Motherhood Is Murder

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

I awoke with a start. Jim was sitting on the end of the bed, holding my feet in his lap. Suddenly the events of the previous hours flooded my mind. I was in the recovery room at the hospital, everything looking foreign and sparse. I bolted upright.

“Laurie! Where is she? How is—” A sob choked off the rest of my words.

Jim rubbed my feet. “Laurie is fine. She’s being spoiled rotten over in the pediatric unit. The nurses keep passing her around and cooing at her. She’s loving it.”

I swallowed hard. My throat was extremely sore and dry from the procedure and crying made it feel worse, but I couldn’t help myself. Tears streamed down my cheeks as relief overwhelmed me. “She’s okay? What did they do? Did they pump her stomach?”

“No. They didn’t have to do anything to her. She was perfectly fine,” Jim soothed.

“I . . . I . . . didn’t poison her through my milk?” I sobbed.

Jim squeezed my feet. “The doctor doesn’t think you were poisoned.”

I stared at him.

Not poisoned?

This was good. This was very good. Laurie hadn’t had to be treated. I had not been poisoned!

Why didn’t I feel elated?

Because I’d had my stomach pumped for NOTHING! “What about my symptoms?” I asked.

“What symptoms, honey?”

“I threw up. My tongue was getting thick. It was hard to breathe. I was sick.”

“Honey, those weren’t symptoms of poisoning. The doctor says most likely you were experiencing a panic attack.”

I shook my head. “No. No. I was sick. I threw up in the toilet at Bruce’s condo. What if I flushed the evidence?”

“They’re going to run the test anyway, but they probably won’t have results for a week or so. The doc said you didn’t have the same stuff going as Celia. He’s pretty sure your results are going to be negative.”

“But if they don’t know for sure, what about Laurie?”

“She never showed any signs of distress. No shallow breathing, drowsiness, slowed heart rate, and whatever all else. The doctor rattled off so many symptoms that I lost track. Point being, she didn’t have any of them.”

Thank God for all the doctors and nurses, going to medical school, studying so hard, and sacrificing so much to be able to help us!

“How is Celia?” I asked.

“She’s in stable condition. She was almost unconscious by the time they got her here. So they think her results are going to show something. But anyway, they were able to pump her stomach in time and expect a full recovery.” Jim’s expression was grave. “You saved her life.”

We sat in silence for a moment.

“My throat is killing me,” I said.

Jim handed me a cup of water with a straw from the bedside table. I sipped the water and felt it burn going down. Swallowing made the pain worse.

We sat in silence for a moment then tears sprang to my eyes again. “When can I see Laurie? Is she really okay?”

Jim got up from the end of the bed and moved toward me. He wrapped his arms around me. “She’s really okay. They didn’t need to pump her tummy or even give her any medication. They watched all her vital signs for over six hours.”

I started to wipe my tears but gave up and buried my face in Jim’s chest and bawled.

Jim stroked my hair and rocked me back and forth. “Everything is fine, honey. I think you’re a little stressed out. But you’re fine. Laurie’s fine. Everybody’s fine.”

I looked up from Jim’s chest into his eyes and nodded.

“I love you, honey. Just close your eyes and rest for a while. They said you’ll probably be released as soon as Dr. Wong gives you a final evaluation. I’m going to check on Laurie and see when they will release her.” He rose from the hospital bed.

“Wait! I want to go with you. I have to see Petunia.” I swung my legs out of the bed, feeling a chill through the thin hospital gown.

“No, honey. You need to stay put and wait for the doctor.” His brow creased with concern. “Are you hungry? Should I order a pizza or something. I mean, your stomach’s empty, right?”

I groaned. The thought of eating made my throat constrict. I couldn’t imagine swallowing anything solid for a hundred years.

“Soup, probably.”

Jim nodded and pulled open the room door. “Course, yeah, right. Soup is good food.” He offered me a smile. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

He shut the door behind him.

I sat back on the bed, ignoring the chill I felt. I had needlessly put Laurie and myself in harm’s way. The guilt I felt was debilitating. Freezing in the hospital gown would be punishment for my crimes.

And yet . . .

Had I really put Laurie and me in danger? Or was it only a perceived danger?

After all, I hadn’t been poisoned. I had only freaked out a bit. Had a “panic attack.”

Big deal. Didn’t all new moms have panic attacks at one point or another?

I mean, what was the difference in panicking to see if Laurie was still breathing in her sleep and thinking I’d been poisoned by a murderer?

I buried my head in my hands. Good Lord, maybe I really was losing my mind.

My thoughts turned to Celia. She would recover.

I had saved her life.

See. I did have value. Even if I was going crazy. Celia was alive today because of me.

Had Bruce killed Helene?

What did this mean about Alan? Was Margaret really in any danger? Had she been imagining Alan’s suspicious behavior?

A nurse peeked in. “Mrs. Connolly, Dr. Wong will be another fifteen to twenty minutes.”

“Okay, thank you. Can I get dressed?”

“Not yet. He’ll need to examine you again before discharge. Do you need anything? More water?”

“No. Can you tell me what room Celia . . . oh, I don’t remember her last name . . .”

“Martinez?” the nurse asked.

Martinez? Was that it?

“The woman who was brought in just before you?” the nurse asked.

I nodded.

“She’s in Room 1712. Right around the corner.” She left the room.

I spotted a pair of slipper socks on the bedside table and ripped open the plastic package. After putting them on, I left the room to locate Celia. I knocked at her door.

“Come in,” she called.

She was sitting in bed propped up with a bunch of pillows. She was pale but looked astonishingly well rested. She seemed startled to see me.

