Bundle of Trouble (23 page)

Mom arrived within ten minutes. She wore a huge hat with feathers on it, as though she had just stepped out of an old Errol Flynn movie.

“What’s with the hat? Were you fencing?” I asked as Mom quickly diapered Laurie.

“Isn’t it fabulous! I got such a deal on it.”

“Clearly.” I giggled.

Mom ignored me and gathered the lunch remnants from the living room. On her insistence, I collapsed onto the couch while she did the dishes and made us tea.

Over tea, I reluctantly filled her in on my new client, my hopes to launch my own PI business and stay out of corporate America, Jim’s arrest, Svetlana’s murder, and George’s sudden departure.

Mother’s eyes remained glued on me as I finished telling her about Rachel’s call and the dreaded note in my file.

Mother chuckled.

“Why are you laughing?”

“Darling, you have enough to worry about without fretting over a note in a chart.”

“I want you guys to be proud of me.”

“I am proud.”

“I know
you’re
proud of me. I mean, you’re my mom. You’re proud of me the way I’m proud of Laurie. I mean, all she can really do is lie there, but I’m proud of her because she’s mine. I’m sure that’s how you feel about me, but I want you and Jim and Laurie to feel proud of me, proud of my accomplishments. And what am I really accomplishing?”

Mom looked at me, perplexed. “Darling, you just had a baby! You’re starting your own business. You’re accomplishing a lot. You’re going to be very successful. You
are
successful.”

She leaned across the coffee table and squeezed my hand. “Don’t be upset. Honestly, this is just the hormones. Don’t be so mopey. Have some tea, cheer up. Jim will be home any minute.”

“How do you know?”

“The police couldn’t possibly hold him overnight again. Jim was with you yesterday morning.”

“I’m not considered a credible alibi. I don’t think so anyway. And even if I was, I won’t be now that they put that note in my file.”

“You’re not depressed, are you?”

I did feel a heaviness.

I suppressed a yawn. “I feel like I haven’t slept, I mean really slept, since before Laurie was born. And I feel like I won’t sleep until I get to the bottom of these murders, either that or until she’s eighteen.”

Mom smiled and patted my hand. “I’d tell you to sleep right now, but I know you better than that. Go find George. And this time, don’t let him get away. Drag him to the police station, even if he’s kicking and screaming. I’ll watch Laurie.”

 

 

I tied a bright gold, cranberry, and orange striped scarf around my neck, hoping to give myself a little lift and relieve my washed-out and tired-looking face. The weather was starting to change from balmy Indian summer to chilly fall so I grabbed my leather jacket and put it on. I searched my dresser for car keys. I felt so light, preparing to go out without Laurie, I thought I was forgetting something.

Ah! Diaper bag.

Where was the diaper bag?

I thought back to what seemed like an eternity ago—this morning.

Oh, yes. I had flung the bag across the living room.

It lay curled in a heap by a corner side table. I rummaged through it and located my keys.

Mother eyed me from her position on the couch. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to find my mind. I know it’s here somewhere.”

Mother smirked. “Give it a few weeks, Kate. You’ll feel like yourself in no time.”

I shoved the keys into my jacket pocket and fingered a slithering piece of metal. I pulled it out. In my hand was the bracelet I had pocketed a couple weeks ago, outside the medical examiner’s office with Michelle.

“What’s that?” Mother asked.

I shrugged. “A bracelet. It fell out of one of George’s bags.”

Laurie woke and wailed, and Mother got up to get her. “I’ll see to her. You go on.”

I studied the bracelet a moment. Silver with the inscription BERRY on it. The clasp was broken. Could it be Kiku’s?

•CHAPTER SEVENTEEN•

The Fifth Week—Determination

When I arrived at Kiku’s, I was surprised to find the door slightly open.

I knocked and called out, “Kiku!”

No answer.

I knocked again and called louder.

A chill ran down my spine. I reached into my pockets, searching for my cell phone.

Shit.

It was still in the diaper bag on my living room floor.

I pushed the front door open and called again. “Kiku!”

Nothing.

I stepped into the apartment.

Goose bumps shot up my arms. I scanned the living room, half expecting to see Kiku lying facedown on the floor. What I saw instead was an abundance of baby paraphernalia. A swing, a bouncy chair, and a shimmering white bassinet filled the small room.

Maybe she’d had her baby shower? That would explain the apartment door being ajar. Maybe someone was helping her carry up the gifts and she’d be back any second.

I surprised myself by feeling left out. Of course. Kiku didn’t know I was her baby’s aunt. George had probably never told her about his family.

On further thought, she couldn’t be bringing in gifts. The stuff that was here was already assembled. If she was bringing things up, she’d probably bring everything up at once, then assemble it later.

Baby gear always comes in a box, with the ridiculous statement: “Easy to assemble.” And I don’t care what they claim—none of it, ever, could be opened or closed with “just one hand.” The boxes are covered in lies.

I walked farther into the apartment. Everything looked normal in the kitchen.

Why was Kiku’s door open?

Had someone kidnapped her?

I imagined Kiku tied up hostage style in someone’s filthy garage, gagged, her pregnant belly protruding.

I tried to shake the thought from my mind as I made my way into her small bedroom, looking for any kind of distress.

Nothing seemed out of place. The room was impeccable.

Where could she be?

I peeked into her closet for boogeymen.

No killer hiding there.

The open front door probably meant nothing.

Could she be having the baby?

Oh, God!

I imagined Kiku running out of the apartment, looking for help, leaving the door open. I hoped nothing was wrong.

I glanced down at a jewelry dish that held several small gold rings. All too small, I was sure, for her to wear at the moment.

