by Diana Orgain
Kiku reappeared with a tray of green tea and ginger snaps.
“How long have you been in the country?” I asked.
“Two years.” She propped her legs on the chair across from me, her movement constricted by her large belly. “Hard to stay on my feet.”
“I know.”
My feet had swelled so much during my pregnancy that I’d had to purchase size eight shoes, an entire size larger than usual, and never mind the style. They were shoes that not even my grandmother would have worn, but boy, were they comfy.
I watched Kiku delicately sip her tea.
I was so thirsty.
A pregnant woman wouldn’t poison a new mom, would she?
I remembered Michelle sprawled across her living room floor.
Forget the tea.
“Do you know why Galigani wanted to meet with you?”
She nodded. “Meet about Brad.”
She didn’t look brokenhearted. This couldn’t be the “other woman,” unless she was acting. Maybe she was secretly falling apart.
I played with my teacup, hoping she wouldn’t notice that I wasn’t actually drinking anything. “How did you know Brad?”
“He hired me,” she replied.
“You work at El Paraiso?”
She sipped her tea. “No. Not now. Before.”
“How long did you work there?”
She tilted her head in thought. “Two months.”
“Why did you leave?”
“My English is not so good. Too hard to work in a restaurant. People talking, talking, talking all the time. I go to beauty school now.” She smiled shyly and covered her mouth as she giggled.
“Your English is fine,” I said.
“Much better now. I study.”
I glanced at the fine paintings covering her apartment walls. Where was a beauty school student getting all this money? “Are you working?”
“No. Not now. Later. After baby. Now I study. Beauty and English!” She giggled again.
I self-consciously ran my hand through my tangled curls. “I need to get a haircut.”
“No problem. You come back. I can cut for you.”
I laughed. “Sure. Why not?” I paused. “Kiku, did you know Brad was killed?” Her expression was oddly blank as she nodded. “He was killed on June fifteenth. I’m investigating his murder.”
How could I politely ask if Brad was the father of her baby?
I mumbled, “Do you know who would want to kill Brad?”
Kiku’s eyes grew wide. “No,” she whispered.
I glanced at Laurie, still in her car seat bucket. She was examining a toy I’d attached to the strap. I felt at a loss. Obviously, Galigani had wanted me to meet Kiku, but why? I didn’t know what questions to ask or what to do. I felt foolish. This kind, pregnant woman couldn’t have shot Brad. What was I doing here? I stood in frustration, ready to leave. My movement caught Laurie’s eye and she began to cry.
Kiku jumped up in distress. “Oh little girl! Little baby!”
I laughed, remembering the panic of the first few days when Laurie’s cry would set off all sort of alarms inside me. “She’s okay. Don’t worry.” I freed Laurie from the bucket to find her jumper soaked through. “She needs a diaper change. May I use your bathroom?”
Kiku indicated I should walk through the bedroom. I grabbed Laurie’s diaper bag and headed toward the bathroom. Kiku’s face still reflected a certain amount of terror. Oh well, she’d get used to life with an infant.
Inside the bathroom, I pulled out a clean jumper for Laurie and quickly went through the diaper routine. I turned her onto her tummy on the diaper pad and washed my hands in the sink. Laurie was now able to hold up her head and at least not have a fit when placed on her tummy. I studied my reflection in the medicine chest. I looked tired and frazzled. On impulse, I opened the medicine chest. A prescription for Valium stared me in the face.
I gagged. From my research online I knew the drug Michelle had died from, diazepam, was the generic form of Valium. Kiku had a prescription for Valium. The label showed a fifty count of five-milligram tablets. I rattled the bottle, then opened it. Ten pills remained. The date on the prescription was November of last year. Before Kiku’s pregnancy. Before Michelle’s death.
Laurie complained from her position on the floor. I gathered her and all the diaper paraphernalia. When I opened the door to the bathroom, Kiku was waiting for me.
