Nursing a Grudge is Murder (A Maternal Instincts Mystery) (23 page)

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We made our way through a dimly lit corridor toward the main dining hall. The cruise ship held roughly seventy-five passengers although tonight it was only about half full.

The change in atmosphere was immediately noticeable. Not to mention eerie. The dance floor was empty and the music was off. We crossed the bar area, which moments ago had been packed, and hurried to our dining table.

Most of the passengers were seated at their tables. The chatter that had animated the room was subdued.

I spotted Jim standing alone at our table, gripping the back of his chair. He surveyed the room. When he saw me, his expression relaxed a notch, going from grim to serious.

I hurried to him and reached for his hand.

He embraced me. “Kate! I was worried.”

“I need to find my husband,” Sara said as she rushed past us and headed for the main stairwell.

“What’s happened? Sara said Helene fell down some steps. Is it serious?”

“I’m not sure. The captain asked everyone to return to their dining tables. Didn’t you hear him on the microphone? Where’ve you been?”

Before I could answer my elbow was jogged by Evelyn, another mommy from our group.

She was eight months pregnant with her second child. Her blonde hair was pinned neatly back, and her green eyes flashed enhanced by the lime scarf she wore. The scarf was arranged to draw the eye toward her protruding belly, which she proudly stroked.

“Kate! How awful! Did you hear about Helene?” Her lips curled a bit, almost as if she were suppressing a smile.

Why was she smiling? Almost gloating.

“Sort of. Is she all right?”

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the captain’s voice boomed over the microphone. “Please take your seats. We will be a bit delayed in docking in San Francisco due to an unfortunate accident aboard. The U.S. Coast Guard will be joining us shortly. Thank you in advance for your full cooperation.”

Evelyn squeezed my elbow and flitted off to gather her husband. Jim pulled my chair out for me.

“Coast Guard? What’s going on?” I asked.

Jim’s lips formed a line. “I was at the bar getting a Bud, when the brunette –”

“Sara, Miss No-Nonsense?”

“No. The other one, the one with the…with the…” Jim waved his hands around. “Fluffy dress.”

I nodded. “Margaret.”

Margaret was wearing a ballet tutu. I wish I could say it looked as ridiculous as it sounded, but the truth was it looked fabulous. Margaret was super tall, pencil thin, and had shapely legs. She looked as if she could have stepped out of a children’s book – a cartoon

character with spindly spider legs and a ruffle at her waist. But the gold top and shoes added something indescribable to the outfit. Making the cartoon Olive Oyl look glamorous and runwayish.

“Yeah, Margaret,” Jim continued. “She ran up to us, looking a little dazed, and said

Helene fell down the back staircase. Said she was unconscious –”

“Unconscious?” I felt a shiver run down my spine.

Jim pulled out my dining chair. “The captain asked if there was a doctor on board.”

I sat down and let him push my chair in.

We were the only ones at our table. Earlier, we had dined with all the parents from my new mothers’ group: Sara, Helene, Margaret, Evelyn and their husbands.

We had christened them: Sara was Miss No-Nonsense; Helene was Lean and Mean,

Margaret was Tutu, and Evelyn was Preggers. We referred to the husbands as Cardboard Cutout

Numbers 1 through 4.

Now, it felt almost irreverent to have given everyone a nickname.

“Where is everybody?” asked Jim.

I shrugged. “Helene, we know about, so her husband is probably with her, right? Wasn’t

Margaret’s husband –”

“Alan?”

“Yeah, Alan, isn’t he a doctor?”

Jim frowned. “A podiatrist.”

“Okay. Well, med school and all. Maybe she twisted her ankle. Did you see the heels she was wearing?”

Jim tried to hide his smirk by sipping his beer.

I pushed his shoulder. “What’s so funny?”

“You. We just heard that Helene may be unconscious and you’re worrying about her shoes!”

“I’m not worried about her shoes! I’m wondering what happened to her and where everybody is. I mean, the woman practically kills herself wearing some ungodly high heels, just to please some man, who probably laughed at her –”

Margaret descended the main staircase and closed the distance on our table. I cut myself off despite Jim’s snickers into his beer. She raised her hand in acknowledgment and sat down grim-faced.

