Title Page

Table of Contents

Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements


CHAPTER ONE - At Sea
CHAPTER TWO - Outreach
CHAPTER THREE - Digging
CHAPTER FOUR - Nurture
CHAPTER FIVE - Disconnect
CHAPTER SIX - Batting 100
CHAPTER SEVEN - Protection
CHAPTER EIGHT - Safekeeping
CHAPTER NINE - Playing Catch-Up
CHAPTER TEN - Washed-up
CHAPTER ELEVEN - Falling Behind
CHAPTER TWELVE - Keeping Up
CHAPTER THIRTEEN - Sitting Duck
CHAPTER FOURTEEN - Sucker
CHAPTER FIFTEEN - Emergency
CHAPTER SIXTEEN - Faux Pas
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - Second Wind
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN - Redirected
CHAPTER NINETEEN - Rolling Over
CHAPTER TWENTY - The Grizzly
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE - Two’s Better Than One?
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO - Unstable
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE - Watchful
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR - Research
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE - Preparation
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX - Talking
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN - Risk
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT - Reward
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE - Praying
CHAPTER THIRTY - Rooting
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE - Swimming?
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO - Labor
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE - Thanksgiving

Praise for

Bundle of Trouble

“A stellar debut . . . Deftly plotted with a winning protagonist and a glorious San Francisco setting, Bundle of Trouble is a page-turning read. We will be hearing much more from this talented newcomer. Highly recommended.”

—Sheldon Siegel, New York Times bestselling author of Perfect Alibi

“Anyone who’s been a mother or had one will welcome the arrival of this entertaining new sleuth.”

—Gillian Roberts, author of the Amanda Pepper Mysteries

“You’ll love keeping up with this amazing mother and sleuth in the fun, fast-paced Bundle of Trouble.”

—Margaret Grace, author of the Miniature Mysteries

“A charming, gutsy, wry character who will make you laugh so hard you’ll forget the labor pains. Cigars all around . . . Bundle of Trouble is a natural-born winner.”

—Louise Ure, Shamus Award Winner of Liars Anonymous

Berkley Prime Crime titles by Diana Orgain

BUNDLE OF TROUBLE MOTHERHOOD IS MURDER

THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

MOTHERHOOD IS MURDER

A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author

PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / March 2010

Copyright Š 2010 by Diana Orgain.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

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eISBN : 978-1-101-18550-6

BERKLEYŽ PRIME CRIME
Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
BERKLEYŽ PRIME CRIME and the PRIME CRIME logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

This book is dedicated to
Tom, Carmen, Tommy, Jr., and Robert
who always make me smile and feel lucky
to be sharing this wonderful life with them.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thank you to D. P. Lyle, M.D., and Judy Melinek, M.D., who provided me with details on forensic medicine and poisonings. You were so generous with your time, and patient with my many questions and follow-ups. Thanks to Dave Hardy for providing me with insights into law enforcement, and Kathy Johnson who not only assisted me with law enforcement details but who has always been a source of support and strength for me for so many years. Any errors in forensic or law enforcement procedures are my own.
Thanks to Michelle Vega and Megan Swartz at Berkley Prime Crime and to Lucienne Diver of The Knight Agency—you are all among the very best in the business. Thanks to P. J. Nunn at Breakthrough Promotions for your efforts in promoting my work, and Jeniffer Thompson and Anna Bobro of Monkey C. Media for creating my wonderful website.
Special thanks to my critique group—THAT writing group.
Finally, thanks to my mother, Maria Carmen Noa, and to my loving husband, Tom Orgain.

CHAPTER ONE

At Sea

To Do:

1. Buy diapers.
2. Make Laurie’s two-month check.
3. Find good “how to” book for PI business.
4. ?
5. ?
6. Exercise.
I stared into the bathroom mirror and wondered how I’d failed to bring a hairbrush along on the San Francisco Bay dinner cruise. I ran my hands down the length of my mop, trying to tame the frizzies. If I put a little water on the problem, would it help or make it worse?
The door to the restroom flew open. Sara, one of the moms from my new mommy group, appeared. She looked worse than I did. Her lipstick was smudged and her hair had the volume of a lion’s mane.
“Oh my God! Kate! I didn’t know you were here.” She took a step back toward the door, then hesitated, looking like she’d been caught with her hand in the cookie jar.
She was so prim and proper at dinner. Probably doesn’t like to be seen looking so rumpled, but hey, if you can’t look bad in the ladies’ room, then there’s no safe haven.
Sara ran her hands along the front of her black cocktail dress, which was wrinkled and wet, then squinted at her reflection. She jumped into action, grabbing a paper towel and fixing the smeared lipstick. “Your husband’s been looking everywhere for you. The captain’s called an ‘all hands on deck.’ ”
“My hands, too?” I asked, wiggling my fingers under the faucet to activate the automatic water flow.
Sara scrunched her mouth in disapproval.
“I guess I’m not up on ship rules,” I said to her reflection.
“Everyone has to go back to their tables, now!” She grabbed another paper towel and frantically scrubbed at the wet section of her dress.
I stopped fussing with my hair and shifted my gaze from Sara’s reflection to Sara.
If everyone was supposed to be back to their tables, what was she doing here?
“Why?” I asked.
“There’s been an accident.”
Goose bumps rose on my arms. “What kind of accident?”
“Helene fell down the back staircase.” Sara motioned me toward the door. “Come on, come on.”


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 blond 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 supertall, 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 runway-ish.
“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 indefinitely 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 wineglass 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.”

