A Witch Called Wanda (iWitch Mystery Book 1)

by Diana Orgain

  I concealed us as best I could behind some clothes. My heart was racing. I said a prayer as I dialed 9-1-1. The smoke alarm was still ringing.

  The operator said, “What is the nature of your emergency?”

  “Someone’s broken into my house. Please send the police. Hurry, I have a baby!”

  Suddenly, the smoke detector stopped. I hung up. I didn’t want to give away our hiding place.

  Could 9-1-1 trace my call? Could they get my address?

  I pressed Laurie to me, trying to keep her quiet. Thankfully, she seemed lulled by the darkness of the closet and her proximity to my wildly beating heart.

  I heard the door to nursery creak open.

  Dear God. What could I do?

  I nestled Laurie onto a fallen jacket on the floor. She seemed content enough to stay quiet. I straightened. If the intruder opened the door, I wanted to be ready.

  Ready for what?

  The fight of my life.

  I clenched my fists and prepared myself. I heard footsteps circle the nursery, then exit.

  Air rushed back into lungs. Could it be that the intruder would simply leave?

  I heard the footsteps retreat down the hall, then return. This time Laurie betrayed me, letting out an enormous wail.

  The door to the closet swung open.

  I yelled out my best self-defense karate scream—“Hi yaah!”—while kicking and punching with blind fury. The heel of my foot caught the intruder square in the groin, doubling him over.

  Uh-oh!

  The intruder was Jim.

  He fell to his knees, glaring at me in disbelief. “Kate? What’s going on?”

  Relief rushed over me. “Darling! Jim! Oh, I’m so sorry! I thought you were . . . I thought . . . the window . . .” I embraced him, tears burning my eyes.

  “Where’s Laurie?”

  I rushed back into the closet and picked her up.

  Jim got to his feet. “What are you doing in the closet with the baby?” He scooped her out of my arms. “And why are you screaming at me and kicking me in the—”

  “The window was open. I burned the lasagna. The alarm went off. I heard footsteps. You said you were going to be late.”

  Tears spilled down my cheeks, exhaustion overcoming me. I collapsed into the rocker by Laurie’s crib and sobbed.

  Jim put Laurie into her baby swing and knelt down beside me. He took me into his arms.

  We heard sirens screaming down the block.

  “Oh. And I called 9-1-1,” I whimpered.

  “Let me get this straight. Did you say you burned the lasagna?” he said through a smile.

  <><><>

  After reporting the false alarm to the police officers on our doorstep, we ate the burned lasagna in silence.

  I filled Jim in on Galigani’s visit, finally asking, “You remember June fifteenth?”

  “No. Should I? It’s not our anniversary or anything, right?”

  “We were at Paula’s party.”

  Jim took a swig of beer, shrugging his shoulders. “So?”

  “You left early,” I prodded. “You said you weren’t feeling well. Sinus headache. Remember?”

  “Not really. So what does it matter now? It’s October.”

  “June fifteenth was the night Brad Avery was murdered.”

  Jim stared at me. He put his beer down. “What are you trying to say, Kate?”

  “Galigani asked me what we were doing that night. You left the party early. You said you weren’t feeling well. I’m wondering where you went.”

  I tried to ignore the queasiness in my stomach.

  “I came home.” He said it slowly, enunciating every syllable as though I were a two-year-old.

  “That’s just the thing, Jim. I remember calling home that night. You didn’t pick up.”

  He took a slow sip of his beer. He smiled widely, then laughed. Was it a nervous laugh?

  “Come on, honey. Cut me some slack. I was probably asleep.” He reached out to touch my shoulder.

  I sighed. He wrapped his arms around me. I inhaled his familiar scent, a mixture of wind and trees. The nervousness in my stomach dissipated a bit.

  He squeezed my shoulders. “You’re getting too wrapped up in this Brad Avery stuff. You’re letting it make you a little goofy, honey.”

  I stiffened and pulled away from him. “What do you mean?”

  “Christ, Kate, you’re starting to hallucinate. Intruders in the house? Asking me where I was on the night some guy I don’t even know was killed.”

