My lie worked. Suddenly Marty’s shoulders sagged and he relaxed his grip on my arm. At which point there was a knock on the door, and Chester the guard came strolling in.

“Everything okay, Dr. Meyers?”

Marty smiled stiffly.

“Everything’s fine,” he said, through gritted teeth. “Just fine.”

“I guess I’ll be running along now, Dr. Meyers,” I said. “The new appointment schedule is on your desk.”

He nodded numbly as I headed out the door with Chester.

“You want some advice, Millie?” Chester said, as we rode down in the elevator together. “Watch out for Dr. Meyers. Around here the gals call him Tall, Dark, and Hands.” He winked conspiratorially. “’Cause he can’t keep his hands off the ladies, if you get my drift.”

“I get it, Chester. Believe me, I get it.”

And I looked down at my arm, which was already turning black and blue.

I was exhausted when I finally made it home that night. I staggered into my apartment and found Prozac sprawled out on the sofa, in the middle of her umpteenth nap of the day. Lord, how I envied her.

She looked up at me and yawned. I’d expected her to be ravenous. After all, it was hours past her dinnertime. But she pecked at her Lite ’N Lively Liver Snaps like Scarlett O’Hara eating barbeque at Twelve Oaks.

Fiddle dee dee, I get so full so fast nowadays.

Maybe her stomach was shrinking. Mine, however, was as big as ever. I sat on the edge of the tub and practically inhaled the moo shoo pork I’d picked up on the way home.

I was way too tired to take that bath I’d promised myself. I just brushed my teeth—although it was tough even going near a toothbrush after what I’d just been through—and crawled into bed.

I was fairly certain I’d scared off Marty with my threat about the safe deposit box.

But, taking no chances, I drifted off to sleep with my vicious attack cat curled under one arm, and a can of pepper spray under the other.

Chapter 22

There was no doubt in my mind when I woke up the next morning: Marty was the killer.

He’d grown tired of Marybeth, just as he’d tired of Nurse Medusa and Rochelle. And when Marybeth decided to play rough with blackmail, he decided to play rougher with murder.

I called Lieutenant Clemmons and left a message to that effect, telling him how Marybeth had been blackmailing Marty and how Cissy had been lying to give Marty an alibi. Of course, Cissy would certainly deny what she’d told me at the gallery. If only I’d had the foresight to bring along a tape recorder. And without those blackmail letters, Clemmons would never believe me. I could just picture him rolling his eyes as he listened to my message.