Board Stiff (Mattie Winston Mysteries)

“Annelise Ryan has done it again! Her heroine Mattie Winston has a way with a crime scene that will keep you reading, laughing and wondering just what can possibly happen next in this entertaining romp. Wisconsin’s engaging assistant coroner brings readers another winning mystery!”

“
Lucky Stiff
is a roller coaster ride of stomach clenching action, sizzling attraction, belly laughs, and a puzzler of a mystery. Annelise Ryan has created a smart and saucy heroine in Mattie Winston, who you just can’t help but like especially as she endures what is possibly the worst road trip ever. What a thrill ride!”

“Ryan mixes science and great storytelling in this cozy series . . . The forensic details ring true and add substance to this fast-paced and funny mystery. Good plotting and relationship drama keep the mystery rolling, while Mattie’s humorous take on life provides many comedic moments.”

“[Mattie’s] competence as a former ER nurse, plus a quirky supporting cast, makes the series intriguing. Ryan has a good eye for forensic and medical detail, and Mattie gets to be the woman of the hour in her third outing.”

“Absorbing . . . Ryan smoothly blends humor, distinctive characters, and authentic forensic detail.”

“An appealing series on multiple fronts: the forensic details will interest Patricia Cornwell readers, though the tone here is lighter, while the often slapstick humor and the blossoming romance between Mattie and Hurley will draw Evanovich fans who don’t object to the cozier mood.”

“Ryan’s sharp second mystery . . . shows growing skill at mixing humor with CSI-style crime.”

“Sassy, sexy, and suspenseful, Annelise Ryan knocks ’em dead in her wry and original
Working Stiff
.”

“Move over, Stephanie Plum. Make way for Mattie Winston, the funniest deputy coroner to cut up a corpse since, well, ever. I loved every minute I spent with her in this sharp and sassy debut mystery.”

“Mattie Winston, RN, wasn’t looking for excitement when she became a morgue assistant—quite the contrary—but she got plenty and so will readers who won’t be able to put this book down.”

“
Working Stiff
has it all: suspense, laughter, a spicy dash of romance—and a heroine who’s guaranteed to walk off with your heart. Mattie Winston is an unforgettable character who has me begging for a sequel. Annelise Ryan, are you listening?”

“Mattie is klutzy and endearing, and there are plenty of laugh-out-loud moments . . . her foibles are still fun and entertaining.”

“Ryan, the pseudonym of a Wisconsin emergency nurse, brings her professional expertise to her crisp debut . . . Mattie wisecracks her way through an increasingly complex plot.”

Books by Annelise Ryan

WORKING STIFF

SCARED STIFF

FROZEN STIFF

LUCKY STIFF

BOARD STIFF

Published by Kensington Publishing Corp.

Annelise Ryan

KENSINGTON BOOKS
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

I
can’t tell if the shrink sitting across from me, a psychiatrist by the name of Maggie Baldwin, is disturbed or intrigued by my fascination with dead bodies. She is sitting in her chair, leaning forward, pen poised over the tablet she has on her lap. The eager expression on her face reminds me of the one my cat, Rubbish, gets whenever he spies a bug he’s about to pounce on. I wonder if the doctor is about to have me hauled off by the cops on a 51-15, the part of the Wisconsin state code that deals with the emergency detention and involuntary commitment of people who are deemed mentally unstable, a euphemism for what we used to call “bat shit crazy” back when I was a nurse working in the ER.

“So tell me, just what is it about dead bodies that fascinates you?” Dr. Maggie asks.

At the very least, I fear she’s envisioning some fame-garnering write-up in a psych journal highlighting the exciting yet disturbing mental case she’s just discovered, so I try to explain myself better.

“I’m not fascinated by dead bodies per se. Well, not exactly.” I sigh, frustrated by my inability to express what I mean. “You see, this is why I didn’t want to come here. I tell you I’m fascinated by my work and the next thing I know you’re making me out to be some kind of weird necrophiliac or something. You people aren’t happy unless you can come up with a fancy psychiatric diagnosis on everyone you see, and if one doesn’t present itself, you’ll make one up. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but you won’t be filing your Mattie Winston chart under psycho.”

“I see,” she says, scribbling something on her pad.

“No, I don’t think you do.” I’m feeling a bit irritated and try to see what she just wrote down.

“You’re angry.”

“Did your fancy degree help you figure that out, or is it the snippy tone in my voice that cued you in?”

She sighs, shifts a bit in her chair, and puts the pen down on top of the tablet. Then she folds her hands in her lap, her fingers interlaced.

I note she has an expensive French manicure and several rings—three with diamonds and one with a giant blue sapphire—the combined worth of which is probably more than I’ll make this year. She’s a tiny woman, the kind who can wear pencil skirts and fashionable shoes, the kind who can eat whatever she wants and not worry about it, the kind who can realistically expect to be carried over the threshold someday. Psychiatrist or not, she has no understanding of what it’s like to be me—six feet tall with size twelve feet and living on the wrong side of the two-hundred mark on the scale.