“Where’s Alan?” I asked.

“With Helene,” she answered.

I shot Jim a smug look, which he ignored.

“How is she?” Jim asked.

Margaret’s eyes clouded over and she shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know.”

We sat in awkward silence. I perused the other three tables in the dining room. The parties at each table were as somber as we were. The four-hour dinner cruise on the San Francisco Bay had now been delayed indeterminately and nobody looked pleased about it.

Margaret fiddled with a cocktail glass that lingered beside her half eaten dessert. She lifted the glass and examined the contents. Only two melting ice cubes remained. She stirred them with her straw, hoping, I suppose, to release any vodka that might be clinging to them.

After a moment of disappointing results, she returned the glass to the table. Her eyes flicked toward the bar.

“Can I get you anything?” Jim asked.

Margaret flushed. “No. God, no. Thank you.” She picked up her discarded navy cloth napkin and wrung it.

From the main staircase Sara and her husband approached. Behind them Evelyn and her husband were struggling to keep up. Evelyn had one hand on her pregnant belly and the other on her husband’s shoulder. They took their places at our table in silence. The men smelled of cigar smoke and looked relaxed. In contrast, both women had pinched expressions.

Now, there were only three vacant spots at our table. Helene’s, her husband’s, and Alan’s. My eyes fell on Helene’s empty spot. Sara gave me a tight smile, then put her hand on Margaret’s to stop her fidgeting.

“Everything will be fine, you’ll see,” Sara said to Margaret.

Margaret lowered her eyes and nodded.

Suddenly we felt a bump and the ship jostled back and forth. Everyone in the dining room turned toward the sound. Through the starboard window we could see the U.S. Coast Guard vessel had arrived. Crew members were roping the smaller craft to our ship.

The Coast Guard quickly boarded our ship and disappeared out of sight with the crew members.

Margaret cleared her throat and eyed Evelyn. “Does anyone know what happened? I mean, did she just slip or what?”

I had noticed that the woman hadn’t been very chatty with Evelyn throughout the dinner and now wondered what the look Margaret had flashed her might mean.

Evelyn shrugged and returned Margaret’s look evenly. “How would I know? Ask Sara.”

Sara pressed her shoulders back and sat a little taller.

“She was really out of it,” Evelyn continued, rubbing her extended belly. “How much did she have to drink anyway?”

“I didn’t think she had that much, did she?” Margaret asked.

Helene’s empty place seemed to dominate the table. Her dessert plate still held the untouched apple turnover. The ice cream had melted and run over the edge of the plate onto the navy and white place mat. Next to the plate, two drained cocktail glasses loomed, and in the tall wine-glass only the stain of red wine remained.

A strange hush settled on our table.

Howard, Sara’s husband, slouched into his chair and casually slung his arm around the back of Sara’s. “Looks like we’re going to be here awhile.”

Everyone at the table looked at Howard, and then followed his eyes to the starboard window. The night and bay were dark except for a troubling light that was converging upon us.

“Oh good!” Margaret exclaimed. “That must be the hospital boat for Helene.”

The craft nudged itself alongside us. Silence descended on the entire dining room as letters on the boat came into view: “SFPD.”

…Excerpt from MOTHERHOOD IS MURDER by Diana Orgain © 2010

Buy MOTHERHOOD IS MURDER for your Kindle

FORMULA FOR MURDER

Book 3 of the MATERNAL INSTINCTS MYSTERY SERIES

© 2011 Diana Orgain

Sleuth and first-time mom Kate Connolly and her baby are the victims of a hit-and-run, but escape unharmed. A witness identifies the car’s French diplomatic license plates, yet when Kate and her hubby try to get some answers, they get le cold shoulder.

But there’s something going on at the French consulate that’s dirtier-and far deadlier-than any diaper.

Enjoy the following excerpt for FORMULA FOR MURDER

Chapter One

To Do:

1. √
Make holiday photo appointment for Laurie.

2.
Send out Christmas cards
Get them printed first—then send out Christmas cards.

3.
Complete
Start Christmas shopping.

4. Find a “Baby’s First Christmas” ornament.

5. Get Christmas tree.

6. Finish background checks Galigani gave me.

7. Get new PI client. How do I do this?

I checked Laurie in the rearview mirror. She was sound asleep; as usual, the motion of the car had lulled her into slumber.

