Motherhood is Murder

Motherhood is Murder Page 19

by Diana Orgain

  “You were buying the baby?”

  “Well, no. I don’t consider it buying, more like we needed to give Father Pedro something. You know, get to the top of the line. I’ve got the money, that’s no problem.”

  “Bruce, that day Celia and I were here. Did anyone else come over?”

  He looked thoughtful. “No.”

  I couldn’t contain myself any longer. I had to find out if he’d known about Helene’s affair.

  I squinted at him. “What can you tell me about the affair?”

  “What affair?”

  “Between Helene and Alan. When did you find out about it?”

  The color drained from Bruce’s face. He looked as if I’d landed a punch square in the solar plexus. “Helene was having an affair?”

  I nodded slowly.

  Bruce swallowed and took an involuntary step back. “How do you know this?”

  “Witnesses on the cruise.”

  Oops!

  I wasn’t supposed to say anything about having that information!

  Yikes, please don’t tell Gary. Please don’t tell Gary.

  Why didn’t I just tell him I’d heard it from Alan?

  Now, I couldn’t very well tell him my mother had snagged the information from Alan’s receptionist. That would sound completely stupid—like I was dependent on my mommy for my survival as a PI. Never mind the fact that it was one of her boyfriends who was letting me use his license.

  Bruce slouched and allowed his head to fall heavily into his hands. “I didn’t know anything about it. Are you sure?”

  “I’m sorry. Yes. It’s true.”

  Was he legitimately stunned or had he rehearsed this reaction?

  At that moment, Paula emerged from the bathroom and walked down the hallway toward us.

  I gestured to the bathroom “May I?”

  “Of course,” Bruce said.

  Paula reached us and said, “I hear you have a great view.”

  I excused myself and headed down the hall as Paula said, “I love views of the bay. Can we take a peek?”

  Bruce, still slightly pale, said, “Um . . . Yeah, sure.”

  Paula called after me, “We’ll be on the roof, Kate.”

  “No problem,” I said over my shoulder.

  I stopped at the bathroom door and listened as they climbed the metal staircase. I could hear them chatting overhead. Mostly Paula, Bruce seemingly going through the motions or pretending he was.

  I made a mad dash into the master bedroom. There were gorgeous gold curtains and a matching coverlet on the bed. The furniture was handsome and heavy. An antique set of dressers adorned either side of the bed. On top of each dresser were gold candlesticks and several dishes that held knickknacks.

  I circled the room quickly. The closet looked in order, nothing out of the ordinary. It would help if I knew what I was looking for, but I was clueless. I entered the master bath and pulled open the medicine chest: cold creams, makeup, makeup remover, and nicotine patches. Looked like Helene had taken Margaret’s advice and bought some. I peeked in the package—half empty. Apparently they hadn’t worked for her either, because that night on the cruise she still wanted a cigarette.

  Sadness filled my gut and I felt a hopelessness overcome me.

  What was I looking for?

  If I was Bruce, where would I hide a poison? Certainly not in the bathroom. That would be obvious. I returned to the bedroom. If he still had anything incriminating, which he probably didn’t—unless he was planning on poisoning someone else . . .

  Paula was alone with him upstairs.

  Fear raced through me and I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. I knew she was fine. It was more likely that I’d be caught snooping than anything happening to Paula.

  If I were Bruce, I would hide poison . . . where?

  I went to one of the dressers and pulled opened the top drawer. My hands were shaking. The drawer held ties and silk handkerchiefs. The balance of the dresser held clothes, and the closest thing I got to poison was a few mothballs.

  On top of the dresser the little gold dish held a pair of cuff links and some loose change.

  I had to get out of the room. They could return at any second and I would be caught with my hand in the cookie jar.

  For my final snooping, because it is beyond my nature to stop myself from snooping before I actually have to, I yanked open Helene’s top drawer. It was filled with designer scarves, slips, and bras. I opened the next drawer: panties, hose, and some lingerie. The remaining drawers held sweaters, tops, and finally jeans.

  I was out of drawers and out of luck.