“Everything okay?” she asked nervously.
I gave her an exhausted nod and followed her back to the living room.
While I settled Laurie into her car seat, I asked, “Kiku, do you recall where you were on June fifteenth?”
She tilted her head thoughtfully to the side. “I think June fifteenth Horoaki graduate.” She opened a drawer from a side table and pulled out a photograph of a handsome smiling young man.
Was he the father?
I made a note in my notebook and smiled at Kiku. “Oh! Who’s Horoaki? He’s so cute!”
“My brother.”
“Where did he graduate from? San Francisco State?”
“No. Dental school, UCSF.”
Her alibi could easily be checked out.
“Ah! Good career ahead of him. Thank you for the tea.” I swung Laurie’s diaper bag onto my shoulder. “One more thing. Where were you Monday, October first?”
Kiku smiled. “Monday? Shopping. Why?”
“Brad’s wife, Michelle, died on Monday. I was hoping maybe you knew something about it. Had seen or heard something....”
She frowned, her delicate forehead creasing in the middle. “I didn’t know Brad’s wife . . .”
I picked up Laurie’s bucket and headed to the front door. “How about yesterday morning?”
Kiku looked confused. “Yesterday more shopping. Why?”
I smiled. “Of course. You have to get all the baby goodies ready before D-day.”
I glanced around the apartment. It didn’t look like she had purchased all that much, but she could have been window-shopping, too.
Kiku pressed her hands against her belly. “What was yesterday?”
“Svetlana Avery, Brad’s ex-wife, was killed.”
Kiku gasped, her complexion paling. She covered her mouth with her hand. “Poor people. Everyone killed?”
“Did you know Svetlana?”
Kiku shook her head furiously back and forth.
I closed my eyes and sighed. Something wasn’t right. She had Valium, along with another million people in the world. Did it make her a killer? She claimed she didn’t know Michelle or Svetlana. What did Galigani know that I was too stupid or inexperienced to figure out on my own?
“Thanks for your time, Kiku. If you think of anything that can help me with my investigation, will you call me?”
Kiku wrote down the number I rattled off. I’d have to add another item to my never-ending to-do list—print business cards!
I waved to her as I stepped out. “Good luck with the birth. You’ll have fun with your new baby. You’ll love being a mom.”
<><><>
I checked my voice mail as soon as I reached the car. There was a message from Crane; he’d tried the number I’d given him for George and got a “temporarily out of service” message. I threw my cell phone to the floor on the passenger side and screamed out my frustration, startling Laurie enough to make her cry, too. Great!
“Sorry, petunia,” I mumbled.
Laurie continued to fuss. I put the car in drive and pulled out. The motion soon settled her down.
I aimlessly headed to Pier 23. No George in sight. Okay, Plan B.
I glanced at my watch as I parked in front of El Paraiso. Not quite lunchtime.
I pulled the baby carrier out of my trunk and put it on, then picked Laurie up out of the car seat and adjusted her inside the carrier. She immediately nestled herself between my breasts and fell asleep.
I walked into the restaurant. It was the lull before the noontime rush. The hostess with stud piercing
s on her face was sorting menus at her podium. She glanced unenthusiastically at me.
“Hi. Is George Connolly working today?”
She frowned and fingered the stud through her eyebrow. “George Connolly? We don’t have anyone here by that name.”
“Okay. How about the manager, Rich Hanlen?”
“Oh. He’s not in yet. He usually comes in around noon. If it’s important, he’s probably across the street.” She lifted her chin in the general direction of the window.
I looked through glass and saw a bar. “Café du Sur?” I asked.
She’d already gone back to sorting the menus.
<><><>
I crossed the street and pulled open the door of Café du Sur. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dim interior. A country song was playing on an old-fashioned jukebox against the wall. The bar was practically deserted, except for the bartender, Rich, and two older men playing dice. They all looked up at me as I came in.
