Rockabye Murder

by Diana Orgain

  “It’s not just that. I don’t think that relationship is going to last. And I’m not saying we need to replace him altogether,” I said.

  Jim plopped Laurie on to the little rocking horse Hank had given her, and she squealed in delight.

  Whiskers scooted out from beneath the couch and jumped into my lap. I petted her impossibly soft fur.

  “But I need to have reliable childcare if I’m going to do this job. Part of me feels like I’d be further along in the case if I’d been able to follow leads immediately instead of worrying about who was going to watch Laurie. And once the twins get here? There’s no way I can haul two infants and a toddler around.”

  “No,” Jim said absently. “It’s not safe. I don’t want you to have to worry about that. Do I smell pizza?”

  “Kenny ate it all,” I said.

  Jim made a face. “That kid. Where does he put all? Do you think his legs are hollow?”

  “They have to be,” I said.

  “Let’s keep Kenny as our evening babysitter,” Jim said. “But I think you need someone more regular to watch Laurie during the day when we’re both trying to work.”

  I bit my lip. “Do you think we can afford that?”

  “Not if you keep taking cases pro bono for friends,” Jim said with a laugh. “But yes, with the contracts I’ve signed with clients for the next six months, I think we could arrange for a nanny if you get paid for your cases.”

  Laurie clapped and let out a yell, but Jim’s steady hand kept her in the saddle. I caressed my baby bump. How I loved our little family. And how I loved that I had a career that excited me and that still allowed me more time with my baby than my old office manager job ever would have given me.

  “Somehow we’ll make it work,” I murmured.

  Jim reached out with his free hand and threaded his fingers through mine. “Should we put out an ad for a nanny?” His mouth quirked like he’d tasted something way too salty.

  “You hate that idea as much as I do, huh?”

  He laughed aloud. “Great minds think alike. Why don’t I ask for referrals from a couple of colleagues whose little ones just started preschool? No doubt they’ll know of some good nannies.”

  I jumped at the idea. “And I’ll talk to Paula. She’s been networking in a lot of female entrepreneur circles. I bet she knows people who can point us to good babysitters too. We can run an ad if we exhaust our options, but I’d rather not do that unless we’re desperate.”

  “Agreed,” said Jim.

  Two mornings later, I texted Paula to check on her. She replied that her head was still fuzzy and that she was having a slow morning. So, I bundled Laurie into the car, saying, “Let’s go see Auntie Paula!”

  When we arrived, I checked Paula’s pupils and asked her a couple questions, to make sure she wasn’t having concussion complications, and then I set Laurie down on the floor near baby Chloe while I played superhero action figures with two-year-old Danny.

  “How’s the case coming?” Paula asked.

  I groaned. “Don’t remind me. I spent all day yesterday chasing leads and got absolutely nowhere.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Me too.”

  After a long pause, she rubbed her temples and grimaced. “Can you keep an eye on everyone for a few minutes so I can hop in the shower? I’m hoping the hot water will ease my headache.”

  “Of course!”

  “You’re a lifesaver!” she called as she disappeared into the master bedroom.

  Fifteen minutes later, she emerged with damp hair and a serene expression. “My head still hurts, but that helped a lot.”

  While Paula nursed Chloe and kept an eye on Laurie, I made breakfast for Danny—nutrition-packed waffles and a cup of halved grapes.

  “Hey, do any of your fancy professional friends know of good nannies?” I called from the kitchen. “I think we need to hire a day nanny so that I always have childcare when I’m working on a case.”

  “Yikes,” said Paula, “Kenny’s shoes are tough to fill. I can definitely get you some names, but I don’t know if they’ll be as good as Kenny.”

  I loaded the breakfast onto Danny’s highchair and then tugged it to the edge of the kitchen so that I could see Paula while supervising Danny. With a grunt, I swung him up into the chair. I was used to an eight-month-old, Danny felt so heavy.

  He bit straight into the waffle but knocked the grapes all over the floor. “No! Skin!” he yelled.

  I stared at Paula. “He wants grapes without skins?”

  She shrugged, an exasperated look on her face. “Apparently.”

