Bundle of Trouble (11 page)

“What’s her number?”

His face registered surprise. “You’re actually going to call her?”

“I’m a new mom, my car’s been broken into twice, my brother-in-law is missing, and I found my friend dead yesterday. I can’t let a stranger into my house. What if you try to kill me?”

“If I was going to kill you, I could have done it through the crack in the door. But please, by all means, call Mrs. Avery.”

He was right. He could have already killed me.

I shut the door in his face. He rang the bell again. I ignored him, got out the phonebook.

Ah! Here was an instance where actually using the phonebook would be faster than an online lookup. Okay, so maybe the books were still good for something.

I found two numbers under Avery, Michelle’s and another one. I dialed the second one.

The doorbell rang again. Let him wait.

I got voice mail. Of course. No one answers their phone anymore. I left a message. Why couldn’t anything be easy? The bell rang yet again. I opened the door with the chain in place.

“Stop ringing the bell. You’re going to wake my baby.”

He looked contrite. “Sorry. Did you reach her?”

I rolled my eyes. “No. You’re going to have to come back after I hear from her.”

Now it was his turn to roll his eyes, tilting his head back in a huge dramatic gesture. “Listen, lady,” he said on an exhale. “I got a job to do. People are unsafe, like you said yourself. Your friend ended up dead. If someone killed her, it sure as hell wasn’t me. I’m one of the good guys.” He opened his hands in an imploring gesture. “I’m trying to get to the bottom of this.”

I chewed on my lower lip. I believed him. I’d believed him from the start. But the logical part of my brain told me I couldn’t just let strangers into my house.

When had I become fraidycat Kate?

“Don’t ring the bell again,” I warned. I shut the door. I dialed the number on Galigani’s card marked MOBILE.

I watched him through the peephole. He stood on my doorstep and waited, ignoring his ringing cell phone.

“Pick it up, it’s me,” I said, through the door.

He laughed and dug his phone out of a hip pocket. “Hello?”

“What do you want to know?”

“I just need a little info. You knew Brad Avery?”

“No. Just Michelle.”

He pulled a little notebook from his pocket; scraps of paper flew out of the back. I watched him pick up the slips of paper from my doorstep, bunch them up, and shove them into his pocket. “Michelle, huh? The second wife.”

“You found her dead?” he continued.

“How do you know that?”

The ends of his mustache went up. He looked toward the peephole. “It’s my job to know. Are you going to open the door?”

He was right. This was ridiculous. I hung up and opened the door.

I motioned him inside. He stepped forward cautiously, eyeing me up and down.

He visibly relaxed. “You know, I’m probably more frightened than you. You know who I am and what I’m doing here. I never know who I’m talking to. For all I know, you could be the murderer.”

I opened my mouth to defend myself, but he raised his hand in protest. “I know! I know! You’re going to say you’re not. Everyone says that. I don’t think you are anyway. The guilty ones are never paranoid. They want you to march right in and start asking questions. They like to think they’re so smart they can fool you. Hell, sometimes they do.”

I gestured toward the sofa, then shoved a pillow and a blanket to the side to make room for him. “Do you want coffee or anything?”

He shook his head and sat. “How did you know Michelle?”

“We went to high school together.”

I recounted for him the details of my finding Michelle dead. I left every single George reference out.

He tapped his notebook and squinted at me. “Why do I get the feeling you’re hiding something, Mrs. Connolly?”

I shrugged. If he wanted to know anything about George, let him ask me directly.

“Do you know anything about Michelle’s investments?”

I frowned. “Investments?”

“I understand she and Brad owned a restaurant.”

I pressed my lips together to remind to myself to keep my trap shut about George. “Yup, that’s about what I know, too.”

“Ever been there before?”

“I ate lunch there day before yesterday. My car got broken into in front. I don’t think I’ll be going back.”

He scratched at his mustache. “You mentioned that earlier. Second time, huh?”

“Something about your brother-in-law missing,” he continued.

Big-mouth Kate. “That’s right,” was the best I could muster. I closed my eyes, willing myself to focus. How much did this guy know or need to know?

“What do you charge?” I wondered out loud.

He squinted at me. “You want your husband followed or something?”

I looked down at my robe. “Do I look that bad?”

His face flushed. “Uh . . . sorry . . . that’s the most common thing people want to hire me for. Two hundred dollars an hour.”

I gagged. Obviously, I was in the wrong profession.

“You need help locating your brother-in-law?”

I stared at him.

Yes. The answer was yes. Yet I muttered, “Ummm . . . not sure . . .”

Galigani nodded. “You mind telling me where you were on June fifteenth?”

Was he serious? I studied his face. He studied me back.

“I honestly can’t remember. I could look it up on my calendar.”

“Please,” he said, not taking his eyes off me.

“All right,” I mumbled as I made my way toward my bedroom, where I kept my appointment calendar.

I grabbed the calendar and peeked in on Laurie. She was as still as a statue. I stood over her, waiting for any kind of movement.

Her foot twitched, followed by some shadow boxing. She settled down after a moment, still asleep.

I heard Galigani shuffling in the living room and quickly made my way back. I paged to June. “Ah yes!” I said. “June fifteenth. I knew it sounded familiar. Our friend Paula’s little boy, Danny, turned two. They had a party for him.”

“You went to the party?” Galigani asked.

“Of course.”

“Was your husband with you?”

My breath caught. I felt as though Galigani had hit me in the stomach with a baseball bat. “Jim and I were at the party all day. Together. Plenty of people saw us.”