Perfect. If I could talk to Rich here, I wouldn’t have to suffer through another conversation in his dark office, especially with Laurie in tow. There was no way I wanted to risk that again, although I felt Laurie was much safer now nestled next to me in the baby carrier rather than in the stroller.
The bartender moved down the bar toward me. Rich stood and picked up his drink, as a slow look of recognition crossed his face. I couldn’t very well say he was happy to see me.
I managed a weak hello and a wave. He broke away from the other men and met me in the middle of the bar, along with the bartender.
I felt like an idiot. What kind of mother would take a four-week-old baby into a bar?
Rich placed his empty glass on the counter and said, “I’ll have another and whatever the lady would like.”
The bartender nodded and turned to me. “Ma’am?”
I’d have to get used to the “ma’am” thing quickly. It seemed to be happening far too often these days. On the bright side, I could have something to drink here without worrying that the bartender would poison me.
“How about an orange juice?”
The bartender poured my juice and prepared an Irish coffee for Rich in silence. I watched with longing as the bartender piled the whipped cream onto the coffee, but resisted the urge to change my order.
After we were served, the bartender retreated to the end of the bar where the older men were sitting, out of earshot, although still safely in sight.
“What can I do for you?” Rich asked, placing a twenty on the bar to cover our drinks.
“I’m really in a bind. I need to know where George is. I saw him yesterday, he told me he works at El Paraiso, but your hostess says he doesn’t.”
Rich played with his glass. “Oh, she doesn’t know him. If you’re looking for him, why not try his old lady? I mean, the baby’s due anytime, so he won’t be far.”
I felt my heart thumping in my throat. I tried to swallow it down and act casual. My shock must have shown.
He raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t know you were going to be an auntie? Gal by the name of Kiku. She’s very nice. I’m sure you’ll all be one happy, cozy family.” He stirred the cream into his coffee and took a self-satisfied sip.
I fought the childish impulse to smash his face into the cream.
Kiku was with George?
“May I ask where you were yesterday morning, say between the hours of nine and noon?”
He frowned. “Here at the bar. Why?”
“Svetlana Avery was found murdered yesterday morning. Shot.”
His face paled. “Holy shit.”
“A witness saw a man leaving her house. Any idea who that could have been?”
Rich paused, then took a long drink and shook his head. “Nope. I knew her when she was with Brad. Good-looking chick, I’m sure there was no shortage of men in her life.”
“What about Monday, more or less around the same time, nine to noon?”
He studied me a moment. “Monday was when Michelle was killed. Are you trying to pin these murders on me?”
“Not at all. Can you tell me where you were?”
Rich swung on the barstool and called, “Hey, Burt, can you come here a sec?”
The bartender sauntered over. “Another?”
“No,” Rich said. “Can you tell the lady where I was on Monday from nine to noon?”
Burt smiled, then turned to me. “Rich was here, sweet-heart, sitting right there on that barstool, having a couple of Irish coffees.”
“How ’bout yesterday?” Rich pushed.
“Same.”
“Thanks, Burt,” Rich said.
Burt nodded, then retreated back to his corner.
I drank my juice and decided on a different tactic. “Rich, I need your help.” I softened my voice. “I’ve been hired by Brad’s mother to find out what happened to him.”
His shoulder rose as he inhaled, then dropped a degree as he let out an audible sigh. “I already told you I don’t know what happened.”
“Who was he sleeping with?”
“Back to that? You’re relentless, aren’t you?” He studied first my face, then tried my breast, which due to the baby carrier was pushed to the side and conveniently located for his perusal.
I shifted on the barstool. “You won’t find the answer there.”
He laughed, a curiously embarrassed laugh. And I thought he was beyond social mores.
“Sorry . . . I . . . yeah, you were asking about Brad. Chicks always ask about Brad. All my life they’ve asked about him, and now, even when he’s dead and gone, they’re still asking.”
“You hardly seem like you’d play second fiddle to him.”
