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

pattern yesterday. Along with Trudy Bergeson, two patients of Dr. Straitham’s who died suddenly.”
    His gaze hardened. “We already talked about this.”
    “I know. I wanted to ask you about two other patients who died at the hospital—Rose Kozarek and Jesse Elwood.”
    Kyle frowned. “I don’t recognize the names.” He reached for the spiral notebook in my hand. “May I?”
    “They died over a year ago,” he said after a quick scan of my victims list, then handed the notebook back to me. “I didn’t start working here until last January, so I never saw them.”
    “There’s an indication that they could have died under similar circumstances.” I neglected to mention that the indication had come from Lucille.
    “This might be an unusual request,” and I was sure it was, “but could you find out who was on duty that night?”
    He shrugged. “I can look it up.”
    “And while you’re doing that, see what you could find out about how they died?”
    “Anything else you’d like me to do?”
    The laugh lines at the corners of his eyes deepened when I took too long to consider my options.
    “Not officially,” I said, all too aware of the burn creeping into my cheeks.
    I wrote my name and cell number on the back of one of Frankie’s business cards and handed it to him. “I don’t have any business cards yet.” I also didn’t know my phone number at the courthouse, but that was a pesky little detail he didn’t need to hear.
    He tucked the card into his breast pocket and started to push away from the chair.
    “I do have a couple of questions about the other patients of Dr. Straitham that you mentioned.”
    Kyle’s jaw tightened. “Okay,” he said softly, his knuckles white as he settled back in his seat while his gaze played ping pong between a ringing telephone at the ER desk and a sandy blonde nurse zipping down the hallway.
    Since this clearly wasn’t a conversation he wanted to continue, I knew I needed to get to the point before my information source decided he’d rather play doctor than detective.
    I pulled the four death certificates I’d printed from the inside pocket of my notebook. “Their death certificates don’t appear to suggest anything unusual.”
    “I wouldn’t expect them to.”
    Oh. “Then, maybe you can fill me in on what I’m missing.”
    I flipped the page and started reading. “Bernadette Neary, age seventy-six, died March 4th, three-ten a.m. Cause of death: Pneumonia.”
    He glanced in the direction of the unoccupied ER desk where a custodian was mopping the vinyl with a sudsy perfume of disinfectant. “Mrs. Neary’s daughter brought her in to the ER because her mom had fallen and broken her arm. Mrs. Neary seemed disoriented and it turned out she also had pneumonia, so she was admitted and we pumped her with antibiotics and oxygen for three days.”
    I scribbled notes as he talked.
    “I saw her each night on rounds. By day four, her lungs sounded clearer, her sats looked good enough for her to go home, then around three, she … coded.”
    “Sats?”
    “Oxygen saturation level. And hers had been improving, then she suddenly stopped breathing.”
    “She died?”
    He nodded. “Pulmonary failure.”
    I sucked in a breath and flipped the pages in my hand to Rose Kozarek’s death certificate. Cause of death: Pulmonary failure .
    Just like Rose.
    “And this is similar to what happened with Trudy Bergeson?”
    Another nod. “Very.”
    “What about Howard Jeppesen?” I turned the page. “Age eighty-three. Died May 19th, two-seventeen a.m. Cause of death: Cardiac failure.”
    Kyle’s dark eyes tracked the headlights of a car pulling out of the parking lot. “I’d seen him in the ER a couple of times—chronic bronchitis. Freaked out his wife and the paramedics would bring him in. Two months ago, he was back again, coughing up blood. The senior resident admitted him.”
    “And he started to get better?”
    “Hell, no! He expired early the next