Motherhood Is Murder mim-2

by Diana Orgain

  A small boat on the horizon caught my eye. Sadness zinged through me and the enormity of my task weighed on me. A woman had lost her life and here I was trying to piece together the puzzle in search of justice speaking to someone who was only interested in herself.

  “I don’t know anything it about it, really.”

  “A few weeks ago I was at a playdate with the group. It was at Sara’s house. And my son bit her baby.”

  Evelyn began walking again. I followed suit.

  “It wasn’t that big of a deal. But they got all upset. So I left. Then when I got home, I received this very polite e-mail from Margaret. She’s got class. Even though she and Helene were conjoined. But anyway Margaret asked me to . . . well, let’s say she ‘suggested’ I voluntarily leave the club.”

  As Evelyn was recounting the story, she was getting angrier and angrier, causing her pace to accelerate. I was barely keeping up.

  “So,” Evelyn continued. “I responded in a very civil way, asking her to please show me the bylaws of the club where it stated that biting is forbidden and in fact cause for termination of membership. Ha! Bylaws! She doesn’t have any bylaws.”

  She shook her head furiously, her ponytail starting to loosen and strands of shorter hair escaping the confines of the hair tie. The loose hair whipped around her face as she spoke. “So then Helene jumps in. Of course, Margaret had cc’d her on the e-mail. Apparently, Sara is overprotective of her baby and was all upset that Kyle bit her.”

  Overprotective?

  Was she crazy?

  Wouldn’t everyone freak out if their baby got bitten by a two-year-old monster? I certainly would.

  Wait.

  Was Kyle a monster?

  Does every two-year-old bite?

  My heart stopped. Oh God! What if Laurie was going to be a monster and bite little babies?

  Evelyn stopped to repin her hair, sticking her flip-flops into her back pocket. I was glad for the break. Ahead of us, The Cliff House, a San Francisco landmark, sat perched on its rocky bluffs. Seal Rock majestically projected out of the water.

  A gust of wind buffeted us and I longed to climb up the hill and sit inside the lounge bar sipping something hot by the fireplace. I glanced at Evelyn’s bare feet, now covered in sticky sand.

  How could she not be cold?

  “I told Helene that I was handling Kyle the way they teach us at our co-op preschool, Little Bears.” Evelyn turned to me. “Do you know it?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Oh!” Evelyn frowned again at me. “It’s the best preschool in the city. Fred has a friend who is on the board of Stanford University and he told me to do whatever I could to get Kyle into Little Bears. You should get your daughter on the wait list now.”

  Was she serious? Laurie wasn’t even two months old, for crying out loud.

  I supposed my stunned expression said it all because she continued, “I know it can be overwhelming, but really, take my word for it. The city is highly competitive when it comes to preschools. Well, that and swim classes. You are enrolled in swim classes, aren’t you?”

  I shook my head.

  Evelyn gasped. “You’re not enrolled at La Petite Grenouille?”

  I felt my eyebrows furrow and tried to disguise the fact that I hadn’t even heard about La Petite Grenouille by turning my face into the wind and smoothing my hair into place.

  “You have to sign up for their water acclimation class. It’s the best. You can start as soon as your daughter is two months old—but the wait list is at least six months. So you really should have signed up while you were still pregnant.”

  I fought to keep my facial expression neutral.

  Sign up for swim classes for a baby who’s not even born yet!

  Evelyn glanced at me. I smiled. She smiled back. “Well, it’s never too late. You better sign up right away. You never know, someone might have canceled.”

  I nodded.

  “Honestly, Kyle is practically swimming on his own now. It’s amazing.”

  I felt despair creeping over me.

  Late again!

  I tried to steer the conversation back to avoid the loser mom feeling overtaking me. “So, you were telling me about Helene.”

  “Right.” Evelyn started walking again. I almost regretted bringing her on track because her pace seemed twice as fast as before.

  My calves felt tight and I wanted to stretch them, but no way was I going to admit that I needed a break—before a pregnant women who seemed ready to deliver at any moment!

  I glanced at my watch. We had only been walking fifteen minutes.

  How could that be?

  I felt like it had been an hour at least. When would she want to turn back?

  “So anyway,” Evelyn continued, “I sent Helene and Margaret a note explaining how I’m teaching Kyle, like I’ve been taught at his preschool.”

  “Which is?”

  “What?” Evelyn asked, stopping cold in her tracks.

  “Sorry. I guess I don’t know what you mean. Is it a special instruction—like Montessori or . . .”

  A strong gust of wind whipped Evelyn’s hair loose from her ponytail and she stopped to fix it again. I took the opportunity to stretch. Hell, at least my stretching might keep her in place for a moment.

  “No. But Kyle’s school doesn’t believe in punishing a child for doing something that he doesn’t know is wrong, and neither do I.”