CHAPTER TWO

Outreach

I waved my cell phone around, counting bars as I moved from window to window. I had five bars showing until I hit the first number on the keypad, then three bars disappeared.
Most of the passengers were now lingering in the lounge area. The captain had announced that we would be further delayed and complimentary hot beverages would be served.
Jim was in line getting me a hot coffee, while I frantically tried to reach my mother, who was babysitting for us.
I moved away from the windows, still focused on the phone, and slammed directly into Nick Dowling, the San Francisco Medical Examiner.
“Mrs. Connolly! What a coincidence.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. If Nick was here, it couldn’t be good news for Helene.
“Mr. Dowling. Don’t tell me Helene is . . .”
Nick brushed his bangs off his forehead. “Well, I’m not supposed to tell you anything. You know that, Kate.”
After giving birth to Laurie just a few short weeks ago, I’d been dragged into a murder investigation. Well, maybe “dragged” wasn’t the right word. I had launched a fledgling private investigation business. Maybe “launched” wasn’t the right word either. I had solved a missing person’s case, and two murders.
Yes, I had solved it.
I’d also met the medical examiner.
The ME is called to a scene only when a death has occurred.
I closed my eyes and bowed my head. I felt Nick’s hand on my elbow.
“I’m sorry, Kate. Were you close?”
I shook my head. “No, I only met her briefly. She and another mom invited me to join their mommy group. Tonight I met the whole gang.”
He sighed. Something buzzed from inside his jacket pocket. “Sorry, I have to get that.” He fished out his cell phone and hurried toward the exit.
Nick had reception, why didn’t I?
I tried to focus on my phone but there was a tightening in my chest, my eyes teared.
Poor Helene. Dead? What could have happened?
How could a fall down some steps have killed her? Had she broken her neck? Head trauma or what?
One minute she was alive and well, eating dinner with us, then suddenly she was gone.
How many children did she have? They needed their mommy.
I swallowed the lump forming in my throat.
What was behind all the looks exchanged at my table? There seemed to be some animosity between the women.
Could Helene have been murdered?
Maybe someone pushed her down the stairs.
No, that didn’t make any sense.
Certainly if anyone was trying to kill her, they wouldn’t have done it on a crowded dinner cruise, much less by pushing her down a stairwell. That would have been stupid.
Push her overboard, maybe, but not down some steps.
It had to have been an accident. Or perhaps she’d died of natural causes. But she looked so healthy!
Maybe an aneurysm—those could strike suddenly and take someone’s life even if they were young and seemingly healthy.
The medical examiner would figure it out.
Could I help in any way? Maybe there’d be a need for a PI?
Right. What was I thinking? I had no license. No way to land a case on my own. The only way I could fathom landing a case would be to enroll help from Senior PI Albert Galigani.
Galigani had been instrumental on my first case. Maybe he would let me use his license, or work for him. I’d do whatever it took to make myself legit.
I pushed the thought aside. Legitimacy didn’t matter. Helping Helene did. Although I hardly knew her, my heart grieved.
I recalled meeting her last week. I was at Angles de la Terre, the ultrachic baby store in downtown San Francisco. It was pricey, but they carried high-end products and had a great selection of items such as cradle cap cream, which I hadn’t been able to find at Target. Never mind the fact that there is no Target or Walmart in San Francisco. So after being forced to shop in a neighboring town and striking out, I made the trip downtown.
I was rewarded by the smell of chocolate wafting in from next door to Angles de la Terre. A tiny chocolatier selling only superb candy had been at the same location for ninety years. I stopped in and conducted a quality check. After all, old-time traditions need to be maintained. And who better to taste the chocolate than a San Francisco native?
Wasn’t there something about chocolate that had medicinal properties anyway?
As I roamed the aisles of Angles de la Terre, I licked what remained of the truffle off my fingers. Indeed the quality was still superb.
I pushed Laurie’s stroller down the organic cotton diapers aisle, which was flanked by signs noting MADE BY FAIR TRADE WORKERS, and felt my shoulders relax to the new age music. The next aisle held the remedies I was looking for, including cradle cap cream.
I grabbed the bottle and examined the ingredients—all natural, of course.
And ooh—aroma-therapeutic properties.
A woman, tall and slender with impeccable posture, rounded the corner of my aisle.
She stopped short of Laurie’s stroller and gazed down at her. Laurie was decked out in a frilly little pink dress with matching pink booties and hat.
“She’s beautiful,” the woman said.
I smiled. “Thank you.”
She scrutinized me. “Your first?”
