"Not here."

"At home?"

"Of course."

"Could I get a copy of one?"

"Didn't Patrice have any?"

I met her frosty gaze without blinking. "I didn't ask."

"I suppose I could arrange to get one to you."

"Good, that'll help." Still standing, I pulled a notebook from my shorts pocket and took delight in casually flipping through the pages while she tapped a Mont Blanc pen on the edge of the desk. "Okay, for starters, do you know where Lauren got the pills?"

"What's that have to do with why she killed herself?"

"Maybe nothing, but I'm looking into every angle."

"At this rate, we'll need twenty days, not five minutes," she muttered, causing my scant compassion to erode.

In full voice, Nicole added, "More than likely, they came from her rock climbing accident. Last year, she injured her knee going up a mountain north of Boulder. When the swelling didn't go down, she went to an orthopedic clinic. They X-rayed it, told her to have surgery, and prescribed painkillers. She had the prescription filled, which struck me as hypocritical."

"Why?"

"She usually wouldn't pollute her body with any kind of medicine."

"Did you see her take any of the pills?"

"No, which is why I deduced they're the ones she used. Wasn't that smart of me?"

In an even tone, I asked, "Did she have the surgery?"

"No, she claimed she couldn't afford it."

"Was she having financial problems then or right before her death?"

"No more than her usual cheapness," Nicole said matter-of-factly.

"Did you two share finances?"

"Not really. We split the house payment down the middle, but everything else was separate."

"Who benefits financially from her death?"

"No one. We have wills that name each other as beneficiaries, and we owned the house together, but we owe the bank as much as it's worth."

"Lauren didn't have any money saved?"

"Not that I can find. I have no idea where all her money went, but she managed to spend what she made and more. I'm borrowing to pay for the cremation, and I have no idea how I'll make next month's house payment by myself."

"You didn't have life insurance policies on each other?"

"Only the ones that come with our health insurance. Lauren's was for $5,000, which goes to me, but I'll need that to pay off her credit cards."

"Did you have any indication in the last few months that she was suicidal?"

"Au contraire."

"Excuse me?"

She tilted her head and spoke as if to a child. "Quite the opposite. In the last few months, she finally slept without screaming, which was a relief."

"What do you mean?"

"Lauren had nightmares. Dreams she could never remember when she woke up, or so she told me. They very nearly ended our relationship. For no reason at all, she'd wake up in the middle of the night, howling and screaming."

"How often?"

"Once a month, on average. Somehow, they always managed to occur the night before I had a stress-filled day at work and most needed sleep."

"You said they almost split you up. How did you manage to resolve it?"

"Very expensive earplugs and separate bedrooms."

"These went on the whole time you knew Lauren."

"No, not in the beginning."

"When did they start?"

"I didn't keep a record."

I smiled charmingly. "Approximately?"

"Four years ago, something like that. Check with her therapist. She'd know. Lauren started counseling shortly after the mess began."

I made a note in my book, more for effect than because I wouldn't remember. "Did Lauren suffer from depression?"

"Repression, more like," she said savagely.

"What do you mean?"

"She was extremely moody and withdrawn. She'd never talk about things that bothered her. Instead, she held them inside, until I thought she'd explode."

"Did she ever?" I asked casually.

"What?"

"Explode?"

Nicole flinched. "No."

"What about her mother's death, did Lauren seem upset about that recently?"

Condescendingly, Nicole replied, "Her mother died when Lauren was a child."

"I know, but there might be a connection. Did you know she, too, killed herself?"

"Of course I did. Lauren told me on our first date. She was obsessed with the suicide."

"Did you know her mother took her life on the same day as her daughter, on her thirty-fifth birthday?"

Nicole's eyes widened, then narrowed. "You believe this is relevant?"

"Maybe, but other things in Lauren's life might have caused her more distress. For example, were you and she having problems?"

I could barely conceal a triumphant grin when she drew back, startled, and nervously asked, "Why, what did Patrice tell you?"

"Actually, she said you were getting along."

"Well, she's right. We were. We weren't newlyweds, but we probably had sex as much as the average lesbian couple in their sixth year. In fact," she added with a hint of bravado, "we made love the night before Lauren died."

"Who initiated it?"

"She did."

"Was she usually the initiator?"

"I'd rather not answer that."

"Fair enough," I said comfortably. "Did she have any close friends I could talk to?"

"About our sex life?" she asked, bristling.

"No," I said meticulously. "About what might have been going through Lauren's mind when she swallowed all those painkillers."

"Just Cecelia." Her distorted smile resembled a grimace. "Her ex."

"Would you happen to have her phone number?"

"No, but go to Choices. You can't miss her."

"She shops a lot?"

Nicole scowled. "She works there."

"Okay. Anyone else you can think of?"

"Not hardly. That was the sum total of her friends, unless you count the mysterious Dr. W. Lauren certainly seemed to be seeing a lot of her lately."

"Who's Dr. W?"

"Now that's the question of the hour, but unfortunately my lover isn't here to answer it. She had thirteen appointments with her in the last three months, all of which she conveniently forgot to mention."

"How did you find out?"

"I read her appointment book."

"You have it?" I tried to contain my excitement. "Could I see it?"

Dismissively, she said, "I suppose, but it's a waste of time. I told you the best part."

"Dr. W's full name doesn't appear anywhere in the calendar?"

"Not that I could see, but you're welcome to pore over every last boring detail of Lauren's life." She paused before adding, "If you have nothing better to do."

I counted to ten and took a deep breath before I spoke again. "Could this Dr. W have been Lauren's therapist?"

She responded instantly. "No, that's a different entry. Gloria Schmidt. Every Thursday at three."

"You said 'with her.' If you have no idea who Dr. W is, how do you know she's a woman?"

"Simple," Nicole replied, more bored than contemptuous. "She and my lover were having an affair."

3.

"So much for innocent until proven guilty, eh?" my friend and sometimes associate Fran Green commented six hours later while dabbing at a Bingo sheet.

"No kidding! The only evidence Nicole has are calendar entries and some vague theories about Lauren working late and acting secretive."

"That's it?"

"Seems like it." I glanced down but couldn't find B-6 on any of my grids. "Damn. Oh, and the suicide. She thinks that's the ultimate proofa"that guilt drove Lauren to take her life."

"Sounds fishy coming from a dame who's more concerned about flipping through manila folders than helping figure out why her honey bit the dust."

"Exactly!" I said, brightening. Earlier in the day, I had phoned Fran, an ex-nun I'd met and befriended on a previous case, hoping she could offer feedback in this troubling one. In her work with the Catholic church, Fran had arranged adoptions, set up soup kitchens, visited the elderly, and developed prayer programs for prisoners.

She'd dealt with people at the highest and lowest points of their lives. A simple suicide wouldn't faze her.

At sixty-five, she possessed more energy than most people half her age. She had a runner's body, short and compact, and her gray hair was styled in what she termed a "wash and wear" cut. Chopped close to the scalp, it seemed to grow up, not down.