Motherhood Is Murder

CHAPTER NINETEEN

To Do:

1. Meet with Gary Barramendi.

2. ?

3. Find maid/nanny—how can we afford?

4. ?

5. Shop for shoes.

6. Thanksgiving!!! Prep, prep, prep!

Jim had woken up early and gone for a run. I felt slightly guilty for not working out, but figured the soup diet I’d been on the last two days might count for a purge and be good enough.

I put Laurie on her playmat for tummy time. I tucked her arms under her so that she was propped up by them. “All right, missy, this is Sergeant Mommy, hold that head up ninety degrees.”

Laurie cooed and kicked her legs up and back as though she wanted to shuttle across the floor. Her head bobbed around a bit, but she was safe enough for me to duck into the kitchen and get coffee.

I grabbed the phone and threw some bread into the toaster, trying to make breakfast and catch up on phone calls at the same time. I listened to the phone ring as I buttered my toast. Margaret didn’t pick up. I left her a condensed status message and asked her to phone me back.

Then I called Galigani. “Mom said you were willing to sponsor me. Can we meet for lunch?”

“I’d love to meet you, darling. Where and when?”

“Can we meet today? I have a meeting with Gary Barramendi tomorrow and I need—”

“You’re meeting with Gary the Grizzly! He eats cup-cakes like you for breakfast.”

“Thanks.”

Galigani guffawed. “There’s a great Thai place near my house, want to try it?”

“See you around noon?”

I picked up my toast and coffee and made my way to the living room, where Laurie was on her playmat. She was on her back with a stunned expression on her face. I rushed to her, dropping my breakfast off on the coffee table.

“Laurie! Did you roll over?”

She stared up and grinned.

I tickled her tummy and she kicked her feet up at me.

“I can’t believe you rolled over for the first time while I was in the other room.”

How could I have missed this milestone!

I put her back onto her tummy. “Do it again!”

Laurie cried. She put her head down between her arms and flapped her legs and wailed.

I picked her up. “Don’t cry, Petunia. I know it’s hard.” I rubbed her back. “That tummy time is awful, just awful.”

Laurie curled up against me gratefully.

“Next time will you wait until I’m in the room to have a turning point?”

I stood outside Galigani’s house and rang the bell. When he opened the door, he smiled. “Ready to go? Or do you want to come in?”

“I’m ready. Let’s go,” I said.

Galigani grabbed a jacket from a clothes tree and slid it on. He smoothed down his mustache as though putting on the jacket had caused it to go astray. “It’s walking distance.”

The few short blocks to the Thai restaurant winded us both. Galigani, who’d had heart surgery a few weeks back, and I, with my postpartum legs and butt, made a sorry team. We studied each other at the entrance of the restaurant.

“Good thing nobody was chasing us,” I said.

Galigani howled. “The walk is good for me, though; got to get myself in shape.”

I nodded. “Yeah. Me, too. At least now we can have lunch and feel like we earned it.”

He opened the restaurant door for me and laughed. “Right. One Thai iced tea with the half and half they put in it and any calories we just burned go out the door.”

I shrugged. “We still have to walk back. I need to fuel up.”

He smiled. “I love your attitude, kid.”

A hostess with silky black hair done up in a bun seated us in a window booth. She wore a traditional dress in red and gold. She placed menus on our table with a dazzling smile and winked at Galigani. He pushed the menu aside, and she laughed.

“The usual?” she asked.

“You better believe it,” Galigani answered.

She nodded. “I’ll give your friend a minute.”

I perused the menu and settled on peanut satay. Galigani nodded his approval.

Our iced teas arrived at the table. When the waitress left, Galigani said, “Bring me up to speed.”

“Okay.” I reached for my diaper purse and attempted to pull out my notebook. Even though Laurie was home with Jim, I was still lugging the bag around. This morning, it seemed to make more sense than to swap to a traditional purse, but as I rummaged past diapers and wipes, the extra outfit, the nursing shawl, the sling, and the burp cloth, I wondered how the heck I’d come to that decision.