I laughed. “That obvious, huh?”
“All new moms have that same look about them.”
“Clueless?”
It was her turn to laugh. “No. Sort of shocked, kinda giddy, and yet . . .”
“Clueless.”
The woman chuckled and stuck out her hand. “I’m Margaret Lipe.”
I juggled the bottle of cream to my left hand and shook hers. “Kate.”
“Magic Moments!” she said. “That’s the best product line ever. You only need a little bit and it works like a charm. Have you tried their infant massage oil?” She reached over and picked up a bottle. “It’s got lavender and I don’t know what else in it.” She flipped it over to examine the label. “Well, whatever it is, it just makes your little one snooze away.”
“Who wouldn’t want that?”
Margaret raised her eyebrows in a knowing response and handed me the bottle. “A few drops and you’re set.”
“I haven’t heard about Magic Moments.”
She looked at me like I was from Mars. “Are you local?”
I nodded.
“Don’t you belong to a mommy group?” she asked.
“No. Who has the time?”
“You have to make the time. It’s important not to lose yourself in the mothering process.”
“Yeah. It’s easy to get caught up in diapers, milk, and not much else.” I shook the bottles in my hand. “Except maybe for cradle cap remedies.”
“Well, mommy groups are really good for recommendations and keeping up with the latest scoop on everything! I run one and I’m always on the lookout for what works, what saves time, who’s the best nanny, that sort of thing. And it’s great to have the support. When I had my second baby, the other moms in the group took turns bringing me homemade dinners. Are you a stay-at-home?”
“Oh, a stay-at-home mom? Yes, I mean, I guess so . . . well, I work, too . . . sort of.”
She nodded knowingly. “You haven’t decided. Are you on maternity leave?”
“Uh. No . . . I . . . um . . .”
Why was I stuttering like a ninny?
I knew what I was doing. I had quit my job and I was staying at home with Laurie. The fact that I was trying to start my own business didn’t change my status. Did it? Was I considered a working mom? Or was I a stay-at-home mom?
“I’m at home but I also work,” I blurted. I reached into my diaper bag and proudly presented her with a homemade
PI business card I had printed.
Margaret looked at the card curiously. “Ooooh. A private investigator?”
My natural inclination was to shy away from the attention, but I recalled my best friend, Paula, scolding me. “If you want to launch a business, the first thing you have to do is tell everybody!”
I simply nodded at Margaret and stood there flat-footed.
Another woman appeared at the head of the aisle. “There you are!”
“Oh, sorry. I was chatting,” Margaret said. “This is Helene. We cofounded our mommy group, Roo & You.”
Helene, lean and mean, was sporting designer blue jeans and chartreuse high heels. Her tan wool jacket was open slightly, revealing a blouse in the exact same shade as her shoes. She reached out and shook my hand. Hanging from her arm was the matching chartreuse handbag.
“Is Margaret recruiting you?” Helene leaned over the stroller. “She’s darling. Pretty in pink and matchy-matchy. Just like me. I love it.”
“Next week our group is going on a dinner cruise,” Margaret said. “Why don’t you join us?”
“A dinner cruise?” I asked.
“We usually meet at my place on Thursday afternoons for a playdate, but since you’re working, you might not be able to make afternoons, huh?”
So there it was. I was working. I wasn’t a stay-at-home.
Something inside me deflated. I wanted to be a stay-at-home mommy. Why couldn’t I be? After all, I wasn’t really working. I didn’t have a current client. I was free on Thursday afternoons. I could make a playdate, whatever that was.
“Helene caught a cruising bug,” Margaret continued. “She scored us tickets for a cruise around the bay. We’re all bringing our husbands.”
“One thing that happens to new moms is that you practically forget about the dads. They need attention, too.” Helene rummaged around her handbag and pulled out a package of Nicorette gum. “Margaret wanted to include our guys. So, Roo & You hired a couple of babysitters to watch the wee ones.” She unwrapped a piece of gum and popped it into her mouth. “And we’re going sailing!”
A bay dinner cruise.
An evening with Jim and no baby? No nursing, no diapers, no bath time, no crying?
Hmmm. A cruise did sound a little more enticing than a playdate.
What would I wear?
Margaret dug a card out of her purse and handed it to me. It read Roo & You—President and had a little graphic of a kangaroo with a baby in its pouch. “You should come along and check out our group,” she said.
“It sounds like fun,” I replied.
Helene poked Margaret. “We need to go. Marcus is probably hungry by now.”
Margaret smiled at me. “He’s six months old and I’m vetting a new nanny. Unfortunately, someone stole the one I used with my two-year-old.”
A nanny. Must be nice.
Helene chomped on the gum. “This stuff doesn’t work. I still want a cigarette.”
“You should try those patches.” Margaret said, linking her arm through Helene’s. She turned to me. “Call or e-mail me. I’ll save you two tickets for the cruise.”


