Motherhood Is Murder

CHAPTER SEVEN

To Do:

1. Call Margaret and give her directions to café.

2. Prep contract for her.

3. Figure out how to land her without license.

4. Buy baby keepsake book.

5. Stretch out lower back.

6. Look up postpartum yoga classes.

I snuggled Laurie into the baby carrier and walked down the street toward the café where Margaret and I had agreed to meet.

As I passed my neighbor’s house, their seventeen-year-old son, Kenny, was leaping down the front steps.

“Kate! Let me see the baby!”

Kenny had spiky hair that was dyed green. He’d graduated from the School of the Arts a few months prior and was now auditioning like crazy with his trombone.

I folded down the flap on the baby carrier and let Kenny take a peek.

He peered over the carrier. “She looks exactly like Jim, but she’s cute.”

“Jim’s cute, too.”

“Only to you, Kate.”

I laughed.

“Whenever you need a babysitter, just let me know,” Kenny said.

“Right. When was the last time you washed your hands, Kenny?”

He looked at his hands. “Dunno.”

“Are you going to the café?” I asked.

Kenny and I often enjoyed a game of backgammon or chess together at the café. He nodded and fell into step with me. As we walked, he pulled his iPod from his pocket and began to untangle the cord of the earphones.

“How’s the auditioning going?” I asked.

He held his hand in the position of a high-five. “You’re looking at the new substitute trombonist for the SF Opera.”

I whooped and gave him a high-five. “Knew you could do it. I’m so proud. Are you going to dye your hair back?”

Kenny’s eyes opened wide and his hand shot up to his hair as though I were threatening to cut it. “Back to what?”

“Your natural color. They’re not going to let you play in the orchestra pit like that, are they?”

Kenny laughed. “I’m only a sub. I’m not in the pit yet.”

“You will be soon,” I said.

We arrived at the café and I paused as Kenny pulled the door open. He made a grand gesture for Laurie and me to enter, then tapped his iPod and wiggled his eyebrows at me. “I’m going to study now.” He snagged a table and popped his earphones in.

I saw Margaret at the counter balancing her baby on her hip. Her eyes were bloodshot and swollen. She wore black stretch pants that clung to her skinny legs and an oversized striped shirt. Her hair was disheveled and she looked like she hadn’t slept in days.

She greeted me with a half smile and a nod, wrestled her baby into the stroller, and picked a table near the window. I ordered my latte and rocked Laurie back and forth in the carrier.

Poor Margaret. I can’t imagine how awful it must be to lose your best friend. Mine was in Paris and I missed her like crazy, but I knew she was coming home soon. Helene never would.

I joined her at the table. She sighed when I sat down.

“I haven’t slept since the cruise. I really haven’t eaten either. Just surviving off caffeine and sugar,” she said, breaking a brownie in half then shoving it into her mouth.

I stirred the foam in my latte and waited. Laurie snoozed, her head nestled in the carrier. Margaret’s baby swung his feet up at me and smiled through the pacifier in his mouth.

Margaret crossed her long legs underneath herself in the chair and sipped her coffee. “Helene and I were best friends since college. She’d always been there for me, you know? Through all the parties and good times and then through some pretty terrible times.”

“Terrible times?” I asked.

I wanted to drink my latte, but hesitated. What if I spilled it on Laurie? Surely it was unsafe to drink hot coffee over her tiny head. I looked around the café. She was still too small for a high chair. Because I had the baby carrier on and my house was so close, I hadn’t thought to bring a stroller, but now I had nowhere to put Laurie.

I stirred the foam again longingly.

Margaret looked over her shoulder. “I think, well, I don’t think. I know she and Bruce were having problems. He’s an investment banker. You know, they work tons of hours. Out of the house all day, most nights, too. Wining and dining clients. And Helene, well, at first she didn’t mind. She liked to shop and travel. She started taking lots of trips to Costa Rica. Loved it there. Wanted me to go, too. But, you know, with two small ones you just figure, later. But Helene didn’t have any hang-ups about going alone.”

“I understand they didn’t have any kids.”

“No. Not yet. Helene was getting to that place, you know, tick tock. Like a time bomb in your head. But Bruce didn’t give any indication of wanting kids. She was really frustrated with that. I also think that’s why she stepped up her travel recently. Probably so discouraged at home that she needed a distraction.”

“Why was she a member of Roo amp; You?”

Margaret frowned. “Why not? She loved to hang out with us. She had the idea of starting a club when Matthew, my two-year old, was born. I was meeting lots of moms, because I was attending this class on breastfeeding and nutrition.”