  On top of her dresser the gold dish held rings, a bracelet, and three pairs of earrings. I fingered the jewelry and the dish slipped a bit, revealing an envelope tucked underneath. It wasn’t hidden exactly, more like held in place for safekeeping under the dish. I pulled the envelope out and looked inside.

  It was a plane ticket, printed from her home computer. SFO to Costa Rica. It was an open ticket; no date was set. And the Special Note on the bottom stated she’d be flying with an infant.

  Sadness overtook me. This was Helene’s ticket for when the adoption occurred. Of course, no date was set. They were waiting for the baby to be born. And now what? How would this little baby grow up? Without Helene, Bruce wouldn’t take the baby. And probably he wasn’t a fit father anyway. Celia was most likely right about that.

  What about the affair? Could Helene have been ready to back out from the adoption? Bruce wanted kids of his own; he had told me that from the first.

  Helene had canceled the addition to the condo. Had Bruce known and just played dumb when I asked him?

  It seemed like Helene was planning on leaving him and moving with Alan to North Carolina.

  Perhaps Bruce had found out about the affair and Helene’s plans, then he killed Helene out of anger and decided to stop the adoption proceedings.

  Then poisoned Celia. Why? Maybe he thought she would force the adoption? Now he said he wanted to donate the money to the orphanage.

  Buy his way out of looking guilty.

  And what did it all matter anyway? Bruce had hired the slickest attorney in town, one who thought the truth was overrated, and now I was working for him!

  So much for my hopes as a media darling.

  I felt nauseous. I had to leave. Get Paula out of here, as far away from that murderer as possible.

  Adrenaline surged within me, causing my hands to shake even further.

  I jammed the printout back into the envelope and secured it in place under the dish. I left the bedroom and returned to the living room just as Paula and Bruce were descending the staircase.

  “That view is spectacular!” Paula said enthusiastically.

  I headed straight for the front door and tugged it open. “Come on, let’s go.”

  Bruce stopped short and looked at me. “Is everything all right, Kate?”

  “Uh . . . yeah. My husband called. I gotta run.” I reached out and put my hand on Paula’s waist. Doing what I could to mask the shaking, I ushered her out the door.

  She gave me a knowing look and kept moving.

  I crossed the threshold of the doorway and jerked it closed behind me. Paula and I darted down the three flights of steps and pushed through the main condo doors on the first level, squinting into the low November sunlight.

  Neither of us spoke until we were inside my car.

  “What did you find?” Paula asked, slamming the car door shut.

  I started the engine. “Nothing really. It just hit me all of a sudden. It’s him. I know he did it. I just have to prove it.”

  I pulled into traffic and nearly collided with a yellow VW bug.

  “Hey!” Paula screeched, clutching the dashboard.

  My hands were still shaking. “Sorry,” I said.

  “Want me to drive?” Paula asked.

  “No. I’m fine.” I took a deep breath. “I’ll focus and get you home safe. Promise.”

  I dropped Paula off and phoned Jim. I didn’t want to be on the phone while driving. I was obviously too
keyed up to be safe.

  Jim said the only thing worth mentioning was that Laurie had briefly woken up and given him a “scary-eyed” look. Other than that, she was still back asleep in her blue bouncy chair.

  I caught him up on my snooping and told him I was going to stop by Galigani’s to brainstorm.

  I pulled up to Galigani’s and rang the bell.

  Galigani answered the door. “Hey, kid. Glad you stopped by. I got some more info for ya.”

  Mom appeared in the doorway behind him and peeked at me over his shoulder.

  “Kate, you’re completely white. What kind of trouble did you find now?” Mom asked.

  They ushered me into the house. We ended up in Galigani’s kitchen, where he was making Mom some homemade osso bucco for dinner.

  As the smell of garlic and onions frying in olive oil permeated the kitchen, I absently wondering if Mom’s other beau, Hank, could cook.

  I recounted for them my search of Bruce’s place and my suspicions about his not wanting to go through with the adoption.

  “I freaked myself out so bad being there and I didn’t want to put Paula in any danger. So we ran out as fast as we could,” I finished.

  “Well,” Galigani said. “It’s never a bad idea to flee the scene if you’re getting any kind of signal about danger.”

