Motherhood Is Murder (6 page)

CHAPTER NINE

Playing Catch-Up

To Do:
1. Baby development? Check out L’s milestones.
2. Drop off dry cleaning.
3. Shop for shoes.
4. Thanksgiving?
5. What does McNearny know?
6. Call/e-mail Paula.
The first thing I did when McNearny left was jump online. I browsed the library collection and found
The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Private Investigating
.
Perfect.
I put it on reserve.
Hoping to find out more about Alan, I googled him. I didn’t find much, just that his office was on Sacramento Street. There certainly wasn’t a headline on Google results about any affair. I wanted to speak with him, but how could I do that without tipping him off about Margaret’s suspicions or my investigation?
Maybe
The Complete Idiot’s Guideto Private Investigating
could clue me in.
I called Alan’s practice and asked for an appointment. The receptionist scheduled me a month out and told me his latest appointment hour was 4:30 P.M.
Bingo.
While online, I sent my best friend Paula an e-mail. I knew she was coming home soon but didn’t exactly know when. I would have loved to talk to her, but by my calculations it was already past midnight in Paris.
Then I dialed both Sara and Evelyn and left messages, hoping that they might have some answers about Alan. As soon as I hung up, Laurie began to cry. I picked her up off the playmat and found her soaked through.
Poor little monkey! What was going on with the leaky diapers?
Was it time for the next size already?
I made my way to the nursery to change her but the ringing phone interrupted my route. Turning from the nursery, I walked back to the living room and picked up the cordless.
“Kate! Where have you been?” Mother shouted on the line.
“I took Laurie to coffee.”
“She’s not old enough to have coffee!” Mother shrieked.
“Not her. Me. She just came along for the company.”
“Oh!” Mom yelled.
“Why are you yelling?”
“I’m not yelling!” Mom shouted.
“Yes, you are,” I said, elevating my tone to match hers. This caused Laurie to squirm in my arms.
“Am I? I just want to be sure you can hear me.”
Laurie started to whimper.
“Why wouldn’t I be able to hear you?”
“I’m on my new cell phone!” Mom said.
“You got a cell? For what?”
I’d been telling my mother for years to get a mobile phone, but her reply was always the same—she didn’t need one.
She laughed. “Well, I want Hank and Albert to be able to reach me.”
“My mom, the female Casanova!”
“A regular man-eater,” Mom giggled. “Oh. I wanted to talk to you about Thanksgiving. Should we have it at my place?”
Normally, we had Thanksgiving at my house. Jim did a mean turkey. He put the effort in to brine it, and it paid off every year. We started hosting as soon as we bought our house because Mom’s poor turkey was
always
dry.
“Uh. Your place? No, no! We can do it here, like usual.”
“Yes, but Laurie is so small and Thanksgiving is so much work. It might be easier to do it here.”
I recalled the last year Mom had hosted, she had barred me from entering the kitchen and in an accusatory manner had said, “You’re going to tell me the turkey is dry.”
When I had asked, “Why would I say that?”
She had replied, “Because the turkey
is
dry.”
I wrestled for an inoffensive way to decline Mom’s invite. “I’m sure Jim wants to do it here. He loves hosting Thanksgiving. It’s our favorite holiday.” And before she could get a word in edgewise, I said, “How are you going to juggle it though with Hank and Albert? Who are you going to invite?”
Mom laughed. “Oh, see I got lucky on that one. Hank is flying back East to join one of his daughters. So I’m free to ask Albert.”
“Great. Ask him to join us here, what, around four P.M.?”
Laurie’s whimper turned into a howl.
“I have to go, Mom, Laurie is completely soaked.”
“Okay. I’ll see you when I get back from the Mexican Riviera.”
“What? Wait. I thought you weren’t going until the fifteenth!”
“I’m not but that’s the day after tomorrow and I need to pack and have my beauty rest before I go.”
“The fifteenth. Wow. Time flies. My little mongoose will be two months on the nineteenth.”
“I’ll bring her back some maracas.”
Had two months almost passed? I kissed Laurie’s soft fuzzy head, then changed her diaper and pulled the child development book off my shelf. I quickly turned to the chapter on the second month. I skimmed through it, realizing I was holding my breath.
