Motherhood is Murder

by Diana Orgain

  “She doesn’t know that.”

  “Did something or someone give her the idea you did?”

  I hung my head. “Someone might have bragged the other night at dinner.”

  Jim laughed. “Oh. Someone bragged, huh? Here.” He held Laurie up to me. “She needs a diaper change.”

  “So go ahead and change her,” I said from my position in the doorway.

  “I’m trying to nap.”

  “I’m doing my workout!”

  Jim frowned. “Yeah. I see that.”

  Men.

  Oh well, it would soon be time to nurse and I knew he couldn’t do that. May as well stay on duty. I crossed the room and plucked Laurie off his chest. She was like a little sow bug, all curled into him. Warm and cozy on the front and soaked in the back.

  “Poor thing,” I said.

  Jim nodded then turned over, trying to sleep.

  I stayed at the foot of the bed. “Do you think if I take the case to Galigani, he’ll take it on?”

  “What’s in it for you then?”

  “Galigani can’t work the case. At least, I don’t think so. It’s too early after his open heart surgery. But I could use his license, right?”

  “I guess that’s up to him. Call him.”

  After changing Laurie’s diaper, I placed her in her crib and twisted the mobile for her. She gazed up at the dancing bears and tried to bat at them.

  I did another set of lunges, rehearsing how to ask Galigani for the use of his license. Pain shot through my lower back.

  Nice. Try to do too much and wind up getting nothing done.

  Taking advantage of Laurie’s temporary calmness in the crib, I dialed Galigani. I was still unsure how to ask him, but figured something would occur to me when he picked up. He answered on the third ring.

  “Hi, it’s Kate Connolly.”

  “Ah! Kate! You must have read my mind.”

  “Really, why’s that?”

  “I was wondering if you and your husband and, of course, your beautiful daughter might join us for dinner.”

  Us? Who was ‘us’? I thought he was single.

  “We’d love to.”

  “Great, how about six?”

  “That works.”

  “So, what can I do for you?”

  Okay, here was my moment. Just say it, spit it out.

  “Uh . . . well . . . no . . . Uh, we’ll see you tonight.”

  Jim shuffled Laurie in his arms as I rang the bell. We waited a moment for the door to open, enjoying the smell of frying garlic wafting in the air.

  Galigani pulled the door open and smiled. “Welcome!”

  Jim placed a hand on my waist and guided me inside. I handed the bottle of Chianti to Galigani and spotted a woman sitting on the couch. I froze in my tracks. I must have unconsciously taken a step backward because I bumped directly into Jim and Laurie.

  Jim recovered first. “Mom, what are you doing here? What a surprise!”

  My mother stood from the couch and laughed. “Hello, darlings!”

  I regained my composure somewhat and allowed Galigani to take my coat and usher us into the living room.

  “Make yourselves at home,” Galigani said. “I’ll open the Chianti and stir the sauce. I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

  “What are you doing here?” I asked Mom.

  She smiled. “Albert invited me.”

  My mouth gaped and remained that way probably a tad too long, because Jim stepped forward and whispered urgently, “What about Hank?”

  My mother hadn’t dated anyone since divorcing my father eons ago. Then recently she’d found a beau online and had seemed quite content. They were even planning a cruise to Mexico.

  “Well, darlings. I’m not married, you know.”

  My mouth, still hanging open, dropped an inch farther.

  Mother motioned for Jim to hand Laurie to her. Jim passed the baby over then glanced at me and subtly pointed his chin toward the kitchen.

  The swinging door to the dining room flung open and Galigani appeared with a tray full of prosciutto-wrapped melon. “Let’s start with this. I have a plate of antipasto coming up, and let me grab that Chianti.”

  He placed the tray on the coffee table.

  “Oh, Albert, let me help you.” Mom passed Laurie to me and disappeared with Galigani toward the kitchen.

  I hit Jim’s arm. “Can you believe this?”

  Jim eagerly popped a prosciutto-wrapped melon into his mouth. “It’s crazy. Can you believe these melons are so sweet out of season? This is delicious!”