The boat swayed, the motion brought my mind back to the present.
I still needed to call Mom. How could I find a network? I extended my arm and did a ridiculous dance trying to coax more than two bars out of the phone.
I quickly dialed home. All I could see in my mind’s eye was Laurie’s pretty round face with her rosy cheeks and toothless grin. Thank God I’d pumped before leaving the house this evening. I only hoped they wouldn’t keep us here too much longer. I was missing Laurie like crazy.
I twisted and suddenly saw full bars. Mom answered on the third ring.
“How’s Lemon Drop?” I asked.
Samba music blared in the background, then suddenly stopped.
“She fine, dear. Sleeping.”
“What are you listening to?”
“Ricky Martin.”
“Laurie is sleeping through Ricky Martin?”
“Yes, well, she’s really still too young to enjoy the finer things in life.”
I filled Mom in on the developments.
She gasped. “Don’t worry about Laurie and me, we’re fine. Just take care of whatever you need to. We’ll be here.”
What would I do without Mom?
As I was about to thank her and hang up, I heard a male voice in the background. “Who’s that?”
“Oh! That’s Hank. He came over to keep me company.” >
After nearly fifteen years of being single, Mom had recently started dating again. Hank was the man who’d brought her out of hiding.
“What are you, a teenager? You have some guy over as soon as the adults are out of the house?”
Mom laughed. “I needed somebody to samba with and Laurie just wasn’t cooperating.”
From the main staircase four police officers in uniform descended. They wore solemn expressions and walked in lockstep.
“I gotta go,” I said to Mom and hung up.
I returned to our table, where Jim and my, no doubt, cold coffee were waiting.
Upon reaching the bottom of the stairs, the officers dispersed. Each one approached a different table, the divide and conquer method.
The officer that came to our table was Asian-American. He had a strong compact build and a smooth complexion. He leaned forward, his hands resting on the tabletop, and cleared his throat. “Evening, ladies and gentlemen, I’m Officer Lee. Sorry about the delay. The captain wants to dock as soon as possible, but before we can let you all go—I need to get a statement from each of you and some contact information.”
“How’s Helene?” Margaret asked.
Officer Lee focused on Margaret and sized her up, nodding to himself several times. “The medical staff is with her now.”
Medical staff?
He meant the medical examiner, I was sure of it. But I supposed SFPD had a reason for not disclosing that. I hadn’t had an opportunity to mention to anyone that I had bumped into the ME. Now, I felt certain I should keep it to myself.
Except, of course, for Jim.
Reflexively my hand reached out to touch Jim’s leg. He placed his hand over mine and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
Officer Lee straightened and pulled out a notebook from his breast pocket. “I’d like to begin with you,” he said to Margaret. “Please follow me.”
Margaret gave the napkin in her lap one final wring, then stood up. Her tutu sprang to attention.
Officer Lee seemed momentarily dazed by Margaret’s attire. He gathered himself enough to mumble, “If everyone can please get their identification cards or driver’s licenses ready, it’ll make this whole process go much smoother.”
Margaret followed Lee toward the lounge area, where they carved out a private space to speak. The rest of us at the table exchanged sympathetic looks and began to gather up purses and wallets to prove our identity.
Evelyn craned to look out the starboard windows. “Where’s the hospital boat? Why aren’t they shuttling her off the boat?”
“Maybe she’s not hurt all that bad,” Sara offered.
“Then why are the police here?” Evelyn shrieked.
Evelyn’s husband put his hand on her shoulder. Evelyn sat up straighter and pushed her belly out.
Sara gave Evelyn the evil eye. “How should I know why the police are here? Maybe all this has something to do with you!”
“Me!” Evelyn said, pressing her hand to her heart.
Sara’s husband, Howard, looked stunned. “Sara!” He took hold of her arm.
She shrugged him off. “Why did you even come on this cruise?” she said to Evelyn. “You aren’t a member of Roo & You anymore. I’m sure Helene made that clear to you!”