  “George knew him.”

  Jim frowned. “What are you saying? I haven’t seen George for months. What? You think I secretly met up with him and helped him murder someone?”

  “No. I don’t think that.” I shook my head and let out a sigh. “Do you think George . . . Do you think he could kill someone?”

  Jim raised his shoulders. “I don’t know.” He voice softened and his shoulders dropped. “He’s impulsive, irresponsible, and has a temper. Do I think George is a cold-blooded murderer? No. Do I think he could have killed someone under certain circumstances?”

  He let his question hang in the air. Both of us nodded to each other, knowing the answer was a definite yes.

  After a moment I asked, “Why would that investigator ask where we were that night?”

  “Kate, they ask questions. That’s what they do. He probably asks everyone the same questions. Why did you even talk to the guy?”

  Images of Michelle’s body on the floor flooded my mind. I willed myself not to cry. “I found Michelle dead. I wanted to help.”

  Jim stroked my hand. “Honey, I know having a baby is stressful. It’s stressful for me. I can’t fathom how it is for you, much less with all this other stuff going on. But you can’t let your imagination run away with you. Focus on recuperating. You’ll have to be back at work in a couple of weeks.”

  I sat dumbfounded as he cleared the plates from the table. “What if I don’t want to go back to work?”

  Jim’s eyes clouded. “We all have to do things we don’t want to do. I wish we could afford for you to stay home. What do you want me to say, Kate? You know the cost of living in San Francisco. You want to live anyplace else besides California? Montana or Nebraska?”

  I shook my head and took a deep breath, fighting the overwhelming urge to cry again.

  “We talked about this before? Remember?” Jim asked.

  “I didn’t know I’d feel this way.”

  “What way?”

  “She needs me, Jim. She’s so tiny. She needs me. I knew that. I knew she would, of course. I just didn’t know I’d need her.” I sighed again. “Do you know how much Galigani gets paid?”

  “No, and I don’t care. Whatever it is, I’m sure he’s worth it. I’m sure he has plenty of experience doing whatever he’s doing.”

  “He talks to people all day. I have plenty of experience talking, too.”

  Jim scrunched up his face. “The point is, Kate, he has a client.”

  •CHAPTER ELEVEN•

  The Third Week—Grasping

  I had a fitful night, tossing and turning during the short time Laurie was asleep. When I awoke, Jim had already left for work.

  It was time to acquaint myself with the dreaded breast pump.

  After carefully reading the instructions twice and not understanding anything, I decided on the trial-and-error method.

  I plugged the pump in and hooked up all the tubes and components the best I could. It didn’t hurt as much as I thought it would, but it didn’t yield that much milk either. I looked at the pitiful three ounces that I’d pumped. An ounce and a half from each breast. How was that ever supposed to sustain Laurie?

  Maybe I had hooked it up wrong.

  I grabbed my notebook and stretched out across the bed.

  To Do:

  1. Lose weight, when can I start exercising?

  2. Call work—YUK!

  3. Plan alternate career! Can I work from home?

  4. Where
is George? Does he live at the apartment on Haight?

  5. E-mail Paula about alibi for June fifteenth—just in case.

  6. Research postpartum paranoia online.

  7. Get a haircut.

  I logged on to the computer to e-mail Paula. I attached photos of Laurie, asked her how to use the breast pump, caught her up on all the drama around Michelle and George, and finally requested an alibi for June fifteenth. After that, I researched “postpartum paranoia.” Every single reference was accompanied by the words “delusion,” “hallucination,” and “psychosis.”

  Good grief! Psychosis?

  Was I psychotic? Delusional? Wait a minute, no one had broken into my house last night, that much was true, but I had found a dead body.

  The ringing phone interrupted me from further analysis. I hurried to reach it before Laurie awoke.

  “Is this Kate Connolly?” asked a soft female voice with a Russian accent.

  “Yes.”

  “You called me yesterday. I didn’t hire an investigator.”

  “Mrs. Avery?” I asked.

  “Svetlana.”