  Mom nodded and rubbed my back. “Do you want something warm to drink? Tea?”

  “Tea?” Galigani chuckled. “How about a brandy?”

  I declined. “What information do you have for me?”

  Galigani stirred the onions, a delicious sizzling and popping sound filling the room. “I heard from Jones, the tox report is in. Helene was killed with a lethal dose of fentanyl. Celia was exposed to fentanyl but did not absorb a lethal dose and your results—”

  I cleared my throat as loudly as I could and launched myself up from the table. Galigani, who was standing by the stovetop, immediately stopped talking and stared at me.

  I hadn’t told Mom about Laurie’s and my hospital stay.

  Mom squinted at us. “What about Kate’s results?”

  “Kate’s results . . . in that report . . .” Galigani turned his back to Mom, stirred the onions, and winked at me. “The one you were preparing for Gary . . . I’d say . . . Oh, Vera!” He pulled the pan away from the flame. “I need some wine to add to this . . . would you mind? In the dining room above the china cabinet, there’s a nice selection of red. Why don’t you pick one?”

  Mom rolled her eyes. “Stop pretending, the both of you!” She harrumphed, stomping into the dining room. “I know when I’m not wanted.”

  As soon as the swinging door closed behind Mom, Galigani whispered, “Negative. Nothing in your system and Laurie was clear, too.”

  Although I had suspected this, I found myself clapping my hand to my chest in relief and collapsing back into the chair with a sigh.

  Galigani nodded and placed the pan back over the flame. “Curious, though, that Celia’s dosage wasn’t lethal, isn’t it?”

  “What do you think it means?” I asked.

  “Either a botched attempt or a warning? Not sure.”

  I arrived home in a panic. I’d been gone five hours and it felt like a lifetime. I ran upstairs and found Jim on the computer and the house eerily silent.

  “Where’s Laurie?” I asked.

  “Hi, honey,” Jim said, absently kissing me.

  “Where’s my little rose petal?” I demanded, trying to keep hysteria out of my voice.

  “Oh, in her bouncy chair.”

  “Still? She was there when I called you hours ago.” I ran to the living room, where we had been housing the bouncy chair. It was set to vibrate and Laurie looked like she was in a deep peaceful sleep.

  “How long has she been sleeping?” I asked.

  Jim shrugged. “Dunno. Since you left?”

  “What! I’ve been gone five hours. Haven’t you fed her?”

  Jim looked dumbstruck. “That long? Hmmm.” He glanced around the room looking for an answer.

  “Well? Did you feed her?”

  “No,” he admitted.

  “Jim, she won’t sleep at all tonight.” I rushed to Laurie’s bouncy chair and pulled her out of it. She startled for a moment, then resumed sleeping.

  Jim stared at me. “Really? Are you sure you’re supposed to wake her? If she was hungry, wouldn’t she wake up on her own?”

  I shrugged. Nothing seemed to work. If I let her sleep through the day, she would be awake all night.

  But then wouldn’t she be awake all night anyway?

  I tried to nurse her but she stayed snoozing. I couldn’t stand it any longer. I pulled out the dreaded breast pump and finally felt some relief. Six ounces later I was exhausted.

  As soon as I cleaned the pump, capped the bottles, and placed them in the fridge, Laurie woke up screaming and howling.

  Great. Just great!

  Now I was empty and would have to use the milk I had just pumped. There was no winning.

  Before going to bed, I researched fentanyl online. It came in transdermal patches and candy form and was primarily prescribed to terminally ill cancer patients.

  Hadn’t Bruce told me his grandmother had passed away a few weeks ago from cancer?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Reward

  To Do:

  1. It’s hopeless—if the police can’t do it, what makes me think I can?

  2. Where is Margaret?—Who cares? If she doesn’t want to call me back, then forget it. Maybe she’s in Mexico getting away with murder.

  3. ?

  4. Order turkey—Oh, yeah, holiday, festive, joy, joy, joy.

  5. ?

  6. ?

  7. Buy new pajamas.

  I sulked around the store and found what I was looking for in the back. I rummaged through the pajamas in the bin and picked up a teal pair with pink flamingos. I held them up for Laurie to view.

