An idea takes root in my brain. Maybe I should call Chelsea. She seemed nice enough and clearly she knows Monica really well. Maybe I could get an idea from her what the deal is with her roommate. Like she could tell me if Monica’s apartment is filled with baby apparatus or if she’s saying inappropriate things about Sam. Chelsea might be reluctant to betray her roommate, but I can be fairly persuasive. I can put it in the context of trying to help Monica.

“I’m sorry.” Shelley winces at the look on my face. “I probably shouldn’t have said all this. You’ve got enough to worry about without my putting ideas in your head.”

“No, it’s good to know,” I say. “If Monica plans to back out on us, I want to know in advance.”

I’ve got to give Chelsea a call.

_____

I wait until I get home to try Chelsea’s number, remembering how Shelley told me she’d seen Monica listening at the door to my office. Plus I don’t have her number handy. Thankfully, Sam files all our paperwork away in the second drawer of his desk, and he’s ridiculously organized. He has everything about Monica in a file labeled “Monica Johnson.” Chelsea’s number is still in there.

I go into the bedroom while Sam is cooking dinner and dial Chelsea’s number on my cell phone. My heart is pounding as I hit the green button to send the call.

Before the phone even rings on the other line, I hear an automated voice: “You have reached a nonworking number.”

I stare at the phone. Chelsea’s number is no longer functional. That’s… interesting.

Sam comes into the bedroom in his “I ate some pie” apron, which is dotted with pesto sauce. He’s also got some pesto on his chin that I’m guessing he doesn’t know about. He looks very proud of himself.

“Dinner is served,” he says.

I don’t budge.

“I tasted it this time,” he assures me. “And it’s definitely edible. I swear.”

I can’t even manage a smile.

Sam frowns and looks at the phone in my hand. “Who were you talking to?”

“Monica’s roommate Chelsea,” I say. “Or at least, I was trying to. Her phone was disconnected.”

“Oh,” he says.

“Don’t you think that’s odd?”

He shrugs. “Maybe she forgot to pay her phone bill.”

Maybe. But somehow I don’t think so.

“Why were you calling Monica’s roommate anyway?” he asks.

“Because.” I shift on the bed. “Shelley told me that Monica is talking about the baby like she’s planning for after he’s born. She even has a name picked out.”

“Oh yeah? What name?”

“David.”

He grins at me. “Hey, she’s got good taste!”