What I didn’t tell Galigani was that Jim had left the party early. He had come down with a terrible sinus headache, which he gets at least once every summer when the pollen count is at its highest in San Francisco. Although Jim didn’t like leaving me unescorted, I had insisted he go home, but there was no reason for Galigani to know that.

“Hmmm,” Galigani murmured as he scratched his mustache. “Can I see that?” He gestured to my appointment book.

“Sure.” I handed Galigani my book, trying to act nonchalant. “I’ve even got the invite somewhere.” I reached over his hands and flipped to the back of my planner. Sure enough, Paula’s invite with a picture of a smiling Danny peeked out under the flap. I pulled out the invite. “It says noon to four, but we ended up staying longer. The party probably lasted until about six or seven, then people starting leaving, we stayed. Paula’s a close friend. We ordered Thai, watched a movie, and just sort of hung out. Her little boy went to sleep early, exhausted from the excitement of the party, the toys, the people. He kept banging a drum that he got—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know how two-year-old boys can be.”

“We probably left around eleven or so.” I was using the euphemistic “we” as in the yet unborn Laurie and me. Not a lie, exactly.

Omission. Okay, maybe a white lie.

His mustache twisted to the side, then he nodded. “Your alibi appears iron tight. Mind if I take down your friend’s address and number?”

With Paula in France, even if Galigani went to her place, he wouldn’t find her home. That would buy me a little time to get to her before he did.

I handed him the invite. “No problem. But why? I mean, Jim and I didn’t even know Brad Avery.”

He jotted the address down. “I understand, ma’am. There are just a few things I need to check out. Your husband’s at work today?”

I felt acid churn in my stomach. “Yes.”

“And where’s that, ma’am?”

“Fortena and Associates, downtown. He’s an ad executive.”

Galigani nodded, making his way toward the front door, “Thanks for your time.”

I stopped him with a question, “What about yesterday?”

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t you want to know where Jim and I were yesterday, you know, when Michelle was killed?”

“I’m only being paid to investigate Mr. Avery’s murder.”

“Don’t you think they’re connected?”

He waved his hands around, palms up. “Maybe, but I’m only being
paid
to investigate Mr. Avery’s murder,” he repeated.

•CHAPTER TEN•

The Third Week—Reaching Out

From my front window, I watched Galigani squish into his compact car. Where would he go next? To interrogate Jim, or try and find my girlfriend Paula? Maybe he could lead me to George.

Stupid George. I couldn’t wait to find him, so I could wring his neck!

I contemplated following Galigani.

Yeah, right.

With a newborn? Like I’d ever be able to get out of the house in time.

I heard Laurie’s wake-up call. I went to my bedroom and picked her up from the bassinet.

Cold. Wet. Hungry.

A mother’s job is never done. I changed her, swaddled her tight, then settled down on our sofa to nurse her. Even though thirty minutes had passed since Galigani had left, I couldn’t shake the odd feeling of violation I’d had during his questioning. I absently looked out the front window again. Galigani’s gray Honda was still there. What was he doing hovering outside my house?

Was I being staked out?

Outraged, I gathered Laurie up and ran down my front steps. This guy was getting paid two hundred bucks an hour to sit in his stupid Honda outside my house, while I nursed my baby!

Had I nursed Laurie anywhere near the front window?

As I approached his car, I couldn’t resist looking back at my house. The sofa was in plain view. Talk about feeling violated.

By the time I rapped on his window, I was fuming. “What do you think you’re doing?”

He rolled down his window. “My car won’t start. I called road side service.”

Just then a tow truck turned the corner. Galigani jumped out of his Honda and greeted the driver.

I slunk back into the house.

Stupid Kate, jumping to conclusions. Where was that going to lead?

Wait a minute. Galigani was still outside. If I hurried and got dressed, maybe I could follow him after all.

I pulled on jeans and a sweatshirt and glanced out the front window. He was jabbering with the tow truck driver. With Laurie in my arms, I raced downstairs to the garage and packed her into her car seat.

I rolled the car out of the garage and waved to Galigani as I turned the corner.

I parked at the end of the next block, comfortably tucked in between a pickup and a UPS van. From this vantage point I could follow him in whichever direction he drove.

I waited. Galigani’s Honda passed me. I pulled out behind him, hoping to keep a discreet distance.

Galigani led me to an apartment house in the Haight district. I watched from my car as he rang a bell and waited. A curtain moved on the third floor. Someone peeked out the window. Galigani didn’t notice, just continued to wait without being let in.

I counted the windows. Six from the right. Probably each apartment had two street windows. So that would make it the third apartment from the right. Third floor, third apartment. Easy to remember.

Galigani rang the doorbell again. After a moment, he turned to leave.

He squeezed back into his car. The car sputtered and died.

I couldn’t wait around for another visit from road side service. By the time they’d arrive, I’d have to feed Laurie again.

The Honda turned over again and the engine revved up. Galigani pulled out of his space. The chase was on.

I followed him to Pier 23. The pier where George’s bags had been found. Where poor Brad had been pulled from the water. I watched as Galigani paced back and forth and took notes. He stopped a couple of passersby and talked for a while. His job didn’t seem that tough. Ask questions, drive around some, and charge a lot of money. I could do that, couldn’t I?

 

 

I puttered around the kitchen, getting dinner ready. Mom had left a homemade lasagna and a box wrapped in comics from the Sunday paper on my front porch. The box had a note attached.