Motherhood Is Murder (13 page)

“Wait . . . um . . . Does Danny bite?”
“No! Don’t worry, I would never let Danny bite Laurie. Why do you ask?”
“One of the moms got kicked out of Roo & You because her kid bit a baby.”
“Really? Isn’t that kinda harsh? Don’t all kids do things at one point or another that you can’t control? We try our best, but sometimes, girl, the kids are not your own.”
“Hmmm. Maybe there was more to it. She’s pretty pushy. Anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow and thank you!”
“Okay, no prob,” Paula said.
“Hey, Paula, one more thing . . .”
“What?”
“Galigani told me not to mention his name when I was with ‘The Grizzly,’ so what do I do if he asks about my license?”
“Hmm. Tell him you applied for a license and are waiting on the paperwork to be processed.”
“Lie?”
“That’s not a lie. It’s a
petite
misrepresentation of the facts.”
“I haven’t applied for a license. It’s a bald-faced lie.”
“The guy is criminal defense—you think he cares about one tiny misstatement?”
I sighed. “You’re impossible.”
Paula laughed. “See you tomorrow. Make sure to look sharp. That’ll distract him and secure your rightful destiny as a media darling.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

The Grizzly

To Do:
1. Meet with Gary Barramendi.
2. Shop for shoes.
3. Practice some recipes for Thanksgiving.
4. Groceries.
5. Laurie—need the memento book—already missed milestone!
I’d had a fitful night. Tossing and turning while Laurie was sound asleep and then finally drifting off just as she would wake for a feeding. While I nursed her, I contemplated my restlessness.
I was definitely nervous about meeting with Mr. Barramendi, but was that all? No, the weight of the case was getting to me. And now to make matters worse, I’d have to lie to Barramendi about Galigani or avoid the topic altogether.
I had never been good at lying. Something people find hard to believe as soon as they discover I have an acting degree. But acting is different. You take on the role of a character. You’re not actually lying about yourself.
And then again. Wait.
Yes. Tomorrow I would play the part of a character. I would meet with Barramendi as my “future self.” A self-assured, successful PI. A licensed PI.
In the morning I woke with a start to the alarm. Laurie was still asleep and Jim was getting dressed for his meeting. He stood in front of our closet examining dress shirts.
“Good morning,” I said, propping myself up in bed.
“Hi, honey. I made coffee,” Jim said.
“Thank you.”
Jim selected a blue striped dress shirt and put it on.
He looked great. My mind immediately snapped to what I was going to wear. Did anything fit?
As soon as Jim said good-bye, I jumped to the task of getting ready.
First I nursed and burped Laurie then laid her back in the bassinet. She was still awake but seemed content to study a white bunny rattle that I handed her.
I stopped suddenly; today Laurie was two months old!
I picked her up out of the bassinet. “Oh! My darling!” I squeezed her to me. “Two months already. So short a time and yet it feels like you’ve been part of my life forever.”
Laurie cooed and attempted to put the bunny rattle into her mouth.
“You like the bunny? Mommy’s going to get you something for your . . . what? Second month birthday? Okay, that works.” I kissed Laurie’s head and put her down.
Need to add shopping for Laurie to the to-do list!
Next I showered, then pulled out my new girdle and wrapped it around myself. It was simple enough to use. It wrapped around my tummy and hips and fastened on the side with a long Velcro fitting.
I positioned it in place and frantically started going through items in my closet. I found a favorite burgundy silk blouse and tried it on. To my astonishment, it fit nicely. I then selected some trousers. The first three pairs I tried on were way too tight, but the fourth pair worked.
Way to go, girdle!
Shoes?
Ah. Another problem!
My postpartum feet didn’t fit any of my pre-Laurie shoes. I finally found some loafers that would barely pass.
I glanced at the clock. I needed to get Laurie loaded into the car and out of the house in the next few minutes if I was going to be on time, and I still needed to pack her diaper bag.
Why hadn’t I packed the stupid diaper bag last night?
I hurried to do my hair and makeup.
