Bundle of Trouble

•CHAPTER FOURTEEN•

Safe at home, I typed up a contract based on a template I found online and laid it out for Jim to review. Then I did a bit of research on PI licensing. Turned out I was highly unqualified for the job.

I needed to have three years or 6,000 hours of compensated experience in investigative work, or a law or police science degree plus 4,000 hours of experience.

Of course I had zero hours of experience and a bachelor’s in theater arts.

The requirements went on to state that the experience needed to be certified by the employer, who could be a sworn law enforcement officer, a military police officer, or a licensed PI.

Great! So launching a business as a PI was going to be more complicated than I’d thought. It wasn’t just landing the client, you had to be licensed! Although, I rationalized, Mrs. Avery hadn’t actually asked me for a license. Could I do this without one?

Why can’t things ever be easy?

Laurie began to fuss. Was it her mealtime already?

The month had flown by in three-hour increments. From one feeding to the next.

I brought Laurie over to our favorite section on the couch and began to nurse her. By now, I had the area all set up: telephone, remote control, an extra pillow, and a big glass of water, all accessible on the side table.

I drank my water and reflected on Galigani. How did he normally get his cases? How regular was the work? Could I land enough clients to justify quitting my job? I visualized calling my office and saying I’d launched a successful private investigation firm during my leave.

The idea seemed so far-fetched, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

After burping Laurie, I placed her facedown on her play mat, affectionately termed the “baby gym.” She let out an enormous wail. I picked her up, soothed her, and tried again. She cried even harder than the first time. I picked her up.

Tummy time was for the birds. No wonder the manufacturers called it a gym. For a baby, holding your head up is a workout.

Now I knew why we hadn’t done much of it in the last month. I immediately felt guilty.

Just because it’s hard doesn’t mean it’s not worth the effort.

I placed her on her tummy again, leaning over her to sing and try to soothe her. She was crying so loudly, I didn’t hear Jim come in. I jumped when I saw wingtips under my nose.

“Hi, honey, why are you torturing the baby?”

“It’s good for her.”

He smiled as he knelt down next to us. “Crying is good for her?”

“Tummy time.”

He rescued Laurie. She curled into his shoulder like a little bug, legs protectively drawn up.

“I saw George today,” I said.

Jim’s eyebrows rose. “Where?”

“At the pier where they found his bags.” I crossed my legs under me and leaned back on my hands.

Jim sat back on his heels and squinted at me. “So he’s alive, not decomposing at the bottom of the bay?”

I reached out and gently pushed on his knee. “Why do you talk like that? We knew it wasn’t him.”

“I have a hard time keeping up with the drama that’s George.” Jim sighed. “What did he have to say for himself?”

“I didn’t get a chance to talk to him. When I called his name, he dropped his bag and ran.”

Jim scowled. “Why would he do that?”

I shrugged. “I have no idea. What do you think he’s doing down there? And why leave his bag?”

“Well, he’s always been scattered. Did he just run off and leave it or what?”

“No! I called his name and he dropped the bag like it was on fire.”

Jim and I studied each other in silence. Finally he said, “I don’t know, Kate, if I stopped and tried to answer every George question I had. . what can I say, the guy’s a piece of work.” He absently stroked Laurie’s back. “What you were doing at the pier?”

“Looking for him.” I wiggled my eyebrows up and down. “I’m replacing Galigani as the private investigator for Mrs. Avery.”

Jim stopped rubbing Laurie’s back and stared at me. “What?”

“I have the contract ready for your review.”

Jim shook his head. “You don’t have any experience or training! I don’t want you running around and getting yourself into any danger.”

“You don’t think I can take care of myself?”

“That’s not what I mean. Investigators like Galigani have training on how to handle different situations, you know, defuse anger and-”

“Look, I’m not gonna get myself in any potentially volatile situations. I promise. I’m not an idiot.”

Jim looked dubious.

“Are you going to support me?”

He reached out and wrapped his free arm around me. “Honey, I always support you.”

The following morning Jim and I agreed to stake out the pier together. I knew he was getting increasingly concerned about my safety, not to mention the fact that we were both alarmed at George’s potential involvement in the crimes.