A box entitled “May Possibly” stated that holding the head up at a 90-degree angle was something an infant may possibly do at 2 ź months. So about 10 weeks.
Yeah. Laurie wasn’t behind!
I was a success as a mom!
My squirrel was right on track. I did a little jig with Laurie.
I held her up and positioned her so her face was looking down at me and her legs were tilting up.
“You’re right on track, bunny girl. Practically a genius!”
She gave me the “scary eye” look, irises pointing down with the whites of the eyes towering above.
I hugged her to me. “Okay, you’re practically a genius but not when you give me that look. Let’s go on a stakeout! You can use your supergroovy eyes and help mommy see any monkey business.”
It was almost four thirty. I would have to hightail it out of the house in order to catch Alan leaving his office.
I packed Laurie into the car along with plenty of diapers, a change of clothes in case her diaper leaked again, and water for me. I wanted to pack snacks, but how was I ever going to lose any weight doing that?
I parked down the street from Alan’s office and waited. It looked as though the building had only one entrance and exit. No attached parking garage that he could sneak out from. After about fifteen minutes I was rewarded by Alan leaving and locking up the storefront. He was accompanied by a woman with short gray hair. They exchanged words and departed in different directions.
I watch Alan walk down the street. I assumed he was heading to his car, but I didn’t want to lose track of him. I needed binoculars.
How could I be a legitimate PI without binoculars?
Through the rearview mirror I glanced at Laurie in her car seat. Her tiny face was reflected in the Elmo mirror pinned to the backseat. She was sound asleep. I started the car and nosed out of my spot.
Alan was climbing into a silver Lexus. I hesitated in pulling out of my parking space as I wanted to trail him, but another car was already angling for my spot.
I pulled out then passed Alan’s Lexus. He pulled out behind me.
Great.
I sped up and turned right at the next corner. I made a quick U-turn. His Lexus and my car intersected at the corner. I ducked my head so he wouldn’t see my face and waited a moment for his car to pass.
Instead he honked for me to cross through the intersection. I didn’t want to peek up but what was I supposed to do? He honked again. I stayed tucked out of view. He didn’t know my car but he would recognize my face.
I recalled the look he gave me at Helene’s funeral. He didn’t want me around then and certainly he wouldn’t want me following him now.
My phone rang from the depths of the diaper bag.
Shoot.
That was probably Jim.
I pulled the bag close and rummaged around inside.
Another car honked from behind me. It seemed that enough time had passed that Alan would be gone by now. I peeked up over the dashboard. No Lexus.
The car behind me honked again and my phone continued to ring.
I dropped the bag, ignoring the phone, and turned right. I spotted Alan’s taillights a block and a half ahead of me.
Oh good.
I’m not so bad at this follow-the-leader thing after all!
My phone continued to ring, and just as I reached for the bag again, it stopped.
The Lexus was only slightly ahead of me now so I slowed down. I followed the turns Alan made and ended up right at his and Margaret’s home.
No “other woman” tonight.
Dissatisfied, I turned the car around to go home. At least he hadn’t spotted me; that was one good thing. I could try again tomorrow.
I found my phone. The voice mail icon was showing. I listened to the message—it was Evelyn returning my call.
Okay. When one door closes, another opens.

CHAPTER TEN

Washed-up

To Do:
1. Get binoculars.
2. Talk to other members of Roo & You.
3. Exercise.
4. Pick up PI book from library.
5. Plan menu for Thanksgiving.
After leaving Jim to babysit Laurie, I met Evelyn at Ocean Beach. Her thin blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she wore flip-flops. I waved as she approached.
She’d surprised me by suggesting a walk on the beach. With her at eight months pregnant, I figured the last thing she’d want to do would be to shuffle through sand, but I needed to work off the baby weight and she insisted she wanted the exercise.
So, hey, I could kill two birds at once. Work out and investigate—multitasking again!
“Thank you for meeting with me,” I said, pulling my baseball cap down a bit to shade my eyes from the glare of the sun.