At least Laurie was now sound asleep; that would be a help in getting out the door. I ran to the freezer and found a few bags of frozen milk. Just over 4 ounces. Enough for one feeding.
Darn. I needed to build up a bigger supply if I was going to have to keep leaving Laurie with a sitter. Another thing to add to my list!
I hustled Laurie into the car. She barely roused. Why didn’t she sleep like this for me? Why only when I left her with someone?
I drove to Paula’s and pulled into her driveway like a madwoman.
I unclipped the car seat from the base and grabbed the diaper bag, lugging the entire load up Paula’s front steps.
Paula opened the door ensconced in a violet terry robe.
“Good morning!” I said, pushing my way past her and into the entrance to unburden my arms.
Paula let out a low whistle. “Look at you, girl! You are looking hot!”
“Thanks. It takes effort now, you know.”
Paula laughed. “Oh yeah! Hey, what’s up with your shoes?”
I glanced down at my loafers and shrugged. “They’re what fit.”
Paula tsked. “Oh no. Follow me.”
Paula retreated down the hallway. I looked at Laurie sound asleep in her car seat. I quickly put my hand on her and felt reassured by the rise and fall of her belly.
I walked down the hallway to Paula’s bedroom, stopping first to peek in on Danny. Paula had hand painted the room in baby blue with a mural of Thomas the Tank Engine on one wall. Sure looked a lot more inviting than Laurie’s nursery that doubled as Jim’s and my office.
I worried about having the computer in Laurie’s nursery. Was it giving off any weird energy waves that I should be concerned about?
Add that to my to-do list: look up safety of computers in nursery!
Currently, she was spending the night in our room in her portable bassinet, but soon she would outgrow that and have to sleep down the hall. My heart dropped. She would be down the hall! So far away from me.
A big kid in her crib in her own room.
I peered over at Danny asleep in his crib. I marveled at how long he appeared; it seemed like only yesterday he had been an infant like Laurie.
I touched his soft hair. “Hey, buddy, you’re gonna be a big brother soon.”
He was fidgeting a bit and his mouth started to move as though he wanted to nurse or have a pacifier. Still asleep, his hand shot to his mouth and he started sucking his thumb.
“You’re still a baby, too! I love you, little buddy.” I pulled his blanket up around him and headed toward Paula’s bedroom.
I found her digging in her closet.
“Size?” she asked.
“Pre-Laurie was seven.”
“So eight?” Paula asked from inside the closet.
“I guess. I’m still trying to come to terms with it.”
Paula laughed and rummaged deeper into the closet.
“I have some frozen breast milk for Laurie in the diaper bag. She could be hungry when she wakes up. I also brought some formula, just in case I’m not back in time for the feeding after that. Oh, shoot . . .”
“What?” Paula asked from inside the closet.
“I didn’t think about a purse. All my gear, my wallet, cell phone, notebook, and stuff is in the diaper bag.”
Paula emerged from the closet with the classiest pair of Ferragamo burgundy pumps I’d ever seen. They matched my blouse exactly. I gasped.
Paula grimaced. “Just my luck. I was a size eight pre-Danny, now I’m a nine, so you can have them.”
I grabbed her around the neck and kissed her cheek, then slipped into the shoes. They felt simply divine. “Ooh, I feel so
in
!”
She laughed as she kicked the loafers I’d been wearing across the room. “Well, those are definitely
out
.”
“I’m matchy-matchy now!” I exclaimed. “You are a lifesaver!”
Paula let out a self-satisfied sigh. “I know. And you don’t even know the half of it. I have the matching bag for you.”
She reached inside the closet and pulled out the purse. A lovely handbag that was large enough for my notebook, but sleek enough to belong to a media darling.
I sighed. “Paula! It’s beautiful.”
“You know my thing about bags and shoes.”
I studied my reflection in the mirror, posing with the shoes and holding the handbag to me. “I look like I can fake it, huh?”
Paula smiled widely. “Of course, girlfriend! Fake it ’til you make it.”