Jim called in sick and we arranged for Mom to watch Laurie. I left her with instructions on how to prepare a bottle for Laurie with the measly three ounces I had managed to pump so far.

So much for building a supply of milk up before my return to work.

When Jim and I arrived at the pier, we parked a little ways down the street, which gave us an unencumbered view of all the activity. There were joggers every couple minutes, a few bike riders, and the occasional skate-boarder. The homeless woman from the day before was absent.

I sat on the passenger side of the Chevy, and Jim drummed on the steering wheel. After about an hour, I unwrapped one of the ham and cheese sandwiches I had packed.

“Want one?”

Jim shook his head. “We just had breakfast.”

“That was at least an hour ago.” I bit into the sandwich.

He nudged me with his elbow and pointed to a hooded figure carrying a black duffel bag. “I think that’s him.”

Jim jumped out of the car and started running toward George. I struggled to put down my sandwich and also get out. Jim was way ahead of me.

When George saw Jim approaching, he stretched out his hand. “Buddy!”

“Cut the crap,” Jim said, walking straight up to George.

Jim stood a good four inches taller than George. George had a wiry frame compared to his brother’s solid stature.

“What’s up?” George asked, unruffled as I finally caught up with them. He nodded at me. “Hey, Kate.”

“Glad to see you’re functioning,” Jim said.

George’s head twitched to the side. “Not doing as good as you, man, but who can compare to you?”

“Last I heard you were on the streets,” Jim said, disgusted.

“Yeah?” George yanked the hood off and ran his fingers over his hair. “Well, not anymore. Like you care.”

Jim’s shoulders inched up a degree. “Same old George. Nobody cares about you, huh, buddy?”

George’s eyes flashed anger. “That’s right.”

Jim squinted. “What are you doing here anyway? This your new hangout? What’s in the bag?”

George tightened his grip on the duffel. “What’s it to you?”

Jim stepped forward, shortening the distance between them. “Who’s Brad Avery to you? Why is he dead?”

“You knew Brad?” George said through an oily little smile.

“I know he washed up dead right before Kate went into labor.”

George glanced at me, surprised. “You had a baby?”

“I know your bags were on this pier, right where his body was recovered. The same bags that are at my house right now, because no one could find you.” Jim continued, “I know I was worried sick, thinking it was you who washed up that night. You shithead!”

“Oh!” George covered his heart with one hand, his voice full of sarcasm. “My big brother was worried about me? You have your own family now. What do you care about me?”

“I know, always the victim,” Jim fired back.

“If you care so much, where were you six months ago when I needed a hand?”

“You mean a handout?” Jim said.

George rolled up his sleeves. “You’ve never done nothing for me!” he yelled into Jim’s face.

Jim loosened the top buttons of his shirt, then turned toward me and said in the most serious voice I’d ever heard him use, “Kate, can you go to the car now, please?”

“This is ridiculous!” I said. “Are you two really going to fight?”

They both stared at me, waiting for me to walk away.

“No fighting,” I said. “We’re in this together.”

George ignored me and turned toward Jim. “Did you know Brad was killed with one of Dad’s guns? One that you inherited? Since you inherited everything!”

Jim’s face flushed. “I never inherited jack!”

I felt my blood pressure skyrocket. “How do you know about the gun, George?” I demanded.

Jim’s hands flew to George’s neck, knocking him off balance and to the ground. Jim jumped on top of him, never releasing his grip.

Just then a police cruiser appeared. Two police officers exploded out of the car and charged toward us. By the time they reached us, George had thrown a punch squarely at Jim’s chest. Jim had stopped strangling George long enough to punch him in the face.

One officer brushed me aside and pulled Jim off George.

The other officer pulled George to his feet. “Are you all right, sir? Do you need any medical assistance?”

George shook his head, wiping blood from his nose. Jim continued to yell at George, even though the officer was restraining him.

“Wait! Wait!” I yelled to the officer holding Jim. “They’re brothers!”

The other officer asked George, “Would you like to press charges, sir?”

“You bet your ass I would,” George said.

“Charges?” I said. “They were both fighting!”

“He tried to strangle me,” George said. “And look at my face!”