  She was nestled in her stroller looking contented.

  “What do you think of this set, lemon blossom?”

  Laurie’s eyes shifted to the hanging purple puppy strapped to the side of her stroller. I pinched the puppy’s ear and recorded myself asking in a booming voice, “Do you like the pajamas?”

  Laurie pedaled her feet but kept a serious expression on her face.

  “Hmmm, you don’t like them?” I returned the teal pair and moved a few other sets out of the way. At the bottom of the stack I found a fuzzy pair with fuchsia lips all over. “Well, I’m not even going to ask you. I like these.”

  I pulled the puppy off the stroller and recorded myself saying, “I’m buying them.”

  I placed the puppy near Laurie’s ear and replayed it for her. She smiled and cooed at my voice then tried to eat the puppy.

  I poked around looking for my size as my cell phone rang. I rummaged past the baby paraphernalia in the diaper bag and pulled out my phone. The caller ID read Paula’s number.

  “Hi,” I mumbled.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, alarm in her voice.

  “Nothing. Just shopping.”

  “For what?” she asked suspicious.

  “PJs.”

  “For you or for Laurie?”

  I sighed. “Me.”

  “No! Not pajamas! How many pairs have you bought?”

  “None yet.”

  “Where are you?” she asked.

  “At Bed Head and More.”

  “Drop the PJs and step away from the counter right now!”

  “I found a pair I really like. Well, two, but Laurie didn’t seem so fond of one of them.”

  “Don’t buy them. You’ll wear them for weeks and never get out of that mood.”

  “I’m not in a mood,” I said.

  Paula knew me too well. If I was seriously down in the dumps, shopping for new pajamas seemed to help. Nothing would comfort me more than a cozy pair of new pajamas.

  “Do you think they have footed pajamas for adults?” I asked.

  “What?”

  “You know, like the kind for kids with the feet. Do they make them for adults?”

  “Yeah, that sounds really sexy, Kate. You’ve
gone off the deep end. Come over immediately.”

  “No. I’m going to buy these, go straight home, and snuggle up in them. They’re fleece and fuzzy and super-warm. I’ll sleep all week in them, lounge on the couch with Laurie in my lap, and eat bonbons if I want to. I’m going to—”

  “Shut up, you nut. You’re a mom now, you can’t indulge your every whim. Like Laurie is going to let you sleep at all, much less for a week. And Jim? And what about Thanksgiving, you have too—”

  “I’m hanging up now. I’m going to buy them. Both pairs and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

  I snapped my phone shut and found my size in both pairs. I turned the stroller toward the counter, and Laurie’s puppy fell to the floor. I picked it up, wiped the drool off it onto my jeans, and shoved it into the diaper purse. When I wheeled Laurie up to the counter, the store phone rang.

  The girl working smiled at me as she held up her index finger. “Just a second.” She picked up the phone. “Thank you for calling Bed Head and More, may I help you?”

  I perused the fashion jewelry while waiting. I picked up a pair of silver earrings and held them to my ear, evaluating them in the mirror behind the counter.

  “Uh . . . yes. She’s right here,” said the girl. “Do you want to talk to her?”

  She seemed to be referring to me, but that couldn’t be right. I glanced over my shoulder. There was no one else in the store.

  She must be referring to another employee in the back or something.

  “Oh. Okay,” she said into the phone.

  I replaced the silver earrings and picked up a pair made of delicate pink beads.

  How old did Laurie have to be to get her ears pierced?

  “Oh!” The girl’s voice dropped several octaves and her eyes darted up at me then down again.

  What was going on?

  I put the beaded earrings down and wheeled Laurie up to the counter. Now, it was just plain annoying. The girl was obviously having a personal conversation and I was meant to wait it out.

  Well, nope. I had some serious lounging around to catch up on. So, she’d better get her butt in gear and check me out.

  I placed my pajamas on the counter and smiled. The girl kept her eyes down and almost ducked her head.

  “Uh-huh,” she said into the phone. “Okay.” She hung up and looked at me. “I’m sorry. We’re closed.”

 

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