  “Oh. Sorry. I was trying to reach Gloria Avery,” I said.

  “Gloria?” her voice sounded alarmed.

  “Yes. Do you know her?”

  “My mother . . . well, er, mother-in-law,” Svetlana said.

  The first wife.

  “Gloria hired an investigator?” Svetlana asked.

  “I think so. That’s what this guy said.”

  Svetlana let out a breath. “Ohh . . .” Silence filled the line. Finally she asked, “Can we meet?”

  <><><>

  I clicked Laurie’s car seat into the base in the backseat and took off toward Chestnut Street, the metro hip part of San Francisco.

  Nothing like an outing to avoid further self-analysis.

  I was meeting Svetlana at a teahouse. I had never been to one before and was mildly curious about it, although not as curious as I was about Svetlana.

  What could she want to meet me about?

  I found parking in a much too small space in front of the teahouse. My bumper hit both cars front and back as I crammed my Cavalier in.

  Love taps. Hope the owners aren’t in sight.

  At least I’d be able to watch my car from inside the tea shop and make sure no one broke into it.

  I grabbed Laurie’s little bucket car seat and stared into her face. Still sleeping.

  Had she even moved?

  I gently shook her. She woke up and began to wail.

  Great, wake a sleeping baby!

  I glanced at my watch. I had been so nervous about being late that I was early. Time to kill, I might as well nurse Laurie in the comfort of my Cavalier.

  I settled my feet on her diaper bag, which was squashed in between the baby carrier and a first aid kit.

  Maybe the car wasn’t so comfortable.

  Where had all this gear come from? The infant car seat took up two-thirds of the backseat and the rest was occupied with rattles, blankets, and stuffed dolls.

  I had to clear out my car.

  Another item to add to my to-do list.

  I watched a tall, elegant woman make her way to the front door of the teahouse. She had straight black hair and was dressed in brown slacks with a russet-colored shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Could that be Svetlana? I finished nursing Laurie and swaddled her tight. She needed a diaper change. There was no room to do it in the car, so the ladies’ restroom in the teahouse would have to do.

  I nestled her back into the removable car seat and picked up the entire bucket. This bucket was starting to be a real pain. It had seemed so light when we purchased it, testing it against all the other models. But now it seemed to weigh a ton.

  Thank God I had parked close.

  I stepped inside the teahouse and into another century. Beautiful lace curtains covered the windows, and the pink walls were decorated with fine china from around the world.

  I wondered if my postpartum butt would fit on any of the delicate chairs.

  The lone customer was the lady I had seen walk in. She eyed me curiously.

  “Svetlana?” I asked.

  She stood. “Kate? I didn’t know you had a baby!”

  “Yes.” I hobbled over to her, trying to tread lightly. My pelvic bones hadn’t stopped hurting since the outing from the other day, and the bruise on the back of my leg didn’t help matters.

  She pulled out a tiny chair for me. I dropped my bag onto the floor and settled Laurie’s bucket beside my chair.

  “How old is she?”

  “Three weeks.”

  Svetlana gasped. “In Russia, we never take such small baby out.”

  More reprimands? What, indeed, was I doing out of the house? Laurie ogled up at Svetlana.

  “This is why I love America,” she continued. “Baby girl will learn fast.”

  My guilt was assuaged for the moment. What would I be doing at home anyway? Sleeping? Laurie kicked off her blanket. Ha! Not likely. I yawned as I pulled the blanket up over her again.

  “Where’s the restroom?”

  Svetlana pointed to the back. I removed Laurie from her car seat and picked up her diaper bag. Everything now, even using the restroom, was an ordeal.

  As I entered the restroom, I realized that I wouldn’t be able to change Laurie. There was no diaper stand, only a small Victorian sink and a retro toilet. I wouldn’t even be able to use the toilet myself, since I couldn’t very well put Laurie on the floor.

  I returned to the table and grabbed the Godforsaken car seat bucket. I packed Laurie into it and made my way back to the restroom.

  I changed Laurie’s diaper in the bucket seat. Then Laurie watched from her little bucket cocoon as I relieved myself in the Victorian toilet.

