Motherhood is Murder

by Diana Orgain

  I waited in silence for her to continue, resisting the urge to check on Laurie and focusing only on Miss No-Nonsense. She seemed to like attention and I hoped it would urge her to open up to me.

  Amanda played with some knobs on the playmat and squealed. Both Sara and I turned to her.

  “She is so cute. I can’t wait until Laurie can sit up and play like that,” I said.

  Sara smiled. “It won’t be long. Time flies. Amanda’s only been sitting since we started water acclamation class. I had no idea it would help with motor skill development.”

  It did?

  Water acclamation? Weren’t infants just getting used to being out of water?

  I hated to ask, but I had to know.

  “Where do you take classes?”

  She looked down her nose at me. “La Petite Grenouille, of course. Aren’t you enrolled?”

  “Uh. No. Not yet.”

  I wasn’t born with a day timer in my hand, like you, Miss No-Nonsense. I’m sure you aren’t ever late for anything!

  “They have a free trial class. You should really try and make it. Your daughter will enjoy it,” she said.

  Eager to switch subjects, I said, “Sara, what can you tell me about that night on the cruise?”

  She shrugged. “What’s to tell? You were there, too.”

  “Do you recall being at the bar with Margaret, Helene, and their husbands?”

  She frowned. “Well, sure. We were all at the bar.”

  “Do you remember anything about a drink mix-up?”

  “What do you mean? Like the bartender gave us the wrong drinks or something? I don’t really remember anything like that,” she said.

  “No. I mean . . .”

  Might as well come right out and ask it.

  “Did you notice that maybe Helene and Margaret got their drinks switched? Like perhaps Helene drank Margaret’s drink?”

  She shook her head. “No. I don’t remember anything like that.”

  Okay, so no smoking gun.

  I tried a different tack. “What can you tell me about your final exchange with Helene?”

  Sara squinted. “There’s not much to tell. We were chatting on the deck then this lady bumped into me and spilled her drink. I left Helene on the deck and went to the restroom.”

  The timing seemed off.

  “Did you stop anywhere on the way?” I asked.

  Sara titled her head, her brow furrowing. “I don’t remember.”

  How could she not remember?

  “When you got to the ladies’ room, you told me that the captain had called an all hands on deck.”

  She chewed her thumbnail. “That’s right.”

  “But if you came directly to the restroom after leaving Helene on deck, I don’t see how there was time for her to fall down the stairs and be found and for the captain—”

  She stopped chewing her nail. “Oh. I see what you mean. I think I probably stopped to talk to Howard first. Yeah. That’s right. I went to talk to Howard, but he was smoking a cigar with Evelyn’s husband.” She rolled her eyes, the disdain apparent in her voice. “And I didn’t want to be there.”

  “You really don’t care for her.”

  Sara laughed. “To put it mildly. She’s a nightmare. High maintenance. All about her. The husband is boring and her kid’s a fiend. Not that it’s his fault. She’s just so into herself, she lets him run wild. And whenever he gets into trouble, she acts all bothered about having to do something about it.”

  “I understand she was asked to leave Roo & You.”

  Sara shrugged. “She wasn’t a fit with us.”

  Who was? It sounded like she hadn’t liked anyone in the group, except Margaret.

  “Was there anyone else in the group??”

  Sara shook her head. “No. Just the four of us. It seemed to really work for a while, but . . .”

  I waited again for her to continue. Laurie stirred in the car seat. Amanda tipped over on the playmat and began to cry, unable to sit herself back up.

  Sara rose and crossed the room to Amanda. She picked her up and cuddled her. “It’s attention time. She needs a change and some food. Are we done?”

  I rose. “Actually, I have a couple more questions.”

  Sara fidgeted and patted her baby on the back. “Okay. Is it all right then if we move this conversation to the kitchen?”

  “Of course.” I picked up Laurie’s car seat and her eyes flew open. “Oops. I think it’s attention time for Laurie, too.”

  “I’ll show you Amanda’s room. You can use her changing station,” Sara said, turning to leave the room.

