Motherhood is Murder

by Diana Orgain

Margaret’s message:

  “Kate! Bruce just called me on his way to the police station. He said you and Celia were rushed to the hospital . . . Oh my God. I hope you are all right. Please call me.”

  As I was about to dial Margaret, Paula came back into view and sat in one of the window tables. She placed a paper cup on the sill, then pulled out her cell phone and connected a pair of headphones to it. She put the headphones on and tapped her foot to no music, our sign that she thought Bruce was there.

  I crossed the street and entered the café. Bruce was sitting in a table in the corner, close enough to Paula for her to eavesdrop comfortably.

  He stood as he saw me and smiled nervously. “Kate, thank you so much for meeting me.” His eyes lowered to his hands and he seemed to be searching for words.

  I positioned the chair opposite him in such a way that I could face him and see Paula at the next table. I sat. “It’s okay, Bruce. Sit down.”

  He crumpled into his chair looking much slimmer than he had a few short days before.

  What, the guy doesn’t eat for a day and he withers away to nothing?

  Life’s so unfair.

  He had beard stubble and looked exhausted, although his hair was impeccable along with his sweater and jeans. In fact, the jeans looked ironed.

  Do people really iron their jeans?

  “Can I get you a latte or a cap or something?” Bruce asked.

  I shook my head. He fiddled with his cup and nodded.

  On the walk over, Paula and I had decided ordering coffee here was probably safe. But while waiting on the corner, I’d imagined Bruce slipping a mickey into my coffee. How ridiculous could I get? Yet, it was easier on my neurotic mind just to skip the drink entirely instead of obsessively watching for any sleight of hand.

  “So you were at the police station yesterday? Want to bring me up to date?” I asked.

  “How did you know?” he asked.

  Before I could answer he said, “Oh, Margaret, right?”

  I nodded. “She left me a message.”

  He closed his eyes. “Jesus, Kate. These have been the worst days of my life. First Helene, that awful night on the boat . . . Then yesterday. Celia getting sick, you and your baby being rushed to the hospital . . . She’s okay, right? Your baby?”

  I nodded.

  Bruce swallowed. “And then when you were being taken by the EMTs, you thought . . . you thought it was me. Hell, the cops sure do. They came by my place and escorted me—that’s what they called it—escorted me downtown for questioning. I thought finding out Helene was dead was the worst low of my life. And I think it was. But being questioned for her murder. It just . . .”

  He put his face in his hands and took several deep breaths.

  I glanced at Paula; the expression on her face was skeptical.

  Bruce looked up at me. “The only thing left to happen is the stock market can crash.” He laughed maniacally and several patrons turned to look at us. Bruce ran his fingers through his hair. “Sorry. Christ, I’m losing it.”

  I sat in silence, watching him and waiting for him to continue.

  After a moment he said, “You wouldn’t believe the calls I’ve been getting. Clients I’ve had for years, good clients, great clients, calling me to give condolences and then at the same time asking me about their portfolio. Like I give a rat’s ass, right now, what the hell their IRA’s doing.”

  As if on cue, his BlackBerry buzzed on the table.

  “Screw off,” Bruce said, hitting a button on the phone to silence it.

  “Have you hired an attorney?” I asked.

  Bruce nodded. “Sure. I didn’t know any criminal defense guys, but fortunately a strategic partner I have, an estates lawyer, recommended a buddy of his. Guy by the name of Gary Barramendi. Good guy. Works fast. The mere mention of the guy’s name had everybody over there shaking in their boots, so maybe I got lucky.”

  I made a mental note to commit the attorney’s name to memory. I’d ask Galigani about him.

  “What did you tell the police?”

  “Nothing. Gary put the muzzle on me superquick. He said that a charge is waiting in the wings. As soon as the evidence piles up against me. Witnesses or whatever. See, that’s why I need you, Kate. I was with you the entire time up on the deck. You know I didn’t poison Celia.”

  There had been a while he’d been gone. I had been on the phone with Mom.

  I bit my lips.

  And then, what about before I arrived? Surely he could have given her something before I got there.

