Nursery Crimes by Ayelet Waldman Page B

the first three of our fifty minutes she’d managed to drop the names of three or four hundred of her most famous patients. Not their last names, mind you. She’d say things like, “As I said to one of my patients, ‘Warren, every marriage is a partnership,’” or “As I often tell a patient, ‘Julia, you can’t expect him to understand you if you don’t utilize your three-part communications technique.’”
    Technically, I suppose, she wasn’t violating anyone’s confidences, but really, how many of us
don’t
know who those folks are? Peter and I decided that whatever problems we had weren’t worth spending a hundred bucks an hour to hear Dr. Wang wax poetic about the trials and tribulations of Mel, Matt, Bruce, and Susan. We never went back.
    “Yes, it was a lady doctor, but I don’t really remember her first name,” Maggie said.
    “
Could it
have been Herma?” I asked.
    “Maybe. I don’t know. Why are you asking me all these questions?”
    “Juliet’s just a busybody,” Stacy said, pinching my leg under the table.
    Realizing I wasn’t likely to get any more out of Maggie, I stopped the interrogation and kept my mouth shut for the remainder of the lunch. While Stacy and Maggie spent the next half hour or so sharing fond memories of Zachary’s years at Heart’s Song, I sat and pondered what I had discovered. If Abigail Hathaway was really seeing Dr. Wang, marriage counselor to the stars, then she wasmost likely going to couples counseling. If she was going to couples counseling, that meant her marriage to Daniel Mooney might be in trouble. And if that were the case, maybe he plowed her into a mailbox! It might be a huge jump from getting a little marital counseling to murder, but as I said before, Daniel Mooney had really rubbed me the wrong way. It wouldn’t make any sense
not
to investigate this lead, even if it was a little far-fetched.
    The waitress stopped by to clear our plates, and asked us if we were interested in coffee.
    “I’ll have a double, half-caf, nonfat latte,” Stacy ordered.
    I thought for a moment. Had I exceeded my caffeine allotment for the day? I decided that I probably had. “I’ll have the same. But not a double. And not nonfat. And decaf,” I said.
    The waitress looked at me, confused.
    “A single, decaf latte,” I said. “Full-fat.”
    “Oh. Okay,” she replied.
    “I don’t think I’ll have anything,” Maggie said. “Actually, I think I’d better get going. I should do prep for tomorrow. It’s music day and I want to teach the kids a new song.”
    Neither Stacy nor I objected. Maggie gathered herself together, kissed Stacy warmly on the cheek, shook my hand coldly, and left.
    I watched her walk out the door and, once she had gone, turned to Stacy.
    “So, what’s the deal, Stacy? What’s going on with you and Bruce LeCrone?”
    She jerked her head up at me and blanched. “Nothing.”
    “Baloney.”
    “Seriously, nothing. Ooh, look, our coffee is here.” Shebusily engaged herself in pouring copious amounts of artificial sweetener into her tall mug.
    “Stacy.”
    My friend looked up at me. “How did you know?” She whispered.
    “I talked to you on Monday night. I even said something like, ‘Maybe LeCrone killed her,’ and you never mentioned that you saw him that night. You never mentioned the party.”
    “Didn’t I?” She looked pale and almost frightened. “Juliet, promise me you won’t say anything. Please. It’s over. I swear it’s over. It was over as soon as you told me about what he did to his wife.”
    “What’s over, Stacy?”
    “Me and Bruce. It was nothing, really. Just a fling. I mean, for Christ’s sake, I’m entitled. Do you know how many times I’ve had to deal with Andy’s little adventures? It’s about time it was my turn.”
    Stacy’s husband, Andy, has always been a notorious womanizer. Stacy knows it. Her friends know it. Everyone knows it. Every couple of years they separate, only to get back together again