“You mean I look okay? That’s what you mean. But chicks like money and Brad had tons of it. Not that I’m hurting now either, but, you know, the Averys are loaded.”
“Are you close to Gloria Avery?”
“What do you mean?”
“She seemed very fond of you,” I lied.
He looked pleasantly surprised. “Old Glo? I always thought she had a soft spot for me.”
“You’ve known her a long time?”
He polished off his drink and pushed the empty glass away from him. “Well, sure. Brad and I met in high school.”
“You went to the same school?”
“Are you kidding me? Brad went to Trinity. You know how expensive that school is? I went to good ole Lincoln High. We met at a Holy Rosary dance in ’93.”
“I went to Holy Rosary.”
He looked me over, his eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed.
I couldn’t read the look. Was it disdain?
He said, “Right. I forgot you knew Michelle in high school.”
How did Rich know Michelle and I had gone to high school together?
“Yeah, but Brad didn’t go to any dance with Michelle. I don’t think they knew each other then.”
Rich tried to hide his smirk. “Nah, it wasn’t Michelle.”
“Who’d he go with?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “It was a long time ago. I barely remember the name of my date, much less his.” He stood, smoothing down his leather jacket. “I gotta get to the restaurant.”
“Who was your date?”
“What?”
“At the dance, when you met Rich, who was your date?”
“Carol something.”
He waved at the bartender and slipped out the front door. I pulled out my notebook. What had the interview yielded me?
Nothing.
Well, at least I knew where to look for George and that he was expecting a baby. What now? I reviewed my to-do list, checking things off and adding a few.
To Do:
1. Free Jim.
2. Find Brad and/or Michelle’s killer.
3. x Interview Kiku (bring own water!)
4. x Tummy time
5. Call Winter Henderson re: hippie chick alibi.
6. Make OB appointment.
7. x Stop being rude (a.k.a. write thank- yo
u cards).
8. Check out Horoaki graduation date from UCSF.
9. Print business cards.
10. Find George AGAIN.
•CHAPTER SIXTEEN•
The Fifth Week—The Need to Suck
On my way home I dialed first Jim’s cell phone—no answer—then Mr. Crane’s. No answer. I left a somewhat irrational message for Mr. Crane with Kiku and George’s address.
By the time Laurie and I got home, we were both exhausted and hungry.
I called Jim’s name as soon as I opened the garage door.
No Jim.
In frustration, I threw Laurie’s diaper bag across the room.
The witness couldn’t have identified him, right?
I melted onto the sofa with Laurie. She howled in my face.
“I know, pumpkin pie. You’re hungry.”
After all her needs were met, she continued to wail. I fought the urge to join her. “What is it now, jelly bean?” I gazed into her lovely eyes. No tears. Her wail was more of a complaint than a cry.
I found a pacifier I had been given at the hospital and placed it in Laurie’s mouth. She stopped crying.
Ah. Peace and quiet.
The pacifier soothed her overwhelming need to suckle, without getting additional nutrition. Nonnutritive sucking, that’s what Laurie’s pediatrician had called it.
I set Laurie on the floor in her baby gym. She studied the hanging cow, monkey, and chicken.
Now what would I do about food for myself? I needed to eat to keep my mind from spiraling off the deep end about Jim. Stopping at the grocery store had never even crossed my mind. I made a mental note to add it to my to-do list.
I rummaged through our phone book drawer looking for the menu of the Chinese restaurant down the street. Before Laurie was born, Jim and I used to eat there at least once a week. Since Laurie was born, we hadn’t eaten there at all. My mouth watered, thinking about their sweet-and-sour prawns.
I found an old receipt from the restaurant that was covered with what appeared to be soy sauce.
Gross.
I would have to clean out this drawer.
Another thing to add to my never-ending to-do list.
I moved on to our map drawer and found nothing helpful except a nail file, clippers, and a bottle of hand moisturizer. What were these items doing in our map drawer?