Motherhood is Murder

by Diana Orgain

  We said good-bye to each other as we approached our houses. I let myself inside and found Jim in his underwear watching the morning news with Laurie secured in the crook of his arm. I took Laurie from him and nuzzled her. She fixed her blue eyes on me and cooed.

  “Did you get me anything?” Jim asked hopefully.

  “Uh . . . yeah, I did.”

  Jim smiled.

  “But I ate it.”

  He laughed. “Look.” He indicated the television. “There’s a huge protest downtown,” he said. “Tons of arrests.”

  “Since you’re not dressed, does that mean you’re staying home today? No meetings?”

  Jim nodded. “Yeah. It’s crazy out there. I’m staying here with my little sasquatch and her mommy.”

  “I need to run an errand. I want to follow up with Miss No-Nonsense, see where she was on the fifteenth.”

  Jim’s brows furrowed. “All right, but be careful.”

  “Should I stop on the way and order the turkey?”

  Jim smiled. “I’m a step ahead of you. I already preordered it online.”

  I sat outside Sara’s house and contemplated my strategy.

  Could I come right out and ask her about Howard?

  How sure was I that Celia and he were having an affair? If they weren’t and Sara was completely innocent, I’d be sticking my nose where it didn’t belong. On the other hand, Celia was still alive. If Sara was plotting something, better to be safe than sorry.

  I rang Sara’s doorbell. She opened the door and squinted at me.

  “Oh, I wasn’t expecting you.” She had on a bright orange T-shirt and jeans with paint splotches across the front. She stood in the doorway and kept me on the stoop.

  “Sorry I didn’t call first. Do you have a minute?”

  She glanced behind her, into what I knew was the living room. “Just one. Go ahead.”

  I imagined baby Amanda at her huge play station, flailing around.

  “Uh. Yeah. Okay.”

  Why wasn’t she letting me inside the house?

  Why was Miss No-Nonsense dressed in a dirty old T-shirt?

  “Sara, can you tell me where you were on November fifteenth? Did you happen to see Celia Martin that day?”

  I waited for her reaction to Celia’s name, but she simply scratched at her chin. “Was that last week? What day? Who’s Celia?”

  “It was a Tuesday. Celia is a midwife. She did Margaret’s birth and now she’s helping Evelyn . . .”

  Sara scrunched her nose in distaste at the mention of Evelyn’s name. “Oh. Yeah. The midwife.”

  “I understand Howard was the general contractor that remodeled the birthing center.”

  She frowned and blinked rapidly a few times. “Oh . . . uh . . . uh-huh.”

  She hadn’t known.

  Her husband had taken the job on the side and hadn’t told her. Even Margaret knew about the job. I guess the mommy group wasn’t as close as they had pretended. Venom, lies, and betrayal all around.

  Sara composed herself and asked, “How can I help you?”

  “Where were you on the fifteenth, Sara? Did you see Celia?”

  “No. Why are you asking?”

  “Someone poisoned her with the same drug that killed Helene.”

  Sara swallowed and appeared frozen. “Is she all right?”

  She didn’t seem to know anything.

  I nodded. “Can you tell me where you were on Tuesday morning?”

  “Tuesdays are Amanda’s swim class. We were at La Petite Grenouille.”

  That would be easy to check.

  I rapped on the doorframe. “Okay. Thank you for your time.”

  I proceed down the walkway toward my car. As I got in, I noticed she was watching me from the window.

  Strange, but was she guilty?

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Swimming?

  I stood at the front desk with Laurie in my arms and looked at the pools through the glass doors. There was a small wading pool and another larger pool complete with a covered yellow slide.

  In the larger pool there seemed to be a toddler class going on. Only three children and one teenager with a bright pink swim cap on. The teenage instructor was assisting the kids to alternately swim through a tunnel. The children were swimming remarkably well given their age and looked adorable with tiny flippers on their feet.