  I unstrapped Laurie and scooped her out of the car seat. I glanced through the front window and spotted a woman pushing a double stroller down the street. A collie was leashed to the stroller. The woman stopped in front of Margaret’s house and fished for something in her parka. She pulled out a set of keys.

  Must be the nanny coming back from the park.

  I picked up the diaper bag and headed in the direction Sara had gone. There was a long hallway connecting to a formal dining room followed by an enormous marble kitchen. Bedrooms were in the back of the house, overlooking a huge fenced-in garden.

  Sara was changing Amanda on a white wooden changing table.

  A few months ago, my life had been so different. Before having Laurie, the only person I knew with a baby was Paula. Now it seemed that I was surrounded by pregnancies, new moms, infants, diapers, bottles, and nursery rhymes.

  Sara picked up her baby from the station and placed a disposable changing pad on the table for me. I laid Laurie down and went through the same routine Sara had just completed.

  “We can feed them in the kitchen. Do you need formula or want me to heat water or something?”

  “No. I’m nursing.”

  Sara nodded. “I couldn’t do it for very long. I found it so taxing.”

  “I’m getting the hang of it.”

  I followed her from the bedroom into the enormous kitchen. She placed Amanda in her highchair and proceeded to heat orange-colored mashed food on the stove.

  She smiled. “Homemade baby food.”

  She was making the baby food? How do you do that? Was I supposed to make Laurie’s baby food? Thank God solids weren’t for a few more months.

  I placed Laurie on my lap and pulled my nursing wrap out of the diaper bag.

  “I understand from Margaret that she thinks her husband is cheating on her. Do you know anything about that?”

  Sara looked surprised. “I didn’t know Margaret knew. She never said anything about it to me.”

  “But you knew?”

  She shrugged. “What can I say? I live across the street. I noticed Alan coming home later and later. Margaret told me some mumbo jumbo about his having to work late. But good Lord, the man is a podiatrist, not a surgeon. He works clinic hours, not the emergency room. But who am I to say anything?”

  “Do you know who he’s seeing?”

  She leveled her gaze at me. “Does it matter? The guy’s a two-timer.”

  I nodded in agreement. “It matters. An affair is hard to prove without knowing who the other party is.”

  “Why does she need to prove anything? Just dump him.”

  It didn’t feel right to outline Margaret’s suspicions to Sara, so I simply said, “Sometimes it’s not that easy.”

  “Well, I know they have kids and all.”

  Sara put a spoonful of mush to Amanda’s mouth. Amanda promptly turned from it.

  Maybe she would like Gerber’s instead?

  “Any idea how long the affair has been going on for?”

  “Let’s see, Amanda is six months now. I’d say she was probably four months or so when I first noticed him coming home late.”

  Sara succeeded in stuffing a spoonful of slop into Amanda’s mouth, only to have Amanda’s little tongue push it back out again. Sara sighed and wiped Amanda’s chin.

  She stirred the food and made another attempt. Amanda turned her head.

  “Guess she’s not hungry,” she said, pulling the baby from the highchair.

  Amanda wailed in protest. Sara sighe
d. “I don’t think she likes my squash pottage.” She placed the baby back in the highchair. Amanda kicked her feet in delight. Sara pulled some Cheerios off a shelf and sprinkled a handful in front on the tray. Amanda dug in with relish, wrapping her chubby fingers around each Cheerio and shoving them into her mouth with a giggle.

  “What did you and Helene fight about that night?”

  Her eyes darted around the room. “We didn’t fight.”

  “I thought there had been a disagreement between you two . . . ?”

  “Oh right. Someone with a very big mouth said that at our table, right?”

  She poured more cereal onto Amanda’s highchair tray. Her hand was slightly shaking and the cereal tumbled in droves over the side. She swore under her breath.

  I took the moment to unlatch Laurie and burp her, hoping Sara would fill in some gaps. When she didn’t, I said, “Evelyn said Helene was canceling a construction project your husband was working on and you were very upset by that.”

  The box of Cheerios slipped from Sara’s hand and spilled out on the floor. “No. No, she didn’t cancel. We’re still on. Set to start next week for Bruce.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Sitting Duck

  To Do:

  1. ?

