Motherhood Is Murder (18 page)

“Oh, in her bouncy chair.”
“Still? She was there when I called you hours ago.” I ran to the living room, where we had been housing the bouncy chair. It was set to vibrate and Laurie looked like she was in a deep peaceful sleep.
“How long has she been sleeping?” I asked.
Jim shrugged. “Dunno. Since you left?”
“What! I’ve been gone five hours. Haven’t you fed her?”
Jim looked dumbstruck. “That long? Hmmm.” He glanced around the room looking for an answer.
“Well? Did you feed her?”
“No,” he admitted.
“Jim, she won’t sleep at all tonight.” I rushed to Laurie’s bouncy chair and pulled her out of it. She startled for a moment, then resumed sleeping.
Jim stared at me. “Really? Are you sure you’re supposed to wake her? If she was hungry, wouldn’t she wake up on her own?”
I shrugged. Nothing seemed to work. If I let her sleep through the day, she would be awake all night.
But then wouldn’t she be awake all night anyway?
I tried to nurse her but she stayed snoozing. I couldn’t stand it any longer. I pulled out the dreaded breast pump and finally felt some relief. Six ounces later I was exhausted.
As soon as I cleaned the pump, capped the bottles, and placed them in the fridge, Laurie woke up screaming and howling.
Great. Just great!
Now I was empty and would have to use the milk I had just pumped. There was no winning.
Before going to bed, I researched fentanyl online. It came in transdermal patches and candy form and was primarily prescribed to terminally ill cancer patients.
Hadn’t Bruce told me his grandmother had passed away a few weeks ago from cancer?