Why hadn’t I brought my sunglasses? It was early November and the sun was low in the sky. The weather was clear and thankfully the gusts of wind seemed to be holding off until a later hour. We walked down the concrete steps from the La Playa Boulevard entrance and stepped onto the sand. Evelyn promptly removed her flip-flops.
She frowned at my cross-trainers. “Walking barefoot in the sand is good for your feet.”
“Hmmm,” I mumbled, not about to remove my shoes and socks.
Yes, digging your feet in the sand is wonderful, but the Pacific Ocean at this latitude is freezing. One dip in the water and my toes go numb.
We walked toward the water in silence. The sand near La Playa Boulevard is extremely hard to get around in because it’s deep and loose. But near the water it’s compacted by wave after wave, making it a lot firmer and easier to walk on.
I was silent, doing all I could not to keel over. Good Lord, walking on the beach after having a baby is tough! I glanced at Evelyn, who even at eight months pregnant seemed to be cruising along the sand with no effort. I knew from dinner the other night that she had a two-year-old also.
How was it that she was so fit?
The water splashed against her bare feet, but she didn’t seem to mind at all.
“Where’s your baby?” Evelyn asked.
“At home with Daddy.”
Evelyn raised an eyebrow with interest. “A stay-at-home dad?”
“Well, not . . . Sort of. Not really, he works from home.”
She frowned. “Doing what?”
“Consulting, advertising,” I said, matching her frown.
What was she frowning at?
“Oh.” She swung her flip-flops around as she picked up her pace.
“And yours?” I asked.
She puffed up her chest. “He’s an IT manager.”
I suppressed a giggle at her competitive nature. Obviously, she liked playing “tit for tat.”
Nyah-nyah, my husband has a better job than yours.
I thought Jim’s job was awesome. He was creative and fun and got to come up with all sorts of great campaigns. Maybe to someone like Evelyn, Jim’s brainstorms were just doodles.
I changed topics. “And your son? Where is he today?”
“With the nanny.”
Of course.
Everyone who is anyone has a nanny. When was I going to get a nanny? Although if you’re a stay-at-home mom, what do you do with a nanny? Take a break, I suppose. Go get your nails done. I glanced at Evelyn—she had a matching manicure and pedicure in an unbelievably delicious shade of orange. Sort of tangerine.
When was the last time I had my nails done?
“What about you?” I asked. “Are you working and on maternity leave or are you—”
“I am an attorney,” Evelyn said.
I raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“Well, I was. Contract law. Not criminal. I haven’t practiced since Kyle was born.” She eyed me. “I’ve worked with a lot of PIs . . .”
I waited for her to continue, semicringing to myself.
If she frowned at Jim’s being an ad consultant, then PIs must be the scum of the earth, but instead of a snide comment, she simply shrugged then sighed.
“Now, I’m a stay-at-home.” She rubbed her belly. “I’m having an at-home birth with Celia—do you know her? She delivered Margaret’s baby.”
I nodded, taking a deep breath. The air was cold and smelled of fish, yet was refreshing at the same time.
Ah, saltwater.
“We met at Helene’s funeral,” I said. “In fact, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Can you tell me about the fight you overheard between Sara and Helene?”
Some seagulls in our path squawked.
Evelyn shooed the seagulls with her hand. They circumvented us by running away from the water, then as we passed, they ran back toward the tide.
“They were fighting about the extension that Sara’s husband was going to build for her and Bruce. Helene was saying that it wasn’t necessary anymore and they didn’t want it built.”
“And that upset Sara?”
“It really ticked her off. I think Sara and her husband are having some financial problems. She really wanted that contract.” Evelyn laughed, seeming to enjoy the memory and the one-upmanship.
“I take it you and Sara don’t get along?”
Evelyn made a face. “Well, you know, I got kicked out of Roo & You.”
“I gathered that.”
“I shouldn’t have gone on the dinner cruise.” She threw her shoulders back in defiance. “But I already had tickets and it was Kevin’s only night off. He works a lot. From seven in the morning until seven at night. Saturdays, too. It’s a lot. And lately, he’s been preparing for this big IT contract in Asia. He leaves tomorrow and will be gone for about three months.” Her shoulders slumped slightly. “He’s going to miss the birth.”