The officer holding Jim proceeded to handcuff him.

“Would you like to follow us to the station, sir?” the other officer asked George.

“The station?” I repeated.

The officer holding Jim hustled him toward the patrol car. I ran after them in time for the cop to slam the door between us.

“I’ll follow you to the station, okay, honey?” I yelled to Jim through the closed window.

Jim nodded as the cruiser engine started up. He raised his shackled hands and pointed at me through the window, indicating for me to look down.

I glanced at my shirt. It was soaked.

Blood?

Nope. My milk had leaked all over me.

Great, just great.

At the station, Jim was processed, George had yet to show up, and I sat on a hard orange chair trying to cover up my breasts by crossing my arms.

I had searched my car for a jacket, but had found nothing except baby paraphernalia. My trunk always has extra junk in it, but after it had been broken into, Jim had cleaned it out for me.

I called home in a panic, imagining Laurie starving to death.

Mom said Laurie was sleeping peacefully and hadn’t noticed my absence in the least. I tried to ignore my feelings of rejection. When I told Mom that Jim and I had found George, she surprised me by saying, “He’s here.”

“What?”

“George is here. He said Jim told him you had some of his things.”

Holy cow! Not home alone with my newborn and my mom.

Although George had always been kind to my mom and me, recent events made me nervous about him being at my house now.

“I’ll be right there,” I said to Mom.

I spoke with the arresting officer about releasing Jim, given the fact that George had obviously changed his mind about pressing charges.

“I can’t release your husband yet, ma’am.”

“Why not? No one’s pressing any charges against him.”

“He broke the law, ma’am. I have specific instructions not to release him just yet.”

“Instructions? From whom?”

“My commanding officer, ma’am.”

“Let me talk to him.”

“Her, ma’am, and she’s not available at the moment.”

I buried my face in my hands. “Look, isn’t there someone I can talk to about-”

“Ma’am, your husband’s case will be reviewed by the DA within seventy-two hours, or he may be released on his own recognizance earlier, but not right now. That’s all I can tell you.”

Seventy-two hours!

“Can I speak with my husband?”

The officer gave me a tight-lipped smile. “It’s probably best if you go home. He’ll be able to call you later.”

I pulled into the garage and heard Laurie wailing. I ran up the stairs and saw Mom and George hovering over the bassinet in the living room.

I picked up Laurie and examined her while glaring at George. Mother and George looked at me curiously. How could I explain to them that I had been afraid that George might hurt Laurie?

“She’s hungry,” Mom said.

I evaluated George. He absently rubbed his eye, where a bruise was starting to form.

Laurie wailed at me. George slumped onto the couch looking exhausted. Since he appeared nonthreatening at the moment and Mom seemed unafraid, I decided I’d better feed Laurie.

“Give me a minute,” I said, over my shoulder, as I walked down the hallway.

Mom and George continued their small talk.

I tried to eavesdrop on Mom and George as I breastfed, but I couldn’t hear much. Our house was old San Francisco construction, made with three-by-six wood beams instead of two-by-fours. The result was great sound-proofing.

I finished nursing Laurie, burped her, then set her down in the bassinet to sleep.

When I emerged, Mom said good-bye and left.

George and I sat in silence for a moment.

“You want ice for your face?” I asked.

“Nah, I think I’ll be okay. Where’s Jim?”

“Still at the station. They haven’t released him yet.”

George looked surprised. “I thought if I didn’t press charges, they’d release him right away.”

The weight of leaving Jim alone at the station was starting to get to me. I suddenly felt ridiculously tired and in over my head, but if I wanted answers, now was my opportunity to grill George. “Why did you change your mind about pressing charges?”

He shrugged. “I was so pissed off I wanted to get back at him, but by the time I got to the car-”

“You realized how much you love your brother and decided not to, right?”

George smiled. “Yeah. That’s right.”

I exhaled loudly, letting my impatience show. “Come on, George, be straight with me. You’re avoiding the cops.”

“I’m not avoiding them. . I. .” We stared at each other; George closed his eyes in defeat. “I know they’ve been asking around for me.”

“So why not talk to them? Tell them what you know.”