Evelyn’s face flushed bright red. A lock of blond hair slipped from her barrette and fell across her face; she fiercely brushed it aside, then jutted her finger out at Sara. “I saw you and Helene arguing at the top of the stairs. I saw you. I saw you fighting!”
Indignation crossed Sara’s face, but before she could reply, her husband noisily pushed his chair back from the table and stood. “Come on. We don’t need to sit here and listen to this.”
Sara seemed torn. She looked as though she wanted to stay and fight with Evelyn, but couldn’t find the courage to stand up to her husband.
She pressed her lips together as her husband grabbed her arm. She stood and glared at Evelyn, then walked with him to the lounge area.
Evelyn’s husband, Fred, patted her arm. “Honey, don’t upset yourself or the baby.”
Evelyn huffed an inaudible response.
Our table fell into silence.
A fight?
I remembered Sara, Miss No-Nonsense, in the bathroom and how disheveled she looked. Why had her dress been wet?
I imagined Helene throwing a drink at her and Sara pushing Helene down the stairs.
No.
Too dramatic.
Jim leaned close to me and whispered, “I didn’t know we’d get to see fireworks on this cruise.”
I elbowed him.
“And we didn’t even have to pay extra!” he continued.
One agency or other was always advertising firework displays on the San Francisco Bay, whether it was after a ball game or during a dinner cruise. Usually there was an extra charge at those events.
I shook my head at him, conjuring visions of the medical examiner hovering over a pasty Helene.
Poor thing!
Fred leaned in toward Evelyn. “What did she mean, you aren’t a member of Roo & You?”
Evelyn flicked her hand about as though to distract us or at the very least indicate to her husband to move off the topic. “I saw Helene and Sara bickering at the top of the staircase that Helene fell down.”
“Over what?” Fred asked.
Margaret and Officer Lee approached our table. Evelyn fanned her hand at Fred, silencing him.
Margaret reached her chair and seated herself, tucking in her tutu around her. Lee scanned the room. I followed his gaze, which settled on Sara and Howard arguing in a corner of the lounge. I turned back to face Officer Lee, only to see him leave our table and head toward Sara.
Margaret’s lipstick had faded to nothing and her eyes looked drawn. I glanced at my watch. It was well past midnight now and I was feeling sapped. With Margaret’s return, the table had fallen into silence and I longed to be alone with Jim.
Jim wrapped his arm around my shoulder. “Are you cold, honey? You want me to get you some hot coffee?”
I perked up. “I’ll go with you.”
We stood to leave and ended up taking orders from our table for hot teas and coffees. As we made our way to the bar, I noticed that several passengers were speaking with officers at strategic locations throughout the dining and lounge area. One silver-haired woman was speaking animatedly with a female officer. She was gesticulating wildly while the officer scribbled notes on a notepad.
I tried to eavesdrop on their conversation, but Jim was walking too fast. At six foot two, Jim has serious long legs, so they don’t even have to be moving all that fast to leave me in the dust. I pulled at his arm to slow him down.
He stopped walking and smiled at me. “Sorry, honey.” He kissed me. “It’s terrible about your friend. I hope she’s okay.”
“She’s not. When I called Mom, I bumped into Nick Dowling,” I said.
Jim’s eyes narrowed. “Isn’t he the coroner?”
“Medical examiner, yeah.”
Jim paled. “Does his being here mean Helene is—”
“Dead,” I whispered.
“Does anyone else know?” Jim asked.
I shrugged. “Well, I suppose the cops do and I’m sure Margaret’s podiatrist husband knows. Right? I mean even though he’s—”
“Okay, okay. I know a podiatrist can be a doctor. I meant, do you think anyone at our table knows?”
“I think they all know a podiatrist can be a doctor.”
Jim shook his head at my bad joke. “Do they know about Helene?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Well, don’t say anything, all right? It looks bad that the ME is here, but we don’t know anything for sure, right? So let’s not say anything and get anyone more upset than they already are.”
I nodded in agreement. We reached the bar and placed our order. Officer Lee appeared next to me.
“Mrs. Connolly, I’d like to have a word with you next.”