I remembered the way Celia and Bruce had huddled at the service.

“Do you think her husband was having an affair?” I asked.

Margaret looked taken aback. “Bruce? No. I don’t think so. They were having problems, sure, but I don’t think he was cheating on her. At least Helene never gave me any indication . . .” She looked miserably at what was left of the brownie on her plate, then shrugged and popped the rest of it in her mouth. “Well, these really are extenuating circumstances, aren’t they?”

I nodded. “Go ahead, I promise no nutrition police are going to pop out of the woodworks here.”

She motioned toward my latte. “You’re not drinking your coffee.”

“Uh . . .” I glanced at Laurie.

“Oh!” Margaret said. “I know how protective new moms are. Here, give me the baby. I’ll tell you I never, not once, spilled hot liquid on my kid’s head. But I know how obsessive the thought can be.”

I unstrapped Laurie and handed her to Margaret, who smiled for the first time that afternoon. The smile brought relief to her face while at the same time highlighting her swollen eyes.

She gazed at Laurie. “You forget how tiny they start out. I mean . . .” She gestured to her baby in the stroller, who was now snoozing. “Marcus is only six months old, but he seems gargantuan compared to your little thing. I can’t believe that he was this size only a few months ago.” Margaret stroked Laurie’s hair. “Is she lifting her head ninety degrees during tummy time?”

What? Ninety degrees!

I knew I was slacking on that tummy time!

I sipped my latte. It was ice cold. “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

Margaret’s eyes grew wide. “Oh,” she said, rounding her mouth and eyes in an exaggerated way.

Was Laurie supposed to be able to hold her head up ninety degrees?

“I mean, she lifts her head. She certainly lifts her head when we do tummy time.”

Margaret nodded sympathetically.

I tried to calm the defensiveness that was swelling inside me. Was my face red? I sipped the cold latte, ignoring the acid flavor. I needed the caffeine anyway.

“When are they supposed to be able to do that?” I asked.

Margaret glanced at her baby and fidgeted slightly. “I don’t really remember, but I thought it was around two months.”

“Well, Laurie’s not quite two months yet. She’s only seven weeks.”

Margaret smiled. “Of course, she’ll be holding her head up in no time. So anyway, I was in this class at the hospital and was becoming very friendly with Evelyn. Helene had the nice idea of forming a group. We would meet at each other’s houses and organize events and stuff. It worked really well for a while.”

“For a while? What happened?”

“I got pregnant again and my neighbor Sara did, too. We asked her to join our group. This may have been one of the things that set Evelyn off, I don’t know. But she seemed different. And we ended up having to ask her to leave the group.”

“Is that why there was so much tension with Evelyn on the cruise?”

Margaret looked at me and shrugged.

“What about the fight Evelyn said she overheard between Helene and Sara?”

“I don’t know anything about that. I asked Sara about it at the funeral, but she said Evelyn was exaggerating. Which, knowing Evelyn, is not at all surprising. I have to find out what happened to Helene. I need your help, Kate.” At this, her eyes filled with tears.

I handed her a napkin off the table. She dabbed at her eyes.

Here was my moment to tell her I didn’t have a license.

It’s nothing to be ashamed of—after all, it’s true. Say it, say it, say it.

“There’s something . . . uh . . . I want—”

“Kate, I have a semiconfession.”

I stopped stuttering and focused on Margaret.

“When I met you and you said you were a PI, I knew I needed to hire you.”

“Hire me for what?”

She sighed. “I’ve suspected for a long time that Alan’s been having an affair. He’s been coming home late and acting distant . . . and . . . well, really the list can go on and on. Point being, I thought I could hire you to follow him. And then maybe, finally, I’d have the truth . . . And . . . Oh God. I feel so guilty.” She broke down and sobbed.

Kenny looked over at us from his table. He made a little sad face showing sympathy then ducked his head again to fiddle with his iPod.

“What do you feel guilty about?” I asked.

“Kate.” She pressed a hand over her heart. “It’s all my fault. I’m scared that it’s my fault.”

“The affair?”

She shook her head vehemently. “Helene!”

“I’m not following you.”

Margaret glanced around the café to see if anyone was listening. At the moment, the only other patron was Kenny, who was vigorously tapping his foot to the beat from his iPod. The barista was refilling the pastry case with chocolate-covered croissants and miniature pumpkin pies. She looked about as interested in our conversation as going to the dentist.

Despite this, Margaret leaned over and whispered, “I think Alan was trying to kill me and instead killed Helene by accident.”