“There must be twenty pounds of gear in here,” I mumbled.

No wonder the few blocks’ walk had been so taxing.

I finally located my notebook and pulled it out.

• Helene Chambers, deceased on November 5th. Bay dinner cruise. Cause of death, still undetermined, but apparent overdose. Parents deceased, no siblings, no children. Survived by Bruce Chambers (husband).

• Spoke with Evelyn. She states she witnessed an argument on the cruise between the deceased and Sara. States that the deceased was canceling a construction project. Sara denies this claim and Bruce (widower) said he knows nothing about the cancellation.

• Evelyn was ousted from mommy group because her kid bites. She is considering home birth with Celia (same midwife Margaret Lipe used).

• Attended Helene’s service—Homicide Inspectors McNearny and Jones were in attendance.

• Margaret Lipe—told me she suspected her own husband (Dr. Alan Lipe) of having an affair and said she thought he had mistakenly killed Helene instead of her. Neighbor, Miss No-Nonsense, Sara has confirmed Alan’s affair. So far haven’t been able to identify other woman.

• Celia Martin was hospitalized on November 15th after being at Bruce’s house. Doctors suspect overdose. She told me she consumed metallic-tasting beer. Awaiting lab results.

• Bruce Chambers—questioned by police for murder (Helene) and attempted murder (Celia). Attorney Gary Barramendi. Motive? Was planning adoption of Costa Rican infant, coordinated by Celia Martin.

After reading my notebook, Galigani took a long sip of iced tea and sat in silence for a moment. Finally, he stroked his mustache and asked, “When are they going to release the tox results?”

“I don’t know. Another week?”

“The ME doesn’t normally do a tox screen.”

“How do you know?”

“Kid, I’ve been doing this a long time. Believe me, the ME and I are buds, we golf together, we smoke cigars together, we drink brandy together. The ME’s job is to shut a case as quickly as possible. Tox screens take time and cost taxpayers’ money. They normally don’t do ’em unless they’re pressed.”

The waitress arrived with our lunches. The smell of garlic wafted over to me from Galigani’s plate.

“Wow! Your shrimp looks delicious,” I said. “I should have ordered that.”

Galigani scooped a portion of his serving on my plate. “We’ll split it.”

I pushed half of my peanut satay onto his plate. “I’m not sure I understand what you’re saying about the ME,” I said.

Galigani wrapped noodles around his fork. “Someone pushed him for the tox screen. But why? I can ask him. And I can get a copy of the records. You want me to do that?”

“Could you? That would be great. Gary Barramendi is going to share Bruce’s file with—”

Galigani dropped his fork. “Barramendi is sharing info with you?”

I shrugged. “I guess so. Bruce asked him to anyway.”

Galigani guffawed. “Kid, if you get in with Barramendi, your career is set!”

“What do you mean?”

Galigani looked at me as if I was from outer space. “He’s the highest-profile criminal defense attorney on the West Coast. He’s always featured on CNN, MSNBC, and FOX News. Didn’t you know that?”

I shook my head.

Galigani laughed. “Good God, Kate. Talk about beginner’s luck. I don’t know how you do it!”

“Now you’re making me nervous! Do what?”

“I tried for years to work with Barramendi’s office. Of course, former cop and defense guys don’t normally make nice. So it’s no surprise that we never connected. But this guy, if he likes you, can give you regular PI cases, make you a media darling, completely fast-track your career. Just don’t mention my name.”

Now it was my turn to drop my fork. “Why can’t I mention your name? I’m working under your license, right?”

“Sure. I’ll fill out the paperwork and you can work for me under my license. But don’t make a big deal out of it to Barramendi. Like I said, I’m a former cop.”

“Something else has been bothering me,” I said.

Galigani waited for me to continue.

“McNearny and Jones were at Helene’s funeral.”

“Sure,” Galigani said. “Especially if your client called the ME and told them she suspected something. That would have raised a flag for them and then homicide would want to go to the services to take a look around.”

