Diana Orgain - Bundle of Trouble

“No,” Rich said. “Can you tell the lady where I was on Monday from nine to noon?”

Burt smiled, then turned to me. “Rich was here, sweet-heart, sitting right there on that barstool, having a couple of Irish coffees.”

“How ’bout yesterday?” Rich pushed.

“Same.”

“Thanks, Burt,” Rich said.

Burt nodded, then retreated back to his corner.

I drank my juice and decided on a different tactic. “Rich, I need your help.” I softened my voice. “I’ve been hired by Brad’s mother to find out what happened to him.”

His shoulder rose as he inhaled, then dropped a degree as he let out an audible sigh. “I already told you I don’t know what happened.”

“Who was he sleeping with?”

“Back to that? You’re relentless, aren’t you?” He studied first my face, then tried my breast, which due to the baby carrier was pushed to the side and conveniently located for his perusal.

I shifted on the barstool. “You won’t find the answer there.”

He laughed, a curiously embarrassed laugh. And I thought he was beyond social mores.

“Sorry. . I. . yeah, you were asking about Brad. Chicks always ask about Brad. All my life they’ve asked about him, and now, even when he’s dead and gone, they’re still asking.”

“You hardly seem like you’d play second fiddle to him.”

“You mean I look okay? That’s what you mean. But chicks like money and Brad had tons of it. Not that I’m hurting now either, but, you know, the Averys are loaded.”

“Are you close to Gloria Avery?”

“What do you mean?”

“She seemed very fond of you,” I lied.

He looked pleasantly surprised. “Old Glo? I always thought she had a soft spot for me.”

“You’ve known her a long time?”

He polished off his drink and pushed the empty glass away from him. “Well, sure. Brad and I met in high school.”

“You went to the same school?”

“Are you kidding me? Brad went to Trinity. You know how expensive that school is? I went to good ole Lincoln High. We met at a Holy Rosary dance in ’93.”

“I went to Holy Rosary.”

He looked me over, his eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed.

I couldn’t read the look. Was it disdain?

He said, “Right. I forgot you knew Michelle in high school.”

How did Rich know Michelle and I had gone to high school together?

“Yeah, but Brad didn’t go to any dance with Michelle. I don’t think they knew each other then.”

Rich tried to hide his smirk in his drink. “Nah, it wasn’t Michelle.”

“Who’d he go with?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “It was a long time ago. I barely remember the name of my date, much less his.” He stood, smoothing down his leather jacket. “I gotta get to the restaurant.”

“Who was your date?”

“What?”

“At the dance, when you met Rich, who was your date?”

“Carol something.”

He waved at the bartender and slipped out the front door. I pulled out my notebook. What had the interview yielded me?

Nothing.

Well, at least I knew where to look for George and that he was expecting a baby. What now? I reviewed my to-do list, checking things off and adding a few.

To-Do List:

1. Free Jim.

2. Find Brad and/or Michelle’s killer.

3. ✓

4. ✓

5. Call Winter Henderson re: hippie chick alibi.

6. Make OB appointment.

7. ✓

8. Check out Horoaki graduation date from UCSF.

9. Print business cards.

10. Find George AGAIN.

On my way home I dialed first Jim’s cell phone-no answer-then Mr. Crane’s. No answer. I left a somewhat irrational message for Mr. Crane with Kiku and George’s address.

By the time Laurie and I got home, we were both exhausted and hungry.

I called Jim’s name as soon as I opened the garage door.

No Jim.

In frustration, I threw Laurie’s diaper bag across the room.

The witness couldn’t have identified him, right?

I melted onto the sofa with Laurie. She howled in my face.

“I know, pumpkin pie. You’re hungry.”

After all her needs were met, she continued to wail. I fought the urge to join her. “What is it now, jelly bean?” I gazed into her lovely eyes. No tears. Her wail was more of a complaint than a cry.

I found a pacifier I had been given at the hospital and placed it in Laurie’s mouth. She stopped crying.

Ah. Peace and quiet.

The pacifier soothed her overwhelming need to suckle, without getting additional nutrition. Nonnutritive sucking, that’s what Laurie’s pediatrician had called it.

I set Laurie on the floor in her baby gym. She studied the hanging cow, monkey, and chicken.

Now what would I do about food for myself? I needed to eat to keep my mind from spiraling off the deep end about Jim. Stopping at the grocery store had never even crossed my mind. I made a mental note to add it to my to-do list.

I rummaged through our phone book drawer looking for the menu of the Chinese restaurant down the street. Before Laurie was born, Jim and I used to eat there at least once a week. Since Laurie was born, we hadn’t eaten there at all. My mouth watered, thinking about their sweet-and-sour prawns.

I found an old receipt from the restaurant that was covered with what appeared to be soy sauce.

Gross.

I would have to clean out this drawer.

Another thing to add to my never-ending to-do list.

I moved on to our map drawer and found nothing helpful except a nail file, clippers, and a bottle of hand moisturizer. What were these items doing in our map drawer?

Time to get organized, Kate. Plus, I needed to do my nails.

Where was the menu for Dragon House?

I wandered through the house. I stopped in the kitchen. On the refrigerator staring at me from under a cookie magnet was the pink menu.

Sometimes I could miss my own nose.

How would I ever solve a triple homicide if I was so oblivious? Had I missed clues that had been right in front of me?

I dialed Dragon House and ordered chow mein, pot stickers, and sweet-and-sour prawns.

“Anything else?” the clerk asked.

I ignored the pang of guilt as I added Peking-style spareribs to the order. I reasoned that Jim should be home at any minute and would be starving. Besides, I needed the extra five hundred calories a day for Laurie.

After replacing the receiver on the hook, it immediately rang back.

Hopefully, it wasn’t the restaurant calling to tell me my credit card hadn’t gone through. Or worse yet, the sheriff’s department with bad news about Jim. I pushed the thought from my head and reminded myself to stay positive.

“Kate? It’s George.”

“George! Where are you?”

“Is Jim there?”

“No. He’s still-”

“I really need to talk to you about something, Kate.”

“That makes two of us.”

“I’m on your corner. Can I come up?”

I felt ready to explode at him, but checked my anger. If I blew up at him for causing all this mess, I might not hear what he wanted to tell me.