  I reached down to touch my toes and stretch my ham-strings. Thankfully this hid my face. Not that I’m a big believer in punishing small kids, per se, but how in the world is a child supposed to learn right from wrong if you never correct them?

  “So then,” Evelyn continued, “Helene replies that they weren’t upset with Kyle because, after all, he’s only two, but that they were upset with me and the way I handled it. Can you imagine? What was I supposed to do? Fawn all over Sara’s silly baby?”

  I straightened out of my stretch. “What did you do?”

  She looked perplexed. Her mouth opened then closed. “I explained to Sara that Kyle didn’t understand his actions.”

  “Did you apologize?”

  “Apologize?” Evelyn looked horrified. “Kyle didn’t break skin or anything.”

  He bit a baby!

  But I couldn’t say it. The words got stuck in my throat.

  Evelyn continued, “Sara seemed to understand. And the baby didn’t cry all that long.”

  Note to self: Do not leave Laurie in arm’s reach of a vampire two-year-old.

  Evelyn scooped up her flip-flops and began to walk again. “The whole situation was blown out of proportion. Really, it wasn’t a big deal. But then when I got the e-mails and get this—Helene said, ‘Well, if that’s what they’re teaching at Little Bears, when I have kids, you can be sure I won’t send them there.’ ”

  The Cliff House was suddenly suspended above us; we had made it to the end of the beach. I stopped walking and glanced at my watch—thirty minutes had elapsed.

  “Want to start back?” I asked.

  “All right.” Evelyn nodded. But instead of turning around, she plopped down in the sand and was silent.

  I listened to the lapping sound as the waves crashed against the sand, the tide breaking a few feet from where I stood. I reluctantly sat next to Evelyn, wondering if I would be able to get back up.

  I picked up some sand in my fist then slowly let it trickle out like an hourglass. Evelyn watched me, her face showed strain.

  “Are you feeling okay?” I asked.

  Evelyn shrugged. “Sure, why not?”

  “I mean physically? You’re not having contractions or anything, are you?”

  Why hadn’t I brought my cell phone with me? Jim was right—I needed to make a better habit of it! What if the woman went into labor here on the beach? What was I going to do?

  “No, don’t worry. I won’t go into labor on you.” Evelyn picked up a stick and drew a flower in the sand. “I’m not due for another couple weeks and my first was five days late, so I don’t think I can get that lucky.”

  “You never know. And we just had this stre
nuous walk.”

  “You think that was strenuous?”

  Oh, brother. Now I was going to get into a fitness competition—with a pregnant woman, no less.

  She picked up her stick, crossed out the flower. “Celia is having me walk every day. Supposedly it can help induce labor, but I don’t know. I did my own research and it’s not conclusive. I see her on the fifteenth. Maybe I’ll be dilated.”

  I bit my tongue. I could see how having a home birth might be nice. But what about the pain medication, for God’s sake!

  Evelyn read my face. “What?”

  “Aren’t you concerned, you know, what if something goes wrong?”

  “If there’s any emergency, you just go to the hospital.”

  “What about—”

  “The epidural didn’t work on me with Kyle. So I experienced labor firsthand. I’m not afraid of that.”

  “Wow. You have a lot more courage than me.”

  Evelyn laughed. “It’s all relative. We all have stuff we’re afraid of.”

  “What do you think happened to Helene?” I probed.

  Evelyn began to draw steps in the sand. “I went outside to get some fresh air. That’s when I heard Helene and Sara arguing, then Sara stormed off.

  “Why was Sara’s dress wet?”

  Evelyn stopped drawing in the sand. “Was it? I don’t know.”

  I watched the little boat out in the ocean, bobbing up and down with the tide. A seagull showing some moxie cawed at us and approached. Evelyn waved the stick at it and it ran off.

  “What about the spouses?” I asked. “Can you tell me anything about Bruce or Alan?”

  Evelyn scratched out the steps she had drawn and doodled a heart in the sand. “I don’t really know them. It was the first time I met them. I thought they were nice enough but my husband said Alan was kind of keyed up.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She shrugged. “Fred was having a cigar with Howard, Sara’s husband, who said Alan was running around like a chicken with his head cut off.”

  “Do you know anything about an affair Alan might have been having?”

  A smile crossed her face. “Was he cheating on Margaret?”

  My heart dropped. How could she be happy at someone else’s pain?

  It’s not my job to judge.

  “Do you know anything about it?”

  She shrugged. “No. You ask Sara, though. They’re neighbors. She might know something.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Falling Behind

  To Do:

  1. Call Sara.

  2. Clean the house.

  3. What does a nanny cost? Do they clean house, too?

  4. Look up swim classes for Laurie!

  5. Research preschools!

  6. Walk on the beach every day!!! It is pathetic that I get out of breath after a few steps!

  When I arrived home, the first thing I did was make straight for the washing machine. I pulled off my sneakers and emptied them directly into the mop sink. I was mesmerized by the amount of sand pouring out.

