by Diana Orgain
CHAPTER THIRTEEN•
The Fourth Week—Exploring
When I awoke the next morning, the space next to me was cold and empty. I could hear water running in the shower. I peered over at Laurie in her bassinet. She was asleep for the moment.
I slipped out of bed and grabbed the phone. I dialed San Francisco General Hospital and inquired about Galigani. They told me that after he’d been stabilized, they’d transferred him to California Pacific Hospital.
They wouldn’t tell me anything more about his condition, since I wasn’t family.
I had to take Laurie to her one-month wellness appointment today. The pediatrician’s office was right next to California Pacific.
Perfect.
I’d stop by and see how Galigani was progressing.
I pulled my notebook out and wrote my to-do list for the day.
To Do:
1. Take Laurie to her one-month wellness appointment.
2. Visit Galigani in the hospital, find out what happened to him.
3. Find George.
4. Interview Kiku (bring own water!).
5. Call Winter Henderson re: hippie chick alibi.
6. Read the parenting book from library.
7. Find the parenting book from the library.
8. Oh yeah, diet, exercise, clean car, be good mom/ wife, cook, clean, and all that jazz.
I sat and sat in the waiting room. I really liked Laurie’s pediatrician, Dr. Clement, but I’d never waited so long for any doctor. Every visit to this office, I had waited at least forty-five minutes. Laurie had already been to the doctor three times in the first month. Twice the first week and once the second week.
At our first appointment, when Laurie was two days old, I had cried because she was losing weight. Dr. Clement told me that it was perfectly normal, but maternal hormones don’t listen to any doctor’s logic and tears had been shed.
Was Dr. Clement worth the wait?
I watched two children with running noses coo over Laurie.
How does one extract one’s baby from runny-nosed little children without seeming rude? I guess you can’t help it if you seem rude. After all, this is your newborn.
I pulled Laurie’s car seat bucket out of reach of the children. One scowled at me and screamed “Mama!” at the top of her lungs. Her mother glanced up from the fashion magazine in her lap, mumbled something, then continued to read.
Both children found solace in the fish tank in the corner.
As I looked at my watch for the millionth time, Laurie’s name was called.
I followed the nurse down a short hallway and into a freezing examination room. “Go ahead and undress her. Everything except the diaper,” she instructed.
“It’s an icebox in here.”
“It’ll only be for a second,” she snapped.
Maybe I should consider another doctor?
Dr. Clement flew into the room. She was short and stocky with huge hands. I’d liked her from the beginning, thinking she’d never drop a baby with such secure-looking hands.
She stretched Laurie out on the examination table and put little pencil marks at her head and feet, then scooped her into what looked like a fish scale. After balancing all the doo-dads on the scale, she wrapped a tape measure around Laurie’s head. She announced that Laurie was in the twenty-fifth percentile. Meaning that Laurie was “petite but perfectly healthy.”
Apparently, out of 100 babies Laurie’s age, 75 babies were bigger than she was. The doctor explained that Laurie was in proportion and gaining weight nicely, so not to worry. Easier said than done.
Dr. Clement was about to disappear, but then with her hand on the doorknob she turned and asked, “How’s tummy time going?”
“Tummy time?”
“I told you at the hospital that you have to put her on her tummy for at least an hour every day.”
Who remembers anything that happened a month ago?
“She’s not even awake for a full hour,” I said desperately.
“You have to do it in ten-minute increments. Ten minutes here, ten minutes there, it adds up.” She wagged a finger at me. “Remember, tummy time is going to give Laurie the skills she needs for rolling over, sitting, and crawling.”
I suddenly felt anxious. I was blowing it for Laurie! Could she already be behind at only four weeks old?
I nodded at Dr. Clement, who nodded back at me as she strode out the door.
I looked at my watch. All of two minutes had passed, most of it spent lecturing me. If she spent only two minutes with each patient, what in the world had she been doing when I’d been sitting in the waiting room for forty-five minutes?
Before Laurie was born, I spent a good deal of time interviewing pediatricians. I had liked Dr. Clement the best. She had taken her time during the process and had patiently explained the first steps I’d take with Laurie. Now I wondered if all the time I’d spent in her waiting room, she’d been recruiting new patients instead of tending to existing ones.