I glanced down at my own hands. I had yet to replace my wedding ring. I fingered a pretty gold necklace and matching earrings.

Hmmm, all gold.

No silver like the bracelet I’d found.

I ambled over to the bedroom window that overlooked the apartment house gardens. There, I saw Kiku bent over a bed of dahlias.

I pried open the window and called out to her. “Kiku! What are you doing? You shouldn’t be gardening!”

Kiku looked up and squinted toward the window. A look of recognition crossed her face. “Only a few flowers,” she said with a laugh. “For Baby.”

“Yes, but it’s not good for you. I don’t think so anyway. You shouldn’t be on the ground like that.”

I don’t actually know anything about gardening. Jim is the green thumb in our family. But I certainly didn’t like seeing a nine-month-pregnant lady on her knees, weeding!

“It’s okay! My mother gardened until I was born.”

I was unconvinced. “Oh. Well, all right. But come inside now. It’s getting cold.”

Kiku struggled to her feet, holding a few cut dahlias in her hand. She disappeared into a doorway and a few minutes later I greeted her at her front door.

“The door was open,” I explained. “I was worried about you, so I came in.”

“I didn’t remember where I left the key, so I leave door open.”

I stared at her. Ah, the forgetfulness of pregnancy. I had locked myself out of my car three times and had been warned by AAA road service that I had exceeded the maximum calls. One more call would have cost me at least a hundred and fifty dollars.

“You can’t leave the door open, though,” I protested.

“Why? Neighbors good people.”

“But I walked right in. What if . . . well, what if it wasn’t me and . . .” I stopped myself.

What if I was the one in danger? After all, Kiku had been with Michelle that morning and had access to Valium.

Kiku waved a hand in the air, dismissing my objection, and proceeded to the kitchen. I followed her and watched as she placed the dahlias in a bright vase.

Kiku turned and looked at me expectantly. “You come for haircut?”

I laughed. “Ah! No.”

“You need a trim.”

What was the harm?

“Sure. Yes. Go ahead and trim.”

She motioned me to one of the kitchen chairs. “Sit.”

From a drawer she pulled out a plastic wrap and whipped it around me. She grabbed a spray bottle and spritzed my hair.

I fingered the bracelet in my pocket. “Kiku, George is my brother-in-law.”

Kiku spun me around to face her. “Brother?” she cried happily. “I didn’t know. Didn’t know you were George’s sister.”

“Sister-in-law. I’m married to George’s brother, Jim.”

Kiku selected a pair of scissors from the drawer. “George has brother? I no meet.”

“Do you know where George is now?” I asked.

She stood behind me and evaluated my hair. “At work.”

I turned around to see her face. “Yeah, but what’s he do exactly?”

“He works at restaurant, El Paraiso. That’s how we meet. He’s a chef.”

“Kiku, George told me he saw you at Michelle Avery’s place the morning she was killed.”

She turned me around and proceeded to whack at my hair. I tried not to shudder at the length of the locks that were falling around me.

I suddenly remembered the play
Sweeney Todd
. Probably questioning someone about her whereabouts on the morning of a murder while she’s holding sharp scissors wasn’t a smart idea.

“Yes,” she said without skipping a beat.

“You told me you didn’t know Michelle Avery.”

She stopped cutting my hair. I turned toward her. Her eyes were glossy. “No, I mean, I didn’t know Michelle dead. George didn’t tell me. I went to see her about George’s job.”

“His job?”

“Yes. I went to restaurant. George no there. I worry, maybe he fired. Baby is coming, we need money.”

“What did Michelle tell you?”

Kiku turned me around and proceeded with the haircut. “Michelle said he still worked for her. At restaurant. She said George good worker. But now I’m worried again because she and Brad are dead!”

What about the wine at Michelle’s place? Someone had drunk wine with Michelle. Kiku wouldn’t have been drinking in her condition, right? So maybe Michelle had had another visitor.

“Did you see anyone else coming or going from Michelle’s place?”

Kiku remained silent for a moment. “No.”

I wondered about her hesitation. Then I realized she was studying me and my hair.

My breath caught. “Is everything okay?”

“You’re beautiful!” She smiled and brandished a mirror in front of me. The cut, while far shorter than I would have ever conceded to under other circumstances, looked stunning. I felt sassy and hip.

“Thank you.”

Kiku smiled. “Ten dollars.”

I laughed. “You deserve twenty, at least.”

I dug into my pockets.

No wallet.

It was in the diaper bag, along with everything else. I pulled out the bracelet.

“Uh . . . Um . . . I forgot my wallet, but I’m good for it. I promise.” I handed her the silver bracelet. “This must be yours.”

“No.”

“It has to be. It fell out of George’s bag.”

She read the inscription on the bracelet. “What’s ‘berry’?”

I shrugged. “I thought you’d know.”

She studied the bracelet in silence. “Why George have that?” She handed it back to me. “If he has other woman, I . . .” She picked up the discarded hair scissors and snapped them open and closed. “I kill him.”

I smiled in spite of myself. “I don’t think he’s seeing another woman. Maybe someone lost it at the restaurant or something. See, the clasp is broken.”

Kiku nodded but remained pensive. After a moment, I put it back into my pocket.

She moved to get a broom. I got up. “Let me do that.” As I swept my curls, I said, “Yesterday you told me you didn’t know Svetlana Avery. Did you mean you didn’t know she was dead?”

She paused for a split second and said, “No. I don’t know Svetlana.”

She said she’d been shopping. That could be true with all the baby gear around, but then where had the gear been this morning?