A Fatal Twist

by Tracy Weber

  A blender’s ear-piercing screech sent sharp stabs of pain through my teeth. I leaned toward her and grumbled, “What are you up to?”

  She picked up a magazine, licked her index finger, and flipped through it. “You’ll see.”

  Sam returned three minutes later carrying two sixteen-ounce glasses of sludge the color of Aunt Rita’s 1973 avocado-green refrigerator. It smelled like something left in her vegetable drawer the same year. He set one in front of Rene and handed the other to me.

  “I’ve read that this recipe isn’t as tasty as some, but it’s packed with nutrients,” Sam said.

  I tipped my glass to the side. Foul-looking liquid adhered to the glass like a thick layer of pond scum.

  “Go on,” Rene said. “Give it a try. Smoothies taste best when they’re cold.”

  Sam’s eyes begged for validation. Rene’s demanded revenge.

  I closed my eyes, held my breath, and took a tentative sip. It was all I could do not to gag.

  Rene took a sip of hers and offered pretend sympathy. “It has a little bit of a vomit aftertaste, but I’ll bet you get used to it. It’s probably better if you chug it straight down.”

  A little? Aftertaste?

  The gelatinous goo tasted like something Bella would upchuck after raiding the garbage can. As for aftertaste, my tongue would still be polluted six days from now.

  Rene has to drink these every day?

  I mentally vowed to sneak in enough gummy bears to last until the twins started kindergarten.

  She kept teasing. “And it provides so much energy, doesn’t it Sam?”

  Sam didn’t answer. He looked so disappointed, I thought he might cry.

  I considered taking a second drink in an offer of solidarity, but I couldn’t. My jaw spasmed shut at the thought.

  “Sam, maybe you should put some extra apple juice in Kate’s drink. She’s a smoothie virgin, after all.” Rene’s eyes followed her husband until he disappeared inside the kitchen. As soon as the blender started whirring again, she swung her legs to the floor, leaned over to the ficus tree, and poured a third of her drink into the soil. Then she glanced over her shoulder to make sure Sam wasn’t watching, pulled a metal flask from her bra, and added two ounces of clear liquid to the goo.

  I opened my mouth in horror. “Rene, you can’t drink alcohol. You’re pregnant!”

  She placed her index finger against her lips. “Shhh, he’ll hear you! It’s not alcohol, silly. It’s simple syrup. Put enough sweetener in this crap and it’s almost drinkable.” She pointed to the flask before nestling it between her breasts again. “I have to hide the syrup in this. The bottle it comes in won’t fit in my bra.”

  I had to admit, this level of guilt-free deception was impressive, even for Rene.

  “How are you getting simple syrup into the house? I thought Sam did all of the grocery shopping now that you’re on modified bed rest.”

  “I called a grocery delivery service while he was at work the other day. You should see the junk food I have stashed in the twins’ diaper pail.”

  I gave her a stern look.

  “Come on, Kate. This arrangement serves all of us. It makes Sam happy. My lab tests are great, so it’s not hurting the babies. And I feel guilty enough that I eat vegetables two meals a day now. I actually had oatmeal for my first breakfast this morning.”

  Who was I to argue?

  Sam returned and handed me a now-more-diluted glass of pond scum. I picked it up and barely touched the fluid to my tongue. This time I couldn’t suppress the gag.

  “Oh for goodness sake, Kate!” Sam snapped. “You act like I’m poisoning you. It can’t taste that bad.” He grabbed the glass from my hands, took a deep swig—and retched. “Oh my god! It does taste like vomit!” He swiped a glass of water off the end table, chugged it, and wiped all traces of smoothie from his lips. “Rene, honey, how do you drink this stuff?”

  She sipped her sugar smoothie and smiled. “No sacrifice is too small to keep you happy, honey.”

  “Well, I’m proud of you.” He tilted my glass up to the light. “As for this disgusting … whatever it is … it’s going down the sink.”