  In the wading pool were several moms holding their infants in their arms. They were following the instructions of another teenager, this one with auburn-colored hair. All the moms would hold the infants up in the air and duck them in the water at the same time.

  I couldn’t hear anything through the glass doors, but every time the babies resurfaced, their mouths were shaped into giant O’s and I’m fairly certain they were screaming their little hearts out.

  What about this was supposed to be good for them?

  I turned Laurie toward the baby pool. “Does that look fun to you? Do you want to do that?”

  Laurie pedaled her little feet.

  “Is that a yes?”

  From the changing area a slim instructor with wet hair that was pulled back in a ponytail approached us.

  “Are you here for the free trial class?” she asked.

  “Actually, no.” I hesitated. “I . . . uh . . . I wanted to sign up.” I smiled.

  She frowned and stepped toward the desk. “Are you on the wait list? Did we call you with an opening?” She flipped through a huge black book that was by the phone.

  I eyed the book.

  Did they mark the attendance there?

  “No. I thought I’d just sign up.”

  She frowned. “You thought you would . . . right.” She closed the book with a loud thud. “Why don’t you give me your name? Our wait list is quite long. We’ll call you if any classes are added.”

  Still looking at the book, I said, “Right. Or, you know, if anyone drops out or—”

  “Our students don’t generally drop out. Yes, there is the occasional one that moves or has, say, perhaps a medical issue, but frankly speaking, there’s not a lot of movement is the existing classes.”

  I nodded.

  “How old is your daughter?” she asked.

  “She’s two months.”

  “It’s a shame you didn’t sign up earlier. We have a mommy and me starting next week.” She glanced thoughtfully at the pool. “Have you had a tour?”

  I shook my head. “No, but—”

  She moved away from the desk. “Come along then.”

  She led me to the glass doors separating the reception area from the pools. I wished now that I’d brought Paula or Mom along. They would be able to snoop through the book while Laurie and I toured the facility.

  As the instructor pushed open the door, the smell of chlorine hit me. I inhaled deeply; somehow the smell made me want to dive in.

  I’ve never considered myself a swimmer, but why should my limitations become Laurie’s? Maybe lessons would be good for her.

  The instructor told me how the water temperature of both pools was reminiscent of the womb, then recounted the benefits of swimming. By the time she was done, I really wanted a spot in the class.

  Odd. I hadn’t thought about swimming in such a long time and now in the middle of November it seemed the thing to do.

  She led me to the changing rooms. There was an open shower area and several bathroom stalls. Additionally, portable cribs and playpens were set up and scattered throughout the room. The mommy and me class had just finished and two moms holding their towel-wrapped babies followed us into the area.

  One mom put her baby into a crib and rummaged around a locker for shampoo. The other mom simply turned on the shower and ducked herself and her baby under it.

  My cell phone rang from the depths of my diaper purse.

  “I’ll let you get that,” the instructor said, leaving the room.

  I looked around for a dry place to put Laurie and settled on the crib next to the one with the other infant.

  As I dug around for my cell phone, one mom said to the other, “So, when do you guys leave for Germany?”

  They c
arried on their conversation as I answered my phone. I didn’t catch it in time but read Gary’s office number on the caller ID in the missed call window. I waited for the voice mail beep and listened to the message as soon as it came through. It was his secretary looking for my status report.

  Darn. I’d have to go home and send him something quick.

  As I put away my phone, I heard the mom showering say, “Thank God we’re traveling now. Did you know the airline makes you pay for an extra seat if your baby is over two?”

  I picked up Laurie and headed out to the reception area. The desk was empty. I looked around, certainly there were still people in the pool area, but the instructor who had given me the tour was nowhere in sight.

  “Don’t tell anyone,” I whispered to Laurie.

  I circled around the desk and flipped the book open. I saw where the woman had added my name to the wait list.

  Number 187!

  Jeez, this place was in demand.

  I quickly turned the pages of the book. A computer printout of class rosters was stapled into the pages. I found the Tuesday 10 A.M. class and baby Amanda’s name.