  2. Get manicure.

  3. Order turkey.

  4. Exercise.

  5. Figure out how to make homemade baby food.

  The next morning I could barely drag myself out of bed. I had been up at 11:00 P.M., at 1:00 A.M., at 3:00 A.M., and at 6:00 A.M. Jim had hardly seemed to notice.

  Thankfully he was brewing coffee.

  He sauntered into the bedroom. “Honey, do you have plans today? I have a meeting with Dirk Jonson.”

  Dirk was Jim’s big client. He was the reason I was able to be at home and not back in the corporate world. Had Jim not landed this freelance client, I would be stuck in the nine to five grind, pumping milk every three hours and missing Laurie like crazy.

  “I was hoping you could watch Laurie. I have an appointment, too.”

  After leaving Sara’s place the day before, I had phoned Bruce and requested a meeting. He’d invited me over around noon.

  Jim grabbed a sport coat out of the closet. “Can you ask your mom? I have to leave in a few minutes.”

  I didn’t have to be at Bruce’s until noon so I climbed back into bed. Jim kissed my cheek and disappeared down the hallway. I propped myself on a pillow and dialed Mom.

  “What are you up to?” I asked her.

  “Oh, darling, I’m almost out the door. Why?”

  “I wanted to see if you could babysit. Jim just left for a meeting and I have one this afternoon with Helene’s husband. But don’t worry about it. I’ll take Laurie along.”

  “Is that safe? Isn’t he a suspect?”

  “No. You’re thinking of Alan, that’s Margaret’s husband.”

  “No, I’m not. I mean the widower. Isn’t the widower always a suspect?”

  “Hmmm. Well, I suppose . . . no. Come on, Mom, don’t fuel my paranoia. Even if he was guilty of something, he’s not going to try anything at his own house. That would point the finger directly at him, don’t you think?”

  “I guess you’re right,” Mom said.

  “Where are you off to?” I asked.

  “Napa. Wine tasting with Albert.” Mom giggled.

  “Sounds like fun, but is wine healthy for Galigani?”

  “Well, it’s not like we’ll be chugalugging!”

  “You don’t even drink, Mom.”

  “Just a taste, darling. Nothing drastic. We’re taking my car.”

  “Be careful,” I said.

  At 11 A.M. I bathed Laurie. I’d scrubbed the lint out between her fingers with a Q-tip.

  Where did all the lint come from?

  It seemed that no sooner had I removed it than it was back. The only thing I could guess was that she constantly had her hands in her mouth. Maybe the fact that her hands were wet made any blanket or piece of cloth fuzz stick between the little webs in her hands.

  I stuck a little rubber ducky in the bath with Laurie. She watched it float around. I let her enjoy the soak and sang “Row, Row, Row Your Boat” to her.

  I toweled her and dressed her, then I basically force-fed her. I knew it was a bit early—our routine was to nurse around noon—but if I wanted to be on time, I had to feed her now. Plus, it would eliminate any awkwardness in front of Bruce.

  She seemed to take well enough to the early feeding, but when I burped her, she spit up all over her clean polka-dot top and my blouse, too, somehow missing the burp cloth entirely.

  I laid her in the bassinet and hurried to my bedroom to change my top.

  When I returned to the nursery, she was gazing at the teddy bear mobile in her bassinet.

  Why did she seem to find something to amuse herself only when I needed to run out the door? Why couldn’t she amuse herself with the mobile when I was, say, napping?

  “Come on, Peanuty Pie,” I said, scooping her up and placing her on the changing table.

  She cooed and grinned at me.

  “Yes! You’d be really cute if you didn’t smell like spit-up.” I leaned into her and rubbed my nose against her. She cooed again.

  I selected a clean top for her with tiny sunflowers on it. As soon as I slid it over her head, she turned and spit up again.

  Darn it!

  Maybe feeding Laurie early hadn’t been such a good idea. I was now officially late. I mopped her up and started again, this time with a top that buttoned down the front, hoping it would jiggle her less and cause less pressure on her belly.

  She seemed content. I packed her into the car seat and took off toward Nob Hill, a good thirty minutes from my house.

  Bruce lived in an upscale condo on the third floor. I was winded by the first floor. When I reached his place, I had to lean against the doorframe for support. I was huffing and puffing and refused to ring the bell until I could regain at least a scrap of composure.