  How could my feet fit in there with all that sand?

  I peeled off my socks. What was it about Ocean Beach that made this sand so sticky? It clung to my socks and was even between my toes. I put my socks into the washing machine and dumped the contents of the laundry basket, which was next to the machine, inside it.

  I heard the upstairs door creak open.

  “Kate?” Jim called from the top of the stairs.

  “It’s me. I’m doing laundry. I didn’t want to track sand upstairs.”

  Jim descended the stairs. “How was your walk?”

  “Good, but it nearly killed me. I’m totally out of shape.”

  He wrapped his arms around my waist. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, you just had a baby.”

  “That was weeks ago! I can’t believe this woman at eight months pregnant outpaced me.”

  Jim laughed. “Sleep deprivation can do funny things to stamina.”

  I leaned my head onto his chest and listened to his heartbeat. “That’s so nice of you to say, honey, when we both know I need to get my butt in gear and work out.”

  He kissed my hair. “You’ll be ready to run with the bulls by spring.”

  I pulled away from his chest and looked at his face. “Speaking of bulls or bullies—this woman was a piece of work! No wonder they kicked her out of the club. So mean!”

  Jim laughed. “You think everyone is mean, but that’s because you’re too nice.”

  “I’m not nice.”

  Jim looked incredulous.

  “Where’s Laurie?” I asked.

  “Upstairs. I left her unsupervised. I’m sure she’s trashed the place by now.”

  I made a fist and playfully waved it in his face. “Okay, I’m nice, but not that nice.”

  He laughed. “She’s asleep in her crib. And by the way, Dr. Alan Lipe’s office called. They said there was a cancellation for tomorrow, wanted to know if you wanted the spot.”

  I opened the door to the medical office and peered into the waiting room. It was empty except for the receptionist sitting behind a closed-in glass counter. She was dressed in a white lab coat and had thick short gray hair.

  She peered at me over her bifocals.

  I smiled. “Hi. I’m Kate Connolly. I have an appointment with Dr. Alan Lipe.”

  She studied the appointment book. “Yes. May I see your referral slip?”

  “Ooooh. Um. I forgot that.”

  She tapped the book with the eraser of her pencil. “And the referring doctor is . . . ?”

  Of course, I didn’t have one.

  Think, Kate, think!

  “Dr. Green,” I lied.

  Dr. Green was my ob-gyn, but was the only name I could come up with.

  She frowned. “Which practice is Dr. Green with?”

  “Uh. I don’t remember.”

  Her lips pursed, she stared at me sternly. I smiled. She got up from her chair in silence and disappeared down a hallway. I remained standing at the counter.

  I’d made the appointment with the intent of grilling Alan, but I didn’t really want him to know Margaret was on to him.

  What would I say to him?

  A few moments later, the receptionist reappeared in the doorway connected to the hallway. “Mrs. Connolly, right this way.”

  We walked down the hallway and she motioned me into the third door on the left.

  The room had only a patient table, a stool, and a small set of drawers. On the wall hung a print of a foot with all the ligaments, joints, and muscles exposed.

  I hoisted myself on the table and waited for Alan.

  A few minutes passed and then came a knock on the door. It creaked open before I could respond. Alan entered, wearing a blue polo shirt and Dockers. His curly hair was unruly and there were dark circles under his eyes.

  He stuck out his hand. “Mrs. Connolly, I’m Dr. Lipe.”

  “Hello, Alan.” I shook his hand. “Do you remember me? From the cruise on the other night—”

  “Of course, yes. Of course. Terrible night.” He moved his head up and down repeatedly as though trying to sift through some memories. “You’re a private investigator, correct?”

  I nodded.

  “Yes. I recall Margaret saying so. We saw each other again at Helene’s service.”

  “That’s right.”

  He glanced at my feet. “What kind of problems are you having? What can I do you for?”

  “Um.” I looked at my feet as well. “Uh. I just had a baby—”

  “Congratulations! When?”

  “She’s seven weeks old.”

  “Wonderful.” He smiled, but it did little to light up his face. “And your feet are giving you problems?”

  “Yeah. Sort of.”

  He nodded. “Take off your shoes.”

  I kicked off my Keds and dangled my feet off the table.

  He picked up my left foot and squeezed it gently then rotated my foot. My ankle cracked and popped.

  “Margaret is heartbroken about Helene,” I said.

  He looked at me for a split second. There was surprise on his fac
e, but he quickly adjusted his expression back to blank. “Yes. They were best friends. Tell me about your feet.”