When I arrived at Gary Barramendi’s office, I was greeted by a receptionist, who had on a Dior suit and more expensive shoes than I did. Her honey-colored hair was pinned at the sides and down in the back, framing her round young face. She looked to be in her early twenties. She assured me she would let Gary know I had arrived and showed me to a waiting room.
The waiting room boasted huge windows with a glorious view of Alcatraz. There was a station with coffee, tea, and water in the corner of the room, and in the center were several high-back chairs near a table covered with magazines.
On the wall opposite the windows a full-length mirror reflected views of Alcatraz throughout the room. But instead of focusing me on the view, it focused me on the image of me.
I had forgotten to put breast pads inside my bra.
Oh God! What if I leaked!
I pulled the door of the waiting room open and peeked out into the hallway. No trace of the receptionist or anyone else, but a ladies’ room sign was prominent. I made a mad dash into the ladies’ room and quickly pulled some tissues from a box on the marbled counter.
I folded a few sheets of tissue neatly and stuffed them into my bra. The result gave me square breasts.
I pulled the tissues out and tried a single sheet on each side. The padding was not as noticeable. I prayed only one sheet would be enough.
I returned to the waiting room and fiddled with the magazines. The glossy rags depicted yachting, golfing, and travel that I could only dream about. I wondered about Gary’s clientele. Were they all that high-end?
I was totally out of my league. Each magazine I flipped through made me feel worse and worse, until I was a nervous wreck.
What was I doing here?
Women who had sat in this waiting room before me certainly didn’t have tissues stuffed in their bras. Or worse, girdles to hold in their postpartum bellies. And they definitely, definitely didn’t sit here in borrowed designer shoes with the accompanying handbag!
In the midst of my insecurity, the receptionist returned and ushered me into Gary’s office.
The office was enormous, with an astonishing view of the Bay Bridge. I felt as if I could lean out his window and touch traffic.
Gary Barramendi stood when I entered and offered me a warm handshake.
I was suddenly disarmed. He was young. Not what I had been expecting at all. He was very tall. Perhaps six-six. And extremely thin, bordering on gawky. He had dark bushy hair. His features appeared to be pushed together from all different angles and the left side of his face was almost completely different from the right side, yet everything was fused in the middle by his large nose.
Despite his unconventional face and stature, his smile was warm and his handshake firm and friendly, putting me at ease instantly.
“Hey. Gary Barramendi. Nice to meet you. I understand you know Bruce Chambers.”
“Yes.” I shook his hand with my best businesslike handshake and said, “Kate Connolly, pleasure to meet you.”
Gary motioned to the sofa that hugged the left wall of the office. “Have a seat.”
I was starting to feel confident. Gary wasn’t a grizzly! This was going to be a good meeting.
I was channeling my future self. Confident, smart, pro-active.
I was feeling great!
I placed my beautiful burgundy Ferragamo handbag on the couch and took a seat next to it. Suddenly a horrifying loud ripping sound reverberated around the room.
I froze.
The Velcro closing on my girdle had given way. The entire thing came undone under my shirt. The buttons on my silk blouse threatened to pop and the material between each button gapped hideously open.
I moaned and swayed, feeling a bit faint.
Please, please, earth, swallow me whole.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Two’s Better Than One?

Gary cleared his throat. “Kate. There’s a restroom here to the right.” He motioned across the room.
His voice sounded as though it was coming at me through a tunnel. I sat frozen, my mouth agape. I looked up at him with my mouth still open, feeling like a walleye fish.
He smiled. “The restroom’s right there,” he repeated.
“I just had a baby. I bought this stupid girdle thing online. I wanted to look professional . . .”
“A baby? That’s so sweet. Got any pictures?”
“Uh.”
I didn’t have any pictures! Not one.
What kind of mother was I?
I’d left my baby to come on this wild-goose chase in an outfit that didn’t fit. Not only was I a bad mother, but an idiot, too!
Suddenly, tears streamed down my face.
