Bundle of Trouble (6 page)

We ended our tour back in the living room, where Laurie had finally settled down and was now content in her car seat. Michelle gazed at Laurie. “Brad wanted kids, but . . .” She picked up her wine and swirled it in the glass. “Not with me.”

“What do you mean?”

“The last time I saw Brad, he told me he was leaving me . . . that he was in love with someone else. This might be a terrible thing to say, Kate, but I didn’t mind all that much. He was unhappy. I knew that. Unhappy with me, with our marriage, with our life in general, I suppose. So, when he said he was leaving, I accepted it.”

She wrapped a strand of her long hair around two fingers. “I thought he’d left me. Then this police officer comes over last week, tells me they’d matched the dental records and that Brad was . . .” She covered her face with her hands.

I patted her back. “I’m so sorry, Michelle.”

“I told the officer that Brad left me on June fifteenth and I hadn’t seen him since. I told him . . . about Brad’s affair. The officer kind of insinuated that . . . well, he made me feel like he was accusing me or something. Can you imagine? Like, I was so upset about Brad leaving me and the affair and all, that I could have shot him and dumped him in the bay. Isn’t that ridiculous?” She refilled her wineglass. “I told them to go look into the other woman.” She rubbed at her eyes. “They said, you won’t believe this, that maybe there was no other woman.”

“Do you know who she is?” I asked.

“How would
I
know!”

I shrugged. “I thought maybe he told you. On the night he was leaving, he could have told you.”

“He didn’t. Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. I’m not myself. I’m edgy . . . I’m—”

“You don’t have to explain.”

Michelle put down her glass and cradled her forehead. “I have to find out what happened to Brad. They think it’s likely he died the same day he left me, because of the condition of his body.”

“Do you have any idea what could have happened?”

She shook her head, looking overwhelmed. “No. I don’t. I was with George Connolly that night.”

My heart stopped. “Do you know how I can reach him?”

Michelle polished off her wine, then sighed. “He works at our restaurant. Well, I guess it’s my restaurant now, now that Brad’s . . . George was here that night. The night Brad left me.” She closed her eyes. “The night Brad was killed.”

“What was George doing
here
?”

“He drops off the deposits from the restaurant.” She paused to refill her glass. “Only don’t tell anybody I told you so.”

“Why not?”

“Well, it’s just that . . . see, if George’s bags were found on the pier where Brad was recovered . . . well, it’s really too coincidental to be a coincidence, isn’t it?”

“You think George killed Brad?”

“No. I was with George, so I know he didn’t. He couldn’t have. But, well, what would the police think if I told them that? They’d think that George and I killed Brad together. I mean, if George is my alibi and he looks guilty, then it doesn’t look good for me, does it? So, I lied.”

She took another sip of wine, which turned into a kind of a guzzle, then refilled her glass with the last of the wine. Where was the food? Hadn’t she promised me lunch? Was a bottle of wine lunch for her?

“What did you tell them?” I asked, wondering if I had any crackers in Laurie’s diaper bag.

“That I was home alone after Brad left. That I didn’t know George Connolly.”

“Michelle, how can you expect the police to think you don’t know him if he works for you?”

“He works under the table, you know, for cash, so he’s not on any employee list or payroll or anything.” She finished off the wine, then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, smearing her pink lipstick.

“Where can I find George?”

“He should be at the restaurant, El Paraiso, on Market Street. Kate, why did they call
you
about the bags? I mean, what was in them?”

“They couldn’t find George.”

Michelle nodded. “He likes keeping a low profile, which is good. Was there anything, you know, special in his bags?”

“I haven’t opened them.”

Michelle looked disappointed.

We stared awkwardly at each other. Finally Michelle said, “I’m scared, Kate. What if . . . whoever killed Brad . . . what if I’m next?”

•CHAPTER SIX•

The Second Week—Umbilical Cord Emancipation

I left Michelle’s house and packed Laurie into the car. When I pulled out from the parking spot, my trunk flew open.

I reparked the car and jumped out to slam the trunk shut. It ricocheted back in my face. I examined the lock.

Jimmied.

Someone had broken into my car. A wave of desperation came over me, filling me with the urge to cry.

How ridiculous is that
?
I’m going to cry over a car? No! I’m just tired, not to mention all the hormones raging through my body. This is nothing to cry about.

I looked into the trunk. My overdue library books were still there and so was my leather jacket. Nothing seemed to be missing. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had been violated.

Someone had rummaged through my stuff. My car. My library books. My jacket.

I pulled into our garage. When I got out of the car, my pelvic bones ached from so much activity. Jim sat on our steps sorting through George’s bags.

“How’s my little lima bean?”

“Not good. Someone broke into my car.”

“What? Where?” Jim stood and came over to me.

“In front of Michelle’s.”

“Who?”

“Michelle Dupree, who is now Michelle Avery. My friend from high school. Do you remember her?”

Jim unstrapped Laurie from her car seat. “Not really.”

“You met her at the ten-year reunion.”

“Oh! Vaguely.” A corner of Jim’s mouth twitched up. “Is she the one who won the drama award that should have—”

“Been mine? Yeah.”