  As much as I adored Danny, there was no way I was going to individually peel grapes. We compromised on a banana.

  “Look, no skin!” I said as I handed him slices.

  He grunted at me but was mollified enough to eat the banana. Meanwhile, Paula and I chitchatted as she finished feeding Chloe, and when everyone had eaten enough breakfast, we got the kids ready for the day.

  “I’m taking the kids to my mom’s place,” said Paula. “Do you want to see if she’ll watch Laurie, too?”

  “That’d be great! Laurie loves your mom.”

  “And then I’m going to put the finishing touches on the decorating. Would you mind running by the studio just to look at everything and make sure I’m not missing anything big? It’s always helpful to get an extra set of eyes, and with this head injury, I don’t trust my own judgment. It’s okay if you don’t have time . . .”

  “Of course! I always have time for you. Plus, I’ve done nothing but run into walls while focusing on the case recently. Sometimes my best breakthroughs come when I let myself focus on other things for a little while. Maybe my subconscious will figure something out while I’m looking at the decor.”

  Paula’s mom agreed to watch Laurie, so Paula took all the kids in her car, and I headed off to the studio to inspect Paula’s handiwork.

  When I walked into the first partitioned-off room, I let out a little gasp. As always, Paula had outdone herself. Each room was decorated in a classy mix of black-and-white and pale pink. Silhouettes of swing dancers hung from the walls, and bouquets of balloons waited to be placed on tables. An authentic-looking jukebox and three food tables that looked like diner counters complete with barstools finished off the festive atmosphere. It was elegant and beautiful—the perfect blend of kitschy theme night and sophisticated ambiance.

  “Looks great, doesn’t it?” Dave asked from behind me.

  I turned to face him. “Paula always comes through.” I glanced down at the dance floor. “I just hope I come through.”

  Dave put his arm out and spun me around the room. Dancing with him was always a thrill. He stopped abruptly with me mid dip, his strong arm around my waist. “Do you trust me not to you let you drop, Kate?”

  “Without a doubt. I trust you completely,” I said.

  “As I do you. I have faith in you,” he said. “We all do.”

  He righted me and I smiled.

  “I’m back at square one,” I confessed. “I don’t know if there’s any way to crack the case in time. What if there’s another death and I could have prevented it?”

  “Well, doll,” called an altogether-too-smooth and altogether-too-familiar voice. “Maybe I can help you out with that.”

  I looked at the newcomer holding a motorcycle helmet in the doorway. “Hey, Vicente.”

  Chapter 18

  “Gary asked me to poke around,” said Vicente by way of explanation. As usual, he was dressed in all black, looking entirely too sexy for his own good. “He said you might need a little help on a case for one of his clients. And I’ve got something for you.”

  “Shouldn’t you be resting?” I asked, crossing my arms.

  A devious grin crossed his face. “Resting? I’ve been out of the hospital for a month! How long do you think a bullet is supposed to keep me down?”

  I chuckled and introduced Vicente and Dave and then ushered Vicente out of the studio. “Tell m
e about your lead,” I said as soon as we reached the parking lot.

  Vicente pressed his fingertips together. “How much have you looked into Hank Henning?”

  Slumping back against the building dramatically, I said, “That’s what you have for me? We’ve cleared Hank. He has no motive.”

  “I think he does,” retorted Vicente.

  “And that”—I crossed my arms—“is why I don’t need your help to solve this case. Let me guess. You found out that Hank invested money in Dare to Dance and think he wanted to help Monte run Tre Fratelli Danzanti into the ground so he could recoup his investment.”

  “And that,” Vicente said with a bow, “is why I’ll always be a step ahead of you on the investigations, doll.”

  “You know, I’d like you better if you dropped the chauvinism.”

  He continued, unruffled, “What if I told you that Leo and Hank patronized the same underground poker ring, and Leo owed Hank money?”

  “Galigani looked into the poker angle. It doesn’t make any sense. It’s a poker night, not an underground poker ring, and the stakes were never that high. Plus, what’s someone as rich as Hank doing risking going to jail over poker money when he already has more money than he could spend in a lifetime?”

