Nursing a Grudge is Murder (A Maternal Instincts Mystery) (4 page)

“Flag the case?” I asked. “You think there was foul play?”

“No. Well, I don’t know,” Galigani said. “That’s what I’m asking you.”

“Oh. Well, no. I mean, he fell while hiking, right?”

“Seems so,” Galigani said. “Although his girlfriend, Jill, is missing now, too…”

I swallowed past the fear building up in my throat. “Well, she’s not exactly missing, is she? I’m sure she’s going to call me soon.”

There were escalated screams coming from the hospital room. “I gotta go,” I said, hanging up.

I turned the water off and ran into Paula’s room. “How are you?”

She gave me the evil eye. “Awful. The nurse said I’m not progressing at all.”

Reaching out for her hand I said, “Oh, sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry about that. It’s not your fault. Be sorry about the fact that you’re sneaking phone calls in the bathroom when you’re supposed to be here supporting me!”

I squeezed her hand. “Sorry about that, too.”

She pulled her hand away. “And don’t touch me!”

I laughed and seated myself in the soft chair by the window. “Want me to sing to you?”

“No.”

“Did you bring a book? I can read to you.”

“No.”

“Okay, no TV, no singing, no reading. How about I play a meditation CD for you or something?”

She gave me a scathing look. “Meditation CD?" Her voice was filled with contempt. "Puh-leese."

“Those haven’t caught on with you yet?” I asked innocently.

She raised a brow at me but didn’t say anything.

After a moment of tapping my fingers on her food tray and eyeing her saltine crackers, I asked, “Did you bring a photo album or anything to look through?”

Paula stared at me. “What?”

“You know, in all the labor prep books they tell moms to pack some calming photos to look through. Like pictures of the beach with the little huts on stilts in Bora Bora overlooking the emerald water, or a picture of Danny or—”

Paula looked like she held back screaming at me in order to breathe her way through a contraction. When it passed, she said, “Okay, put on the stupid TV. Anything is better than listening to you.”

I decided not to be hurt and flipped on the TV. My stomach rumbled and I eyed the saltine crackers on Paula’s dinner tray. “Are you going to eat those crackers?” I asked.

Paula turned to me and seemed so upset that I could swear her eyes were glowing red. “What do you think?”

I leaned forward and snatched the crackers of the tray. “You’re not supposed to eat at this stage of labor. It could make you sick. I’m doing you a favor here.” I ripped into the package. “I didn’t get to eat lunch—”

“Sorry I interrupted your little
soirêe
with Jill,” Paula said sarcastically.

“No. You didn’t,” I said, stuffing a saltine in my mouth and ignoring her sarcasm. “That’s what I was trying to tell you when you—”

Paula’s shook her head. “Uh huh. I can’t hear it now. Sorry. Pain.”

Her face contorted, but she didn’t moan or have a bout of Tourettes.

“You okay?” I asked.

Paula nodded. “Yeah, that one wasn’t so bad.”

“I’m glad. It really sucks to see your best friend in pain.”

Paula smiled, not a full, normal Paula smile, but at least her lips twitched up instead of down.

“Tell me about Jill before I have a baby.”

I filled her in as quickly as I could. Oddly, she didn’t have a contraction during my story and she seemed almost herself.

When I was done we stared at each other.

“Did Galigani flag the body so the M.E. can take a look?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. You wouldn’t let me talk to him.”

“Call him,” Paula said.

I looked at the monitor that was tracking Paula’s contractions. “I don’t think I’m supposed to use a cell phone near the equipment.”

Paula followed my eyes. “Hey, look at my report there.” She indicated a roll of paper that was spitting out of the machine periodically.

I picked it up. “What?”

“I haven’t had a contraction in about 15 minutes!”

“So?”

“I don’t think that good,” she said.

“I’m sure it’s alright. Want me to call the nurse?”

“I guess, but I already know what she’s going to say.” She sighed. “False labor.”

Chapter Four

I drove home from the hospital quickly, my thoughts a jumble about Jill, food and babies. Jill hadn’t answered any of my messages and I needed to get home to my computer to find her address. I cursed myself for not being more tech-savvy. Surely there was a better way to access my computer than physically driving across town.

Not to mention, I still hadn’t had lunch and Ramon had left freshly baked empanadas at our house. But mostly, I really did need to check in on Jim and feed Laurie. It was already 4:00 pm and she was due to nurse.