  “I don’t think you poisoned her while I was there. She was already feeling ill when I got there.”

  Bruce looked crestfallen. “You think I did it.”

  I shrugged my shoulders noncommittally.

  A few strangers wandered into the café and proceeded to order at the counter. The whipping sounds of milk being steamed and the smell of espresso made my mouth water.

  Bruce frowned. “But why would I try to hurt Celia when I knew you were coming over? That would be insane! I know you’re a PI, for Christ’s sake!”

  “It does set you up with a pretty nice alibi.”

  Bruce scratched his head. “This is going from bad to worse. You think I asked you over for lunch so I could poison Celia and then point to you as the witness who says I didn’t do it?”

  “I don’t know how likely that possibility is, Bruce.” I pressed my lips together and fixed my eyes on him.

  He covered his mouth. “This is rich.” He fiddled with his empty coffee cup and muttered, “I need a real frigging drink.” He closed his eyes and stewed.

  I glanced at Paula, she nodded encouragingly at me.

  I still couldn’t think of why he would want to hurt Celia, so I asked, “Why did they say you poisoned her anyhow?”

  His eyes flicked open. “What?”

  “What motive did the cops try and pin on you?”

  Bruce smiled sadly. “They didn’t give me a motive, per se. The questions they asked all centered around how Celia must have known something. Must have had something on me and I would have wanted her out of the way. And they didn’t disguise the fact that they thought I was stupid for trying to kill her in front of you. Sort of like a jackass drawing a neon arrow above his own head.”

  “What can you tell me about Margaret?”

  Bruce shrugged. “What do you want to know?”

  “Was her husband cheating on her?”

  He glanced at his nails, suddenly looking spent. “See, that’s something Helene would have known. And if she did, she never said anything about it to me. What does Margaret say about it?”

  “She thinks her husband is trying to kill her, that he mistakenly killed Helene that night instead.”

  The color drained from Bruce’s face. He looked as if I’d landed a punch square in the solar plexus. “What!”

  “I believed her at first, but now it makes no sense. Alan didn’t poison Celia yesterday.”

  Bruce turned red and raised his voice. “We don’t even know if she was poisoned yet.”

  Paula sat up at attention.

  Bruce covered his face with his hands. “I can’t take much more of this. I need those toxicology results to come out, so I can prove that I had nothing to do with any of this.”

  “How would you prove that?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. Hopefully, Gary can think of a way. Will you talk to him?”

  I sat back in my chair, a bit stunned. “About what?”

  “Tell him what you know. I think he can help us.”

  “Us?”

  “Well, okay, me. Gary can help me, but I think you need to help Gary.”

  I saw Paula craning to get my attention. Once she had it, she nodded firmly.

  “All right, I’ll meet with Gary. Give him my number, and he and I can set up a meeting.”

  Bruce nodded distractedly as he picked up his BlackBerry and pressed several buttons. His fingers flashed across the phone. When he’d finished, he looked up at me. “Okay. Done. I asked him to share my file with you.”

  Share his file?

&n
bsp; I couldn’t believe my luck! I was going to get my unlicensed hands on some real information!

  We said good-bye and I watched him leave. As soon as he was out of sight, Paula slipped into his empty chair.

  “Girl, your life has gotten so exciting without me!”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Rolling Over

  To Do:

  1. Meet with Gary Barramendi.

  2. ?

  3. Find maid/nanny—how can we afford?

  4. ?

  5. Shop for shoes.

  6. Thanksgiving!!! Prep, prep, prep!

  Jim had woken up early and gone for a run. I felt slightly guilty for not working out, but figured the soup diet I’d been on the last two days might count for a purge and be good enough.

  I put Laurie on her playmat for tummy time. I tucked her arms under her so that she was propped up by them. “All right, missy, this is Sergeant Mommy, hold that head up ninety degrees.”

  Laurie cooed and kicked her legs up and back as though she wanted to shuttle across the floor. Her head bobbed around a bit, but she was safe enough for me to duck into the kitchen and get coffee.