George stood up and shrugged. “I don’t know anything! You got my bags?”

I remained seated. “Yeah. I do.”

He tapped his foot impatiently. “ ’Kay, where are they? You want me to get them? You stay on the couch. You look tired.”

Part of me wanted George to get the bags and leave. The part that was afraid and wanted nothing more to do with any of this. But the other part, the stubborn part of me that can’t ever shut up, said, “Did you break into our cars, trying to get your bags?”

George flinched as if I’d hit him. “What? No. I didn’t even know you had them until today.”

“Someone did. Both our cars were broken into after I picked up your bags from the ME’s office. Once outside Michelle’s house, the other outside El Paraiso.”

George’s eyes darted around the room.

“Do you work at El Paraiso?” I asked.

George nodded.

“What do you do there?” I pressed, wondering how far I could push him.

He looked momentarily confused. I had almost gotten his guard down. “Oh, you know. .” He waved his hands around, trying to distract me.

“Is it legal?”

“What?” George stared at me, his mouth agape.

I matched his stare. At this point all the runaround was making me angry, and with Laurie tucked away safely in the back bedroom, I felt brave enough to challenge him a bit.

“Whatever they have you do. Is it legal?”

“God, Kate, what are you asking me? I mean, I do. . I do restaurant stuff.”

“Like what? Bus tables?” I probed.

“Yeah, like that.”

“George, I was there. I know you don’t bus the tables. None of the staff even know you exist.”

He paced around the room. “Sure they do. Like who? Who did you talk to?”

“What were you doing on the pier today, George?”

“Pfft, you know,” He waved his hand around and gave me his famous, charming smile, trying to disarm me. “Hanging out.”

“I don’t buy that, George. Your bags were found there a few weeks ago when they recovered Brad. I saw you there yesterday.”

“You were there yesterday?”

“Yeah. I called your name. You took off running. And you left your bag there!”

He shook his head back and forth. “Sorry. I thought I saw. . I thought you were someone else.”

“Who?”

He shrugged. “I thought I was being followed.”

“Why would you be followed? And why did you leave your bag? How’d you get it back?”

“It’s not important.”

“How come you’ve been so hard to get ahold of?” I pressed.

“What do you mean?”

“When the police found your bags, they called here. We didn’t know where to find you. What’s up with all the secrets?”

“No secrets.”

“Where are you staying? Do you have a phone number or anything?”

“Yeah,” He pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket and jotted something down, then handed it to me. “Here’s my cell phone.”

“We tried this number before. No service.”

“Temporary thing. I threw some money at it last week, so it should be fine now.”

“What about the murder weapon?”

“What about it?” George asked.

“How did you know Brad was killed with one of your dad’s guns?” I asked.

“I don’t really know that. All I know is that it was the same type of gun.”

“How?” I pressed.

“I talked to an investigator, a PI. He said he was hired by Brad’s mother. To look into things. He told me Brad was killed by a nine-millimeter. Dad had a nine-millimeter Smith and Wesson.”

“Okay, so how did one of your dad’s guns, or one like it, come to kill Brad?”

I was treading on thin ice here. I knew George was jealous about Jim’s relationship with their dad. George had always thought that we had bought our home with inheritance money.

The truth was, we had worked hard and saved for a long time. George hated that scenario because it involved working.

Everything their father had owned, including hunting rifles or guns, had remained at Uncle Roger’s, where George had lived for a long time. As far as I knew, Jim hadn’t even seen those guns since he was seventeen years old.

George looked trapped. He appeared to be having a conversation in his head about whether or not to come clean with me. He settled on saying, “I had the gun.”

“What?”

“When my uncle kicked me out, I took the gun. I was on the streets for a while. You don’t know what that’s like. I had to find a place to crash every night. I needed it with me, you know, just in case.”

Our eyes locked. George studied me a moment, debating whether or not to continue. I waved my hand, indicating that he should spit it out.

He did a nervous little jig. “When I met Brad, he was putting together El Paraiso. You should have seen it when we started. The place was a dump. He hired me, as casual labor, you know, to paint and stuff. He let me crash in the basement.”

“What happened to the gun?”