  “Wasn’t about the money,” said Vicente, swinging his motorcycle helmet up onto his head. “Not really. It was personal. Hank didn’t need the money, but he was enraged about being stiffed. The principle of the thing, you know. Two witnesses at poker saw him threaten Leo.”

  “They didn’t tell Galigani that.”

  Vicente scoffed. “Galigani smells like a cop. They’re not going to tell him anything that brings police sniffing around their operation.”

  “You, on the other hand,” I said lightly, “have the air of someone who just wants to show up to poker and have all his money taken away from him.”

  He grinned and strode to his motorcycle, several parking spaces down. “You know, I was a card shark in Vegas for a few months,” he called.

  “Of course you were,” I muttered. Then, more loudly, I asked, “Then why go to all the trouble of sabotaging the studio?”

  Vicente revved up the motorcycle. Rolling my eyes, I walked closer so I could hear him.

  “Hank didn’t sabotage the studio,” he said. “He heard about the strange goings-on from Leo at poker night and decided it was his opportunity. He could get revenge on Leo without getting caught because everyone would be focused on the sabotage element and wouldn’t look as closely at Leo’s enemies.”

  With that, he gave me a satisfied nod and drove off. I stood on the sidewalk in shock. So, if Vicente was right, nothing was really going to happen at the fundraiser. The note was just a distraction technique.

  I turned it over in my head, considering all the angles.

  But the theory wasn’t sitting right with me. Could Galigani have been so completely wrong about poker night? And was Hank really the kind of guy to scheme murder over being affronted? I’d have to look more into the poker thing if Mom kept dating Hank—if he had threatened someone over poker debt, I didn’t want her anywhere near him.

  But was he really the killer?

  Something just didn’t fit.

  I wandered back into the studio, turning the idea over in my head. “Hey, Dave!” I called.

  “Yeah?” He poked his head out of the office at the end of the hall.

  “Question about Hank.”

  Dave met me halfway down the hall, and I suddenly felt woozy. I grabbed his arm to keep from falling over, and he braced himself against the wall.

  “Whoa, I’m dizzy,” he said.

  My mind raced. What was that smell?

  It was like rotten eggs . . . or sulfur.

  Oh no. I’d encountered this before. “Hold your breath!” I yelled. “Who else is in here?”

  Dave’s eyes widened. “Kim’s setting up for a class, and Petunia’s in the office.”

  “Gas leak,” I said, “we need to get them out.”

  We raced down the hall. My lungs burned for lack of air, but I knew I couldn’t take another breath. If I did, I might pass out.

  And if we passed out here, with no one to help us, we’d die. My babies would die. And Laurie would be without a mother.

  Kim bolted out of a classroom, her eyes wide. “What’s that smell—”

  I beckoned wildly toward the front. “Get out!” I hissed. “Don’t breathe!”

  She blinked twice, and then sprinted for the exit.

  I ran faster. Dave and I burst into the office. Petunia had made it halfway to the door before she collapsed. I knelt next to her, but Dave picked her up effortlessly and ran back toward the hall. I followed, my lungs feeling like they were about to explode. Blackness beaded around the edges of my vision, and I felt so, so dizzy. I collided into the wall, then righted myself and made one final lunge for the outside.

  Gasping for breath, I shoved my way through the door. Sweet, life-giving air poured into my lungs, and I shouted at a passerby, “Call 911!”

  “Petunia!” Dave cried, his voice ragged. “Petunia, wake up!”

  Nearby, Kim was on her hands and knees, retching.

  I crawled over to Dave and Petunia. “Is she breathing?” I asked. Grabbing her arms, I felt for a pulse. There. She definitely had a pulse, and her chest was rising and falling, albeit shallowly.

  “We need an ambulance and the fire department!” Dave yelled. His voice dropped to a mutter. “Wake up, wake up, wake up.”

  Still no response.

  “Oh my God, no.” Dave was desperate now. “Petunia! Stay with me, you hear? We’re going to get married and have three kids, and they’re all going to be beautiful like you and pro dancers and take over the studio when we retire. Stay with me. Please, baby. Don’t go.”

