Bundle of Trouble (7 page)

I immediately felt out of place, but the one thing I was learning fast was that no one looked at me anymore. Every time I stepped out of the house with Laurie, all eyes were on her.

A hostess with a stud through her nose and another in her eyebrow stared at Laurie, then squinted at me. “Should she even be out?”

I squinted back. “Should you have that thing through your nose?”

She flipped her hair at me. “Follow me.”

Once seated, I pulled Laurie’s stroller as close to me as possible, trying not to block the aisle.

What a hassle, dining in a non-kid-friendly place. I read the menu.

Peruvian Marinated Skewers of Beef Heart in a Tangy Aji Panca Sauce, Grilled Adobo Rubbed Pork Loins, Sweet Potato Purée, Pisco Marinated Dried Fruit Chutney, and Traditional Peruvian Cold Potato Torte Layered with Sliced Avocado.

It was worth the hassle.

What would I order? I couldn’t decide. Breastfeeding works up an enormous appetite, so I decided not to decide and ordered both the marinated skewers and the cold potato torte. My mouth watered as I watched the waiter serve a couple seated near me.

The waiter twirled around. He was tall and lean with a dancer’s build.

“My name is José. I’ll be your waiter today.”

José raised an eyebrow at my double order, then asked, “Is someone joining you?”

“No. I’m eating for two.”

José’s face flushed.

Well, I sort of was anyway.

José spun on his heel, but before he could get away, I asked, “Is George Connolly working today?”

José turned back to me, his brow furrowed. “George?” He quickly glanced over his shoulder. “Sorry, I don’t know anybody named George.”

While waiting for my lunch, I mulled over José’s answer. Did George really work here? Why would Michelle lie to me about that? It made no sense. Maybe José was being secretive because George was working “under the table”?

The business lunch crowd started to thin. Everyone was returning to their human filing cabinets, as Jim and I called our offices. Cubicle after cubicle that files you away from each other and the world.

My stomach churned as I thought about my inevitable return to my own office.

Ordering office supplies, doing payroll, and shuffling paper were the absolute last things on earth I wanted to do right now. How could I leave my little apricot? I needed to earn a living, that much was true. We wouldn’t be able to afford our mortgage on Jim’s salary alone. But wasn’t there something I could do while I was with Laurie?

Doing what? There was a gal from my office who hadn’t returned after her maternity leave. Monica. She’d started her own business making and selling children’s jewelry.

Could someone really make a living selling jewelry? I dismissed it from my mind. Monica had always been craftsy, and the baubles she’d brought into the office had everyone raving. I, on the other hand, didn’t have the slightest clue about glue guns and glitter.

José served my lunch, which I wolfed down. The beef dish would have been too spicy for me on its own, but the potato torte and avocado mellowed out the spices.

Would the spices affect Laurie later? I hoped not.

I studied the staff. When he wasn’t waiting on me, José was busy hitting on the hostess. She snubbed him, just like she had me.

Where was the manager? I could ask him about George.

By the time my bill rolled around, I felt satiated and sleepy. I fought the weight of my eyelids and the impulse to run out and check on the parking meter. Instead, I asked José to direct me to the manager.

His face creased with concern. “Was everything all right?”

I smiled. “Yes.”

He seemed unconvinced. “May I tell him your name?”

“Kate Connolly.”

His eyes widened, then his face flushed again. “One minute.”

I watched as he hurried through swinging doors. Why was he so flustered?

I pulled Laurie out of her stroller. Still sleeping? I gently rubbed her face. She twitched her feet. Good. Still breathing.

After several minutes, José reappeared, followed by a disarmingly handsome man. He was about five-foot-ten, with black hair. His eyes were so blue I wondered if he was wearing colored contacts. He was sharply dressed in slacks and a blue button-down shirt, accented by a burgundy tie. The only thing that contradicted his elegant style was a five o’clock shadow. Which, while some consider in fashion, has always struck me as unkempt.

He sauntered over to me and casually rested both hands on the table. “Rich Hanlen. May I help you, Ma’am?”

Ma’am
, was it? I sighed. I guess when you have a baby, no one calls you “Miss” anymore.

“Is George Connolly working today?”

He straightened, folding his arms across his chest. “George? I don’t believe—”

“Michelle Avery told me he worked here.”

He scratched the stubble on his chin, then glanced around the restaurant. “Why don’t you come back to my office?”

I bundled Laurie into her stroller, not bothering with any of the straps as the manager was already through the restaurant and at the kitchen door. I maneuvered the stroller toward him, the front wheel catching on a chair and further delaying me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Rich take a deep breath. I struggled to free the wheel.

Why did I feel rushed? Couldn’t he wait a second for a woman with a baby?

I caught up to him then followed him through the kitchen doors and down a narrow hallway to a dark, cramped room. To call the space an office was a joke. My human filing cabinet cubicle was larger than this.

“Is this your baby?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I answered.

Up close, the colored lenses made his eyes seem like they were floating. Eerie.

He reached out to touch Laurie. “She’s tiny.”

I moved her stroller before his hand could reach her cheek. His eyes locked on mine. We stared at each other for a moment, sizing each other up.

No way was Mr. Creepy touching my baby.

He shifted subtly, understanding. Don’t mess with baby cub when Mama Lion’s around.

“How old is she?”

“Almost two weeks.”

He looked me up and down. “You look pretty good for a chick that just popped out a baby.”

What happened to “ma’am”? Maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea to follow this guy into a dark room. Suddenly, it was difficult to breathe.

He circled around behind me. “So, you know Michelle?”

I shifted, forcing him to face me. He smirked.

“I know Michelle.” I said, “You know George?”