“But she called after the funeral.”

Galigani played with his mustache. “They could have been there because of the fight . . . Uniforms took statements from everyone on the boat, right?”

I nodded.

“Let’s see if I can poke around and get some info, they know something we don’t,” Galigani said.

When I arrived home, Jim handed off a howling Laurie and a UPS package to me.

I tried to juggle Laurie while reading the label on the package. It was my girdle! A few weeks ago, I couldn’t imagine getting so excited about a girdle—but here I was practically giddy.

Laurie continued to fuss.

“What’s wrong with her?” I asked Jim.

He shrugged. “I wish I knew. She’s fed, has a clean diaper, and hasn’t stopped crying for at least fifteen minutes.”

I cuddled Laurie to me and rubbed her back, trying to soothe her. The rubbing coaxed an enormous burp out of her, which suddenly silenced her.

Jim looked shocked. “Oh.”

I raised an eyebrow at him. “You remembered to feed her, but forgot about the burping thing?”

Jim matched my expression. “Apparently.”

I laughed.

“Well, I’m glad it’s nothing serious,” he said. “I was starting to get worried. How was lunch?”

“We had Thai. It was great.” I passed the UPS package to Jim. “Can you open this for me?”

Jim ripped open the package and pulled the girdle out. “What is this?”

I launched into a dissertation about the benefits of “binding” one’s tummy after childbirth.

Jim seemed stunned by my passion on the subject. From our office/nursery we heard his cell phone ring. He passed the girdle to me and went to answer the phone.

I shuffled to our bedroom and laid Laurie down in her bassinet. She immediately protested, but not so persistently as to deter me from trying on the girdle.

I read the instructions and opened the package, but before I could try it on, Jim came into the room.

“That was Dirk Jonson. He wants to meet tomorrow over lunch, said he loved my concepts.”

Dirk was the reason I could even try my hand at this PI business. Now I had a meeting with the top dog of criminal defense at the same time Dirk had called a meeting with Jim. My husband, yes, but also my primary babysitter, and with Mom in Mexico, what could I do?

Lugging Laurie around would look completely unprofessional, wouldn’t it?

“Oh. I’m supposed to—”

“Sorry, honey, I need to go polish up some stuff for them.” He headed out of the room. “What’s for dinner?”

Uh. Dinner.

“I’ll think of something,” I called after him.

I dialed Paula and told her about my meeting with Gary Barramendi.

Paula practically screamed in my ear. “A media darling! Kate, you have to go!”

“But I have to watch Laurie.”

“Are you crazy? I’ll watch her. Swing her by here. I’ll be home all day with my little beast. No problem.”

“But you’re pregnant.”

“So?” Paula demanded.

“I don’t want to put a seven-week-old burden on a pregnant lady!”

“Shut up. I can handle your little cherub with my hands tied behind my back.”

“Wait . . . um . . . Does Danny bite?”

“No! Don’t worry, I would never let Danny bite Laurie. Why do you ask?”

“One of the moms got kicked out of Roo amp; You because her kid bit a baby.”

“Really? Isn’t that kinda harsh? Don’t all kids do things at one point or another that you can’t control? We try our best, but sometimes, girl, the kids are not your own.”

“Hmmm. Maybe there was more to it. She’s pretty pushy. Anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow and thank you!”

“Okay, no prob,” Paula said.

“Hey, Paula, one more thing . . .”

“What?”

“Galigani told me not to mention his name when I was with ‘The Grizzly,’ so what do I do if he asks about my license?”

“Hmm. Tell him you applied for a license and are waiting on the paperwork to be processed.”

“Lie?”

“That’s not a lie. It’s a petite misrepresentation of the facts.”

“I haven’t applied for a license. It’s a bald-faced lie.”

“The guy is criminal defense—you think he cares about one tiny misstatement?”

I sighed. “You’re impossible.”

Paula laughed. “See you tomorrow. Make sure to look sharp. That’ll distract him and secure your rightful destiny as a media darling.”