Motherhood Is Murder

Maybe feeding Laurie early hadn’t been such a good idea. I was now officially late. I mopped her up and started again, this time with a top that buttoned down the front, hoping it would jiggle her less and cause less pressure on her belly.

She seemed content. I packed her into the car seat and took off toward Nob Hill, a good thirty minutes from my house.

Bruce lived in an upscale condo on the third floor. I was winded by the first floor. When I reached his place, I had to lean against the doorframe for support. I was huffing and puffing and refused to ring the bell until I could regain at least a scrap of composure.

When I finally rang the bell, Bruce opened the door wearing blue plaid shorts and a red Hawaiian top. Despite his wardrobe choices, he was still handsome. He was tall and lean, but his shoulders were slumped with grief. I could imagine that Helene and he had made a stunning couple.

“Kate, come on in.”

The condo faced north and the view of the bay was breathtaking.

He glanced at Laurie peacefully sleeping in her portable car seat bucket. “She’s beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

“Let me help you,” he said, reaching out to take Laurie’s bucket from my hand.

A mama bear instinct overtook me and I clutched the handle of the car seat so hard my knuckles turned white. “Oh no, no, it’s okay. I got her.”

Bruce looked taken aback. “Don’t be silly. Those car seats get heavy.” He reached out again and this time wrapped his hand around the handle.

What was wrong with me? What did I expect him to do with Laurie?

I tried to release my grasp. But something inside me wouldn’t, so when Bruce pulled on the car seat, he took me along with it.

He looked confused and froze. He released the bucket as if it had stung him.

I wanted the ground to open and swallow me up.

I let out a nervous laugh. “Sorry, I wasn’t sure you had her.”

What an idiot I am! It was Mom’s fault for planting the “guilty widower” seed in my head!

Bruce ran his hand up and down his thigh in a self-soothing gesture. He cleared his throat. “Um. I have some salmon on the grill. Downside to these condos is there’s no yard. Upside is the roof access.”

We made our way awkwardly through the living room. Bruce led and I carted the bucket. The condo was impeccably clean. White Berber carpets, cream leather couches, glass coffee and side tables.

He steered me toward the kitchen. A small interior staircase loomed ahead of me. I hesitated.

“Shall we head to the roof?” he asked.

Even though I hadn’t actually seen Helene dead, images of her lying at the bottom of the stairs flooded my head, followed by an image of Bruce pushing her down the stairs. Immediately followed by an image of Bruce pushing me off the roof.

Bruce glanced curiously at me. “It’s a nice day out. The weather is outstanding for November.”

I looked into his sad eyes and suddenly felt ridiculous. He wouldn’t harm anyone.

“Earthquake weather,” I said, climbing the narrow winding staircase.

When I emerged into the bright sunlight, I was startled to see Celia there manning the grill.

She flashed me a bright smile. “Kate! Oh, and you brought your baby!” She dropped the tongs on a small side table and rushed over to coo at Laurie.

What was she doing here?

I recalled the touch and hushed conversation they’d shared at the funeral. Could they be having an affair?

I watched Bruce watch Celia. His eyes flashed bright for a moment, then the sadness returned. He picked up the discarded tongs and poked at the salmon.

“My friend caught this fish in Canada. Shipped it back just a few days ago. This is the freshest salmon we can hope to have in California for a while, what with the season closure and all.”

Celia picked up a beer, took a sip, then put her hand to her stomach. “Gosh, I’ve been feeling sick all day.” She hesitantly glanced at Bruce.

Morning sickness?

Bruce looked up from the grill. “Oh. Uh . . . if you’re not feeling well . . . Do you want to go home? Oh . . . I’m your ride.” He glanced at Laurie and me, then back to Celia. Celia had a sour look on her face.

“Do you want me to call you a cab?”

Celia hesitated. She clutched her stomach. “I hate to miss out on the salmon . . . but maybe I’ll feel better if I lie down for a while.”

“Sure. You can lie down in the guest room,” Bruce said.

Celia moved toward the stairs. She turned to me. “Will you promise to come check on me in twenty minutes? I don’t want to miss the party.”

Party? How strange.

A widower and a PI meeting was hardly a party. Something was definitely going on.

She descended the stairs. Bruce pulled the salmon off the grill and placed a few pieces alongside some vegetable shish kebabs on a pumpkin-colored platter.

He garnished the fish with some lemon slices and placed the platter in the middle of a picnic table that looked like it should have been center stage in a photo shoot for Pottery Barn.

He indicated for me to help myself.

I served myself a piece of fish and shish kebab. The smell of salmon was unbelievably delicious.

Bruce stared longing at the platter. “Haven’t had much of an appetite lately.”

I wanted to dig in, but now it looked like I would be dining alone. Was that wise? How did I know the fish was safe?

I chided myself. I couldn’t stand the paranoia any longer. Or the hunger for that matter. Anyway, hadn’t I already decided Bruce wouldn’t harm me in his own house?

I broke the fish apart with my fork and sampled it. It was moist, hot, and delicious.

Bruce looked at Laurie in her car seat bucket and sighed. “Before this is over, I hope I have a couple of those.”

“Before what is over?” I asked.

“This life.”

“You and Helene didn’t have any children, is that right?”

Bruce nodded. “Helene couldn’t have kids.”

I made no attempt to hide my surprise. “Really? I thought Margaret said you didn’t want kids. She said Helene was fighting the biological clock.”

Now it was Bruce’s turn to be surprised. His face showed first dismay then something between defeat and sadness. “I suppose it shouldn’t surprise me. Helene was always one surprise after another. I could probably tell you this. I don’t see what difference it makes now that she’s gone.”

Bruce leaned in toward me and lowered his voice. “About a year after we were married, Helene was brutally raped. It was bad, really bad.” He shook his head back and forth. “We didn’t realize at first that it would prevent us from having kids . . . but . . . sometimes things are just out of your control. I understand why Helene never said anything to Margaret. But me not wanting kids? No. No way. I’d always joked with my parents that I’d have enough to man a basketball team . . .”