“I don’t know. I always kept it with me. In my bag. Only sometimes I left my bags in the basement at El Paraiso, where I slept. No one messed with my stuff. No one really wants to go near a homeless guy’s bag.”

George paused before continuing.

“Well, I got a place now. I’m not sleeping at El Paraiso anymore, but then I was, you know, in June. Anyway, near as I can tell, someone must have taken my gun and killed Brad. I noticed it missing sometime in July. I was going through my stuff. I didn’t think anything about it, except that it sucked to be ripped off. I didn’t think anybody had been killed with it.”

“Jesus Christ, George! Did you report it?”

“Report it to who?”

“To the police!”

“Are you kidding? The gun was never registered to me. Besides, the police aren’t sympathetic to homeless people. I’m only telling you because. .” He collapsed onto the couch next to me. “I don’t know why I’m telling you.”

“I’m sorry. Tell me. Go ahead and tell me. I won’t lecture you.”

George nodded. “When I heard they found Brad dead, I tried to remember, you know, remember anything unusual about that night. But hell, it was months ago. The only thing I really recall is that Michelle was upset when I brought over the cash. We talked for a while. She told me Brad had left her. We drank some, but that was pretty much it.”

“What cash?”

“Uh. . you know, deposits from the. . the restaurant.”

“Doesn’t the manager usually handle the cash?”

George scratched his head. “What?”

“Most restaurant managers make a night deposit at the bank, right? Why were you bringing the money to Michelle’s house?”

George jiggled his knee up and down so quickly it shook the couch. For a second I thought we were having an earthquake. He stood. “I’ve really got to run.”

I jumped up. “C’mon, George, were you having an affair with Michelle?”

“No. Of course not.”

“What about Monday?” I pressed. “The morning Michelle was killed.”

George looked around the room. “Can you get my bags?”

“Do you know who would want to kill Brad and Michelle? Who could have taken your gun? Who knew you had a gun?”

“I don’t know, Kate, geez. And I don’t want to know. Don’t tell anyone what I told you. . the less you know about this, the better. I don’t want you to be involved.”

“I’m already involved!” I exploded. “And you’re up to your ears in ‘involved,’ George. What were your bags doing at the pier?”

“I forgot them there, is all. Stupid. Anyway, I’m taking care of everything. I went to see someone today who can help me.”

“An attorney?”

“No, no. Never mind. I’ve got to get back to the shop.”

“What shop?”

George’s eyes flicked back and forth. “I mean. . you know, the restaurant, El Paraiso.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ve really got to run, Kate. Jim will probably be home soon and he’ll be frosted.”

After he left, I collapsed onto the couch, suddenly realizing how drained I was. I closed my eyes for what seemed a second, okay maybe five seconds, before Laurie let out a howl.

I took a deep breath, pried one eye open, and went to pick her up from her bassinet. She immediately nestled into me and quieted down.

I stared into her lovely face and tried to quell all the voices in my head. I sat and inhaled her scent and studied the curve of her cheek.

When would Jim be released? Were they really going to present a case to the DA? Should Jim have called me by now?

I decided I needed food to fuel my worry. I put on the baby carrier and shifted Laurie into it so I could rummage through our refrigerator. When was the last time I had gone grocery shopping? I spotted a container of leftovers and greedily pulled it out. One whiff and I could safely say there was nothing edible remaining in it. I dumped the container and continued to rummage. I found an apple.

I moved from the fridge to the freezer.

Jackpot.

I’d stockpiled frozen meals that had been on sale. I threw a chicken cordon bleu pasta dish into the microwave.

After eating the chicken, I threw in a Southwestern style cheese enchilada dish and topped it off with the apple for dessert. Oh, well, at least the apple was healthy.

The phone rang, interrupting my calorie counting.

Jim’s voice filled the line. “Honey?”

“Jim! Are you on your way home?”

“I’m still in jail.”

The frozen meals turned to stone in my stomach. “For how long?”

“I don’t know. The officer in charge isn’t very chatty. They told me I had one phone call. Can you call an attorney?”

“How can they hold you? George said he isn’t going to press any charges.”