At home, Mom had dropped the kids off with Jim, who seemed to be managing quite well with them, as the house was silent. I moved into the living room and saw that he’d pitched a tent in the middle of the room.

“Hi honey, I’m home.”

There was no answer. Jim’s bare foot was sticking out from the tent, which at 6'2" was no surprise. I leaned down and tickled it.

He laughed. “How’d everything go?” he asked from inside the tent.

“False labor.”

Jim peeked out, his blondish red hair rumpled. He frowned. “No baby?”

“Not yet. They sent her home. If she doesn’t go into labor again this week, they’ll induce her on Monday.”

“What a drag,” he said, emerging from under the tent.

“How did your sale thing go?” I asked, nuzzling myself into Jim’s arms.

“Actually, I think it went really well,” He kissed my face and squeezed me tight. “I have a follow-up presentation with them downtown and hopefully I’ll close ‘em then.”

“Good for you, honey. So proud of you,” I said, as I disentangled myself from his embrace and flopped onto the sofa. I was exhausted and hungry at the same time. I supposed it would be better to feed Laurie first and then eat on the way to Jill’s place.

“Bring Laurie to me, would ya?” I asked.

I needn’t have asked him, because he’d already scooped her into his arms.

He handed her to me. “She’s asleep.”

“And Danny?” I asked.

Jim cocked his head toward the tent. “He’s napping, snuggled in his Thomas the Train sleeping bag.”

I nodded. “You remember my friend Jill?”

“Of course. Jill’s all the rage on Yelp. Ramon was here making me empanadas because he’s going to be Brent Miles’ next star.”

“What?”

“Yeah, Brent Miles is opening a new restaurant. He tried Ramon’s catering service and hired him on the spot. Get this, Ramon found Jill on Facebook, saw she was connected to you and is wondering if you can get her to recant her bad review of Miles’ restaurant.”

I guffawed. “I don’t think I have a chance. Listen to this.”

I brought him up to speed on the events of lunch and the hospital. When I mentioned the fact that Jill had been followed by a guy wearing a skull cap and hadn’t returned any of my messages, Jim offered to go to her place and check on her.

“I was planning on doing that myself but I need fuel. Any empanadas left?” I asked.

I unlatched Laurie, who had basically nursed in her sleep, and passed her to Jim. He burped her while I fixed my blouse.

Jim laughed. “A tray full. I ate as many as I could,” he said, as he patted his flat stomach, “but even I couldn’t eat them all.”

<><><>

I took a plate of empanadas, delicious little pockets of warm dough stuffed with ground pork seasoned with garlic, onion, tomato puree, and dribbled with chipotle sauce, into Laurie’s nursery.

Laurie’s nursery doubled as our office, since we lived in a ridiculously expensive home in San Francisco that only had two bedrooms. It was either share an office with Laurie or move our computers onto the dining room table, which as it happened both Jim and I were against. We’d have to come up with a plan for when Laurie got bigger, but right now I needed to focus on Jill.

I powered up my PC and pulled up Jill’s address. I recorded it on a post-it note, and then did a Google search on Brent Miles.

He was an SF personality, a former seminary student who’d made a fortune when he founded Brent Miles Campaigns, dedicated to promoting underdog political causes. He’d made a secondary fortune on commercial real estate and was now trying his hand at restaurant ownership.

Jill’s review appeared in my search results. I clicked it.

“How on earth did my meal even find its way out of the kitchen? Can you say, zero quality control? My salad was wilted with the dressing slopped over the rim, made all the worse by the fact that I’d requested the dressing on the side. My burger was overdone yet lukewarm, served on a stale bun. The menu choices were a huge disappointment. All I can report is that Mr. Brent Miles’ PHILOSOPHIE must be not to go the extra mile.”

I grimaced. I could see how this review would scare people off from trying the new restaurant.

I poked around online a bit more and found a news article on SF Gate mentioning Mr. Miles. A former employee of Brent’s had died in a freak hiking accident in Yosemite the previous summer. He’d plunged more than 370 feet to his death after climbing the Mist Trial in Yosemite National Park. It had been an unusually high water year and there were signs posted near Vernal Falls prohibiting swimming in the Emerald Pool, but apparently the employee had done just that.