At least we didn’t have to come back for another month. It would be nice to have a month off from doctor’s visits. Except, of course, for my own. I still had to schedule that one. I knew I was avoiding it because I didn’t want to go back to work. I pulled out my to-do list and added “tummy time” and the ob-gyn appointment.
From the pediatrician’s office, I headed across the street to the hospital. I hated bringing Laurie into the hospital but rationalized that it wasn’t much different from Dr. Clement’s office.
I asked about Galigani at the front desk and was directed to the cardiology department.
Cardiology?
Not poisoned!
No one had tried to murder Galigani. Relief washed over me. Definitely reassuring, especially if I was going to consider poking my nose around some more in Brad’s affairs.
When Laurie and I arrived at his room, he was propped up in bed, connected to several flashing beeping monitors at his chest, oxygen tubes in his nose, and a remote in his hand. What is it with men and remotes? He was watching Fear Factor.
Ah. Daytime TV.
“What, no Days of our Lives?” I asked, gently tapping on the room door.
Galigani’s face lit up. “Come in.”
He put the TV on mute! I tried not to be offended. After all, if I wasn’t captivating enough, even during labor, for my own husband, I couldn’t expect a perfect stranger to turn the TV off.
I shuffled Laurie’s bucket onto a chair.
“Let me see her,” Galigani said.
I tilted the bucket up to show off a sleeping Laurie, who managed to pry one blue eye open and peer at Galigani.
“Adorable. Thank you. Makes me feel better to see such a sweet face.” He paused, taking inventory of the monitors around him. “Had a heart attack. They said the person who dialed 9-1-1 saved my life.” His eyes shone. “I think a ‘thank-you’ is in order.”
Laurie cooed and kicked as if to say, “You’re welcome.”
“They’re not going to release me quite yet. I have to have open heart surgery. Bypass. Not out of the woods yet.”
“Is there anyone I can call for you?”
“I’m on my own.”
Where was his family?
I nodded. “When’s the surgery?”
“Scheduled for tomorrow.”
I patted his hand in reassurance. “You’re going to be fine.” I dug out Galigani’s notebook from the ever-present diaper bag and placed it on his nightstand. “This belongs to you. It fell out of your car yesterday.”
His eyes lingered on the notebook. “Doc says I need to slow down. No more tracking down murderers.”
“You’re dropping the case?”
“Yep. Got to. Doctor’s orders.”
“Is there someone in your office who’ll take over?”
His mustache twisted up. “I work alone. Partners aren’t what they’re cracked up to be.”
McNearny had been his partner. What had happened between t
hem?
“I went by your house yesterday to tell you I’d found your brother-in-law.”
“You did!”
Galigani laughed. “Don’t sound so surprised, okay? I’ve been doing this a long time.”
“Sorry. How is he? Where is he?”
“Alive and kicking. I found him at Pier 23. Claims he was with Michelle Avery on the night Brad was killed.”
“Yeah. She told me the same thing.”
Now it was Galigani’s turn to be surprised. “Really?” He waged a finger at me. “You didn’t say anything to the police about that.”
I smiled. “How do you know what I said and didn’t say to the police?”
His eyes twinkled at me. “Been doing this a long time.”
Laurie fussed. I moved the car seat to the floor and seated myself on the chair, then rocked the bucket with my foot. The rocking assuaged Laurie. She began exploring her hands as though she’d never seen them before. “I didn’t say anything about George because . . .” I took a deep breath.
How could I explain the impulse to protect George?
“Let me guess.” Galigani said. “Your husband and his brother don’t really get along. George is a problem for the family, probably has been his entire adult life. Hasn’t ever held a real job, was on the streets for a while. Has a history of threatening people, although he’s never really taken any action on it. Probably asks for a lot of favors, borrows a lot of money, never repays anything, burns a lot of bridges. Stop me if I’m getting any of this wrong.”
“You know all this because you’ve been doing this a long time?”