“They’re charging me with assault with a deadly weapon. At first they told me they were releasing me, but then they came back and said I had one phone call. I’m really sorry, Kate. I hate putting you through this.”

“Assault with a deadly weapon! What weapon?”

“It doesn’t have to be a gun or anything, it can be your hands. The cop says he saw me strangling George. I need you to call me an attorney.”

“Who should I call?”

“I don’t know. Start with the phone book.”

“All right. Don’t worry, honey. I’m on it.”

“I shouldn’t have let George get to me like that. I should have kept my cool. Whatever George says or does, you and Laurie are my family. I can’t do anything to jeopardize you guys, like blow my top and land up in jail. I’m a father now.”

I heard noises in the background. It sounded like someone was rushing Jim off the phone.

“Gotta go, honey,” he said, hanging up.

I broke down in tears. It felt like something was tightening around my heart. I went to Laurie’s bassinet and picked her up. Smelling her sweet scent dried my eyes. I had to be strong for her. Fix things for her. Bring her daddy home.

I dialed Galigani’s hospital room. He had to know a good criminal defense attorney.

If someone had told me just a few short weeks ago that I’d be searching out an attorney for my husband, I’d have told him or her they were crazy. Now I hoped I wasn’t the crazy one.

Galigani’s phone rang and rang.

He’d had the open heart surgery this morning. The nurse who took my message told me he had gotten through it fine and was still in the intensive care unit. They expected to upgrade his condition in the morning.

I settled Laurie into the baby carrier and hopped online, hoping to find an attorney. I did a local search and pulled some profiles. There were several attorneys with nearby addresses. One had his picture on his website. He appeared to be in his late fifties and was smoking a pipe in the photograph. Something about the picture made him look capable.

The pipe maybe?

I glanced at my watch, almost 6 P.M.

Please be working late tonight, Mr. Crane.

I punched his phone number into my cordless.

“Charles Crane here. How can I help you?” the voice crackled.

I filled him in as best I could, asking him to meet him at the police station. He told me to relax, said it sounded like Jim could be released with a few phone calls.

I waited for Mr. Crane to call me back. I paced. I played with Laurie. I did laundry and even dusted. Boy, had things around the house been neglected!

I fed and bathed Laurie. I did everything I could to keep myself busy.

Finally, I lay down on the bed and stared at the phone, willing it to ring.

It didn’t.

It was 9 P.M. I was exhausted. I put Laurie into the bassinet. She fell sound asleep. No fuss at all. Of course. Since I couldn’t sleep, she’d find a way to peacefully sleep through the night. Where was the justice in the world?

I got online and caught up with e-mail. There was a message from Paula in my in-box:

Girl! What do you mean Michelle Dupree was murdered? And her husband, too? I can’t leave you alone for a minute without you getting yourself all caught up in a drama! I miss you. I haven’t heard from the Galigani guy, but don’t worry. If I do, I’ll tell him both you and Jim were at my place until all hours of the night. Just like in high school with our all-night parties! Can’t believe Michelle is gone.

I loved the picture of Laurie. She looks exactly like Jim, doesn’t she? I hope we’ll be coming home soon. David is getting all sorts of flak from his firm, and I really want to be home to start my own business. Be an entrepreneurial mommy! Oh that and the baby is due soon! Ha! Not that soon-four months-but who’s counting?

Love, love, love you guys! Write soon.

She had attached instructions on how to use the breast pump. Well, instructions was a relative term; it was a hand-sketched cartoon which she had scanned. The drawing showed me with boobs the size of basketballs attached to a monster machine. I responded to her e-mail and updated her on the additional hysteria in my life, including Jim’s incarceration, George’s visit, and my very first client.

The phone rang.

I leapt for it.

“Mrs. Connolly?” I heard a little puff in the background.

His pipe. Crane.

“I’ve been in touch with the police. I’m afraid they’re not going to release your husband tonight.”

“Why?”

“There’s an unresolved homicide they’re looking into.”

“I know. Brad, and there’s also Michelle Avery, but what does that have to do with Jim?”

“Well, yes, there’s those. But I meant another one. Svetlana Avery.”

My postpartum belly fell to the floor.