Bundle of Trouble - By Diana Orgain Page 0,27

“I understand, ma’am. There are just a few things I need to check out. Your husband’s at work today?”

I felt acid churn in my stomach. “Yes.”

“And where’s that, ma’am?”

“Fortena and Associates, downtown. He’s an ad executive.”

Galigani nodded, making his way toward the front door, “Thanks for your time.”

I stopped him with a question, “What about yesterday?”

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t you want to know where Jim and I were yesterday, you know, when Michelle was killed?”

“I’m only being paid to investigate Mr. Avery’s murder.”

“Don’t you think they’re connected?”

He waved his hands around, palms up. “Maybe, but I’m only being paid to investigate Mr. Avery’s murder,” he repeated.

•CHAPTER TEN•

The Third Week—Reaching Out

From my front window, I watched Galigani squish into his compact car. Where would he go next? To interrogate Jim, or try and find my girlfriend Paula? Maybe he could lead me to George.

Stupid George. I couldn’t wait to find him, so I could wring his neck!

I contemplated following Galigani.

Yeah, right.

With a newborn? Like I’d ever be able to get out of the house in time.

I heard Laurie’s wake-up call. I went to my bedroom and picked her up from the bassinet.

Cold. Wet. Hungry.

A mother’s job is never done. I changed her, swaddled her tight, then settled down on our sofa to nurse her. Even though thirty minutes had passed since Galigani had left, I couldn’t shake the odd feeling of violation I’d had during his questioning. I absently looked out the front window again. Galigani’s gray Honda was still there. What was he doing hovering outside my house?

Was I being staked out?

Outraged, I gathered Laurie up and ran down my front steps. This guy was getting paid two hundred bucks an hour to sit in his stupid Honda outside my house, while I nursed my baby!

Had I nursed Laurie anywhere near the front window?

As I approached his car, I couldn’t resist looking back at my house. The sofa was in plain view. Talk about feeling violated.

By the time I rapped on his window, I was fuming. “What do you think you’re doing?”

He rolled down his window. “My car won’t start. I called road side service.”

Just then a tow truck turned the corner. Galigani jumped out of his Honda and greeted the driver.

I slunk back into the house.

Stupid Kate, jumping to conclusions. Where was that going to lead?

Wait a minute. Galigani was still outside. If I hurried and got dressed, maybe I could follow him after all.

I pulled on jeans and a sweatshirt and glanced out the front window. He was jabbering with the tow truck driver. With Laurie in my arms, I raced downstairs to the garage and packed her into her car seat.

I rolled the car out of the garage and waved to Galigani as I turned the corner.

I parked at the end of the next block, comfortably tucked in between a pickup and a UPS van. From this vantage point I could follow him in whichever direction he drove.

I waited. Galigani’s Honda passed me. I pulled out behind him, hoping to keep a discreet distance.

Galigani led me to an apartment house in the Haight district. I watched from my car as he rang a bell and waited. A curtain moved on the third floor. Someone peeked out the window. Galigani didn’t notice, just continued to wait without being let in.

I counted the windows. Six from the right. Probably each apartment had two street windows. So that would make it the third apartment from the right. Third floor, third apartment. Easy to remember.

Galigani rang the doorbell again. After a moment, he turned to leave.

He squeezed back into his car. The car sputtered and died.

Shoot!

I couldn’t wait around for another visit from road side service. By the time they’d arrive, I’d have to feed Laurie again.

The Honda turned over again and the engine revved up. Galigani pulled out of his space. The chase was on.

I followed him to Pier 23. The pier where George’s bags had been found. Where poor Brad had been pulled from the water. I watched as Galigani paced back and forth and took notes. He stopped a couple of passersby and talked for a while. His job didn’t seem that tough. Ask questions, drive around some, and charge a lot of money. I could do that, couldn’t I?

I puttered around the kitchen, getting dinner ready. Mom had left a homemade lasagna and a box wrapped in comics from the Sunday paper on my front porch. The box had a note attached.

Must have missed you. Here’s a little something