Authors: Diana Orgain
Tags: #Fiction, #Mystery & Detective, #Women Sleuths, #General
Bundle of Trouble (17 page)
Laurie began to squirm in Mrs. Avery’s arms.
“Well, dear, why don’t we get the paperwork out?” Mrs. Avery said.
“Paperwork?”
“I assume you have a contract for me to sign.”
I hated appearing unprepared, but I shook my head as the words “I’ll prepare one for you” tumbled out of my mouth.
Mrs. Avery raised an eyebrow. “Very well. Leave me your card.”
Oh God! I was going to lose my first client before I even landed her.
“My card. Yes . . . uh . . . I came straight from the hospital . . .”
Mrs. Avery stood and handed Laurie to me. “I understand. Marta will provide you with my card. In the meantime, I’ll presume the same terms as with Galigani.”
I headed home for lunch, my head spinning. Mrs. Avery wanted to hire me. I’d done it. My first client. Now I had to zip home, draw up a contract, feed and change Laurie, and make dinner.
When would I sleep?
I had been hoping for a nap with Laurie this afternoon, but now, on the verge of my new career, that seemed indulgent, if not impossible.
I glanced at my to-do list. “Find George” stood out like a beacon. Galigani had found him. Why couldn’t I?
Pier 23, where his bags had been found, was not exactly on my way home, but one glance in the rearview mirror told me Laurie was sacked out. I’d drive by the pier and take a peek. The rest of the to-do list could wait until tomorrow.
I stopped at a red light in front of the pier. The water that had been so blue outside Mrs. Avery’s doorstep now appeared gray. Of course, Mrs. Avery had a clear view of the ocean; this water was in the bay. The bay always looked gray to me.
The pier seemed quiet. A few barrels against a restaurant wall and a homeless woman camped out with a blanket. Two joggers ran by. Then a hooded figure carrying a black bag made his way up the hill. I watched as he walked toward the pier. Something about his gait was familiar.
The car behind me blasted its horn. The light had changed.
I pulled my car forward, trying to keep one eye on the road and the other on the man, who’d stopped in front of a lamppost. His back was to me.
Could it be George?
I strained to see him, but was forced to pick up speed through the intersection.
Damn.
Probably nothing, but I wanted to make a U-turn and get a closer look. I changed lanes. A huge NO U-TURN sign stared down at me.
I’d need to change lanes again and go around the block. It took me nearly ten minutes in traffic to do that. I thought for sure by the time I circled around, the man would be gone.
I was finally in the right lane and able to drive directly past the lamppost. The man was still there. He had pulled off his hood and was straightening his hair.
Hair that looked distinctly familiar.
Hair that was just like Laurie’s.
A heavy pit formed in my stomach. I watched as he fumbled inside the bag for a cigarette. He lit it, then looked around impatiently while tapping his foot against the lamppost.
I slowed, rolled down my window, and called to him. “George!”
At the same time, a gold hard-top Mercedes cut into my lane, maneuvering around my car. The driver, a whirl of red hair, shouted something.
I guess I was going too slow for some city people.
George never even looked in my direction. He dropped the black bag and took off running. Why was he running from me?
I watched him in my rearview mirror as he ran in the opposite direction my car was headed. He turned into an alley.
The only way in there was by foot. Laurie was sleeping in the back. There was no way I’d leave her in the car or take her into the alley.
Nice, Kate, you make a great PI. You lose your suspect as soon as you find him.
•CHAPTER FOURTEEN•
The Fourth Week—Recognition
Safe at home, I typed up a contract based on a template I found online and laid it out for Jim to review. Then I did a bit of research on PI licensing. Turned out I was highly unqualified for the job.
I needed to have three years or 6,000 hours of compensated experience in investigative work, or a law or police science degree plus 4,000 hours of experience.
Of course I had zero hours of experience and a bachelor’s in theater arts.
The requirements went on to state that the experience needed to be certified by the employer, who could be a sworn law enforcement officer, a military police officer, or a licensed PI.
Great! So launching a business as a PI was going to be more complicated than I’d thought. It wasn’t just landing the client, you had to be licensed! Although, I rationalized, Mrs. Avery hadn’t actually asked me for a license. Could I do this without one?
Why can’t things ever be easy?
Laurie began to fuss. Was it her mealtime already?
The month had flown by in three-hour increments. From one feeding to the next.
I brought Laurie over to our favorite section on the couch and began to nurse her. By now, I had the area all set up: telephone, remote control, an extra pillow, and a big glass of water, all accessible on the side table.
I drank my water and reflected on Galigani. How did he normally get his cases? How regular was the work? Could I land enough clients to justify quitting my job? I visualized calling my office and saying I’d launched a successful private investigation firm during my leave.
The idea seemed so far-fetched, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
After burping Laurie, I placed her facedown on her play mat, affectionately termed the “baby gym.” She let out an enormous wail. I picked her up, soothed her, and tried again. She cried even harder than the first time. I picked her up.
Tummy time was for the birds. No wonder the manufacturers called it a gym. For a baby, holding your head up is a workout.
Now I knew why we hadn’t done much of it in the last month. I immediately felt guilty.
Just because it’s hard doesn’t mean it’s not worth the effort.
I placed her on her tummy again, leaning over her to sing and try to soothe her. She was crying so loudly, I didn’t hear Jim come in. I jumped when I saw wingtips under my nose.
“Hi, honey, why are you torturing the baby?”
“It’s good for her.”
He smiled as he knelt down next to us. “Crying is good for her?”
“Tummy time.”
He rescued Laurie. She curled into his shoulder like a little bug, legs protectively drawn up.
