Bundle of Trouble - By Diana Orgain Page 0,20
to your pants?” McNearny asked.
I felt the back of my pants. They were torn around my hamstring. “I tore them when I fell off the planter,” I said, rubbing at the bruise I was sure was forming on the backside of my leg.
McNearny grunted, making no effort to conceal his skepticism. He scribbled something into his notebook, then indicated a pair of prescription glasses on the coffee table. “What about those glasses over there? Are they yours?”
“No.”
“Are they Michelle’s?” Jones asked.
My stomach churned. “I don’t know.”
McNearny made a note, then looked up at me. “I thought she was your friend.”
“She was my friend. I just hadn’t seen her for a long time. I don’t know if she wore glasses.”
The front door squeaked open and Nick Dowling, the medical examiner, poked his head through. “Got a call.” His eyes landed on Michelle. “I see I’m in the right place,” he said, nodding at McNearny and Jones.
McNearny and Jones nodded back. I tried my best to look inconspicuous.
Dowling spotted me. “Mrs. Connolly! Didn’t think I’d see you so soon.”
McNearny’s and Jones’s heads spun toward me so fast I was afraid they’d break their necks. I smiled despite gritted teeth and raised my eyebrows in acknowledgment to Dowling.
McNearny, Jones, and Dowling all exchanged glances, then McNearny barked, “Downtown!”
Jones crossed to me, while McNearny and Dowling huddled over Michelle.
“Mrs. Connolly, I know how upsetting all this can be,” Jones said. “Finding your friend and all. Maybe it’s best if you come downtown with me to the station. We’ll be more comfortable and I’ll be able to take your official statement.”
I froze.
Downtown?
“I . . . I have a newborn,” I stuttered. “I have to get home and feed her.”
Suddenly I felt nauseated. What had I gotten myself into?
Jones was expertly maneuvering me toward the front door. “A newborn? Really? I got a nine-month-old. Aren’t they great?”
McNearny instructed another officer to start dusting for fingerprints.
Jones pulled open the front door. The fresh air relieved my nausea, a bit. We walked in silence down the front steps.
Once on the curb, Jones gestured to a car parked nearby. “This your car?”
I shook my head and pointed to my Chevy Cavalier parked down the street.
“You want to follow me downtown?” he asked. “Or you want to ride with me?”
“I can drive myself?”
“Sure, no problem. You’re going voluntarily, right?”
Was I?
From the relative safety of my car, which I was happy to see had not been broken into again, I dialed home and instructed Mom to give Laurie a formula bottle.
The only good thing about my initially being rated “poor” at breastfeeding in the hospital was that, upon hearing this, Mom had immediately run out and bought formula. When I caught her smuggling it into my pantry, she had mumbled, “Just in case.”
Which I took to mean: “Just in case you’re too lame to get the hang of what every mother has been doing naturally since the beginning of time.”
Outwardly I was a little offended; inwardly I was relieved. Just in case I was too lame, there was no reason for Laurie to starve. Besides, you never know when you’re going to stumble across a dead friend and need your mom to feed the baby.
At the station, I was escorted by Jones to a small room with a mirror, a table, and a few chairs. On the table was a box of tissues, a couple of notepads, and a small recorder. Jones sat across from me and hooked a microphone into the recorder.
“Do I need a lawyer?” I asked nervously.
Jones smiled. “For what?”
I shrugged.
“Mrs. Connolly, you are not under arrest. I just want to get a statement from you. You want coffee or something?”
“No.”
“Water? Soda?”
“Water would be nice.”
Jones continued fussing with the recorder. A female officer appeared in the doorway with my water. I glanced from her to the mirror. Two-way mirror? Who else was watching me?
“I need a few things from my desk, okay?” Jones said, “Drink the water. Relax. I’ll be back in a minute.” He left me alone in the room.
I drank my water and waited and waited. My breasts were starting to burn. I glanced at my watch. It was feeding time. I doubled-checked myself in the two-way mirror. Thankfully my breasts hadn’t leaked through my blouse; otherwise, I’d have given whoever it was on the other end quite a show.
At least half an hour passed before Jones returned empty-handed. Empty-handed but with McNearny by his side. He’d been buying time for McNearny to return.
Both officers seated