"Am I at serious risk? I don't want my bones to soften."
"You're not going to get rickets, I promise. Have a great day. I'm running behind."
"One thing."
She backed away. "I have to talk to the Air National Guard. If I don't, they'll send commandos."
"This won't take a sec."
He inhaled and blew out a gust. Please, God, don't let him think he has high-altitude pulmonary edema.
"I'm—well, I'm . . ." He wiped his palms against the thighs of his chinos. "I'm having a Halloween party tomorrow night."
Did her face show panic? "That's fine; the noise won't bother ntf. Thanks for letting me know." She backed up another step.
"Some guys are coming—I mean, people from the firm."
The firm was Compurama, the computer store where he worked He wasn't a rich man. He was a house sitter for the owners of the mansion, who were away in Italy for nine months. She never saw him without his Compurama name tag on his shirt.
"I was—it's . . . well, you're invited to the party. Costume optional, but most people are coming as their World of Warcraft avatars."
He glanced furtively at her chest. She presumed World of Warcraft contained a sexy elf in a ragged deerskin bikini. Then he seemed to realize that she didn't play the online sword 'n' sorcery game. His eyes filled with shining desperation.
He stuck out his hands in a no worries gesture. "But that's totally up to you."
"Thanks. I may have to work."
"No problem. Just let me know."
And he smiled so innocently, like a baby harp seal, that she felt guilty. She caved.
"I'll try. How about if I stop by? With dip?"
"Splendid."
She began walking backward, giving him a small wave. He returned it, head tilted, and grabbed the door to go into Java Jones. She spun around.
"One question," he said.
"I have to go . . ." But if she did, when she came home he would be watching for her from his balcony. She turned back around.
He touched his nose. "My septum."
"A deviated septum cannot cause tuberculosis. Really. I know for sure."
To hear Ferd tell it, his deviated septum had variously been the culprit behind his snoring, halitosis, poor posture, and recurrent anxiety.
With planning the party, it's been acting up." He put his finger tlps to his cheeks. "I get this pressure. What if it triggers a panic at tac k and my whole sinus system seizes up?"
'Ask your doctor, Ferd." "But-"
You know my rule. I don't treat friends."
"Just this once—"
I don't prescribe for them, either."
The DIRTY SECRETS CLUB 53
52 Meg Gardiner
"This isn't about prescription decongestants."
"Good."
"You wouldn't be prescribing drugs. It's a whole different approach to anxiety management. Nature's way. It would be an emotional support prescription."
Not hug therapy again. She watched for his arms to shoot toward her. Please, not that. "Ferd, your own doctor needs to handle it. I have to jet." I
His brow creased. "Okay." I
She waved good-bye. His face softened again into baby-seal affection. She suspected that as she walked away, his eyes were on her rear end.
Ten feet around the corner, she got out her cell phone. She found the number for Gregory Harding. She paused a moment before making the call.
Harding was Callie's ex-husband, but still close enough that he'd' been the one they called to identify her body. Jo gazed at the sky and straightened her shoulders before she dialed. It was answered on the second ring. "Yes?" "Mr. Harding?" She introduced herself and explained that she was a forensic psychiatrist consulting for the police department. "I'm
sorry for your loss."
"Wasn't my loss, it was hers. Why are you calling?" Tick. There was resentment in that answer. "I'd like to talk to you Is there some time today we could meet?"
He paused. "The cops want to make Callie out to be a head case-'
is that what this is about?" I
"No, sir. It's about gathering evidence to accurately explain hfl
death." II
There was a longer pause. "I have an office in Palo Alto. There's j coffee place by Borders
"You're not going to get rickets, I promise. Have a great day. I'm running behind."
"One thing."
She backed away. "I have to talk to the Air National Guard. If I don't, they'll send commandos."
"This won't take a sec."
He inhaled and blew out a gust. Please, God, don't let him think he has high-altitude pulmonary edema.
"I'm—well, I'm . . ." He wiped his palms against the thighs of his chinos. "I'm having a Halloween party tomorrow night."
Did her face show panic? "That's fine; the noise won't bother ntf. Thanks for letting me know." She backed up another step.
"Some guys are coming—I mean, people from the firm."
The firm was Compurama, the computer store where he worked He wasn't a rich man. He was a house sitter for the owners of the mansion, who were away in Italy for nine months. She never saw him without his Compurama name tag on his shirt.
"I was—it's . . . well, you're invited to the party. Costume optional, but most people are coming as their World of Warcraft avatars."
He glanced furtively at her chest. She presumed World of Warcraft contained a sexy elf in a ragged deerskin bikini. Then he seemed to realize that she didn't play the online sword 'n' sorcery game. His eyes filled with shining desperation.
He stuck out his hands in a no worries gesture. "But that's totally up to you."
"Thanks. I may have to work."
"No problem. Just let me know."
And he smiled so innocently, like a baby harp seal, that she felt guilty. She caved.
"I'll try. How about if I stop by? With dip?"
"Splendid."
She began walking backward, giving him a small wave. He returned it, head tilted, and grabbed the door to go into Java Jones. She spun around.
"One question," he said.
"I have to go . . ." But if she did, when she came home he would be watching for her from his balcony. She turned back around.
He touched his nose. "My septum."
"A deviated septum cannot cause tuberculosis. Really. I know for sure."
To hear Ferd tell it, his deviated septum had variously been the culprit behind his snoring, halitosis, poor posture, and recurrent anxiety.
With planning the party, it's been acting up." He put his finger tlps to his cheeks. "I get this pressure. What if it triggers a panic at tac k and my whole sinus system seizes up?"
'Ask your doctor, Ferd." "But-"
You know my rule. I don't treat friends."
"Just this once—"
I don't prescribe for them, either."
The DIRTY SECRETS CLUB 53
52 Meg Gardiner
"This isn't about prescription decongestants."
"Good."
"You wouldn't be prescribing drugs. It's a whole different approach to anxiety management. Nature's way. It would be an emotional support prescription."
Not hug therapy again. She watched for his arms to shoot toward her. Please, not that. "Ferd, your own doctor needs to handle it. I have to jet." I
His brow creased. "Okay." I
She waved good-bye. His face softened again into baby-seal affection. She suspected that as she walked away, his eyes were on her rear end.
Ten feet around the corner, she got out her cell phone. She found the number for Gregory Harding. She paused a moment before making the call.
Harding was Callie's ex-husband, but still close enough that he'd' been the one they called to identify her body. Jo gazed at the sky and straightened her shoulders before she dialed. It was answered on the second ring. "Yes?" "Mr. Harding?" She introduced herself and explained that she was a forensic psychiatrist consulting for the police department. "I'm
sorry for your loss."
"Wasn't my loss, it was hers. Why are you calling?" Tick. There was resentment in that answer. "I'd like to talk to you Is there some time today we could meet?"
He paused. "The cops want to make Callie out to be a head case-'
is that what this is about?" I
"No, sir. It's about gathering evidence to accurately explain hfl
death." II
There was a longer pause. "I have an office in Palo Alto. There's j coffee place by Borders
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