Nursing a Grudge is Murder (A Maternal Instincts Mystery) (24 page)

The woman said something inaudible and looked up in time to see an ambulance accompanied by a police cruiser pull up to the curb. The paramedics jumped out of the ambulance.

An officer stepped out of the patrol car and began speaking with the woman.

One EMT leaned over Laurie and me. “How are you?”

“I’m okay. I think. My baby is only three months old. I didn’t want to take her out of the seat. Because, you know, I didn’t know if it was okay to move her. I’m scared of neck or spinal injury—”

“Right, right,” the EMT said, flashing a light across Laurie’s eyes.

I knelt in the ice plant and hovered over them, not caring about the dew that soaked through the knees of my jeans and chilled me.

The EMT looked at me. “Her eyes are responding okay, but I can’t tell much without taking her out of the seat. You want to go to the hospital? It’s down the street.”

I nodded, trying to shove down the hysteria welling inside me.

The EMT picked up Laurie’s bucket. Laurie was now seemingly beginning to panic, too, and her cry turned into a shriek, her tiny arms flapping about.

It broke my heart to see her in distress, not really able to calm her. Every fiber of my being screamed to grab the bucket from him, pull Laurie out, and cradle her.

Please just be hungry or fussy. Don’t be hurt, don’t be injured!

The other EMT helped me up off my knees. The woman seemed to be recounting the accident to the police officer. As soon as I got to my feet I followed Laurie into the ambulance. The EMT who had assisted me moved to the officer and said something I couldn’t pick up.

The officer nodded and came toward me. He was slightly taller than me and had a stocky build. Somehow his build reassured me as though it made him sturdy and dependable. “Ma’am, I’ll need a statement from you. If you leave me your information I can get it from you later.”

I absently looked around for my purse. For the first time since the accident I saw my car. It was completely totaled. My trunk was smashed in and the hood looked like an accordion.

How had I walked away from that?

What about Laurie . . . could she really be all right?

Tears flooded my eyes. “I don’t know where my purse is. I can give you my number . . . Can
you call my husband?”

The officer jotted down my home number. “I’ll tell him to pick you up at the hospital.” He looked at me for approval.

I nodded. “Thank you.”

“I’ll be in touch, ma’am. I hope your baby is all right.” Anger flashed across his face and his jaw tightened. “Don’t worry: I’m gonna get the guy who hit you.”

I thanked him, then jumped into the ambulance, anxious to be with Laurie. She was still crying. Not knowing how to best channel my distress, I broke down and began to sob also, my brain trying to process the fact that this was the second time in Laurie’s short life that we’d shared an ambulance ride together. The fact that this time was not my fault did little to settle my nerves.

Why had the driver left the scene? Sure, he was probably scared, but didn’t he know a hit-and-run was a criminal act?

The EMT attending to Laurie put a small blanket over her and glanced at me. “Are you in pain, ma’am?”

I searched my pockets in a useless effort to find a pacifier for Laurie and shrugged at the EMT. “I want to hold her.”

“I know,” he said, almost in a whisper. “It’s hard to listen to them cry. Did you know just the sound of a baby’s cry makes your blood pressure go up?”

I shook my head.

He continued, “Yeah, in all mammals except for rats.”

We rounded a corner and arrived at the hospital. Laurie and I were unloaded and ushered to a small room. A nurse freed Laurie from the car seat, before I could protest, and laid her on a table to take her vitals.

Someone in green medical scrubs was asking me if I had any cuts or abrasions. I shook my head and felt a blood pressure cuff go around my arm. My eyes locked on Laurie, I didn’t even bother to look at him.

The nurse hovering over her asked, “How old is the baby?”

“Three months,” I answered.

“When’s the last time she ate?” she asked, stripping Laurie of her beautiful little holiday dress.

“A few hours ago.”

The nurse attached small metal pads to Laurie’s chest. Laurie let out a sharp cry.

“I’m so sorry they’re cold, sweetie,” she said.

The man attending me dropped my arm. “Normal,” he said.

I glanced at him in disbelief, then read the digital display: 120 over 80.

I closed my eyes. Did this mean I was a rat?

Surely if I were any kind of decent mother my blood pressure would be through the roof.

“Can you take it again?” I asked.

The man frowned. “You’re fine.”

I didn’t feel fine. I felt like a failure.

How could my blood pressure be fine? I’m a total and complete failure as a mom.

“Do you want to see a doctor?” the man asked me.

Again, I shook my head. “No. Just a pediatrician for Laurie.”

He nodded and left the room. The other nurse turned to me. “Are you breastfeeding?”

I nodded.

She handed Laurie to me. “Why don’t you nurse her now and see if she calms down a bit. All her vital signs are very good. Do you still want a pediatrician to look at her?”

“Yes, of course!” I answered.

The nurse nodded in understanding and left the room, promising to send the pediatrician on call.

