Motherhood Is Murder

Celia: I was. Yes. In Miami. An ob-gyn nurse. Then I decided to go into business for myself and really focus on what I love. You know if you just give your dreams a chance, it can change your life. You’re dreaming of having your baby without all the trappings of the hospital. I can help you.

When are you due? Who’s your doctor now?

Paula: Uh. In March. Dr. Reynolds.

Celia: Do you have her number?

Paula: What?

Celia: I can call your doctor and begin the process to find out if you’re a good candidate for home birth—

Paula: Oh no. I mean, I have to think about it. You know, talk to my husband. You know how men are. Are you married?

Celia: No.

Paula: You have a boyfriend?

Celia: Not at the moment.

Silence.

I raised an eyebrow. Paula held up her hand, indicating for me to wait.

Celia: I was seeing someone, but well . . . things got complicated.

Paula: I’m sorry. Affairs of the heart can be complicated. Was it recent?

Celia: Yes. Very.

Paula: My toughest breakup was this married guy I was seeing. It wasn’t one of those, was it?

Celia: Actually . . .

Paula: Oh, sweetheart. I’m so sorry. I couldn’t take it. I couldn’t stand being second. Well, he would tell me I was first, but he wouldn’t leave her—

Celia: Yes. That’s it. We broke it off because he won’t leave her.

Paula: Don’t worry—there’s plenty of Tom, Dick, and Alans out there.

I laughed.

Paula stopped the tape. “That’s pretty much it.”

“Wait! What was her reaction when you mentioned Alan?”

“Nothing. She just kind of looked sad and shrugged. The rest of the tape is her persuading me to leave my OB and become her client. You know, having a home birth gives you maximum control over your birth experience, blah blah. You can listen to it later; hearing the sales pitch once was enough for me.”

“Tell me how you really feel about it.”

Paula laughed. “Well, I got her to say she was with a married guy. But not who. I didn’t know how to get that part without downright asking her—are you seeing a podiatrist name Alan?”

“It’s okay. You did great. Good stuff to go on.” I raised my eyebrow at her. “I never knew you had a thing for married men. I promise I won’t tell your husband. Unless . . . I wonder how much my silence is worth to you . . .”

Paula jogged my elbow. “Don’t be a twit. That lie was only to elicit her feelings of camaraderie. If this tape surfaces on the Internet, I know where to find you.”

I laughed, then hugged her. “You’re the best. Thank you for suffering for me.”

She rolled her eyes. “Okay, okay, you don’t have to slobber all over me. Just keep in mind that you owe me one.”

That evening I tried my hand at chicken cacciatore, pulling the recipe straight from the library cookbook with the only modification being that I liberally splashed wine into the pot.

While tasting the sauce, Mom called me and reported that her doctor had given her a referral to Dr. Lipe and she had scored an appointment for the morning. We agreed she would come straight to my house after the visit.

I dialed Margaret and left another message.

While waiting for the chicken to finish cooking, I typed up the tape from Paula and e-mailed it to Gary’s office then called it a day.

Dejected, I sat down to dinner.

“Honey! This is outstanding,” Jim raved.

“Glad you like it.” I was holding Laurie and staring into her beautiful little face.

How could she be so complete and so tiny at the same time?

“What’s wrong, honey?” Jim asked.

I picked at the chicken and sighed. “I’m bummed that I’m not making more progress on the case. I wanted to solve it before Thanksgiving and just have a peaceful holiday with you guys.”

Jim squeezed me hand. “Don’t worry, honey, if you fail at the PI biz, you can still make me chicken cacciatore anytime.”

I cleared the plates and kicked Jim on my way to the kitchen.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Talking

To Do:

1. Why would anyone poison Celia?

2. Where is Margaret?

3. Must get house in order for Thanksgiving! (in progress).

4. Shop, cook, clean (in progress).

5. ?

6.

7. Pick up exercise regimen after the holiday.

The following afternoon, I was busy trimming a keepsake lock from Laurie when Mom showed up on my doorstep with a little swagger in her step.

I ushered her into the house and showed her the lock of hair I’d placed in the delicate pink ballerina box Paula had brought Laurie from Paris.

“Oh! It’s darling!” She rubbed Laurie’s cheeks and cooed at her. Laurie watched Mom’s face and stuck her little puppy tongue out.

I’d read that this is an infant’s way of communicating. They’re trying to imitate the way a mouth moves during speech. They even take turns, watching you first, as though they are having a conversation with you.

Mom laughed and proceeded to stick her tongue out at Laurie. Laurie rolled her tongue and gurgled. Mom did the same. Pretty soon I had a couple of drooling fools on my hands.

“Did you find anything out from Alan?” I asked.

“Maybe,” Mom said with a smug look on her face. “Listen to the tape. It’s in my purse. Oh, and bring me my Cheaters. I want to cut some of Laurie’s hair for me, too.”

I grabbed the recorder and handed Mom her glasses. She immediately went into action and clipped the only remaining long hair Laurie had.

Laurie was beginning to lose the hair on the back of her head and I feared she’d go completely bald before I could save some baby hair. But now after the radical hair-cut Mom had given her, I wondered if it had been a wise decision.

I pressed the Play button on the device.

Mom: Good morning. I have an appointment with Dr. Lipe. Is that you, Joan?

Joan: Vera! How are you? I didn’t make the connection that it was you!

I pressed Stop on the recorder and raised my hands to Mom. “You know her?”

Mom laughed. “Isn’t that a coincidence? I met her a few weeks ago at a dinner party. I told you about her. She’s the lady who wanted to take home some leftover crackers, remember?”

“I can’t believe you know her.” I pressed Play again on the recorder.