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Reward

To Do:
1.
It’s hopeless—if the police can’t do it, what makes me think I can?
2. Where is Margaret?—Who cares? If she doesn’t want to call me back, then forget it. Maybe she’s in Mexico getting away with murder.
3. ?
4. Order turkey—Oh, yeah, holiday, festive, joy, joy, joy.
5. ?
6. ?
7. Buy new pajamas.
I sulked around the store and found what I was looking for in the back. I rummaged through the pajamas in the bin and picked up a teal pair with pink flamingos. I held them up for Laurie to view.
She was nestled in her stroller looking contented.
“What do you think of this set, lemon blossom?”
Laurie’s eyes shifted to the hanging purple puppy strapped to the side of her stroller. I pinched the puppy’s ear and recorded myself asking in a booming voice, “Do you like the pajamas?”
Laurie pedaled her feet but kept a serious expression on her face.
“Hmmm, you don’t like them?” I returned the teal pair and moved a few other sets out of the way. At the bottom of the stack I found a fuzzy pair with fuchsia lips all over. “Well, I’m not even going to ask you. I like these.”
I pulled the puppy off the stroller and recorded myself saying, “I’m buying them.”
I placed the puppy near Laurie’s ear and replayed it for her. She smiled and cooed at my voice then tried to eat the puppy.
I poked around looking for my size as my cell phone rang. I rummaged past the baby paraphernalia in the diaper bag and pulled out my phone. The caller ID read Paula’s number.
“Hi,” I mumbled.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, alarm in her voice.
“Nothing. Just shopping.”
“For what?” she asked suspicious.
“PJs.”
“For you or for Laurie?”
I sighed. “Me.”
“No! Not pajamas! How many pairs have you bought?”
“None yet.”
“Where are you?” she asked.
“At Bed Head and More.”
“Drop the PJs and step away from the counter right now!”
“I found a pair I really like. Well, two, but Laurie didn’t seem so fond of one of them.”
“Don’t buy them. You’ll wear them for weeks and never get out of that mood.”
“I’m not in a mood,” I said.
Paula knew me too well. If I was seriously down in the dumps, shopping for new pajamas seemed to help. Nothing would comfort me more than a cozy pair of new pajamas.
“Do you think they have footed pajamas for adults?” I asked.
“What?”
“You know, like the kind for kids with the feet. Do they make them for adults?”
“Yeah, that sounds really sexy, Kate. You’ve gone off the deep end. Come over immediately.”
“No. I’m going to buy these, go straight home, and snuggle up in them. They’re fleece and fuzzy and super-warm. I’ll sleep all week in them, lounge on the couch with Laurie in my lap, and eat bonbons if I want to. I’m going to—”
“Shut up, you nut. You’re a mom now, you can’t indulge your every whim. Like Laurie is going to let you sleep at all, much less for a week. And Jim? And what about Thanksgiving, you have too—”
“I’m hanging up now. I’m going to buy them. Both pairs and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
I snapped my phone shut and found my size in both pairs. I turned the stroller toward the counter, and Laurie’s puppy fell to the floor. I picked it up, wiped the drool off it onto my jeans, and shoved it into the diaper purse. When I wheeled Laurie up to the counter, the store phone rang.
The girl working smiled at me as she held up her index finger. “Just a second.” She picked up the phone. “Thank you for calling Bed Head and More, may I help you?”
I perused the fashion jewelry while waiting. I picked up a pair of silver earrings and held them to my ear, evaluating them in the mirror behind the counter.
“Uh . . . yes. She’s right here,” said the girl. “Do you want to talk to her?”
She seemed to be referring to me, but that couldn’t be right. I glanced over my shoulder. There was no one else in the store.
She must be referring to another employee in the back or something.
“Oh. Okay,” she said into the phone.
I replaced the silver earrings and picked up a pair made of delicate pink beads.
How old did Laurie have to be to get her ears pierced?
“Oh!” The girl’s voice dropped several octaves and her eyes darted up at me then down again.
What was going on?
I put the beaded earrings down and wheeled Laurie up to the counter. Now, it was just plain annoying. The girl was obviously having a personal conversation and I was meant to wait it out.
Well, nope. I had some serious lounging around to catch up on. So, she’d better get her butt in gear and check me out.
I placed my pajamas on the counter and smiled. The girl kept her eyes down and almost ducked her head.
“Uh-huh,” she said into the phone. “Okay.” She hung up and looked at me. “I’m sorry. We’re closed.”
“What?” I looked at my watch. “It’s one fifteen in the afternoon.”
She blinked. “Yeah. Sorry.”
We stared at each other in an awkward moment. My cell phone rang.
“You called the store, didn’t you?” I said into the phone.
The clerk smiled.
“Yeah. Come over,” Paula said.
“No!” I exclaimed as stubbornly as I could.
“I’m trying out a new recipe for pumpkin pie.”
“Okay.”
I sat in Paula’s kitchen, stirring the hot cocoa she’d made me and staring out into her garden. Her once green grass had yellowed and all the pots were empty. Keeping up the garden while she’d been away had been too much of an effort to coordinate, so she’d let it go—which, knowing Paula, had probably killed her.
“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” she said, cutting me a piece of the still steaming pie. “The police have a hard time closing cases, why shouldn’t you?”
Danny ran into the kitchen holding a plush blue ball and screamed, “Ball!”
I put my hands out to collect it from him and he gave me the biggest smile I’d seen in a long time.
“Kiss Auntie,” Paula said.
Danny leaned into me and said, “Kiss!”
He pressed his lips, tongue, and teeth against my cheek and made his own clicking sound, bringing a smile to my face.
I wrapped my arms around him and pulled his small body onto my lap. “Thank you, buddy, that was the best kiss ever!”
Laurie watched us from the safety of her bucket seat.
“So are you convinced it was Bruce?” Paula asked, liberally dolloping whipped cream onto the pie.
Danny spotted Laurie and screamed excitedly, “Baby Lo-ly!”
“Of course it was Bruce. Only now Gary the Grizzly is going to try and get me to pin it on Margaret.”
Danny scrambled out of my lap and ran to the glass door that separated the kitchen from the garden. He placed his pudgy palms on the glass and banged. “Danny garden!”
Paula pulled him away from the glass door. “No. Danny. Cold. Brrr!” Paula picked up the ball and threw it into the other room.
Danny lost interest in the garden, left fingerprints smudged on the glass, and ran out of the room with as much gusto as he had when he’d run in.
“Do you know if Margaret has access to that drug?” Paula asked, placing the pie in front of me.
“Fentanyl? Well, I suppose she could—being married to a doctor, right?” I tore into the pie. The pumpkin was still warm, the cream chilled, and the crust crisp. “Oh my God!”
Paula smiled. “Is it good? Is this the one I should make?”
I shook my head and shoveled another piece into my mouth. “It’s terrible. You need to try a different one tomorrow. I’ll come over and taste-test. In the meantime, don’t eat this one. I’ll take it home.”
Paula laughed. “I’ll give you the recipe. Why do think she hasn’t called you back?”
“Margaret? I don’t know.”
“Maybe it’s time you talked to Alan.”
I cringed. “You mean tell him his wife suspected him of murder?”
Paula pulled out a Windex bottle. “Oh, I don’t know why I bother!” she said, squirting the glass door. “Look at it this way, Kate. You can go talk to the doctor and possibly solve this thing or go home, clean house, and start getting ready for Thanksgiving.”
“No. I don’t even have fuzzy pajamas to put on.”
I drove straight home to drop Laurie off with Jim. I found him in the living room watching the news of the spiraling Dow Jones and praying the downturn wouldn’t affect his client so adversely that his contract would be canceled.
“Hi, honey, can you babysit?”
Jim looked up from the television. “You’re going out again?”
I nodded.
“Okay. What do I need to do? Feed her? Is there milk?”
I rubbed his shoulders. “Yes, there’s three ounces in a little bottle in the fridge.”
“Can I microwave it?”
“No, you have to heat water—you can do that in the microwave—then put the bottle into the cup of hot water to heat. Otherwise the nuker will destroy the beneficial properties in the breast milk, whatever they are.”
Jim nodded. “When will you be back?” he asked, his brow furrowing.
“I won’t be long. I need to go to Sacramento Street.”