I squeezed Laurie and fresh tears ran down my checks.

“Littlest! Please be okay. Please don’t be hurt,” I sobbed.

Laurie’s hand entangled itself in my hair and she yanked at it, letting out a howl.

I laughed and let her tug at my hair. “If you’re mad at missing a meal, then you’re probably okay, huh?”

I bundled her in a blanket, nursed her, and waited for the doctor while replaying the accident in my mind. Was there anything I could have done differently? Why did he take off? I know he was just a kid, probably only recently got his license. But how could he abandon us like that?

The door to the room opened and my husband, Jim, appeared. I leapt out of the chair, still holding Laurie, and fell into him. His strong arms engulfed us and made me feel safe for the first time since the accident.

In a rush of words I told him about the hit-and-run. He listened to me while he watched Laurie.

There was a soft rap at the door, followed by the creak of it opening. The pediatrician, a tall man with smooth olive skin and dark hair, stepped in. He had me place Laurie on the exam table, which caused me to go into full sob mode again.

He peppered Jim with questions regarding Laurie’s health, as he examined her. After a bit, he subjected me to the same battery of questions.

He finally said, “I think she’s fine. Of course, we’ll have to monitor her for signs of distress for the next forty-eight hours or so. But newborns are mostly cartilage; it’s probably you, Mom, who’s going to be hurting.”

He handed me a checklist of symptoms to watch for, including: vomiting, diarrhea, and lethargy, and then left the room.

I rebundled Laurie. “What did the police tell you?” I asked Jim.

“Not much. He said the guy in the car in front of you followed the assailant. He ended up losing him, but was pretty sure it was a vehicle from the French consulate’s fleet.”

A vehicle from the French consulate?

What did that mean? Why did he speed off? Why not stop?

“Was the car stolen?” I asked.

Jim shrugged. “I don’t know, the cop barely gave me the time of day. Told me to file an insurance claim and gave me an incident number.” Jim stared at me with a dumbfounded expression—one I’m sure matched my own.

After a moment, he said, “Of course, I didn’t press him much. I only wanted to find out about you and Laurie and how you guys were doing.”

I nodded.

“Why’d you ask if the car was stolen?” Jim asked.

“It was a teenager driving it.”

Jim exhaled. “So it’s some diplomat’s kid.”

“Maybe,” I agreed.

He squinted at me. “Let’s go there.”

“What?”

“Let’s track down the snot nose that hit you and Laurie.”

“Shouldn’t we let the police do that?”

Jim clenched a fist. “They already know it’s a car from the consulate. You think they’re itching to get involved with some diplomat’s pinhead son? If they were, they’d already be over there, right?”

I pulled Laurie close to me and pressed my nose into her soft check. She was asleep but my squeeze caused her little hand to reach out. I placed my finger in her palm and felt her small hand wrap around it.

“You know the police aren’t going to do a darn thing,” Jim continued. “They want us to open an insurance claim. Let us take the hit.”

Anger surged inside of me. “We already took the hit. Literally! Laurie and I.”

Oh God, please let my baby be all right.

The doctor had said to watch for signs of distress.

Didn’t I always?

I would be even more vigilant now.

“What about Laurie? I want to get her home. Make sure she’s okay. I want her to be warm and fed and content . . .” My voice caught as a sob bubbled in my throat. “I want her to be okay.”

Jim pulled Laurie and me into an embrace. “She’s okay, honey. She’s gonna be fine,” he said, his voice full of emotion “You heard the doctor: She’s all cartilage.”

“She not all cartilage. She’s a person! A tiny defenseless little person, with a heart and soul and . . .” Tears rolled down my face.

He tightened his grasp around me. Laurie squirmed between us.

“It happened so fast, Jim. One minute you’re there, stopped at a light, and then the next . . . what if . . .”

“I love you guys so much. I can’t stand the thought. All I can do is fight, Kate. I want to find the guy who ran into you. Accidents happen, I know. But you can’t just leave a mother and child in the middle of the road after smashing their car to smithereens.”

I nodded, swallowing back my fears. I picked up Laurie’s discarded dress and handed it to Jim. “Let’s go.”

…Excerpt from FORMULA FOR MURDER by Diana Orgain © 2011

Buy MOTHERHOOD IS MURDER for your Kindle

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Diana Orgain is the bestselling author of the
Maternal Instincts Mystery Series:
BUNDLE OF TROUBLE, MOTHERHOOD IS MURDER, FORMULA FOR MURDER and NURSING A GRUDGE. She is the co-author of GILT TRIP from the NY Times Bestselling
Scrapbooking Mystery Series
by Laura Childs. Diana’s FOR LOVE OR MONEY the first in her new
Reality TV Mystery
series will be published in Spring 2015. She lives in San Francisco with her husband and three children. Visit her at
www.dianaorgain.com
.

For a complete listing of books, as well as excerpts and contests, and to connect with Diana:

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