“Kate! What are you doing here?”

I approached the bed. “I came to see how you were recovering.”

“Why are you in a hospital gown?”

She offered me the only chair in the small room. I sat and recounted the events that had transpired after she had lost consciousness the best I could. When I finished, my throat was sore and raw. I imagined hers would still be also. I pushed the bedside cart/table, which had a pitcher of water and a cup with a straw on it, toward Celia. Next to the water was a business card from SFPD. I couldn’t make out the name. Celia watched me and nodded.

“Thank you,” she said, reaching for the cup.

“How are you feeling?” I asked.

“As good as can be expected.” She took a sip of water. “Oooh. It hurts to swallow!”

“I know.”

She put the cup down. “I’m happy to be alive, though.” “Have you talked to the police?” I asked.

“They were here earlier.” She indicated the card that was on the table.

I took the opportunity to take a closer look. Officer McNearny. Homicide.

Celia’s lips twisted to the right, her beautiful face becoming a hard mask. “I can’t believe Bruce tried to kill me. I would have never thought him capable of it. If you hadn’t called 9-1-1, Kate . . .” She faltered. “I can’t even go there.”

But actually I hadn’t called 9-1-1. Bruce had . . .

I recalled the hushed conversation between Bruce and Celia. I had thought something romantic could or had developed between them, but then he mentioned the pending adoption. His trying to kill her made no sense, unless he thought she knew something.

“Did you suspect anything?” I asked.

Celia pushed the buttons on the bed, first lowering herself and then overcorrecting to a sitting position. She kicked off the covers in frustration.

“I hate this stupid bed!” She rose, shuffled to the door, and looked into the hallway. She turned back to me, and her shoulders slumped. “Sorry. I don’t know when they’re supposed to release me and I’m getting anxious to go.”

I stood. “I’ll go. Dr. Wong is supposed to be checking on me soon anyway.”

“No. No, don’t go. You asked if I suspected anything.” She crossed back to the bed and jumped on top of it, opting not to get under the covers. Her delicate legs and feet dangled over the side.

I waited for her to continue.

“I didn’t outright suspect him or really even think about it until he tried to kill me. I don’t know why he would kill Helene and then try to kill me. Maybe he thought I knew something or saw something. At least that’s what the homicide cop suggested.” She looked expectantly at me. “Do you know why? Were they having marital problems?”

I shrugged. “Well, you certainly knew them better than me. All I know is Margaret told me Helene wanted kids but Bruce didn’t. But weren’t you helping them to adopt?”

Celia’s mouth clamped shut and she gripped at the covers. “Oh. Who told you about that?”

“Bruce did.”

Her grip relaxed and she released the bed cover. “Helene really wanted kids, I’d heard about this situation in Costa Rica. My second cousin . . . she’s only fifteen . . . Anyway, I was trying to help Helene and my cousin. But now that she’s gone . . .” She pressed her lips together so tightly they turned white. “That’s why I was there talking to Bruce. My cousin is ready to deliver and now she doesn’t know what she’s going to do.”

“Bruce wants to back out?”

She nodded and sat up straighter. “It doesn’t matter anyway. The guy’s a murderer. Now, I wouldn’t let him even look at my little cousin.”

The nurse poked her head in the door. “Oh, there you are, Mrs. Connolly. Dr Wong will be able to see you in a few minutes.”

“What about me?” Celia asked.

“I’ll be back with your dinner.” The nurse left.

Celia made a face. “Sounds like I’m staying for a while. I hate hospitals. That’s why I offer an alternative to women giving birth.”

I rose from the chair. “Celia, I was thinking. How do you suppose he did it?”

Celia looked as though she was considering the question for the first time.

“It wasn’t in the salmon,” I added.

“Probably in my drink or something.”

“Did you taste anything?”

Celia glanced upward as if trying to recall. “Hmm. Now that you mention it. My beer did taste rather . . . metallic. But sometimes beer does, so I didn’t think anything of it.”

I returned to my room to find McNearny sitting on the chair next to the bed.

Uh-oh!

I glanced down at my hospital gown. Not the kind of look a gal wants while having company. I desperately searched the room for a robe.

None.

“Can I help you?” I demanded.

McNearny stared at me. “How are you feeling?”

I shrugged.

He cleared his throat and stood. “Well, glad to see you’re up and about.”

Was he?

I had to be cautious; it would be just like him to try and get me off my guard.

He motioned for me to take a seat on the bed. I sat and pulled the sheet up to my neck, more or less defensively. He sat back down on the chair. We waited each other out in silence.

After a minute he said, “Maybe you can help. What happened today?”

I briefly recounted the details of my lunch at Bruce’s. He shook his head back and forth in complete and utter disapproval as I spoke.

“What were you doing there in the first place?”

“I wanted to find out what Helene and Sara had been fighting about that night on the cruise.”

“And what was it? Is it relevant?”

“Apparently they fought about a construction project and whether or not it was being canceled.”

He scowled. “Who cares about that?”

My hands clenched involuntarily. “Well, I also wanted to know if he’d seen anything that night. Like Helene drinking Margaret’s drink—”

“l told you to limit your actions to the doctor!” McNearny growled.

“Well . . . I . . .”

He stood. “Do not step on this investigation. I’m not interested in idle gossip about who is canceling projects. I’m canceling you. You got that? Believe it or not, SFPD was here before you broke onto the scene. We have the training and experience necessary to handle this. It’s not amateur hour. Amateurs end up in the hospital!”

I remained quiet, duly reprimanded.

He leaned in a bit. “Either that or they end up in jail for interference!”