Another hiking accident…

This couldn’t be a coincidence.

My home phone rang again.

“Hello?” I said.

Galigani’s voice filled the line. “Kate, I’ve been thinking about that hiker. You know, your friend’s boyfriend?”

“Mmm-hmm,” I said, eager to beat him to the punch. “Looks like a Brent Miles’ employee had a similar
accident
.”

“Oh.” Galigani sounded annoyed. “You know about that?”

I laughed. “I’ve been trained by the best.”

“You haven’t been trained! You only started investigating a couple months ago. Don’t think that, either, that you know everything already. As soon as you start thinking that, then bam, something's gonna bite you right in the—”

“I don’t think I know everything already!” I interrupted defensively.

Galigani harrumphed.

“I've only started looking into Brent Miles,” I said. “And I thought it was a pretty big coincidence, too. That one of his employees died at Vernal Falls.”

Galigani was silent for a moment. I felt like I needed to offer him something to soften him up a bit, but I wasn’t sure what he was looking for.

I cleared my throat. “You know I always appreciate any advice you have for me.”

This got a laugh out of him. Then he said, “Okay, kid, I’ll fill you in. Can you come over?”

“Actually, I’m on my way to Jill’s. She hasn’t returned any of my messages.”

Galigani let out a low moan. “That’s not good. Yeah, you’d better head over there.”

Jim came into the office and I hit the speaker button so he could hear my conversation with Galigani.

“So this is what I know,” Galigani continued. “Brent Miles is broke. The commercial buildings he owns downtown are all mortgaged to the hilt. He’s gambling what he’s got left in the restaurant business. He has plans to unveil three new restaurants this spring.”

Jim grabbed an empanada off my plate and said, “Yup. Empanada King.”

Galigani laughed. “How did you know?”

“The king himself was here trying out a new recipe.”

“Ramon?” Galigani asked excitedly.

Jim stuffed his mouth with huge bite and made an exaggerated ‘mmm’ sound.

Galigani laughed.

“So, are you guys thinking that Brent Miles is behind Jill’s boyfriend’s death?” Jim asked, “Like a threat or something for her to recant her review?”

“Exactly,” I said.

“But that makes no sense,” Jim said. “If he wanted her to change her review he’d threaten her about it, maybe, if he’s that type of guy. But how is killing her boyfriend going to make her change the review?”

“Well, he did that too. He threatened her. And I saw skull cap man follow her. What if killing her boyfriend is a warning? You know, declaring that he’s serious,” I said.

Jim shrugged. “Maybe it was just an accident.”

I stared at him.

“I know you guys are investigators and all. And you’re always looking for drama…um…I mean, looking for something to investigate, but it was probably an accident. Did you know that hiking is the most dangerous sport after skateboarding?”

“I didn’t know skateboarding was a sport,” I said, wiggling my computer mouse to bring my PC out of sleep mode.

I showed Jim the story on Brent Miles employee’s death in Yosemite.

Jim’s face turned white. “You’d better go check on Jill.”

<><><>

I wrapped the remainder of my empanada in a paper towel and finished it on the road to Jill’s house. She lived in the Russian Hill district of San Francisco, and I absently wondered how she afforded the rent. I mean, how much money could she be making from writing restaurant reviews? Although, with her new TV gig, rent probably wouldn’t be a problem. Right now, I just hoped to find her safe and sound and tried not to let my mind race with possibilities.

In Russian Hill, the streets were winding and cramped, parking non-existent. After circling the block for ten minutes I decided to double park on the corner and put my hazard signals on.

With the sun setting and a light drizzle starting, I jogged up the block to Jill’s. I could see Jill through her front bay window, curled up like a cat on the window seat. She was wearing grey sweats and holding a martini glass. She looked awfully comfy.

As soon as I’d had the thought I immediately felt guilty. People grieve in different ways. Who was I to judge?

Jill spotted me, a look of surprise on her face. She rose and disappeared from view.

I climbed up the steps as the front door flew open.

Jill embraced me. “Oh, Kate. I wasn’t expecting you. I had terrible news at the hospital. I’m a nervous wreck.”

“I know.”

She pulled away from me. “You know?” Her voice caught and she began to sob. “We were going to get married,” she said. “He’s gone now. Dead. Just like that. How does something like that happen?”