  He returned from the kitchen a minute later and handed me a Diet Coke. I popped the top and guzzled several deep, long drinks. I could still taste sewage sludge at the back of my throat, but at least it had a sweet aspartame aftertaste.

  “Thanks.” I pulled out my birth plan template and gave a copy to Sam, who sat on the couch next to Rene. “Are you guys ready to get started?”

  Rene nodded yes.

  “We have quite a few things to discuss.”

  Rene thumbed through the multi-page document, frowning. “You know, you’re making this way more complicated than it needs to be. Considering how hard it’s been to keep these kiddos inside me, they’ll probably slide out halfway across the parking lot.” She winked. “Sam will have to wear a catcher’s mitt.”

  I smiled. “Let’s make a contingency plan, just in case.” I pointed at the General Information section of the form. “I pre-filled the document with your names, contact information, and doctor’s address, but I left the twins’ information blank. Have you two agreed on names yet?”

  They both stared at me, clearly avoiding eye contact with each other.

  “For goodness sake,” I chided. “You have two babies. Why don’t you each name one?”

  They gaped at me like I was Solomon suggesting they cut their infants in two.

  “The names have to go together!” Rene exclaimed.

  “Which is why we should name them after your grandmothers,” Sam countered.

  “Gertrude and Matilda?” Rene pretended to stick her index finger down her throat. “They’re babies, not little old ladies.”

  Sam turned to me, eyes begging for me to take his side.

  “Sorry, Sam. I’m with Rene on this one.”

  If we kept this up, we’d be here all day. I decided to move on. “Let’s switch topics.” I pointed back to the form. “What about the birth itself? Have you thought about pain control?”

  Rene nodded decisively. “Yes. I want an epidural, ideally before the first contraction. Do they have some sort of drive-through option? I want to be good and numb before I hit the hospital bed.”

  I thunked my pen against the notebook and frowned at my friend. “Did you read any of the childbirth books I gave you?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Yes, Kate, I read them. I’m kidding. Sheesh! You’re taking all of the fun out of this.” She leaned forward. “In all seriousness, though, I do want an epidural.”

  I picked up the pen again and made a note. “Got it. You should know, an epidural may increase your chances of needing a C-section. And once you have the epidural, you won’t be able to walk around. They likely won’t let you eat, either.”

  That got her attention. “What do you mean, not eat? I never go more than two hours without a snack. You don’t want to be around me when I have low blood sugar.”

  Sam’s face grew serious. “Rene’s right, Kate. She’s a monster when she’s hungry.” He pointed to the center of her chest. “Maybe we should sneak in her sugar-water flask.”

  Rene’s face flashed bright red. For the first time in the twenty years I’d known her, she’d been punk’d.

  Sam had been vindicated.

  “Sweetheart,” he said, “I’m not nearly as clueless as you think.”

  I interrupted before Rene picked up her glass and made me a smoothie fight victim. “I don’t know what—if any—food they’ll let you have, but your options diminish as you have more interventions. There are other pain control methods you can try if you want.”

  I went down the list of options I’d learned in doula training, starting with Demerol, passing through morphine, and ending with Stadol. “Stadol’s popular because it starts working in five minute
s, and it’s also a sedative.”

  “I’ll take that one,” Rene said.

  I made a note in my binder. “The doctor will decide the specifics, but I’ll write down that you’re open to trying narcotics. Would you like to start with those first or go right to an epidural?”

  “Can I decide that day?”

  “Absolutely.”

  We continued discussing options, including when Rene would want labor induced, if she hoped to have skin-to-skin contact with the babies, and whether Sam planned to cut the cords.

  He shuddered. “I’m the one who’s going to need drugs during all of this.”

  I had a feeling I would, too. We wrapped up the futile-but-important work of planning for the unplannable, then moved on to talking about murder.

  “Is Rachel still under arrest?” Rene asked.

  “Yes, and I’m getting worried. It’s been a week since the murder, and I’m not anywhere close to solving it. I have lots of suspects, but so far nothing that points to one over another.” I paused, then spoke to Rene. “Don’t let it go to your head, but I miss having you as my sleuthing partner.”