CHAPTER THREE

Digging

Officer Lee and I situated ourselves in a corner of the bar, each of us in a black lounge chair, a video console game of Pac-Man between us.
I placed my coffee on the video game tabletop and fingered the recycling logo on the Styrofoam cup. “What can I do to help?”
“Tell me about your evening. What were you doing on this dinner cruise?” Lee asked.
I shrugged. “What everyone else was doing, having dinner.”
Lee closed his eyes and shook his head slightly, indicating he didn’t think my comment was funny.
He placed his notebook on the tabletop. At the moment the game preview was killing off one of the Pac-Mans and the defeat music accompanied Lee as he said, “How well did you know Mrs. Helene Chambers?”
“Not well at all. I met her and Margaret last week. They invited me on this cruise. I was checking out the Roo & You club.”
“The mommy club?”
I nodded.
“What about the spouses?” Lee asked.
“What do you mean?”
He looked at me as though I was incredibly naive. “Did you know anyone else at your table? Any of the spouses?”
Was he asking if I’d had an affair with any of them?
I looked down at my red cocktail dress. Certainly some cleavage was showing, but nothing risqué. Why would he suggest anything like that?
I leveled my stare at him. “Only my own spouse.” “Did your husband know anyone?”
I shook my head again.
Lee’s expression looked sour. “I don’t get it.”
“Get what?”
“Why you would go on a dinner cruise with a group of people you don’t know.”
“Like I said, I met Helene and Margaret, they were funny and smart and invited me to join this mommy support club.”
He wrote in his pad and said slowly, “Mom-my support.” He finished writing and looked up. “What’s that mean?”
Another Pac-Man bit the dust and the music played as the token crumpled into thin air. I was beginning to feel aligned with the little game piece, running and dodging. And from Lee’s tone I feared that my end could be the same.
“I wanted to talk to other moms. You know, have a peer group. Be able to check in with someone and make sure you’re not nuts.”
He made another note. “So you feel like you’re going crazy?”
Was this guy for real?
I reflexively glanced around the room for the woman officer. Surely, she would understand.
I shut my eyes and shook my head. “That’s not what I meant.”
“I understand that you were away from your table when the accident occurred. Can you tell me your whereabouts around ten thirty P.M.?”
“Well, I didn’t look at my watch, but I was in the ladies’ room when Sara told me the captain wanted us back at our tables.”
Lee nodded. “And prior to that?”
Another Pac-Man warbled to his demise.
“I was on the upper deck, admiring the view of the Golden Gate.”
“With whom?” Lee asked.
“By myself.”
Lee squinted at me. “Where was your husband?”
“Dancing. Are you with homicide?”
Lee looked surprised. “No. Why would you think the homicide division would be here?”
Oh no! Way to put your foot in it, Kate!
“Sorry. I . . . never mind.”
Lee scowled and made another note. “So you were on the upper deck and your husband was on the main. Dancing? Alone?”
“No. We’d been dancing together, but I got tired and wanted to get some air. Margaret had been sitting alone at our table for a while because her husband . . . well, actually, I don’t know where her husband was . . . maybe he just doesn’t dance. I asked Jim to dance with her because she looked lonely. And I went to the upper deck to get some air and enjoy the view.”
“So you left your husband with Margaret?”
I nodded.
Lee narrowed his eyes at me. “Margaret was the one who found Helene at the bottom of the stairs.”
“Uh-huh,” I answered, not following his train of thought.
Lee pinched his lips together, then said in a condescending tone, “So, how can Margaret be dancing with your husband on the main deck and find her friend on the upper deck at the same time?”
I shrugged. “Oh. Well, maybe she didn’t want to dance with Jim . . . I really don’t know, I haven’t asked him . . .”
Lee shook his head at me. He looked as though he wanted to roll his eyes, but some ounce of professionalism remained because he controlled himself.
“Did you see anyone on the upper deck?” he asked.
“Yeah. There were people around.”
“Who?”
I stirred my coffee and thought.
“Take your time,” Lee said, tapping his pen against the video glass top.
“I don’t know, I wasn’t cataloging people. I mean, I don’t remember being entirely alone, people were hovering around oohing and aahing at the bridge. But I can’t exactly say who I saw.”
Lee stopped tapping his pen. “I see. Were you upset with anyone here tonight?”
“No, of course not.”
“Did you argue or fight with anyone tonight?”
“No.”
“Did you see anyone arguing or overhear anything?”
Evelyn accused Sara of fighting with Helene. Should I tell the officer that? But what did I really know?
I shook my head. “I didn’t overhear any fights.”
“When was the last time you saw Helene?”
“After dinner. We were served dessert, but she didn’t eat hers. She said she needed a cigarette. So, she and Margaret went upstairs.”
“Margaret?” Lee looked at his notebook and read back to me my own words. “ ‘Margaret had been sitting alone at our table for a while.’ ” He gestured with his hand for me to elaborate.
“Yeah, that’s right, but it was later in the evening. Margaret did go upstairs with Helene, but then came back alone. At that point, dinner was over, so people were milling about. I didn’t keep track of everyone’s movements.”
Maybe I should have.
How would I ever make a good PI if I wasn’t more observant?
“So, Helene said she wasn’t feeling well. Was she drunk?”
I shrugged, recalling the empty glasses at her place. “She seemed a little tipsy.”
Lee pulled his card from a breast pocket and handed it to me. “Okay, Mrs. Connolly, if you remember anything, call me. Otherwise, if I can see your driver’s license for a moment, I think we’re done here.”
As I pulled my wallet from my purse, several slips of paper rained onto the floor. I grabbed the two by my feet, one a shopping list, the other my to-do list. Officer Lee retrieved the piece of paper near him. One of my homemade PI business cards.
Oh no!
Officer Lee read the card and frowned. “You’re an investigator?”
“I . . . um . . . I’m trying to be.”
Lee leaned in closer as the Pac-Man machine again killed off a character, the tune underscoring my feeling of consternation. He scratched his chin. “Anything else you can think of that you want to share with me right now?”
“Like what?” I stuttered.
Lee pressed his palms against the video game and closed in on me. “Mrs. Connolly, were you on this cruise for business?”
“What? No. What do you mean?”
Lee evaluated me for a long moment. I sat perfectly still, not even sure what expression I should put on my face.
Finally Lee rested back into the lounge chair. “Okay. We’ll be in touch if we need anything else.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Nurture

The Story Continues on BooksBarbecue!

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