  I remained standing in the same spot. Too stunned to move, I clutched Laurie to me and inhaled her scent. The new shampoo from Magic Moments smelled like jasmine. I hadn’t tried the bath gel with lavender yet, because I was so enamored with the jasmine fragrance.

  Mother and Galigani reappeared through the swinging door giggling. Mom carried the wineglasses and bottle on a tray. Galigani brought the antipasto plate.

  “This melon stuff is unbelievable,” Jim said.

  Galigani smiled broadly. “That’s one of my favorites. I’ve had to give up a lot of favorites after the open heart surgery, but thankfully this one’s on the list of keepers.” He picked one up off the plate and examined it thoughtfully. “I think it’s because of the fruit.”

  “Oh! Fruit is so good for you,” Mom piped up. “Tons of antioxidants!”

  Galigani nodded, then turned to me. “Why don’t you have a seat, Kate?”

  I willed my feet to move forward.

  How awkward. If Mom and Galigani were on a date, what the hell were Jim, Laurie, and I doing here?

  I sank into the high-back chair next to the coffee table. Laurie squirmed in my arms then cried out. I don’t know how babies detect when you’re sitting or standing, but some alarm must sound as soon as you decide to take a load off.

  Mom took Laurie out of my arms. “Have some wine, dear.”

  She began her elaborate “putting the baby to sleep” dance, which included some deep knee bends, tippy-toe rocking, hip sways, and a scary swooping motion as the grand finale. The entire dance bordered on the ridiculous, except for the fact that it worked. Always.

  Galigani watched my mother with an expression somewhere between confusion and awe.

  I grabbed my wineglass and drank deeply. A little more than I meant to because the wine burned going down and I almost gagged. I watched Jim shovel some salami into his mouth.

  “So, what were you calling about earlier, Kate?”

  “Uh . . .” I was happy to have my mind engaged on something other than Mom’s dating life and yet words evaded me.

  “She’s got a gig as a PI,” Jim said, crunching on a marinated pepper.

  I shook my head. “Ummm. Yeah. Well, sort of. I don’t know that you’d call it a gig—”

  Jim opened his mouth and stuck his tongue out. “Whew! Hot pepper. Love it!” He grabbed his glass of wine. “Lady wants to hire Kate.”

  Galigani smiled at me. “Only you don’t have a license.”

  “Well, Albert, you have one, right?” Mom chimed in.

  Galigani frowned “Yes, I do.”

  Talk about awkward. Not only had I unknowingly stepped in on some date, but now Mom and Jim were trying to negotiate my business dealings.

  Mom tsked. “Poor woman! Murdered on a dinner cruise. And her little ones, left behind. What a tragedy!”

  I took another swig of wine. This time smaller, more sip-like. This was more like it. The Chianti tasted fruity and smooth. “Oh. The victim wasn’t a mom.”

  Galigani and Mom stared at me.

  “What do you mean?” Mom asked. “I thought she was running that mommy group you were joining.”

  “She was but she didn’t have any children,” I said.

  Mom frowned. “What on earth was a woman without kids doing in a mothers’ group?”

  Dinner turned out to be fabulous. Galigani served fettuccini with a light garlic cream sauce that he claimed had been approved by his cardiologist. We debated back and forth about a woman we didn’t know and the potential motivation to be involved in a mommy group when you weren’t one.
>
  We came up with a pretty paltry list.

  We drank wine and laughed a lot, and thankfully Laurie snoozed in the middle of Galigani’s king-size bed, surrounded by giant pillows to prevent her from falling off. No one seemed to care that Laurie, at only seven weeks, still could not roll over. Somehow, the possibility of her falling off the bed still loomed.

  After dinner while getting our coats, I finally summoned my courage. “So, um . . . Galigani, what do you think about my using your license?”

  Galigani looked confused. “What do you mean, licenses aren’t transferable.”

  “But I could work under yours, right? Like working for you?”

  “No. I’m sorry. I’d have to supervise you, and right now I just don’t have the energy for that. Not so soon after my surgery anyway.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Protection

  To Do:

  1. Call Margaret and give her directions to café.

  2. Prep contract for her.

  3. Figure out how to land her without license.

  4. Buy baby keepsake book.

  5. Stretch out lower back.

  6. Look up postpartum yoga classes.

  I snuggled Laurie into the baby carrier and walked down the street toward the café where Margaret and I had agreed to meet.