  “I’m barely allowed to lift my butt off the couch,” she replied, “but I’ll bet Sam and I can still help. Why don’t you tell us what you’ve learned so far? We might have some ideas.”

  I outlined all of my suspects while Rene took notes on the back of her birth plan. Sam listened intently. When I got to Liam, the stillborn baby’s father, he sat up straight. “Wait a minute. You said he was at the open house, right? And that he has a goatee? Is his hair dark?”

  I nodded my head.

  “Do you know him, Sam?” Rene asked.

  “No, but I think I saw him. While you two were planning the great cake caper, I was in the hallway returning Peggy’s nonexistent phone call, remember?”

  Rene blushed.

  “Anyway, a man with a dark goatee was prowling the hallway, obviously looking for someone. He looked like he was about to explode, so I watched him. He skulked around for a while until he saw another man. They argued. I didn’t hear their entire conversation, but the bearded man called the other guy a quack.”

  “What did the second man look like?” I asked.

  “I don’t know, six feet tall, maybe? Handsome, I guess. Rene would have ogled him.” Rene playfully kicked Sam with her bare foot. “He had one of those purposefully messy hairstyles.”

  “Like George Clooney?” I asked.

  “Now that you mention it, yes.”

  “That sounds like Dr. Dick.”

  “The murder victim?” Sam shuddered. “That gives me the creeps. He was dead a few minutes after I saw him.”

  “What else happened?” I asked.

  “The guy you think was Dr. Dick eventually got fed up and left. The last time I saw him, he was walking toward the sky bridge.”

  “What about the bearded guy?”

  “I don’t know. I lost interest when the fight ended. That’s when I finished my call with Peggy and came back to the party. I’m not sure if the bearded guy followed Dr. Dick to the sky bridge or not.”

  “If it was Liam, he probably did. He had to cross the sky bridge to get to his wife’s room.”

  “Honey, why didn’t you say anything about this sooner?” Rene asked.

  Sam shrugged. “Honestly, I didn’t think much about it. People get into arguments all the time. I had no idea a minor yelling match might have something to do with the murder.” He turned to me. “Does any of this help you, Kate?”

  “Maybe. At the very least, Liam lied to me—and to the police, for that matter. He claimed he never saw Dr. Dick except at the party. He certainly never admitted that they had an argument shortly before the murder.”

  “Do you think I should call your detective friend and tell her?” Sam asked.

  “It couldn’t hurt. But I doubt a minor scuffle between them will convince Martinez that Rachel’s innocent.” I tapped my pen against my lower lip. “I’d like to get more information out of Liam. Maybe I can come up with an excuse to talk to him when I see his wife this afternoon.”

  “Careful, Kate,” Sam said. “He seemed a little unbalanced. If he is the killer, confronting him could be dangerous.”

  “I know. I’ll make sure we’re not alone.”

  We spoke for fifteen more minutes, but we didn’t come up with any other useful insights. Mutt and Jeff woke up from their nap and began serenading us with their release us from prison song. Sam picked them up, set Mutt on Rene’s nonexistent lap, and cradled Jeff in his elbow. “Why did you say these guys can’t come here for much longer? Did you find them a home?”

  “I wish.” I shared what I’d learned yesterday at Bella’s vet visit. “So as sad as it makes me, we’ll have to surrender them to Betty’s rescue in a few days.”

  Sam gazed down at Jeff for several long seconds, then looked up at Rene. When he spoke, his voice was determined. “No one is taking Lucy and Ricky to a shelter.”

  Rene and I both frowned at him, confused.

  “What on earth are you talking about, Sam?” Rene asked.

  “Mutt and Jeff are dumb names. I’ve been calling them Lucy and Ricky. And I’m not letting them end up in a shelter. We’re taking them.”

  He set Jeff—aka Ricky—on the floor and scooted closer to Rene. “Think about it, honey. We talked about getting a dog for the twins in a year or two, anyway. I know it won’t be easy raising puppies so soon after the babies come, but I’m taking a couple of months off from work and we’re hiring a nanny. If anyone can make it work, we can.”