  Petunia stirred and started coughing. I squeezed Dave’s shoulder. “She’s going to be fine,” I whispered.

  Her eyes fluttered open, and she whispered, “We’re going to get married?”

  “Yes, baby,” Dave said, almost gasping out the words. “Absolutely.” He bent toward her, and their lips met. Her hand reached up weakly to caress his cheek, and they shared a long, passionate kiss. I looked away to give them privacy.

  In the distance, sirens wailed, and I waved down the fire trucks as they pulled into the parking lot. “Gas leak!” I yelled. “In that unit. Everyone’s out.”

  An ambulance pulled in behind them, and paramedics attended Petunia as the firefighters evacuated the nearby units.

  A pair of firefighters herded us to the far side of the parking lot, and I lay back on the pavement and rested my hand on my baby bump.

  That had been close. Way too close.

  A few minutes later, a tall African-American firefighter with broad shoulders and a calm demeanor found Dave and me. “You own the studio that had the leak?” he asked.

  Dave nodded. “That’s me.”

  The firefighter whistled. “You guys called it in just in time. Someone opened up the main line. A couple more minutes, and the whole building might have blown up.”

  Chapter 19

  Jim pulled me into a tight hug the moment he walked into our house. “I’m so glad you’re safe.”

  “I almost took Laurie there today,” I whispered. “She would have been with me if Paula hadn’t volunteered her mom to watch her.”

  “Where’s Laurie now?” Jim asked urgently.

  “Paula’s mom is bringing her by in a couple hours. But . . . can you imagine?”

  Jim swallowed. “We need a nanny and a backup nanny. We can’t leave you in the position of hauling Laurie around on the job. There’s too much danger in your line of work.”

  It was a reiteration of the decision we’d already made, but it felt more real this time. Personal. Irrevocable.

  Someone banged on the door, and Jim held up a hand to signal me to stay on the couch. He peeked through a window at the front porch, and then let out a sigh of relief. “It’s just Kenny.”

>   “Speaking of nannies and backup nannies,” I murmured.

  Jim opened the door, and Kenny practically flew into the room, his eyes wide and his hands trembling. “I heard about the gas line leak on the news on the way home from filming with Odette. Were you there?” he asked.

  “Yeah, but everyone’s fine,” I said. “Petunia was knocked out, but just briefly. She woke up before the paramedics even got there.”

  Kenny bit down hard on his lip. “Good. I’m so glad. Man.” He ran a hand through his pink hair. “This whole case has really been something, huh?”

  “You can say that again.” I let out a long sigh.

  “Is the fundraiser still on?” Jim asked, sitting back down beside me.

  “Yes, it’s still on,” I said, staring at the wall. “They’ve closed the studio for the day to air it out, but they say it’ll be safe by tomorrow morning.”

  “But will it really be safe if the killer is still on the loose?” Jim asked.

  I sighed. “At least it gives me a new angle to look into. We can figure out who has an alibi for this morning and who doesn’t.”

  Kenny shifted from foot to foot, looking more uncomfortable than I’d ever seen him.

  “What is it?” I asked, studying him.

  He opened his mouth and then closed it again, as if conflicted. Then he blurted, “I lied after Leo was murdered. Odette wasn’t with me the whole time. She left to get us coffee, but the line was really long so she was gone for an hour. As soon as we found the body, she panicked and asked me to be her alibi and I said yes.” He closed his eyes. “That’s why I’ve been avoiding you and spending all my time with her. I felt guilty. I knew I shouldn’t have done it. But I just knew she was innocent and didn’t want her put through the ringer.”

  I blinked, trying to process what Kenny was saying. “So, Odette has no alibi for a significant portion of the window in which Leo was killed?”

  “And there’s more,” he said through gritted teeth. “She went to get coffee right around the time Paula was hit over the head. And today, too, right before the gas leak. Both times, we were filming close to the studio, in front of a cool graffiti wall she told me about. After I heard about the gas leak, I . . . called her to ask for an explanation, and she just started screaming at me, saying I didn’t trust her and that we were through.”