  As I passed my neighbor’s house, their seventeen-year-old son, Kenny, was leaping down the front steps.

  “Kate! Let me see the baby!”

  Kenny had spiky hair that was dyed green. He’d graduated from the School of the Arts a few months prior and was now auditioning like crazy with his trombone.

  I folded down the flap on the baby carrier and let Kenny take a peek.

  He peered over the carrier. “She looks exactly like Jim, but she’s cute.”

  “Jim’s cute, too.”

  “Only to you, Kate.”

  I laughed.

  “Whenever you need a babysitter, just let me know,” Kenny said.

  “Right. When was the last time you washed your hands, Kenny?”

  He looked at his hands. “Dunno.”

  “Are you going to the café?” I asked.

  Kenny and I often enjoyed a game of backgammon or chess together at the café. He nodded and fell into step with me. As we walked, he pulled his iPod from his pocket and began to untangle the cord of the earphones.

  “How’s the auditioning going?” I asked.

  He held his hand in the position of a high-five. “You’re looking at the new substitute trombonist for the SF Opera.”

  I whooped and gave him a high-five. “Knew you could do it. I’m so proud. Are you going to dye your hair back?”

  Kenny’s eyes opened wide and his hand shot up to his hair as though I were threatening to cut it. “Back to what?”

  “Your natural color. They’re not going to let you play in the orchestra pit like that, are they?”

  Kenny laughed. “I’m only a sub. I’m not in the pit yet.”

  “You will be soon,” I said.

  We arrived at the café and I paused as Kenny pulled the door open. He made a grand gesture for Laurie and me to enter, then tapped his iPod and wiggled his eyebrows at me. “I’m going to study now.” He snagged a table and popped his earphones in.

  I saw Margaret at the counter balancing her baby on her hip. Her eyes were bloodshot and swollen. She wore black stretch pants that clung to her skinny legs and an oversized striped shirt. Her hair was disheveled and she looked like she hadn’t slept in days.

  She greeted me with a half smile and a nod, wrestled her baby into the stroller, and picked a table near the window. I ordered my latte and rocked Laurie back and forth in the carrier.

  Poor Margaret. I can’t imagine how awful it must be to lose your best friend. Mine was in Paris and I missed her like crazy, but I knew she was coming home soon. Helene never would.

  I joined her at the table. She sighed when I sat down.

  “I haven’t slept since the cruise. I really haven’t eaten either. Just surviving off caffeine and sugar,” she said, breaking a brownie in half then shoving it into her mouth.

  I stirred the foam in my latte and waited. Laurie snoozed, her head nestled in the carrier. Margaret’s baby swung his feet up at me and smiled through the pacifier in his mouth.

  Margaret crossed her long legs underneath herself in the chair and sipped her coffee. “Helene and I were best friends since college. She’d always been there for me, you know? Through all the parties and good times and then through some pretty terrible times.”

  “Terrible times?” I asked.

  I wanted to drink my latte, but hesitated. What if I spilled it on Laurie? Surely it was unsafe to drink hot coffee over her tiny head. I looked around the café. She was still too small for a high chair. Because I had the baby carrier on and my house was so close, I hadn’t thought to bring a stroller, but now I had nowhere to put Laurie.

  I stirred the foam again longingly.

  Margaret looked over her shoulder. “I think, well, I don’t think. I know she and Bruce were having problems. He’s an investment banker. You know, they work tons of hours. Out of the house all day, most nights, too. Wining and dining clients. And Helene, well, at first she didn’t mind. She liked to shop and travel. She started taking lots of trips to Costa Rica. Loved it there. Wanted me to go, too. But, you know, with two small ones you just figure, later. But Helene didn’t have any hang-ups about going alone.”

  “I understand they didn’t have any kids.”

  “No. Not yet. Helene was getting to that place, you know, tick tock. Like a time bomb in your head. But Bruce didn’t give any indication of wanting kids. She was really frustrated with that. I also think that’s why she stepped up her travel recently. Probably so discouraged at home that she needed a distraction.”