  I grabbed the phone and threw some bread into the toaster, trying to make breakfast and catch up on phone calls at the same time. I listened to the phone ring as I buttered my toast. Margaret didn’t pick up. I left her a condensed status message and asked her to phone me back.

  Then I called Galigani. “Mom said you were willing to sponsor me. Can we meet for lunch?”

  “I’d love to meet you, darling. Where and when?”

  “Can we meet today? I have a meeting with Gary Barramendi tomorrow and I need—”

  “You’re meeting with Gary the Grizzly! He eats cup-cakes like you for breakfast.”

  “Thanks.”

  Galigani guffawed. “There’s a great Thai place near my house, want to try it?”

  “See you around noon?”

  I picked up my toast and coffee and made my way to the living room, where Laurie was on her playmat. She was on her back with a stunned expression on her face. I rushed to her, dropping my breakfast off on the coffee table.

  “Laurie! Did you roll over?”

  She stared up and grinned.

  I tickled her tummy and she kicked her feet up at me.

  “I can’t believe you rolled over for the first time while I was in the other room.”

  How could I have missed this milestone!

  I put her back onto her tummy. “Do it again!”

  Laurie cried. She put her head down between her arms and flapped her legs and wailed.

  I picked her up. “Don’t cry, Petunia. I know it’s hard.” I rubbed her back. “That tummy time is awful, just awful.”

  Laurie curled up against me gratefully.

  “Next time will you wait until I’m in the room to have a turning point?”

  I stood outside Galigani’s house and rang the bell. When he opened the door, he smiled. “Ready to go? Or do you want to come in?”

  “I’m ready. Let’s go,” I said.

  Galigani grabbed a jacket from a clothes tree and slid it on. He smoothed down his mustache as though putting on the jacket had caused it to go astray. “It’s walking distance.”

  The few short blocks to the Thai restaurant winded us both. Galigani, who’d had heart surgery a few weeks back, and I, with my postpartum legs and butt, made a sorry team. We studied each other at the entrance of the restaurant.

  “Good thing nobody was chasing us,” I said.

  Galigani howled. “The walk is good for me, though; got to get myself in shape.”

  I nodded. “Yeah. Me, too. At least now we can have lunch and feel like we earned it.”

  He opened the restaurant door for me and laughed. “Right. One Thai iced tea with the half and half they put in it and any calories we just burned go out the door.”

  I shrugged. “We still have to walk back. I need to fuel up.”

  He smiled. “I love your attitude, kid.”

  A hostess with silky black hair done up in a bun seated us in a window booth. She wore a traditional dress in red and gold. She placed menus on our table with a dazzling smile and winked at Galigani. He pushed the menu aside, and she laughed.

  “The usual?” she asked.

  “You better believe it,” Galigani answered.

  She nodded. “I’ll give your friend a minute.”

  I perused the menu and settled on peanut satay. Galigani nodded his approval.

  Our iced teas arrived at the table. When the waitress left, Galigani said, “Bring me up to speed.”

  “Okay.” I reached for my diaper purse and attempted to pull out my notebook. Even though Laurie was home with Jim, I was still lugging the bag around. This morning, it seemed to make more sense than to swap to a traditional purse, but as I rummaged past diapers and wipes, the extra outfit, the nursing shawl, the sling, and the burp cloth, I wondered how the heck I’d come to that decision.

  “There must be twenty pounds of gear in here,” I mumbled.

  No wonder the few blocks’ walk had been so taxing.

  I finally located my notebook and pulled it out.

  • Helene Chambers, deceased on November 5th. Bay dinner cruise. Cause of death, still undetermined, but apparent overdose. Parents deceased, no siblings, no children. Survived by Bruce Chambers (husband).

  • Spoke with Evelyn. She states she witnessed an argument on the cruise between the deceased and Sara. States that the deceased was canceling a construction project. Sara denies this claim and Bruce (widower) said he knows nothing about the cancellation.

  • Evelyn was ousted from mommy group because her kid bites. She is considering home birth with Celia (same midwife Margaret Lipe used).

  • Attended Helene’s service—Homicide Inspectors McNearny and Jones were in attendance.

