Motherhood Is Murder

He looked up and squinted at the sun. We sat in silence for a moment.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

He closed his eyes. “Thank you.” He opened his eyes and looked at Laurie again. “In fact, we were hoping to adopt. That’s why Celia’s here. She was helping Helene and I coordinate an adoption with a priest in Costa Rica.”

“Oh?”

“She knows a priest, Father Pedro at San Rafael Catholic Church, who wanted to help this teenage girl who got . . . well anyway, the baby is due next month. Helene was traveling pretty regularly out there and everything was progressing smoothly, but now . . .” He grimaced. “Now it’s hard to imagine being a daddy with no mommy.”

Sadness overcame me and my eyes began to well with tears. Before I could speak, my cell phone rang. We both glanced at my ultrafashionable diaper purse—an old Jansport travel backpack that was doubling as a diaper bag, purse, and catchall.

Bruce rose. “Go ahead and get that if you need to. You want a margarita or a beer or something? I think I need a drink.”

I dug into the backpack for the offending noise and shook my head. Bruce disappeared down the steps as I examined the incoming call. I didn’t recognize the number but pressed the accept button anyway.

“Hello?”

“Kate? This is Hank . . . um . . . your mom’s friend?”

Hank? This was Mom’s other boyfriend. What was he doing calling me?

“Yeah. Hi, Hank.”

“Sorry to bother you, Kate. It’s just that I was concerned about your mom. I haven’t heard from her in a couple days and, well, we’re leaving tonight on our Mexican cruise. I wanted to be sure she had all the information . . . and . . . well, at our age you can’t be too careful, right? Just wanted to know that she was okay.”

What could I say? She’s wine tasting with another fellow?

“Oh, Hank, that is so sweet. Yes, Mom is fine. Just busy. But she’s totally fine. I’m sure she’ll be there tonight. She’s really looking forward to the trip. Shall I have her call you?”

“I don’t want to be a bother . . .”

“I’m sure it’s not a bother . . . let me take down your number.”

What did I know? Maybe Mom was giving him the brush-off. Still, I didn’t have to be the one to break the bad news, right?

I rummaged frantically through my diaper purse, but couldn’t come up with a pen in time. I double-checked the number he gave me against the one my phone had picked up. We said good-bye and hung up. I contemplated dialing Mom right then, but decided against it. Bruce would be back any minute.

I studied Laurie, still snoozing in her bucket. I reached over and felt her tummy extend and deflate. Good.

I finished the salmon and grilled corn on my plate and waited.

What was taking Bruce so long?

Maybe he was checking on Celia.

Bored, I decided to dial Mom.

She picked up on the third ring. “Kate? Is everything all right?”

I smiled to myself. Now that Mom had a cell phone, she seemed proud to be “on call” 24/7. “Everything’s fine, except your boyfriend called me looking for you.”

“My who?”

“Hank called me, Mom.”

“Oh dear! Well, yes, yes, thank you for the message, Kate.”

I imagined her trying to act coy with Galigani at her side. A wicked impulse struck me. “You owe me, Mom. I lied for you! Kept your fish on the line, so to speak.”

“Yes, dear. Well, thank you very much for that. I appreciate it. Oh! Look at this—we’re at Cakebread Cellars!”

“It’s okay, you can try and act busy, but I need you to work on Galigani for me. If he’s well enough to gallivant through Napa with you, then he’s well enough to supervise me or whatever. Besides, I really don’t need any supervision.”

“I have to go, honey. Kiss little Laurie for me. Thanks for calling.”

“Will you do it?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Mom answered in a singsong fashion and disconnected.

I pulled out my notebook and rummaged deeper into my backpack. I had to have something to write with. I’d never make it as a PI without a pen!

I finally found a pencil with a very dull tip in one of the pack’s side pockets. Still enough to jot some ideas down:

1. Why would Helene lie to Margaret about Bruce not wanting kids?

2. What did Helene’s death mean to Bruce? Another chance at marriage and having kids? What about the impending adoption?

Finally, I heard Bruce’s footsteps on the staircase. He was carrying a mixed drink in one hand and a beer in the other. He resumed his seat across from me and set both drinks in front of himself.

“Bruce, are you planning any construction projects?”

He sighed. “Yeah. Helene and I wanted to put an extension on the condo. Because of the baby.”

“Did you decide to cancel the project?”

He shook his head. “Well, I’m not sure yet what I’m going to do.”

“Do you know if Helene canceled the project?”

“No. She wouldn’t have canceled the project. Why would she cancel? No.”

So maybe Sara was right and Helene hadn’t canceled the construction, but why would Evelyn lie?

Bruce took a sip of the mixed drink. “I’d love to have children. But hell, I’m not around much. How am I going to raise a kid all by myself?”

I watched as his face contorted. Anger flashed across his eyes and was replaced by a distant look. He gripped the mixed drink, then made a satisfied sound as he drained the glass. “I work all the time. I have very demanding clients. Even this.” He waved his hand around. “My being out this week. Sure the firm will send out a letter to my clients, but it’s very hard to be away.”

He pushed the empty glass away from himself and grabbed the beer.

“I know you spoke with the ME. Can you share anything with me that might help me figure out what happened that night?”

He fingered the beer and sat in silence. “He didn’t tell me much. Just asked if Helene used drugs. I told him she didn’t. He kind of kept questioning me along those lines. Asked about drinking and smoking and stuff. Helene drank that night, sure.” He took a swig of beer. “We all did. But I don’t think she drank enough to have alcohol poisoning or anything. And she was using these nicotine patches to try and get off the cancer sticks. We both wanted the house to be smoke free for when the baby came. But that’s it. That’s pretty much all I could tell him.”

“Bruce, early in the evening, do you remember being at the bar with Helene, Margaret, and her husband? Margaret told me you all were at the bar and then Sara and her husband came over. Apparently you men were discussing investments—”

“Oh! Yeah, sure. Howard was grilling me on the market. It’s not a surprise we’re all very concerned about it tanking.”

“Do you think maybe Helene and Margaret got their drinks mixed up?” I asked.

Bruce looked curiously blank. “I don’t know. Where are you going with this?”