  “Why was she a member of Roo & You?”

  Margaret frowned. “Why not? She loved to hang out with us. She had the idea of starting a club when Matthew, my two-year old, was born. I was meeting lots of moms, because I was attending this class on breastfeeding and nutrition.”

  I remembered the way Celia and Bruce had huddled at the service.

  “Do you think her husband was having an affair?” I asked.

  Margaret looked taken aback. “Bruce? No. I don’t think so. They were having problems, sure, but I don’t think he was cheating on her. At least Helene never gave me any indication . . .” She looked miserably at what was left of the brownie on her plate, then shrugged and popped the rest of it in her mouth. “Well, these really are extenuating circumstances, aren’t they?”

  I nodded. “Go ahead, I promise no nutrition police are going to pop out of the woodworks here.”

  She motioned toward my latte. “You’re not drinking your coffee.”

  “Uh . . .” I glanced at Laurie.

  “Oh!” Margaret said. “I know how protective new moms are. Here, give me the baby. I’ll tell you I never, not once, spilled hot liquid on my kid’s head. But I know how obsessive the thought can be.”

  I unstrapped Laurie and handed her to Margaret, who smiled for the first time that afternoon. The smile brought relief to her face while at the same time highlighting her swollen eyes.

  She gazed at Laurie. “You forget how tiny they start out. I mean . . .” She gestured to her baby in the stroller, who was now snoozing. “Marcus is only six months old, but he seems gargantuan compared to your little thing. I can’t believe that he was this size only a few months ago.” Margaret stroked Laurie’s hair. “Is she lifting her head ninety degrees during tummy time?”

  What? Ninety degrees!

  I knew I was slacking on that tummy time!

  I sipped my latte. It was ice cold. “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

  Margaret’s eyes grew wide. “Oh,” she said, rounding her mouth and eyes in an exaggerated way.

  Was Laurie supposed to be able to hold her head up ninety degrees?

  “I mean, she lifts her head. She certainly lifts her head when we do tummy time.”

  Margaret nodded sympathetically.

  I tried to calm the
defensiveness that was swelling inside me. Was my face red? I sipped the cold latte, ignoring the acid flavor. I needed the caffeine anyway.

  “When are they supposed to be able to do that?” I asked.

  Margaret glanced at her baby and fidgeted slightly. “I don’t really remember, but I thought it was around two months.”

  “Well, Laurie’s not quite two months yet. She’s only seven weeks.”

  Margaret smiled. “Of course, she’ll be holding her head up in no time. So anyway, I was in this class at the hospital and was becoming very friendly with Evelyn. Helene had the nice idea of forming a group. We would meet at each other’s houses and organize events and stuff. It worked really well for a while.”

  “For a while? What happened?”

  “I got pregnant again and my neighbor Sara did, too. We asked her to join our group. This may have been one of the things that set Evelyn off, I don’t know. But she seemed different. And we ended up having to ask her to leave the group.”

  “Is that why there was so much tension with Evelyn on the cruise?”

  Margaret looked at me and shrugged.

  “What about the fight Evelyn said she overheard between Helene and Sara?”

  “I don’t know anything about that. I asked Sara about it at the funeral, but she said Evelyn was exaggerating. Which, knowing Evelyn, is not at all surprising. I have to find out what happened to Helene. I need your help, Kate.” At this, her eyes filled with tears.

  I handed her a napkin off the table. She dabbed at her eyes.

  Here was my moment to tell her I didn’t have a license.

  It’s nothing to be ashamed of—after all, it’s true. Say it, say it, say it.

  “There’s something . . . uh . . . I want—”

  “Kate, I have a semiconfession.”

  I stopped stuttering and focused on Margaret.

  “When I met you and you said you were a PI, I knew I needed to hire you.”

  “Hire me for what?”

  She sighed. “I’ve suspected for a long time that Alan’s been having an affair. He’s been coming home late and acting distant . . . and . . . well, really the list can go on and on. Point being, I thought I could hire you to follow him. And then maybe, finally, I’d have the truth . . . And . . . Oh God. I feel so guilty.” She broke down and sobbed.