Gary grabbed a box of tissues from his desk and sat next to me. “How old is your baby?”
I swallowed hard and sort of gulped my tears, trying to bring myself back to the present. “Two months.”
Gary nodded sympathetically and handed me the tissue box. “My sister just had a baby. Beautiful little girl. She’s four months. Me? I’m not married, so no kids yet. But man, they are something, huh?”
I nodded, slightly dumbfounded at the kindness of this stranger.
Gary stood and straightened his slacks. “Listen, I’m going to pull Bruce’s file. Take whatever time you need. Should I have Mandy make us some coffee?”
I stood and straightened my slacks, too, as if on cue. Suddenly my head was clear. I was here for business and I needed to get on with it.
“Yes. Coffee would be nice. I’ll just be a moment.”
I headed to the restroom as Gary left the office.
Once in the safety of the bathroom, I evaluated myself in the mirror. It was worse than I had imagined. The blouse that I had been so pleased with and felt so pretty in now looked like a sausage casing gone bad. It was stretched to the limit. I had raccoon eyes from my streaky mascara and my hair was totally flat.
I unbuttoned my blouse and re-Velcroed the girdle. I then checked the tissue I had stuffed into my bra. It was soaked, but thankfully hadn’t leaked.
I shoved clean dry tissue into my bra, then redid the buttons on the blouse. Miraculously, it looked fine again.
I sat on the toilet and tested the Velcro. It held. I stood, then sat again and rocked back and forth. The Velcro slipped a bit. I jumped as though I’d just been bitten and redid the girdle a little looser. This time the blouse didn’t look as great as before, but the Velcro didn’t slip either. I decided that was the better option.
I washed my face and cleaned off the mascara, then teased my hair a bit for some volume. Overall, physically the effect was fine. Not fabulous, but passable.
What about feeling like an idiot, though?
Nothing I could do about that but suck it up.
Stop pretending I was somebody I wasn’t. Thin, confident, experienced. And start telling the truth.
When I emerged from the restroom, Gary was seated comfortably on the couch looking completely untraumatized. In fact, he looked so relaxed holding a cup of coffee in one hand and flipping through a file that rested on his lap with the other, that I wondered if I had imagined the entire incident.
He looked up when I entered and smiled. “We won’t get the preliminary report the uniforms took on the evening of November fifth or any of the medical examiner’s findings from the toxicology screen unless they formally charge Bruce. The only thing in here are my notes from the police interview the other day.” He closed the file and rose, indicated a coffee tray on a side table. “Help yourself. I’m going to ask Mandy to photocopy this for you.”
He left the room and I poured myself a cup of coffee. I sat on the couch and tested the girdle. Everything held. I tried not to focus on the girdle and sipped the coffee instead.
Gary returned, smiling. “Here we go. This is the full transcription from the interview.”
He handed me the file and I opened it.
It looked like somebody had written the pages in German. I fought to keep my eyes from glazing over from the legalese.
Might as well start with something I knew.
I recounted for him my first meeting with Helene and Margaret and then began on the dinner cruise.
“You were on the cruise?” Gary asked.
I nodded. “Yeah. It was my first night meeting most of the mommy group.”
Gary looked confused.
I waved away his concern. “Long story. Anyway, what I do know is that there were reports of Helene and Sara fighting just before Helene’s demise.”
Gary didn’t try to hide his surprise. His eyebrows rose, although due to the asymmetry of his face, his right eyebrow shot up quite high while his left one moved only slightly. I had to smile in spite of myself.
“Where did you get this information?” he asked.
“Another former member of the Roo & You group. She was asked to leave the group because her kid bit a baby.”
Gary rose, crossed to his desk, and picked up a legal pad. “Really? I used to be a biter.”
I laughed. “Is that where you got your nickname?” Gary looked taken aback.
Oops. Perhaps I shouldn’t have mentioned that.
“You know about my nickname?”
I swallowed. Well, my foot was in it now. May as well proceed.
“Sure. Gary the Grizzly.”