  I desperately wanted to say yes to Sam’s offer, but I couldn’t set my friends up for failure. “That’s sweet of you, Sam, but adopting two puppies from the same litter is a terrible idea. There’s even a term for it.”

  “I know,” he replied.“Littermate syndrome.”

  “How do you know about that?”

  “I formed a software company, Kate. Google isn’t exactly a challenge. Rene and I will have to enroll Lucy and Ricky in separate training classes, but we’ll make it work.”

  “They’re puppy-mill puppies,” I countered. “Betty also told me that they’ll likely have expensive health issues as they get older.”

  “Another reason Rene and I should adopt them. We can afford vet bills.” He turned to Rene. “Honey, you know the best thing? They’re hypoallergenic. They haven’t bothered your allergies at all.”

  Rene set the golden pup on the ground. “You’re serious about this, aren’t you?”

  “I am. I was planning to talk to you about adopting them, but I wanted to wait until after the babies came.” He winked at me. “I didn’t know Crazy Kate here was planning to adopt them out from under us.” He pointed at Ricky, who was growling and tugging at his shoe laces again. “I don’t know how, but these two little monsters have wiggled their way into my heart. I think we were meant to have them.”

  I gaped at them both in delighted shock. If anyone would stick through the tough times with littermates, it would be my two amazing, crazy, wonderful friends. Best yet, they wouldn’t have to do it alone. Michael and I would help.

  Sam continued. “Raising twins isn’t going to be easy, Rene, and the timing sucks. But these puppies need us, and I know we can help them.” He shrugged. “Who knows? I might even score some points with Bella.”

  A slow smile lit up Rene’s face. “And here I thought I was going to have to strong-arm you. Of course we’ll take them.” She heaved herself up to standing and glared at me with mock stubbornness. “Kate, are you going to leave these puppies with us willingly, or does Sam have to wheelbarrow me over to your house so I can steal them while you’re asleep?”

  I stared back and forth between my two friends, never having loved either of them more. “I need to call Michael and make sure he’s okay with it, but I’m pretty sure you gu
ys just bought yourself two new puppies.”

  I wrapped Sam in a long hug, so overjoyed that I barely noticed his mustache touching my cheek. Perhaps I was making progress overcoming my beard phobia after all.

  “Thank you, Sam.” I squeezed Rene’s hands. “Thank you, too.”

  “No problem.” She flashed her trademarked I-got-my-way-again grin. “You know the best part?”

  Sam closed his eyes and groaned, as if he knew what was coming. In retrospect, I should have, too.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “Sam named the puppies. That means the twins’ names are all mine.”

  Twenty-Four

  Michael was, if anything, happier than me. We agreed that Mutt and Jeff—I mean Lucy and Ricky—would stay with us until Rene and Sam settled in with the twins. In the meantime, Sam would provide daycare and continue potty training.

  I was so excited that I practically floated from Rene’s house to the hospital for my afternoon yoga sessions. I was almost to the old perinatal unit when I saw Justine scurrying down the hallway. She seemed to be in a hurry, so I skipped the small talk.

  “Hey, Justine. I was hoping to see you today. Do you have a minute to look at something?”

  “If it’s quick.”

  I rummaged around in my purse until I found the crumpled note from my windshield. “Is this Nicole’s handwriting?”

  Justine took the page and examined it, wearing a puzzled expression. “It looks like it, but she’s never mentioned knowing anyone on Bainbridge. What are the ‘answers’ she’s talking about?”

  “That’s what I want to ask her. I’m beginning to think she knows more about her stepfather’s death than she’s letting on.”

  Justine’s lips tightened. “I can’t imagine what. If she knew something, she’d use it to get her mother out of jail.” She glanced at her watch. “Sorry, Kate, but I have to go. I’m working a double today. If I don’t hurry, I’ll be late. I’ll text Nicole and ask her to call you.” She rushed down the hallway and disappeared onto the sky bridge, heading toward the new building.