He nodded, clearly enjoying himself.

I imagined him asking the female staff “to his office,” then copping a feel.

Hoping to intimidate him a little, I pulled a notebook from the diaper bag that was now serving double-duty as my purse.

I eyed the pencil cup on his desk.

If I leaned in to grab one, I’d give him a shot of my milk-engorged cleavage. I flipped opened my notebook and hoped he wouldn’t notice that I wasn’t actually writing anything down.

In my most official voice I said, “I need to reach George. Can you tell me when he’s scheduled to come in?”

He leered. “I haven’t seen him in a while. I don’t know what Michelle told you, but he’s not on any schedule or anything.”

“What does he do here?”

“This and that.”

“How long have you been managing the restaurant?”

He scratched at his newly forming beard. “ ’Bout three months.”

“Around June?” I asked, for clarification.

“That’s right.”

“June fifteenth or sixteenth, would you say?”

“What are you getting at?”

“You started managing the restaurant after Brad’s . . . disappearance? I take it you knew Brad Avery.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Sure. Yeah. ’Course I knew Brad. He and I were good buddies.”

“Didn’t you think it was odd, his vanishing like that?”

He moved toward the desk and sat on the edge, forcing me to step back. I bumped into the wall behind me and jarred Laurie’s stroller. She wailed and kicked, protesting being awakened.

I jiggled the stroller to soothe her and pressed backward as far away from Mr. Sleazy as I could. I felt the coolness of the wall through Jim’s shirt. I resisted the urge to shiver.

He licked his lips and smiled a crooked little smile. “You a cop?”

“No.”

He squinted. “What’s with all the questions, then?”

“I just think that you’d have wondered when suddenly your boss, your
good buddy
, didn’t show up.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Michelle told me they’d had a fight, that he was leaving her. When he didn’t come to work, it was obvious that he’d left her. So she and Mrs. A asked me to run things for her.”

“Mrs. A?”

“Brad’s mother. She’s part owner,” he clarified.

“Michelle told me Brad was having an affair.”

“Don’t know nothing ’bout that.”

“Do you know who might?” I pressed.

He unfolded his arms and stood up, leaning in a little too close to me. “Might what?”

“Never mind,” I mumbled. It was none of my business anyway.

I closed my notebook and bent over to shove it into the diaper bag. The notebook caught on a little rag doll I’d packed for Laurie. I had to do a quick rearrange and cram everything in. When I straightened, my heart jumped into my throat.

He had Laurie in his arms.

He gazed down at her. “She’s really beautiful. Fragile, huh?”

“Yes,” I whispered, swallowing the lump in my throat.

“I love babies,” he said.

I forced myself to breathe.

And think.

I reached past him and pulled the office door open. Light flooded into the room, causing Laurie to stir and wail again.

“Here,” he said, handing Laurie back to me.

Such relief washed over me that my knees felt weak. I snatched Laurie from him, barely able to contain myself. I pushed her stroller into the hallway muttering, “Jerk.”

The office door clicked closed behind me. But not soon enough that I didn’t hear his snicker.

Laurie wailed again and I stopped short of the swinging kitchen doors to soothe her. She kicked her feet up at me. One foot with Mom’s booty on, the other bare.

I did a quick check underneath her, then down the hallway. No booty.

Probably left behind in the office.

Forget it. No way was I going back in there for a stupid booty.

Maybe I could knock and not go inside. I pulled Laurie’s stroller backward down the hallway toward his office. I heard his voice through the door. “. . . asking a bunch of questions ’bout Brad.”

There was silence. I froze.

Then he said, “No way. Why would I tell her ’bout the fight?”

He paused again. I held my breath.

Then I heard him say, “Haven’t seen George since last week, but he’ll be here tomorrow for the delivery.”

I abandoned the booty and wheeled the stroller out of the restaurant. I hustled toward Jim’s car hoping to dodge a parking ticket. Shattered glass littered the street. The driver’s side window was broken.

I swallowed the panic building in my chest. I glanced up and down the street. Empty.

Thank God. What would I have done anyway? Beat the burglar with my diaper bag?

I dialed Jim. Voice mail. I dialed Michelle. Voice mail. Why was no one around when you needed them?

A vehicle pulled in front of Jim’s car. A stocky balding man stepped out. He noted the glass on the street, then moved toward me. He reached into his pocket and produced a badge reading INSPECTOR PATRICK MCNEARNY. “Miss, I’m with SFPD. This your car?”

Ah.
Miss
again!

“Yeah.”

“Anything taken?”

“No. I . . . uh . . . I haven’t checked.”

I glanced over my shoulder into Jim’s car. Everything seemed to be in order. I leaned over the driver’s seat and pulled open the glove box. Papers were crumpled, as if someone had rummaged through it.

“It looks like someone went through this,” I said.

The officer nodded.

“My address is on the registration,” I said.

“They were probably looking for money. I’ll write a report for you. The best I can tell you is to file an insurance claim.” He pulled out a notebook. “Your name?”

“Kate Connolly.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Connolly?” He frowned, flipped through his book, and read an old entry.

My heart tightened. Could this officer be looking for George?

The officer scribbled something. “Is this car registered to you?”

“My husband, actually. My car . . .” I took a breath. “My car’s in the shop.”

I didn’t have the guts to tell him my car had been broken into outside of Michelle’s house. What if George was behind this? Was he looking for his bags? Would he really break into my car and Jim’s?

Could it be a coincidence? I’d lived in San Francisco my entire life and had never had my car broken into. Now twice in two days?

The officer copied information off the registration. “Like I said, I suggest you file an insurance claim.” He handed the registration back to me, his eyes narrowing.

“Meter’s expired.”