“I saw George today,” I said.
Jim’s eyebrows rose. “Where?”
“At the pier where they found his bags.” I crossed my legs under me and leaned back on my hands.
Jim sat back on his heels and squinted at me. “So he’s alive, not decomposing at the bottom of the bay?”
I reached out and gently pushed on his knee. “Why do you talk like that? We knew it wasn’t him.”
“I have a hard time keeping up with the drama that’s George.” Jim sighed. “What did he have to say for himself?”
“I didn’t get a chance to talk to him. When I called his name, he dropped his bag and ran.”
Jim scowled. “Why would he do that?”
I shrugged. “I have no idea. What do you think he’s doing down there? And why leave his bag?”
“Well, he’s always been scattered. Did he just run off and leave it or what?”
“No! I called his name and he dropped the bag like it was on fire.”
Jim and I studied each other in silence. Finally he said, “I don’t know, Kate, if I stopped and tried to answer every George question I had . . . what can I say, the guy’s a piece of work.” He absently stroked Laurie’s back. “What you were doing at the pier?”
“Looking for him.” I wiggled my eyebrows up and down. “I’m replacing Galigani as the private investigator for Mrs. Avery.”
Jim stopped rubbing Laurie’s back and stared at me. “What?”
“I have the contract ready for your review.”
Jim shook his head. “You don’t have any experience or training! I don’t want you running around and getting yourself into any danger.”
“You don’t think I can take care of myself?”
“That’s not what I mean. Investigators like Galigani have training on how to handle different situations, you know, defuse anger and—”
“Look, I’m not gonna get myself in any potentially volatile situations. I promise. I’m not an idiot.”
Jim looked dubious.
“Are you going to support me?”
He reached out and wrapped his free arm around me. “Honey, I always support you.”
The following morning Jim and I agreed to stake out the pier together. I knew he was getting increasingly concerned about my safety, not to mention the fact that we were both alarmed at George’s potential involvement in the crimes.
Jim called in sick and we arranged for Mom to watch Laurie. I left her with instructions on how to prepare a bottle for Laurie with the measly three ounces I had managed to pump so far.
So much for building a supply of milk up before my return to work.
When Jim and I arrived at the pier, we parked a little ways down the street, which gave us an unencumbered view of all the activity. There were joggers every couple minutes, a few bike riders, and the occasional skate-boarder. The homeless woman from the day before was absent.
I sat on the passenger side of the Chevy, and Jim drummed on the steering wheel. After about an hour, I unwrapped one of the ham and cheese sandwiches I had packed.
“Want one?”
Jim shook his head. “We just had breakfast.”
“That was at least an hour ago.” I bit into the sandwich.
He nudged me with his elbow and pointed to a hooded figure carrying a black duffel bag. “I think that’s him.”
Jim jumped out of the car and started running toward George. I struggled to put down my sandwich and also get out. Jim was way ahead of me.
When George saw Jim approaching, he stretched out his hand. “Buddy!”
“Cut the crap,” Jim said, walking straight up to George.
Jim stood a good four inches taller than George. George had a wiry frame compared to his brother’s solid stature.
“What’s up?” George asked, unruffled as I finally caught up with them. He nodded at me. “Hey, Kate.”
“Glad to see you’re functioning,” Jim said.
George’s head twitched to the side. “Not doing as good as you, man, but who can compare to you?”
“Last I heard you were on the streets,” Jim said, disgusted.
“Yeah?” George yanked the hood off and ran his fingers over his hair. “Well, not anymore. Like you care.”
Jim’s shoulders inched up a degree. “Same old George. Nobody cares about you, huh, buddy?”
George’s eyes flashed anger. “That’s right.”
Jim squinted. “What are you doing here anyway? This your new hangout? What’s in the bag?”
George tightened his grip on the duffel. “What’s it to you?”
Jim stepped forward, shortening the distance between them. “Who’s Brad Avery to you? Why is he dead?”
“You knew Brad?” George said through an oily little smile.
“I know he washed up dead right before Kate went into labor.”
George glanced at me, surprised. “You had a baby?”
“I know your bags were on this pier, right where his body was recovered. The same bags that are at my house right now, because no one could find you.” Jim continued, “I know I was worried sick, thinking it was you who washed up that night. You shithead!”
“Oh!” George covered his heart with one hand, his voice full of sarcasm. “My big brother was worried about me? You have your own family now. What do you care about me?”
“I know, always the victim,” Jim fired back.
“If you care so much, where were you six months ago when I needed a hand?”
“You mean a handout?” Jim said.
George rolled up his sleeves. “You’ve never done nothing for me!” he yelled into Jim’s face.
Jim loosened the top buttons of his shirt, then turned toward me and said in the most serious voice I’d ever heard him use, “Kate, can you go to the car now, please?”
“This is ridiculous!” I said. “Are you two really going to fight?”
They both stared at me, waiting for me to walk away.
“No fighting,” I said. “We’re in this together.”
George ignored me and turned toward Jim. “Did you know Brad was killed with one of Dad’s guns? One that you inherited? Since you inherited everything!”
Jim’s face flushed. “I never inherited jack!”
I felt my blood pressure skyrocket. “How do you know about the gun, George?” I demanded.
Jim’s hands flew to George’s neck, knocking him off balance and to the ground. Jim jumped on top of him, never releasing his grip.
Just then a police cruiser appeared. Two police officers exploded out of the car and charged toward us. By the time they reached us, George had thrown a punch squarely at Jim’s chest. Jim had stopped strangling George long enough to punch him in the face.
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