Suddenly it wasn’t the best job in the world.
The water lapped at our feet. I jumped to move out of the way, but Evelyn let the tide run over her toes.
“I’m alone all day with Kyle,” she continued. “Except when the nanny comes over, but she doesn’t count.”
Did she have any idea how disparaging she sounded?
“I really wanted this date night. I couldn’t bring myself to tell Fred what happened with the club.”
Boy, if Jim were leaving for three months and going to miss the birth of our child, I couldn’t imagine that I’d want our last date night to be with a mothers’ group, much less one that I’d gotten kicked out of.
I studied her face. “So what happened? Why’d they boot you?”
Evelyn stopped walking and laughed. “You don’t know?”
I paused beside her and shook my head.
“I would have thought they’d blabbed it to you right away,” she said.
A small boat on the horizon caught my eye. Sadness zinged through me and the enormity of my task weighed on me. A woman had lost her life and here I was trying to piece together the puzzle in search of justice speaking to someone who was only interested in herself.
“I don’t know anything it about it, really.”
“A few weeks ago I was at a playdate with the group. It was at Sara’s house. And my son bit her baby.”
Evelyn began walking again. I followed suit.
“It wasn’t that big of a deal. But they got all upset. So I left. Then when I got home, I received this very polite e-mail from Margaret. She’s got class. Even though she and Helene were conjoined. But anyway Margaret asked me to . . . well, let’s say she ‘suggested’ I
voluntarily
leave the club.”
As Evelyn was recounting the story, she was getting angrier and angrier, causing her pace to accelerate. I was barely keeping up.
“So,” Evelyn continued. “I responded in a very civil way, asking her to please show me the bylaws of the club where it stated that biting is forbidden and in fact cause for termination of membership. Ha! Bylaws! She doesn’t have any bylaws.”
She shook her head furiously, her ponytail starting to loosen and strands of shorter hair escaping the confines of the hair tie. The loose hair whipped around her face as she spoke. “So then Helene jumps in. Of course, Margaret had cc’d her on the e-mail. Apparently, Sara is overprotective of her baby and was all upset that Kyle bit her.”
Overprotective?
Was she crazy?
Wouldn’t everyone freak out if their baby got bitten by a two-year-old monster? I certainly would.
Wait.
Was Kyle a monster?
Does every two-year-old bite?
My heart stopped. Oh God! What if Laurie was going to be a monster and bite little babies?
Evelyn stopped to repin her hair, sticking her flip-flops into her back pocket. I was glad for the break. Ahead of us, The Cliff House, a San Francisco landmark, sat perched on its rocky bluffs. Seal Rock majestically projected out of the water.
A gust of wind buffeted us and I longed to climb up the hill and sit inside the lounge bar sipping something hot by the fireplace. I glanced at Evelyn’s bare feet, now covered in sticky sand.
How could she not be cold?
“I told Helene that I was handling Kyle the way they teach us at our co-op preschool, Little Bears.” Evelyn turned to me. “Do you know it?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Oh!” Evelyn frowned again at me. “It’s the best preschool in the city. Fred has a friend who is on the board of Stanford University and he told me to do whatever I could to get Kyle into Little Bears. You should get your daughter on the wait list now.”
Was she serious? Laurie wasn’t even two months old, for crying out loud.
I supposed my stunned expression said it all because she continued, “I know it can be overwhelming, but really, take my word for it. The city is highly competitive when it comes to preschools. Well, that and swim classes. You are enrolled in swim classes, aren’t you?”
I shook my head.
Evelyn gasped. “You’re not enrolled at La Petite Grenouille?”
I felt my eyebrows furrow and tried to disguise the fact that I hadn’t even heard about La Petite Grenouille by turning my face into the wind and smoothing my hair into place.
“You have to sign up for their water acclimation class. It’s the best. You can start as soon as your daughter is two months old—but the wait list is at least six months. So you really should have signed up while you were still pregnant.”
I fought to keep my facial expression neutral.
Sign up for swim classes for a baby who’s not even born yet!
Evelyn glanced at me. I smiled. She smiled back. “Well, it’s never too late. You better sign up right away. You never know, someone might have canceled.”