  There was a neat row of little checkmarks in each graph box representing all the Tuesdays in the past three months.

  Perfect attendance.

  Miss No-Nonsense and her little sprout had been here at La Petite Grenouille on the morning Celia was poisoned.

  I looked up from the book and jumped to find the instructor standing in front of the desk, glaring at me.

  “What do you think you’re doing!” she demanded.

  Shoot!

  “Uh. Nothing . . .”

  “Are you trying to put your name at the top of the wait list!?”

  “What? No! I . . .”

  She crossed to behind the desk and advanced on me, causing me to back away from the book. Laurie let out a little whimper.

  The woman harrumphed and opened the book to the wait list page. She studied it a moment, then took a pencil from a cup on the desk and erased Laurie’s name from the last line.

  “Hey! You can’t do that!” I said.

  “Oh? Can’t I?” she asked, pushing the eraser debris from the book with a smug look.

  I was blowing Laurie’s chance at swim lessons at the premier spot in San Francisco!

  “Just because I was snooping a little . . .”

  She motioned to the front door. “Thank you for coming by, Mrs. Connolly.”

  I arrived home in a funk. Jim was online searching for recipes on turkey brines.

  “I got Laurie boxed out of swim classes.”

  “Hmmm. Do you think this one sounds good?” He handed me a printout as I passed Laurie to him.

  “I’ll have to leave the turkey brining overnight,” Jim continued. “Maybe I can use the ice chest again?”

  “The hag at the front desk erased our name off the list.”

  “What hag?”

  “I’m telling you. No swim classes for Laurie. We were axed.”

  Jim looked surprised. “What does she need swim classes for? She’s barely awake for five minutes at a time.”

  “Well, you know, by the time she’s ready, we won’t be able to take her there. They have a long wait list and now we’re not even on it.”

  “Where?”

  “The little frog swim place.”

  Jim frowned. “Uh-huh. Okay, Kate, do you need to lie down or something?”

  “I don’t want her to drown.”

  “I’ll teach her how to swim,” Jim said.

  I sat at the computer as Jim took Laurie into the kitchen to inventory ingredients needed for the brine.

  I e-mailed Gary, filling him in on my suspicions about Celia’s affair with Howard, and informing him about Sara’s alibi. I kept my meeting with Margaret out of the report. At this point she was probably the strongest suspect outside of Bruce, and I feared Gary would use that as leverage.

  Was it really appropriate to leave it out? After all, I didn’t have any control over who was guilty. I really just wanted justice.

  I checked my news update feed. The riots downtown were escalating and hundreds of arrests had been made. Before I logged off, I refreshed my e-mail. A response from Gary had arrived in my inbox.

  Kate,

  Tail Celia, see if she leads you to Howard. Maybe he’s our guy.

  G

  I sat outside Celia’s center in Kenny’s van. Jim had agreed to watch Laurie for the afternoon and I was determined to find out one way or another if Celia was seeing Howard.

  To kill time, I dialed Paula and recounted for her the swimming story. She was much more sympathetic to Laurie’s being blacklisted than Jim had been.

  “Where are you now?” she asked.

  “Outside the midwife center waiting for her to lead me to her lover, Howard.”

  Paula laughed.

  “What?”

  “Is that guy, Howard, attractive?”

  “Sort of. Irish guy, light-colored eyes, good bod, you know, construction and all. Why?”

  “I guess I imagine her with a sexy Latin guy, like a

  ‘José,’ not a ‘Howard,’ but that’s probably because she’s Latin and from Miami.”

  “She’s not from Miami, she’s from L.A.”

  “Really? She told me she was from Miami,” Paula said.

  Suddenly I recalled Margaret telling me that she met Celia in Miami, the same day the photo was taken of her family on the beach.

  Why would Celia tell me she was from L.A.? Why lie? Or had it been inadvertent? Lots of people in the Bay Area were transplants, and when asked from where, they didn’t give a laundry list of all the places they’d ever lived.