He laughed and looked pleased with himself. “My reputation precedes me, huh?”
I smiled.
He scribbled something on the legal pad. “Okay, what else do you know?”
I explained that, according to several sources, Dr. Alan Lipe was having an affair. That he and his wife, Margaret, had fought that evening and Margaret suspected he may have poisoned Helene by mistake.
Gary took notes. When I finished, he looked up. “What else you got?”
“What else do
you
got?” I countered.
Gary smiled. “Ah. Tough cookie, huh? You want a little quid pro quo?”
I nodded.
“I’m giving you a copy of my client’s interrogation.”
“He asked you to,” I answered.
Gary chewed on the cap of his pen and squinted at me. “Are we on the same team here?”
“What do you mean?”
“Has Bruce hired you, or what?”
I glanced around the room. “Not exactly.”
“Who are you working for?” Gary asked.
Time to come clean.
“I was hired by Margaret Lipe.”
Gary nodded. “You think Bruce is guilty.”
“I don’t know what to think,” I said. “It was just Bruce, Celia, and I at his place, and I know I didn’t poison Celia.”
“What does Margaret Lipe think?” Gary asked.
I hesitated. Frankly I didn’t know what Margaret thought about the attempt on Celia’s life, because she hadn’t called me back.
How much should I disclose to Gary?
Did I have any obligation of confidentiality to Margaret?
“Well, Margaret suspected Alan, and I understand that for Helene’s murder—but what about Celia? If it was just the three of us at Bruce’s house, how can it be anyone other than Bruce?” I asked.
“Maybe Celia was with the doctor right before she showed up at Bruce’s. Maybe she’s the other woman and the doc told her he was going to get rid of his wife and then botched it. But now Celia knows about the accident and he’s scared she’ll say something to the police, so he slips her something on her way to Bruce’s.”
“If that’s the case, wouldn’t Celia tell the police that her lover killed Helene and then maybe tried to poison her?”
Gary shrugged. “Maybe she hasn’t put it all together. Or maybe she’s protecting him. You’d be surprised about the things people don’t tell the police. Well, probably you wouldn’t, if you’ve been doing PI work long.”
I tried to look as experienced as I could by composing my features into a serious reflective look and nodded.
He must have bought into my acting because he said, “Let’s start there, with the midwife. She knows something. Stake her out, see where she goes. Maybe we’ll get lucky.” He chomped on the pen cap thoughtfully. “You think we can come to an arrangement?” he asked.
I studied his eyes. “What kind of an arrangement?”
“I have a PI I use to look into things. Because you know my time . . .”
“Right. Your time is pretty valuable.”
Gary smiled.
“Your reputation precedes you.” I laughed.
“Now, see! Sweet-talk like that will get you everywhere. I mean nowhere,” he corrected, shaking a finger at me, but with his disarming grin lighting up his face. “What I’m thinking is I can hire a PI, but they’d have to run around and do the same work you just did. So, I’d be behind the curve—”
“Isn’t what you’re proposing a conflict of interest?” I asked.
“Whose interest?”
“My client’s. Sort of breach of confidentiality.”
Gary frowned. “You’re not bound to confidentiality. Unless, of course, you bound yourself in your own contract. Which I hope you didn’t. Because it wouldn’t stand up in a court of law and you’d just be misleading your client. You should let me review that for you. Anyway, as you know under the Business and Professions Code, Article 6, Disciplinary Proceedings, Sections 7561-7567, you are free to report illegal activity as you see fit or risk suspension of your license, fees, jail time, you name it—whatever the Review Board decides.”
All right, so I didn’t have to worry about confidentiality, but how could I tell him I had no worries about a license suspension either?
“Why don’t you tell me exactly what you’re proposing?” I asked.
“Simple, you work for me. I’ll double your hourly rate. Or are you working on a project basis?”
“Hourly.”
“Great. Hourly. I’ll double your rate. You can continue to work independently, so keep your contract with Margaret, I don’t care about that. But let me know everything you find out. I mean everything. I’d like a daily report. Doable?”