“That and I ran a background check. Anyway, you and your husband didn’t say anything to the police because deep down he still loves his brother, and you, of course, love your husband and everyone is in denial that he could be a murderer.”
The small room seemed to close in on me, and what I’d intended as a question came out as a statement. “You think George killed Brad.”
“Not really. I don’t have a motive. Do you?”
I shook my head helplessly. “No.”
“My money’s on the girl. The supposed affair.”
“You think Michelle lied about that?”
“No. I’ve had several people tell me it’s true, but no one’s coughing up any names.”
“What about Kiku, who’s she?”
Galigani’s eyes flashed surprised, then amusement. “Why, Mrs. Connolly, don’t you know?”
I shrugged. “The supposed other woman?”
Galigani blinked up at me. “Maybe you should go talk to her.”
“Why would I—”
Galigani interrupted me by clearing his throat. I stared at him, silent. He tugged at his blanket. “I haven’t got around to telling Gloria Avery that I’m dropping the case.”
I continued to watch him, not daring to speak. He pressed the palms of his hands together and studied me.
After a moment I squeaked, “I can tell her.”
Galigani nodded his head slowly and smiled.
As Laurie and I drove to the Sea Cliff, one of the wealthiest neighborhoods in San Francisco, I daydreamed of Mrs. Avery hiring me as Galigani’s replacement. It could be my first official case. I could launch my own business, not have to return to my corporate nightmare, work from home, and be with Laurie.
I fantasized becoming so successful that I could be Mrs. Avery’s neighbor.
Then reality/insecurity hit me. Would I really be able to get her to pay me for being nosy? If I could get answers that perhaps the police couldn’t, that would be worth something to her, wouldn’t it? And how exactly was I going to do that?
I pulled up to the huge house. It was gorgeous, with spiraling towers, Spanish steps, and a manicured front lawn. I rang the bell, enjoying the view of the Golden Gate Bridge as I waited for Mrs. Avery to open the door. Instead, a small Hispanic woman in a maid’s uniform appeared.
“Hello, I’m Kate Connolly. Mr. Galigani sent me. Is Mrs. Avery in?”
“Ay, la Señora Avery, sí, sí.” She motioned me inside. “Que bonita,” she said, gesturing to Laurie.
“Gracias.” It was pretty much the only Spanish I remembered from my high school classes.
The maid ushered me from the entrance hall to the sitting room, made bright by three tall front windows from which I could see across the bay to the Marin Headlands.
She disappeared through French doors down the main entry hall, muttering “Un momento.”
I took the time to look around—high ceilings and a marble fireplace complemented by delicate ornamental plasterwork. The room was finished with Stickley furniture. Jim and I had stumbled into a high-end furniture shop a few months ago when decorating the nursery and had drooled over the Stickley pieces, only to gag at the price tags in the ten-thousand-dollar range.
Thank God I had dress pants on, even if they didn’t button all the way.
Laurie fussed in her car seat. I contemplated taking her out but then I imagined her spitting up on the furniture. I swayed back and forth with the bucket instead.
Prominently displayed on the wall was a photograph of an elegant older couple.
Brad’s parents?
On a side table was a wedding photo of Brad and Michelle. Beside that, a photo of Brad holding a little girl who looked to be about two years old.
Could that be Penny, the little girl who had drowned?
“Ms. Connolly?” Mrs. Avery asked from the doorway.
I turned quickly. Mrs. Avery was tall, at least six feet. She was thin and wore a canary yellow suit that paled her complexion. Her gray hair was fixed in a tight bun, her cheeks drawn. She crossed the room in two strides and extended a slender hand.
I gripped her cold fingers. “How do you do?”
“Not well, dear, as you can imagine. My only son is dead. Murdered!” Her eyes shifted off my face and caught sight of the car seat and a tiny Laurie blinking up at us. Mrs. Avery’s face softened. “Oh, my dear. Congratulations! A new mommy . . .” Her voice cracked and her face contorted as she pulled out a handkerchief.
My heart felt heavy as I imagined myself in Mrs. Avery’s canary-colored shoes. If anything bad happened to Laurie . . . my breath caught. I fought tears, but with the hormones racing through my body, I wasn’t able to hold them back.