  That was probably it. She’d lived in L.A. before or after Miami, no matter.

  Miami?

  Why did that stick out in my mind?

  I recalled the news item I’d read on Google, the missing expectant mom on her way to a midwife . . . in Miami.

  “Paula, I need you to look something up for me.”

  I gave her as much search criteria as I could to find the news story, then hung up, but before I released my phone, it rang.

  “Kate! It’s Kenny, guess what?”

  He sounded as though he’d won the lottery.

  “The Opera called. The principal trombonist is sick. I get my chance to perform tonight!”

  “That’s fantastic!” I said.

  “I need my van. I’m sorry. I would take the streetcar, but all my gear is in the van.”

  That would blow my stakeout.

  “Oh. Hey, I have an idea,” I said. “Why don’t you go over to my place and get my keys from Jim. You can drive out here in my car and we’ll swap.”

  “That works!” Kenny said cheerfully, ringing off.

  The San Francisco Opera.

  I was proud of him. He deserved it. What a good kid!

  I imagined Laurie all grown up and playing in the San Francisco Opera.

  What instrument would she play? Maybe the violin?

  She did have long fingers. Perhaps the piano.

  I put my cell phone away in my diaper purse and rummaged past Laurie’s puppy for a piece of gum. For fun I pressed the puppy’s ear and listened to Laurie’s recorded coos. I listened to the playback about a dozen times.

  What in the world was I doing here?

  This was ridiculous. I should be home with munchkin and Daddy.

  A blue car turned the corner and rolled down the street past me. I strained to get a look at the driver. I watched in the rearview mirror as the car pulled up to the center doors. I was parked down the street, hoping I was far enough to be tucked out of view.

  The center doors opened and Celia rushed out to the car.

  Could it be Howard?

  Come on, come on. I need a break here!

  Celia helped the driver out. It was Evelyn! She was hunched over. Celia held her as she rocked back and forth.

  Oh my gosh! Evelyn was in labor. She was going to have her baby!

  After a few moments Evelyn stood straight up. Celia helped her to the center and looked down the block.


  Had she seen the van?

  Oh, well. Not like she’d be running off to see Howard now. May as well head home and knock some items off my to-do list.

  Wait, Kenny was on his way here. I grabbed my phone to see if I could reach him. If I could catch him before he left, then I wouldn’t be stuck here waiting for him.

  I dug around my bag for my phone. I dialed Kenny but got his voice mail. I started to text him when I heard a car start.

  I looked in my rearview mirror and saw Evelyn’s car zooming toward me. Celia was driving.

  Wait.

  Where was she going in Evelyn’s car? What about Evelyn in labor? Maybe Celia was simply reparking the car.

  I studied the spot where the car had been. It looked like a legal spot.

  My phone rang in my hand. I glanced at the caller ID. Paula.

  “Did you find anything?”

  “I did!” She was breathless. “I found the story, and then I called the paper and spoke to the writer. She was able to look up the midwife’s name for me. Get this. Cecelia Martinez.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Labor

  Cecelia Martinez?

  What did this mean? I knew her as Celia Martin—certainly that was an alias . . . or was it all a coincidence?

  Wait! When I had been at the hospital, the nurse had called her Martinez. Yes! She’d said that.

  “Kate. What do you know about that adoption she was arranging?” Paula asked.

  My throat felt thick. It was difficult to breathe. “No. They can’t be related. The story in Miami is more than a couple years old, right? Bruce and Helene were going to adopt a newborn, Celia’s cousin’s baby. I saw Helene’s plane ticket from SFO to Costa Rica. There were notes about traveling with an infant.”

  I recalled the moms at La Petite Grenouille this afternoon discussing plane travel. Children over two years old needed their own ticket.

  “Wait. What did you say?” Paula asked. “Did you say SFO to Costa Rica?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why would she be traveling with an infant from SFO? Wouldn’t she be traveling there solo and then flying back with the baby?”