Bundle of Trouble - By Diana Orgain Page 0,51

I can say is that I don’t even know where she lives. I was with Kate all morning at Pier 23.”

“Unfortunately, we don’t have a choice in the lineup. You have to do it. I wish you didn’t. You don’t know how many times people mistake someone’s identity.”

I sighed and pressed my head into Jim’s shoulder. He squeezed my hand. “Everything is going to be fine, honey.”

We looked at Crane for reassurance. He grimaced. “Is there much of a resemblance between you and your brother?”

I left the station feeling agitated and distressed. I needed to stay busy in order to keep myself from turning into a nervous wreck about Jim’s situation.

First thing, I dialed Jim’s office and told them he was still too sick to go into work. Next, I decided I should see the woman, Kiku, who had the appointment with Galigani. Her apartment was near San Francisco State University. Parking would be a unique challenge.

As I circled around her building, I reflected on the lineup.

Jim and George did look alike; they had the same coloring and handsome features. But Jim was almost a full head taller than George. I prayed that would account for something. Then again we didn’t know anything about the description of the man leaving Svetlana’s place. It could have been anybody. Maybe it wasn’t George, after all.

I found parking close by and silently thanked the parking gods or goddesses, then threw in a prayer for Jim for good measure.

I rang the bell. A heavily pregnant woman wrapped in a red kimono answered the door. She was all of about four feet tall. Okay, maybe five feet, but barely that. The baby extended from her abdomen as though she had slipped a basketball under her kimono. Her pregnant belly was much more pronounced than mine had ever been, even when I was nine months along.

Maybe she’d have a boy. Could the old wives’ tale be true, about boys extending outward and girls curling around?

“Hi, sorry to disturb you. Are you Kiku?”

She nodded, resting her hands on her belly.

“I’m Kate Connolly. Did you have an appointment with Investigator Galigani today?”

“Yes,” Kiku said with a heavy Japanese accent.

“Unfortunately, he’s in the hospital. Open heart surgery.”

Kiku’s face creased with the appropriate amount of concern one usually displays when hearing about someone else’s misfortune.

Should I go so far as to say Galigani sent me?

Before I could decide, Kiku opened the door and motioned Laurie and me inside.

Her apartment was small. We entered straight into the living room. I could see into the tiny kitchen. There was a door to the left, which I assumed led to the bedroom. The place was sparsely decorated in soft feminine tones, and I could tell by the couch and the paintings that she had expensive taste.

She motioned me toward the sofa. I sat down, placing Laurie’s bucket next to me.

Maybe it hadn’t been a good idea to bring Laurie along. But this woman was pregnant. She couldn’t be a murderer, right?

Kiku admired Laurie. “Beautiful baby girl. Big blue eyes!”

“Yours will be beautiful, too. When are you due?”

“Soon. Soon.”

We smiled at each other as Kiku reached out and stroked Laurie’s little foot. “Tell me, was labor difficult?”

It seemed odd that for nine months all I had thought about was Laurie’s arrival and the upcoming labor. Stressing out about how I would handle everything. And yet now, one month later, I had hardly given labor a second thought.

I looked at Kiku’s pregnant belly. “Don’t worry about it. It’s really not that bad, not like you’re imagining. But I had the epidural, so I guess some people would say that’s cheating.”

After opting for pain relief during labor, I justified my choice by comparing the epidural with modern transportation. If someone said to me, “Women have been having babies without any pain medication since the beginning of time,” my response was, “Yeah? And they also walked everywhere, because they didn’t have a car. Now we have cars and pain medication. So, guess what? I had the epidural and we drove to the hospital.” People didn’t bring up the epidural after that.

“Tea?” she asked.

“Sure.”

Kiku waddled to the kitchen. I dug out my notebook from Laurie’s diaper bag and reviewed my notes.

The note “next time interviewing suspect bring own water” stared me in the face.

Oops.

I’d forgotten to pack water. Writing things down didn’t help if I didn’t read them in time. When was my memory going to come back?

I glanced around the living room. Kiku appeared to be living