing to look at the body? Herb was pretty busy—Philip would appreciate it very much. Well, Herb could take a quick trip up early tomorrow.
    On the ferry Philip mulled over what he’d learned. A new level of confusion.
    â‰ˆÂ Â â‰ˆÂ Â â‰ˆ
    Noel and Kyra returned to her condo around nine. The answering machine flashed. She pressed Play. Jerome’s voice, asking her to call. Background voice of Nelson, bark, bark.
    Kyra, hand on the phone, said to Noel, “Vodka’s in the freezer.” She glanced at the sofa. “Oh, I haven’t done your bed.”
    â€œMake you a drink?”
    Yes, she wanted to say, but thought better of it. “I’ll see what Jerome wants first.”
    She’d look up Jerome’s number—Oh, here it was, memorized already. Hmm.
    He answered on the second ring. “Hello? Shut up, Nelson!”
    â€œHi. What’s up?”
    â€œAny idea how many vegetarians you’re having on Thursday?”
    â€œNot me, not Noel.” Oh dear, Kyra thought, she still hadn’t reached Jacquie and Margery—oops. Sarah and Mike were set.
    â€œI was going to bring Oysters Rockefeller.”
    â€œOh my.”
    â€œAnd Crab Cardinale.”
    â€œYum. But that’s a lot for a potluck. And neither of those are one-potters.”
    â€œThey’re one-dishers.”
    â€œIf you say so.”
    â€œI’m looking forward to Thursday.” His voice had softened.
    â€œMe too.” She realized she wanted to continue talking with him, just for the pleasure of it. But she’d better phone the others before it got too late.
    â€œHow’s it going with the woman whose son it wasn’t?” Jerome, moving into relaxed.
    Jerome, the potluck, the case. Her brain felt a little jerked. She got up, waved from the doorway to get Noel’s attention, made drink-pouring motions. “It’s all still confusing, Jerome. We might have to go to Whidbey Island tomorrow.”
    â€œYou be careful,” he said.
    â€œSure.”
    â€œTake my phone numbers with you.”
    â€œThey’re in my book.”
    He hesitated. “Kyra? Please take care.”
    â€œAlways.”
    Noel handed her a vodka and tonic water. She drank. Her ice clinked. A nice, lingering hang-up. Kyra fast-dialed Margery, apologies for the lateness—yes, she could come, and may she bring her sister’s friend Bettina, just moved to Bellingham? Sure. Jacquie declined, an evening with her mother. Kyra collapsed on the sofa with Noel’s TV news and sipped her nightcap. Did the rearranged room actually feel more comfortable?

FOUR
    Wednesday morning Kyra and Noel were on the road shortly after nine. Yesterday’s wind had blown the clouds away, and uncommon March sunlight soaked the greening earth. The Tracker bounced along. Noel gloried in crocuses, hyacinths, flowering cherries, plums, and magnolias. Miraculous spring! Hard, on a sopping winter day, to believe spring will someday return. The sun warmed his face.
    Before leaving, Kyra had handed him a key. “Here.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œYours. To the US