  When I finally rang the bell, Bruce opened the door wearing blue plaid shorts and a red Hawaiian top. Despite his wardrobe choices, he was still handsome. He was tall and lean, but his shoulders were slumped with grief. I could imagine that Helene and he had made a stunning couple.

  “Kate, come on in.”

  The condo faced north and the view of the bay was breathtaking.

  He glanced at Laurie peacefully sleeping in her portable car seat bucket. “She’s beautiful.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Let me help you,” he said, reaching out to take Laurie’s bucket from my hand.

  A mama bear instinct overtook me and I clutched the handle of the car seat so hard my knuckles turned white. “Oh no, no, it’s okay. I got her.”

  Bruce looked taken aback. “Don’t be silly. Those car seats get heavy.” He reached out again and this time wrapped his hand around the handle.

  What was wrong with me? What did I expect him to do with Laurie?

  I tried to release my grasp. But something inside me wouldn’t, so when Bruce pulled on the car seat, he took me along with it.

  He looked confused and froze. He released the bucket as if it had stung him.

  I wanted the ground to open and swallow me up.

  I let out a nervous laugh. “Sorry, I wasn’t sure you had her.”

  What an idiot I am! It was Mom’s fault for planting the “guilty widower” seed in my head!

  Bruce ran his hand up and down his thigh in a self-soothing gesture. He cleared his throat. “Um. I have some salmon on the grill. Downside to these condos is there’s no yard. Upside is the roof access.”

  We made our way awkwardly through the living room. Bruce led and I carted the bucket. The condo was impeccably clean. White Berber carpets, cream leather couches, glass coffee and side tables.

  He steered me toward the kitchen. A small interior staircase loomed ahead of me. I hesitated.

  “Shall we head to the roof?” he asked.

  Even though I hadn’t actually seen Helene dead, images of her lying at the bottom of the stairs flooded my head, followed b
y an image of Bruce pushing her down the stairs. Immediately followed by an image of Bruce pushing me off the roof.

  Bruce glanced curiously at me. “It’s a nice day out. The weather is outstanding for November.”

  I looked into his sad eyes and suddenly felt ridiculous. He wouldn’t harm anyone.

  “Earthquake weather,” I said, climbing the narrow winding staircase.

  When I emerged into the bright sunlight, I was startled to see Celia there manning the grill.

  She flashed me a bright smile. “Kate! Oh, and you brought your baby!” She dropped the tongs on a small side table and rushed over to coo at Laurie.

  What was she doing here?

  I recalled the touch and hushed conversation they’d shared at the funeral. Could they be having an affair?

  I watched Bruce watch Celia. His eyes flashed bright for a moment, then the sadness returned. He picked up the discarded tongs and poked at the salmon.

  “My friend caught this fish in Canada. Shipped it back just a few days ago. This is the freshest salmon we can hope to have in California for a while, what with the season closure and all.”

  Celia picked up a beer, took a sip, then put her hand to her stomach. “Gosh, I’ve been feeling sick all day.” She hesitantly glanced at Bruce.

  Morning sickness?

  Bruce looked up from the grill. “Oh. Uh . . . if you’re not feeling well . . . Do you want to go home? Oh . . . I’m your ride.” He glanced at Laurie and me, then back to Celia. Celia had a sour look on her face.

  “Do you want me to call you a cab?”

  Celia hesitated. She clutched her stomach. “I hate to miss out on the salmon . . . but maybe I’ll feel better if I lie down for a while.”

  “Sure. You can lie down in the guest room,” Bruce said.

  Celia moved toward the stairs. She turned to me. “Will you promise to come check on me in twenty minutes? I don’t want to miss the party.”

  Party? How strange.

  A widower and a PI meeting was hardly a party. Something was definitely going on.

  She descended the stairs. Bruce pulled the salmon off the grill and placed a few pieces alongside some vegetable shish kebabs on a pumpkin-colored platter.

  He garnished the fish with some lemon slices and placed the platter in the middle of a picnic table that looked like it should have been center stage in a photo shoot for Pottery Barn.