Diana Orgain - Bundle of Trouble

“Why would Brad blame you?”

“I took Penny to the park. There is a big lake. . they had little boats to rent. I thought she’d have fun. .” Her eyes glazed over. “I was buying popcorn. Penny by my side. She was two. They don’t listen. I told her to stay by my side. Then a stranger talking to me, someone spilled a soda, someone yelling. . When I turn around, Penny gone. She fall in the lake. I can’t swim, but I jump in. People help us, but it was too late. I was in hospital for long time.” She pointed to her temple. “Depression. Brad blamed me. Gloria blamed me. I blamed me, too. But doctors say it wasn’t my fault.”

I put my hand on hers. She held my hand a moment, then said, “I tell you, Kate. I didn’t hurt Brad, but I’m not sorry he’s dead.”

We sat in awkward silence. The waitress swung our way. “Anything else, ladies?”

Svetlana looked at me and asked, “Kate?”

Before I could I answer, the waitress said, “I’ll leave the dessert menu. Give it a look and let me know.”

Svetlana squinted at the menu, then held it farther away. She pulled her handbag off the back of the chair and rummaged through it. She sighed.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“I don’t have my glasses.”

I read the dessert menu out loud. Each cake, pie, and pastry was paired with a recommended wine.

“Oooh, who can resist the ‘chocolate trio’?” I raised my eyebrows at Svetlana. “A sampling of three chocolate desserts: the chocolate mousse, an orange chocolate pâté in a filo coconut crust, and warm chocolate bread pudding.”

Svetlana listened and smiled. “Sounds good. But no. I will have wine. And you?”

No fun eating chocolate by yourself.

“Nothing for me.”

Svetlana waved down the waitress and ordered a chardonnay.

My heart quickened.

Relax, Kate. Everybody drinks wine. It doesn’t mean a thing.

I poured myself another shot of tea. “Svetlana, can you tell me where you were yesterday morning?”

Her face registered surprise. “Yesterday? I stay home. Sometimes I still. . it’s not good. I know. But sometimes I still feel depression.”

“Did you talk to anyone? Can anyone verify you were home?” Now I was starting to sound like Galigani.

Hmmm.

Svetlana shook her head. “When I get depression, I get a migraine, too. So I don’t talk to anyone, just try to sleep. Why?”

“I found Michelle Avery dead yesterday.”

Svetlana inhaled a deep sharp breath, then closed her eyes and pressed her hands to her temples. “Oh, no!” she gasped, leaning forward in her chair as the waitress placed the chardonnay in front of her.

Svetlana pushed the wine aside. “Migraine coming on.”

“Is there something I can do for you?” I asked.

“No. No. Thank you. Must go. Very sorry, Kate.” She dug into her purse and pulled money out. When she placed it on the table, her face contorted in pain.

“Don’t worry about that,” I said.

She waved off my concern about the bill. She kissed her fingers and wiggled them at Laurie, then disappeared through the side door.

I sat in silence, starting at Svetlana’s wine. She hadn’t known about Michelle? I leaned forward and peeked at Laurie. Still snoozing. The wine beckoned me. Oh well, a small sip wouldn’t hurt. I sipped the wine and scribbled “Missing glasses, drinks chardonnay, but was surprised about Michelle. .?” onto a napkin.

Hmmm.

I’d need to remember to pack my notebook if I was going to launch a new career as a PI.

I settled Laurie into the car and drove home to meet Mom. She was going to watch Laurie this afternoon while I went to the Haight.

To do what? Ring doorbells, looking for George?

What was I thinking? Just because Galigani got paid two hundred an hour didn’t mean I was going to. After all, Jim was right. Galigani had a paying client. I was just being nosy.

Still the idea of being in business for myself was incredible. It would mean I wouldn’t have to return to my office in three weeks.

After settling Laurie in with Mom, I searched out my notepad and took off. I easily located the apartment house from the day before, but parking was a challenge. I finally found a spot about half an hour later and ended up walking six long blocks to the apartment house.

The smell of incense wafted from the little stores that populated Haight Street. I was asked for money at least four times by homeless people. Each time I passed a transient, I studied his face. None even remotely looked like George. Could he really be on the street?

I stopped to stretch my legs. I had forgotten to take Motrin before I left the house and was hoping that stretching would alleviate some of the now familiar achiness in my hips and legs.

Why hadn’t anyone warned me about this soreness? I’d heard, “Your life will never be the same after the baby,” but no one said, “You’ll never be able to walk again.”

I finally made it to the apartment doorstep and examined the call box.

Third floor, third apartment: 303 seemed to make sense. The label next to 303 read JENNIFER MILLER.

My shoulder slumped.

What had I hoped for? George’s name to be firmly affixed? Hey, I could still get lucky. Maybe this was George’s girlfriend.

Or Brad’s mystery lady?

Galigani had wanted something from Jennifer.

What now? Ring the bell and ask her what exactly?

What the hell. God hates a coward.

I pressed my thumb into the buzzer. The door beeped and opened. I had been let in without any questions.

Why would I be buzzed in and not Galigani?

I made my way to the third floor and was surprised to find the door to 303 propped open.

A woman wearing a flowing printed dress stood beside the door. She had long blond hair twisted into a braid. Two mangy cats, one gray the other black, caressed her bare feet and legs.

She didn’t seem George’s type.

Or Brad’s either, for that matter.

George always seemed to go for small ethnic women. And Brad? This woman was nothing like Michelle or Svetlana, both of whom were tall and thin, with dark hair and classical beauty. This lady was a stereotypical hippie, a free spirit.

My heart sank.

“Hi, what can I do you for ya?” she asked.

“Sorry to disturb you. I’m Kate Connolly. I’m looking for George Connolly.”

She looked past me, down the hallway. “Maybe you better come in.”

She prepared tea while I made myself comfortable in the living room. Well, as comfortable as I could since there was no furniture to sit on, only a few cushions. I sat cross-legged on one, then pulled my freshly packed notebook from my bag. The cats perched themselves on the other cushions. The gray cat studied me, while the black one groomed itself.

A bicycle was propped up in a corner. I supposed she biked everywhere. Good for the environment. Good for Jennifer.

I thought back to how the six-block walk had wiped me out. Before getting pregnant, I ran three miles daily. Now I wouldn’t be able to run to save my life. I’d have to start up an exercise routine again soon, try and work off the baby weight.

Jennifer returned holding two chipped mugs. She passed me one that said NO WAR on it. Then with her free hand, she picked up the gray cat and sat on the cushion, placing the cat in her lap. The black cat got up and climbed onto Jennifer’s lap on its own.

“You know George?” I asked.

She sipped tea from her mug, which had a butterfly on it. “Yeah. We used to work together at a restaurant downtown.”

“El Paraiso?”

She nodded. “You know it?”

So that’s why Galigani had wanted to talk to her. She had worked at El Paraiso.

Her boss had been murdered. He probably needed to talk to all the employees.