Jim smiled.

“It
should
have been mine. What are you smirking at?” I demanded.

“You got the popularity award, or whatever it was called. Popularity? Personality?”

“I wanted the drama award. I earned it. They only gave it to her because of their stupid philosophy about spreading out the awards, so that no one student would dominate.”

Jim’s smirk turned into a laugh. “They thought they could stop you from dominating?”

“If you weren’t holding Laurie right now, I’d punch you.”

“Have a baby, lose a sense of humor?” Jim teased.

I covered my face with my hands. “I’m tired. It was her husband. The guy they found in the bay. Brad Avery.”

Jim’s face darkened, his playful mood vanishing. “That’s awful.” He rubbed my back with his free hand. “I’m so sorry, honey. Where’s Michelle live?”

“Noe Valley. Not a bad neighborhood. I had to tie my trunk down so it would stay shut.”

“Anything missing?”

“Not that I can tell. My jacket’s still there. They didn’t even have the decency to take the library books and return them.”

He laughed and kissed my neck. “I’m glad nothing happened to you or Laurie.” He handed the baby to me. “I’ll take your car in for repair tomorrow on my way to the office and drop your books off for you, too.”

“That’s why I love you so much.” I pointed to George’s bags. “Anything interesting?”

“Nope. Clothes and crap. You know, toothbrush, a toilet kit, jeans, T-shirts. Looks like he was living out of these bags, Kate. No wonder the medical examiner asked if he was a transient. I found the cell phone bill. I called the number. No longer in service. What a shock.” He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. “My brother, a fucking bum. My parents are probably spinning in their graves.”

I pressed my head against his chest. “Michelle said he works at El Paraiso.” I pulled back and looked at Jim.

A glimmer of hope flashed on his face. “She knows him?”

“Yup. Says they were together the night Brad was killed.”

Jim moaned and shook his head. “I knew nothing good was going to come from any of this.”

 

 

I hardly slept that night. Well, better said, Laurie hardly slept. We were up nursing, rocking, and singing. As soon as daylight started to peek through the window, Laurie conked out. I slipped into bed next to Jim as the alarm went off.

He turned to me. “Are you just getting to bed now?”

“Mmmhmm.”

“I’ll take the night shift tonight,” he said.

I nodded off, wondering how he would take the night shift without breasts.

 

 

At 9 A.M., after a three-hour nap, Laurie awoke hungry. I nursed her, then rose to change her diaper. Her umbilical stump had come off. I examined her new belly button. Beautiful. My little girl was beautiful.

Images of her at fifteen years old, with her belly button pierced, flashed through my mind. My baby was growing up so fast.

I clutched her to me. “Take your time, will you?”

I laid her on my bed, then ransacked Jim’s closet in search of anything that fit, settling on a blue plaid shirt that hung over my now too-large maternity pants. I stuffed my feet into my favorite pair of black strappy sandals. The shoes were so tight, they cut off the circulation to my toes.

How depressing.

I kicked off the stupid sandals and shoved on a pair of stretched-out Keds. Would my old shoes ever fit again?

Laurie patiently gazed into space. I took advantage of her good mood and sat for a moment to compose my to-do list.

 

1. Lose weight (What? I’m still the same weight after having given birth two weeks ago. Aren’t the pounds supposed to melt right off when you breastfeed?)

2. Call work and let them know about Laurie and plan a return date—yuk! (Send the office an e-mail with photos of Laurie. That way I don’t have to talk to anyone right now about my return date. Don’t even want to think about heading back to Corporate Hell and leaving Laurie.)

3. Find George—El Paraiso—drop off his bags.

4. What happened to Brad???

5. Grocery shop. (Right now would only be able to make Cheerios for dinner!)

6. Laundry. (How does the addition of one six-pound baby create so much laundry?)

7. E-mail Paula—tell her about Michelle Avery.

I found parking relatively close to El Paraiso, with the only hitch being a one-hour maximum on the meter.

Oh, shoot! George’s bags! With all the preparation required to get Laurie out of the house, I had forgotten his bags.

I had become extremely forgetful during my pregnancy, locking myself out of my car three times and even getting into the car or on the bus and not remembering where I was going. I had been hoping I would get my memory back, along with my figure, shortly after giving birth.

Was that another pipe dream?

I adjusted the rearview mirror and spied on Laurie through the Elmo mirror pinned to the backseat. “You’re supposed to help Mommy remember things.”

She kicked her legs in glee, flashing her sporty green booties. They were ridiculously bright, but at least they stayed on her feet. Newborns’ feet are so tiny and slender that socks usually just slip right off.

“Well, we’re parked now. And I don’t know about you, but I’m definitely hungry. Uncle George can pick up his bags later.”

I pushed Laurie’s stroller into the trendy restaurant. Red walls were a backdrop to etchings framed in hardwood. Leather booths were filled by the San Francisco downtown lunchtime crowd. Everyone was dressed in corporate garb. The men in their suits and the women in tight-fitting skirts and impossibly high heels.