Bundle of Trouble - By Diana Orgain Page 0,44
back and stared at me. “What?”
“I have the contract ready for your review.”
Jim shook his head. “You don’t have any experience or training! I don’t want you running around and getting yourself into any danger.”
“You don’t think I can take care of myself?”
“That’s not what I mean. Investigators like Galigani have training on how to handle different situations, you know, defuse anger and—”
“Look, I’m not gonna get myself in any potentially volatile situations. I promise. I’m not an idiot.”
Jim looked dubious.
“Are you going to support me?”
He reached out and wrapped his free arm around me. “Honey, I always support you.”
The following morning Jim and I agreed to stake out the pier together. I knew he was getting increasingly concerned about my safety, not to mention the fact that we were both alarmed at George’s potential involvement in the crimes.
Jim called in sick and we arranged for Mom to watch Laurie. I left her with instructions on how to prepare a bottle for Laurie with the measly three ounces I had managed to pump so far.
So much for building a supply of milk up before my return to work.
When Jim and I arrived at the pier, we parked a little ways down the street, which gave us an unencumbered view of all the activity. There were joggers every couple minutes, a few bike riders, and the occasional skate-boarder. The homeless woman from the day before was absent.
I sat on the passenger side of the Chevy, and Jim drummed on the steering wheel. After about an hour, I unwrapped one of the ham and cheese sandwiches I had packed.
“Want one?”
Jim shook his head. “We just had breakfast.”
“That was at least an hour ago.” I bit into the sandwich.
He nudged me with his elbow and pointed to a hooded figure carrying a black duffel bag. “I think that’s him.”
Jim jumped out of the car and started running toward George. I struggled to put down my sandwich and also get out. Jim was way ahead of me.
When George saw Jim approaching, he stretched out his hand. “Buddy!”
“Cut the crap,” Jim said, walking straight up to George.
Jim stood a good four inches taller than George. George had a wiry frame compared to his brother’s solid stature.
“What’s up?” George asked, unruffled as I finally caught up with them. He nodded at me. “Hey, Kate.”
“Glad to see you’re functioning,” Jim said.
George’s head twitched to the side. “Not doing as good as you, man, but who can compare to you?”
“Last I heard you were on the streets,” Jim said, disgusted.
“Yeah?” George yanked the hood off and ran his fingers over his hair. “Well, not anymore. Like you care.”
Jim’s shoulders inched up a degree. “Same old George. Nobody cares about you, huh, buddy?”
George’s eyes flashed anger. “That’s right.”
Jim squinted. “What are you doing here anyway? This your new hangout? What’s in the bag?”
George tightened his grip on the duffel. “What’s it to you?”
Jim stepped forward, shortening the distance between them. “Who’s Brad Avery to you? Why is he dead?”
“You knew Brad?” George said through an oily little smile.
“I know he washed up dead right before Kate went into labor.”
George glanced at me, surprised. “You had a baby?”
“I know your bags were on this pier, right where his body was recovered. The same bags that are at my house right now, because no one could find you.” Jim continued, “I know I was worried sick, thinking it was you who washed up that night. You shithead!”
“Oh!” George covered his heart with one hand, his voice full of sarcasm. “My big brother was worried about me? You have your own family now. What do you care about me?”
“I know, always the victim,” Jim fired back.
“If you care so much, where were you six months ago when I needed a hand?”
“You mean a handout?” Jim said.
George rolled up his sleeves. “You’ve never done nothing for me!” he yelled into Jim’s face.
Jim loosened the top buttons of his shirt, then turned toward me and said in the most serious voice I’d ever heard him use, “Kate, can you go to the car now, please?”
“This is ridiculous!” I said. “Are you two really going to fight?”
They both stared at me, waiting for me to walk away.
“No fighting,” I said. “We’re in this together.”
George ignored me and turned toward Jim. “Did you know Brad was killed with one of Dad’s guns? One that you inherited? Since you inherited everything!”
Jim’s face flushed. “I never inherited jack!”
I felt my blood pressure skyrocket. “How do you know about