  • Margaret Lipe—told me she suspected her own husband (Dr. Alan Lipe) of having an affair and said she thought he had mistakenly killed Helene instead of her. Neighbor, Miss No-Nonsense, Sara has confirmed Alan’s affair. So far haven’t been able to identify other woman.

  • Celia Martin was hospitalized on November 15th after being at Bruce’s house. Doctors suspect overdose. She told me she consumed metallic-tasting beer. Awaiting lab results.

  • Bruce Chambers—questioned by police for murder (Helene) and attempted murder (Celia). Attorney Gary Barramendi. Motive? Was planning adoption of Costa Rican infant, coordinated by Celia Martin.

  After reading my notebook, Galigani took a long sip of iced tea and sat in silence for a moment. Finally, he stroked his mustache and asked, “When are they going to release the tox results?”

  “I don’t know. Another week?”

  “The ME doesn’t normally do a tox screen.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Kid, I’ve been doing this a long time. Believe me, the ME and I are buds, we golf together, we smoke cigars together, we drink brandy together. The ME’s job is to shut a case as quickly as possible. Tox screens take time and cost taxpayers’ money. They normally don’t do ’em unless they’re pressed.”

  The waitress arrived with our lunches. The smell of garlic wafted over to me from Galigani’s plate.

  “Wow! Your shrimp looks delicious,” I said. “I should have ordered that.”

  Galigani scooped a portion of his serving on my plate. “We’ll split it.”

  I pushed half of my peanut satay onto his plate. “I’m not sure I understand what you’re saying about the ME,” I said.

  Galigani wrapped noodles around his fork. “Someone pushed him for the tox screen. But why? I can ask him. And I can get a copy of the records. You want me to do that?”

  “Could you? That would be great. Gary Barramendi is going to share Bruce’s file with—”

  Galigani dropped his fork. “Barramendi is sharing info with you?”

  I shrugged. “I guess so. Bruce asked him to anyway.”

  Galigani guffawed. “Kid, if you get in with Barramendi, your career is set!”

  “What do you mean?”

  Galigani looked at me as if I was f
rom outer space. “He’s the highest-profile criminal defense attorney on the West Coast. He’s always featured on CNN, MSNBC, and FOX News. Didn’t you know that?”

  I shook my head.

  Galigani laughed. “Good God, Kate. Talk about beginner’s luck. I don’t know how you do it!”

  “Now you’re making me nervous! Do what?”

  “I tried for years to work with Barramendi’s office. Of course, former cop and defense guys don’t normally make nice. So it’s no surprise that we never connected. But this guy, if he likes you, can give you regular PI cases, make you a media darling, completely fast-track your career. Just don’t mention my name.”

  Now it was my turn to drop my fork. “Why can’t I mention your name? I’m working under your license, right?”

  “Sure. I’ll fill out the paperwork and you can work for me under my license. But don’t make a big deal out of it to Barramendi. Like I said, I’m a former cop.”

  “Something else has been bothering me,” I said.

  Galigani waited for me to continue.

  “McNearny and Jones were at Helene’s funeral.”

  “Sure,” Galigani said. “Especially if your client called the ME and told them she suspected something. That would have raised a flag for them and then homicide would want to go to the services to take a look around.”

  “But she called after the funeral.”

  Galigani played with his mustache. “They could have been there because of the fight . . . Uniforms took statements from everyone on the boat, right?”

  I nodded.

  “Let’s see if I can poke around and get some info, they know something we don’t,” Galigani said.

  When I arrived home, Jim handed off a howling Laurie and a UPS package to me.

  I tried to juggle Laurie while reading the label on the package. It was my girdle! A few weeks ago, I couldn’t imagine getting so excited about a girdle—but here I was practically giddy.

  Laurie continued to fuss.

  “What’s wrong with her?” I asked Jim.

  He shrugged. “I wish I knew. She’s fed, has a clean diaper, and hasn’t stopped crying for at least fifteen minutes.”

  I cuddled Laurie to me and rubbed her back, trying to soothe her. The rubbing coaxed an enormous burp out of her, which suddenly silenced her.