I nodded.
“Honestly, Kyle is practically swimming on his own now. It’s amazing.”
I felt despair creeping over me.
Late again!
I tried to steer the conversation back to avoid the loser mom feeling overtaking me. “So, you were telling me about Helene.”
“Right.” Evelyn started walking again. I almost regretted bringing her on track because her pace seemed twice as fast as before.
My calves felt tight and I wanted to stretch them, but no way was I going to admit that I needed a break—before a pregnant women who seemed ready to deliver at any moment!
I glanced at my watch. We had only been walking fifteen minutes.
How could that be?
I felt like it had been an hour at least. When would she want to turn back?
“So anyway,” Evelyn continued, “I sent Helene and Margaret a note explaining how I’m teaching Kyle, like I’ve been taught at his preschool.”
“Which is?”
“What?” Evelyn asked, stopping cold in her tracks.
“Sorry. I guess I don’t know what you mean. Is it a special instruction—like Montessori or . . .”
A strong gust of wind whipped Evelyn’s hair loose from her ponytail and she stopped to fix it again. I took the opportunity to stretch. Hell, at least my stretching might keep her in place for a moment.
“No. But Kyle’s school doesn’t believe in punishing a child for doing something that he doesn’t know is wrong, and neither do I.”
I reached down to touch my toes and stretch my ham-strings. Thankfully this hid my face. Not that I’m a big believer in punishing small kids, per se, but how in the world is a child supposed to learn right from wrong if you never correct them?
“So then,” Evelyn continued, “Helene replies that they weren’t upset with Kyle because, after all, he’s only two, but that they were upset with me and the way I handled it. Can you imagine? What was I supposed to do? Fawn all over Sara’s silly baby?”
I straightened out of my stretch. “What
did
you do?”
She looked perplexed. Her mouth opened then closed. “I explained to Sara that Kyle didn’t understand his actions.”
“Did you apologize?”
“Apologize?” Evelyn looked horrified. “Kyle didn’t break skin or anything.”
He bit a baby!
But I couldn’t say it. The words got stuck in my throat.
Evelyn continued, “Sara seemed to understand. And the baby didn’t cry all that long.”
Note to self: Do not leave Laurie in arm’s reach of a vampire two-year-old.
Evelyn scooped up her flip-flops and began to walk again. “The whole situation was blown out of proportion. Really, it wasn’t a big deal. But then when I got the e-mails and get this—Helene said, ‘Well, if that’s what they’re teaching at Little Bears, when I have kids, you can be sure I won’t send them there.’ ”
The Cliff House was suddenly suspended above us; we had made it to the end of the beach. I stopped walking and glanced at my watch—thirty minutes had elapsed.
“Want to start back?” I asked.
“All right.” Evelyn nodded. But instead of turning around, she plopped down in the sand and was silent.
I listened to the lapping sound as the waves crashed against the sand, the tide breaking a few feet from where I stood. I reluctantly sat next to Evelyn, wondering if I would be able to get back up.
I picked up some sand in my fist then slowly let it trickle out like an hourglass. Evelyn watched me, her face showed strain.
“Are you feeling okay?” I asked.
Evelyn shrugged. “Sure, why not?”
“I mean physically? You’re not having contractions or anything, are you?”
Why hadn’t I brought my cell phone with me? Jim was right—I needed to make a better habit of it! What if the woman went into labor here on the beach? What was I going to do?
“No, don’t worry. I won’t go into labor on you.” Evelyn picked up a stick and drew a flower in the sand. “I’m not due for another couple weeks and my first was five days late, so I don’t think I can get that lucky.”
“You never know. And we just had this strenuous walk.”
“You think that was strenuous?”
Oh, brother. Now I was going to get into a fitness competition—with a pregnant woman, no less.
She picked up her stick, crossed out the flower. “Celia is having me walk every day. Supposedly it can help induce labor, but I don’t know. I did my own research and it’s not conclusive. I see her on the fifteenth. Maybe I’ll be dilated.”
I bit my tongue. I could see how having a home birth might be nice. But what about the pain medication, for God’s sake!
Evelyn read my face. “What?”