“Not you, too.” Mrs. Avery dabbed at her eyes. “All we need now is for the little one to start.” She guided me to the couch.
The maid appeared in the doorway with a tray full of tea and small butter cookies. She set the tray on the coffee table and left.
“Help yourself, dear.” Mrs. Avery circled the car seat. “May I hold her? I haven’t held a tiny baby, since . . .”
I waited for her to continue, but she paused and looked at me pleadingly.
“Of course you can hold her.” I pulled a pink and green striped burp cloth out of the diaper bag at my feet and handed it to Mrs. Avery, then unbuckled Laurie from the car seat.
Laurie extended her arms over her head in a cat stretch. I scooped her up and made sure she was dry before passing her to Mrs. Avery. The last thing I needed was for Laurie to leak all over Mrs. Avery’s expensive suit.
“She smells so sweet.” Mrs. Avery breathed Laurie in. “I haven’t held a baby since Penny.” She sighed, then walked over to the mantel and pointed at the family portrait I had been looking at. “Here she is. Penny drowned five years ago.”
My throat constricted. I fought back more tears. “I know.”
Mrs. Avery looked surprised. “You do?”
“Svetlana told me.”
Mrs. Avery looked solemn. “Marta said you were here on behalf of Mr. Galigani.”
“Yes. I’m afraid he’s had a heart attack. He’s in the hospital. He’s scheduled for open heart surgery tomorrow.”
Mrs. Avery’s forehead creased. “Poor man. What hospital?”
“California Pacific.”
She rose, walked to the
edge of the room, and called for Marta. When Marta appeared, Mrs. Avery requested flowers be sent to Galigani.
I felt a flash of guilt as I remembered the thank-you cards I had forgotten to write.
Well, in all fairness, I didn’t have a “Marta” to delegate to, but still. Our friends and coworkers had found time to send me and Laurie stuff. I had to make the time to thank them.
I pulled out my notebook and jotted down: “Stop being rude.”
Mrs. Avery seated herself across from me in a green and gold upholstered occasional chair. Her face had relaxed a bit. She seemed to enjoy holding Laurie. She motioned to the notebook in my lap. “Are you Mr. Galigani’s assistant?”
Why would she think I was his assistant and not his replacement? Did I look that unqualified?
I wavered a second, then astonished myself by saying, “I’m an investigator myself, ma’am.”
Mrs. Avery nodded vaguely, tickling Laurie under the chin, causing her to warble and drool.
Emboldened by Mrs. Avery’s nonreaction, I pressed, “Mr. Galigani won’t be able to finish the investigation.”
“I need to find out what happened to Bradley. And now, of course, Michelle. The police are absolutely worthless. They pointed the finger at Michelle almost immediately. Now they tried to tell me that perhaps she killed Brad and then herself.” She shook her head sadly. “That scenario doesn’t make any sense to me.”
“What do you think happened to Brad?”
“Hasn’t Mr. Galigani filled you in?”
Oh, shit.
“I’ve been on another case.”
Not exactly a lie. I had been looking for George.
She pressed her lips together in thought and seemed to accept my response. “I believed, well, I should say, I still believe Michelle’s story. She visited me on June sixteenth, the day after Bradley left her. She told me he’d left her for another woman. She was very upset. Michelle and I were close. Her own mother had passed. She relied on me. And Bradley, I must say, he always had a problem with women. Like his father. One woman wasn’t enough for him. Always needed to find . . .” Her eyes flickered about the room. “Never mind. The point of the matter is, I thought Bradley was off with another woman. In Costa Rica or Bora Bora or another of his preferred locations. After all, he left Svetlana like that, told her he was in love with someone else—Michelle. Bradley and Michelle were in Bali for three months.” She let out a cynical laugh that jarred Laurie, sleeping in her arms. “But the other woman never thinks that there will be another woman. She believes him when he says that she’s the one. The special one.”
Laurie opened her eyes slightly. Mrs. Avery rocked and shushed her back to sleep.
“Do you know who she was?”
“The other woman? I have no idea. Bradley never spoke to me about his affairs.”