“I’m not your enemy, Mattie,” she says. “I’m here to help you.”

“I don’t need any help.”

“Apparently, Izzy felt otherwise,” she says softly.

Yes, he did, damn it. And her reminder of this fact is like a slow dagger penetrating my flesh one centimeter at a time. Izzy is my friend, my landlord, and my on-again, off-again boss. I trust him and would do almost anything for him. That’s the only reason I’m here now with Naggy Maggie, who sighs again, picks up her pen, and lifts the front page of her tablet. Underneath that page is a sheet of paper with stuff typed on it. I want to ask her what it says, but her next words give me a pretty good idea.

“My understanding from Izzy is he’s concerned about the emotional trauma you’ve been through recently. He told me that you’re a nurse and that you and your husband, David, who is a surgeon, both worked at the local hospital here in Sorenson. Some months ago, you discovered your husband was having an affair with one of your coworkers at the hospital, and this particular coworker was then murdered. When Izzy did the autopsy, it was discovered she was pregnant and tests proved that the baby was your husband’s. You and your husband—”

“Ex-husband,” I correct.

“I’m sorry. You and your ex-husband were suspects at one point, though you were both eventually cleared. You have now divorced him, undergone some financial ups and downs, and met a new man you have—or had—a romantic interest in. I believe Izzy said he’s a local homicide detective, is that correct?”

“Yes. His name is Steve Hurley.”

“Izzy said a non-fraternization rule meant you had to choose between a working relationship and a romantic one with this man. Is that correct?”

I nod.

“And you chose the latter,” she says, driving that knife forward another centimeter or two.

“I tried to, but it didn’t work out.”

“Izzy said you resigned your position with him because you thought you were getting hired back at the hospital, but your ex-husband did some kind of political wrangling and the job fell through.”

“Yes it did,” I say, feeling my anger build again. “What David did was totally unnecessary. He’d already moved on. He’s dating our insurance agent. The job I was going for was a night shift position in the emergency room. It’s not like I was going back to my position as an OR nurse. David and I would have hardly ever crossed paths. But apparently the risk of it happening even once was too much for him. He told the director of nursing that it would be too awkward. Since he’s the only general surgeon on staff right now, the administration can’t afford to piss him off.”

“Izzy said you got a decent settlement in the divorce, so the unemployment wasn’t a financial stressor for you.”

“It wasn’t the money that was the problem with not having a job. In fact, I was fine with it as long as I could be with Hurley. But that didn’t work out, either.”

“What happened?”

“Well, after several months of flirtation, Hurley and I finally consummated our relationship.”

“You had sex.”

I nod, smiling at the memory.

“I take it from the expression on your face that the sex was satisfactory.”

“Very.”

“So what went wrong?”

“Everything. We were still in bed when his doorbell rang. When he answered it, there was a woman and a teenage girl standing on his front porch. Turns out they were his ex-wife, who isn’t really an ex because she never filed the divorce papers, and the daughter he never knew he had. Needless to say, it was a bit of a shocker. Since things haven’t gone well for them lately, they moved in with Hurley.”

“That must have been painful.”

“You’re a master of understatement.”

“So what does Hurley plan to do from here on out? What are his plans? Where does this leave the two of you?”

I shrug, and look away from her.

“What does Hurley say?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t talked to him since it happened.”

“Which was when again?”

“A couple months ago, right after the new year.”

“Hurley hasn’t tried to speak to you in all that time?”

“Oh, he’s tried,” I say. “Several people have tried, but I haven’t wanted to talk with anyone.”

“Yes, Izzy mentioned that he felt like you were avoiding him and everyone else. So what have you been doing all this time?”

“This and that,” I say with a shrug. “I spend a lot of time at the casino. I discovered I like to play blackjack, and occasionally some poker. It relaxes me.”

“When was the last time you were at the casino?”

I hesitate a beat too long and I know she knows I am considering a lie. “Last night,” I admit.

“Do you go there every night?”

Again I hesitate, and again I realize it’s pointless. “Lately I have, yes. But that will be changing. Now that I’m back working with Izzy, I have to be available to take call.”

“Are you okay with that?”

“Very much so.” I quickly add, “I mean, I do feel bad that Jonas Kriedeman couldn’t keep the job. I know he wanted it as much as I do. Unfortunately, he discovered he has allergies to formaldehyde and sodium fluoride that are so severe, he was having trouble breathing even when he wore protective equipment. It worked out okay for him though, because his job as an evidence tech at the police department was still open. They tried to eliminate the position and pass off the evidence collection duties onto the detectives and officers to save money, but it proved to be too much and too many things were getting missed. When they heard that Jonas was interested in coming back, they were more than happy to let him step back into his old position. In the end, it worked out well for both of us.”