  Would life be any easier if I returned to the corporate world?

  Laurie, as if reading my thoughts, let out a little cry in protest.

  I held my finger out to her, which she grasped tightly. “Easier maybe, but not nearly as much fun, peanut.”

  <><><>

  Svetlana ordered us green tea, cucumber sandwiches, and raspberry cookies. The cucumber sandwiches arrived looking a little lackluster. Svetlana gobbled one up. I joined her.

  How could I lose any weight if I ate even the unappetizing stuff?

  The teacups were tiny, like having a shot of tea. I had to refill my cup after one sip.

  “You were married to Brad?” I asked.

  Svetlana nodded, washing down another sandwich with tea. “Three years. We had a lot of trouble. He met Michelle and . . .” She made a gesture with her hands, placing her index fingers together then pulling them apart to demonstrate a split.

  Brad had left Svetlana for Michelle? How’s that for motive?

  “How did you two meet?”

  “In school. I study baking. Brad cooking.”

  The restaurant, of course.

  “We drink tea after class.” She gestured around. “This was our favorite place. Our old school is around the corner.”

  “Do you know what happened to Brad?” I asked.

  Her eyes searched mine, giving me the feeling she was trying to gauge what I knew. “Police find him in the bay, right?”

  I nodded.

  “How do you know Brad?” she asked.

  “I didn’t know him. Michelle was an old friend from high school.”

  Svetlana looked deflated. “Oh. Michelle,” she said, then crammed a cookie into her mouth.

  Oops, wrong subject to bring up.

  “Why did you want to meet with me?” I asked, trying to get her mind off the woman who had stolen her husband.

  Svetlana snapped to attention. “Did Gloria’s investigator ask about me?”

  “No. Why would he? We don’t even know each other.”

  “Gloria doesn’t like me. I wonder if she hire inspector to deport me back to Russia.”

  “I imagine she hired him to help the police find out what happened to Brad.”


  Svetlana’s lips twitched. “Gloria doesn’t like me,” she repeated. “I open new business six months ago. I can’t go back to Russia now. I have new beginning here.”

  I nodded. “When was the last time you saw Brad?”

  “My birthday. June ninth. Why?”

  “You kept in touch?”

  She studied Laurie. “We had a baby, Brad and me. We stay in touch.”

  A child had lost her father. With the hormones in my system, I couldn’t control the emotions that flooded me. I grabbed at a napkin and dabbed my eyes, trying to fan myself at the same time.

  “Was he going through anything unusual the last time you saw him?”

  She frowned. “Unusual?”

  “Anything strange. You know, anything out of the ordinary going on in his life?”

  She shrugged, keeping her eyes on the floor. “He told me he wanted to leave Michelle. He was in love with someone else.”

  Nice pattern. Jerk.

  “Yes. Michelle told me he was having an affair, that he left her on June fifteenth. The night the police think he was murdered.”

  Svetlana nodded. Her composure had shifted; her shoulders drooped a little and she seemed withdrawn.

  Could Brad and Svetlana have rekindled their love affair?

  “Do you know who Brad was in love with?” I asked.

  She covered her eyes for moment. “No. Someone from restaurant, I think. Brad always there. Had to be someone from there.”

  I took a stab in the dark. “Do you know George Connolly?”

  Svetlana’s face was blank. “Your husband?”

  “No. My husband’s brother. I think he works at El Paraiso.”

  She shook her head. “No. I don’t know anyone from there. Except the manager, Rich. He was the best man at our wedding.”

  Ah. Mr. Creepy.

  Remembering him caused my hair to stand on end.

  “So, you know Rich pretty well?”

  Svetlana adjusted her shawl. “He was a friend of Brad’s. They were friends for long time, but he’s not reliable. When you need a friend, you cannot depend on Rich.” She looked down at her hands. “The police call my house to know where I was June fifteenth. I was home. Alone. I don’t go out much anymore. Not since . . .” She studied her nails.

  I drank another shot of tea and waited in silence. After a moment she said, “My baby drowned. Three years ago.”