She looked adorable, wearing a tiny red satin dress with matching red booties. We were on our way to get her first holiday photos taken. I couldn’t believe three months had evaporated; it seemed like she was born just yesterday. My best friend, Paula, had warned me the time would fly by, but this was ridiculous. How had I put off taking Laurie’s holiday photos? Now it was the first week in December and I’d be hustling to get them taken, printed, and sent out as Christmas cards.

It’s all right. From now on efficiency will be my middle name.

I cruised down the hill to the stoplight and stepped on the brake. Out of habit, I glanced in the rearview again and saw a silver SUV barreling down the hill.

Was the car out of control? It continued to speed and there was no telltale sign of the nose dipping as it would if the driver were braking.

They were getting closer! Almost on top of us.

I quickly looked for a way to avoid impact. The cars in front of me were waiting on the traffic signal and a steady stream of cross traffic moved through the intersection.

No! The SUV was going to hit us!

My eyes were transfixed on the rearview mirror. I held my breath, bracing myself for the crash at the same time my brain screamed for a miracle.

Please stop in time. Please don’t hit me and my baby!

Adrenaline shot through me, and everything felt as though it was happening in slow motion. I watched in horror as the SUV swerved violently to the right, but there was no way it could avoid hitting us.

The impact jolted us forward and I banged my head on the steering wheel. My seat belt caught and tugged at me just as we slammed into the car in front of us, then my entire body jerked backward, the base of my head smacking into the headrest.

Laurie let out a shrill wail, piercing into my heart. My gaze shot right and I locked eyes with the assailing driver. He was young, maybe only sixteen or seventeen, with longish brown hair and peach fuzz on his chin. His eyes were wide in shock. The SUV revved and tore off through the red light.

The light changed to green, and traffic—which had been stopped all around us—began to move again.

The passenger door of the vehicle in front of us opened and a woman jumped out. She rushed to my driver’s side. I unfastened my belt with only one thing on my mind.

Laurie!

My hands were shaking from the adrenaline pulsing through my system. I pushed open my door.

The woman asked, “Are you all right?”

“I don’t know. My baby! My baby!”

The woman’s eyes widened as she focused on Laurie in her car seat.

Why wasn’t she crying? She had cried out on impact but now she was silent.

My heart was lodged in my throat. I struggled with the door handle, my hands fumbling it. The woman reached over me and easily opened the door. I dove inside the backseat to Laurie’s side.

Traffic sped around us. One vehicle slowed then stopped. The driver yelled, “Is everyone okay? Do you want me to call a tow truck? The police?”

I swallowed past the lump in my throat and shouted, “Call an ambulance!”

My voice sounded near hysterical even to me. I examined Laurie, who upon seeing me started to fidget and then began to cry.

Was she hurt? Was I supposed to move her? Panic about spinal cord injury flooded my mind.

“What do I do?” I asked the woman. “I don’t want to take her out of the car seat. What if it hurts her little spine?”

“Can we get the entire car seat out of the car? Traffic’s not waiting, honey, and I want to get you two out of danger.”

I unclipped the car seat bucket and pulled the carrier out of the car. The woman grabbed the carrier, and we crossed a lane of traffic to the side of the road.

She set Laurie’s bucket down on a bed of ice plants. “My husband went after the guy,” the woman said. “I can’t believe he just took off like that!”

I nodded distractedly, my mind and attention on Laurie. “He was young, a kid.”

The woman blew out her breath in a sharp huff. “Probably on drugs!”

I leaned in as close to Laurie as I could without removing her from the seat, trying to soothe her.

“Did you see the plates on the car?” the woman asked me.

I rubbed Laurie’s check, she rooted toward my hand. She was either hungry or looking for soothing. “No,” I answered. “Just him. Long brown hair, peach fuzz, wide-eyed doe look on his face.”

“Foreign diplomat car. DL? What code is that? French?” she asked.

Sirens screamed from up the hill.

Help is on the way!

I pressed my check against Laurie’s and whispered, “Shhh, little angel, pumpkiny pie, Mommy’s here and help’s coming fast.”