“When I asked if you were okay with that, I was referring to the fact that you will no longer be able to go to the casino every night.”

“Oh,” I say, feeling totally stupid. “Sure, why wouldn’t I be?”

“How much time have you spent there in the past two months?”

“You think I’m an addict, don’t you?”

“Do you think you’re an addict?”

I wag a finger at her. “No no no,” I say with a sly smile. “I know that answer-a-question-with-another-question trick. I used to use the same technique on my patients all the time when I worked in the ER. And I used it when I was working with Izzy, too, whenever I had to question someone.”

“Are you planning on going to the casino tonight?”

Once again, I find myself hesitating because the truth is I
had
planned on going. Friday nights are my favorite. It’s busier than during the week and the blackjack tables are generally full, which makes for a more interesting evening most of the time. But I know that admitting to this will only fuel the fire Naggy Maggie has already kindled so I opt for an indirect and far more virtuous answer instead.

“Actually, I’m meeting someone I know at a local gym for a workout session tonight.”

“And what friend is this?”

“Sheesh,” I say with what I hope is a disarming and distracting chuckle. “You make me feel like I’m back in high school being interrogated by my mother.”

Maggie arches her brows and starts scribbling on her tablet. “So, who is the friend?” she asks again.

As I cuss under my breath for mentioning my mother, my heart skips a beat, and I wonder what psychological flaw I’ve just revealed. I know there must be some pathological skeletons hanging in my closet of a brain because of my mother.

“I’m going with Bob Richmond, a semiretired detective on the police force,” I tell Maggie. “We worked a case together awhile back, and he ended up getting shot. Turns out that may have been the best thing that could’ve happened to him. He was grossly overweight, hanging in somewhere around four hundred pounds. After his surgery, he lost a bunch of weight and he’s been working out at the gym. He looks pretty good and he’s lost nearly a hundred pounds. I had agreed to be his workout buddy back before he got shot, so he’s calling in that chit again. I figure I can use the exercise. I tend to eat more when I’m stressed, so I’m sure I’ve gained a few pounds over the last couple months.” This last comment proves that I, too, am a master of understatement.

Maggie doesn’t say anything for twenty or thirty seconds. She just sits there in her chair looking at me with this enigmatic Mona Lisa smile that makes me nervous and pisses me off. When she finally does say something, I realize she wasn’t at all fooled by my attempt to divert her attention. “And after your workout, will you be going to the casino?”

“Fine. Yes,” I say irritably, sagging in my chair. “I might go for a little while, but if I do, it won’t be for long. My on call hours start at seven o’clock tomorrow morning, assuming you approve me for duty.”

“That’s not my job. Izzy already rehired you.”

“Yeah, but he made the offer contingent upon my seeing you. Why is he doing this to me?”

“Because he cares about you and he’s concerned. As am I.”

“I’m fine.” Even I know this is a lie. I’m far from being the equivalent of a psychiatric code blue, but my mental state isn’t exactly stable, either. My life over the past two months has been a hot mess of frustration, confusion, and self-loathing.

“I think you’re okay for the moment, but the fact remains you haven’t seen Hurley yet, correct?”

I sigh. “That is correct.”

“And whether or not you’re willing to admit it, this gambling thing has me concerned. So here’s what we’re going to do.” She gets out of her chair, walks over to her desk, and sets her notebook and pen down. Then she picks up another notebook. It’s one of those black and white composition books, the kind that I used to have in middle school. She walks over and hands it to me.

“I want you to start keeping a diary. At least once a day, I want you to sit down with this notebook and jot down what you did for the day, and what your thoughts and feelings were at the time. It doesn’t have to be very detailed as far as activities are concerned, but I do want you to be honest in recording your thoughts and feelings. No one will see what you write unless you want to share them with me, and what you decide to share with me is up to you. I think it will help you zero in on some key emotions and feelings that will help us over the long term.”

“The long term? I have to come back?”

“At least once more,” Maggie says. “Let’s plan on meeting again on Monday after your weekend on call and we’ll see how things have gone. Then we’ll figure out where to go from there.”

Great. It’s not bad enough that Izzy has forced me to see a counselor when he knows how much I hate shrinks, he’s also managed to hook me up with one who’s giving me homework. This can’t end soon enough for me, but first I know I’m going to have to convince Maggie that I’m not addicted to gambling. It won’t be easy; in my mind’s eye I see the weekend stretching out before me, sitting in my cottage, twiddling my thumbs, aching to hit up the casino, but unable to go. The very thought of it makes my palms start to sweat.

That’s when I realize that if I’m going to make it through the weekend and get rid of Maggie, someone will have to die.