“Do you know who would want to hurt him?”
A tear welled in her eye. “My dear, I don’t know what to think. I just want to know what happened to him. I want whoever killed Bradley and Michelle brought to justice.”
“Can you tell me anything about El Paraiso?” I asked.
Mrs. Avery’s eyes narrowed. “I told my son not to get involved. Imagine opening up a restaurant in one of the most competitive cities in the nation. Do you know the failure rate of restaurants here in San Francisco?”
I shook my head but Mrs. Avery proceeded with her rant, ignoring me entirely. “He always gave in too easily to Rich. He was Bradley’s best friend. Have you spoken with him yet? El Paraiso was his dream, you know, but Rich never had two pennies to rub together. So Bradley, with my help, of course, funded the restaurant and we made Rich the assistant manager.”
Laurie began to squirm in Mrs. Avery’s arms.
“Well, dear, why don’t we get the paperwork out?” Mrs. Avery said.
“Paperwork?”
“I assume you have a contract for me to sign.”
I hated appearing unprepared, but I shook my head as the words “I’ll prepare one for you” tumbled out of my mouth.
Mrs. Avery raised an eyebrow. “Very well. Leave me your card.”
Oh God! I was going to lose my first client before I even landed her.
“My card. Yes . . . uh . . . I came straight from the hospital . . .”
Mrs. Avery stood and handed Laurie to me. “I understand. Marta will provide you with my card. In the meantime, I’ll presume the same terms as with Galigani.”
I headed home for lunch, my head spinning. Mrs. Avery wanted to hire me. I’d done it. My first client. Now I had to zip home, draw up a contract, feed and change Laurie, and make dinner.
When would I sleep?
I had been hoping for a nap with Laurie this afternoon, but now, on the verge of my new career, that seemed indulgent, if not impossible.
I glanced at my to-do list. “Find George” stood out like a beacon. Galigani had found him. Why couldn’t I?
Pier 23, where his bags had been found, was not exactly on my way home, but one glance in the rearview mirror told me Laurie was sacked out. I’d drive by the pier and take a peek. The rest of the to-do list could wait until tomorrow.
I stopped at a red light in front of the pier. The water that had been so blue outside Mrs. Avery’s doorstep now appeared gray. Of course, Mrs. Avery had a clear view of the ocean; this water was in the bay. The bay always looked gray to me.
The pier seemed quiet. A few barrels against a restaurant wall and a homeless woman camped out with a blanket. Two joggers ran by. Then a hooded figure carrying a black bag made his way up the hill. I watched as he walked toward the pier. Something about his gait was familiar.
The car behind me blasted its horn. The light had changed.
I pulled my car forward, trying to keep one eye on the road and the other on the man, who’d stopped in front of a lamppost. His back was to me.
Could it be George?
I strained to see him, but was forced to pick up speed through the intersection.
Damn.
Probably nothing, but I wanted to make a U-turn and get a closer look. I changed lanes. A huge NO U-TURN sign stared down at me.
I’d need to change lanes again and go around the block. It took me nearly ten minutes in traffic to do that. I thought for sure by the time I circled around, the man would be gone.
I was finally in the right lane and able to drive directly past the lamppost. The man was still there. He had pulled off his hood and was straightening his hair.
Hair that looked distinctly familiar.
Hair that was just like Laurie’s.
A heavy pit formed in my stomach. I watched as he fumbled inside the bag for a cigarette. He lit it, then looked around impatiently while tapping his foot against the lamppost.
I slowed, rolled down my window, and called to him. “George!”
At the same time, a gold hard-top Mercedes cut into my lane, maneuvering around my car. The driver, a whirl of red hair, shouted something.
I guess I was going too slow for some city people.
George never even looked in my direction. He dropped the black bag and took off running. Why was he running from me?
I watched him in my rearview mirror as he ran in the opposite direction my car was headed. He turned into an alley.
The only way in there was by foot. Laurie was sleeping in the back. There was no way I’d leave her in the car or take her into the alley.
Nice, Kate, you make a great PI. You lose your suspect as soon as you find him.
•
