Bundle of Trouble - By Diana Orgain Page 0,53

the face.

I gagged. From my research online I knew the drug Michelle had died from, diazepam, was the generic form of Valium. Kiku had a prescription for Valium. The label showed a fifty count of five-milligram tablets. I rattled the bottle, then opened it. Ten pills remained. The date on the prescription was November of last year. Before Kiku’s pregnancy. Before Michelle’s death.

Laurie complained from her position on the floor. I gathered her and all the diaper paraphernalia. When I opened the door to the bathroom, Kiku was waiting for me.

“Everything okay?” she asked nervously.

I gave her an exhausted nod and followed her back to the living room.

While I settled Laurie into her car seat, I asked, “Kiku, do you recall where you were on June fifteenth?”

She tilted her head thoughtfully to the side. “I think June fifteenth Horoaki graduate.” She opened a drawer from a side table and pulled out a photograph of a handsome smiling young man.

Was he the father?

I made a note in my notebook and smiled at Kiku. “Oh! Who’s Horoaki? He’s so cute!”

“My brother.”

“Where did he graduate from? San Francisco State?”

“No. Dental school, UCSF.”

Her alibi could easily be checked out.

“Ah! Good career ahead of him. Thank you for the tea.” I swung Laurie’s diaper bag onto my shoulder. “One more thing. Where were you Monday, October first?”

Kiku smiled. “Monday? Shopping. Why?”

“Brad’s wife, Michelle, died on Monday. I was hoping maybe you knew something about it. Had seen or heard something....”

She frowned, her delicate forehead creasing in the middle. “I didn’t know Brad’s wife . . .”

I picked up Laurie’s bucket and headed to the front door. “How about yesterday morning?”

Kiku looked confused. “Yesterday more shopping. Why?”

I smiled. “Of course. You have to get all the baby goodies ready before D-day.”

I glanced around the apartment. It didn’t look like she had purchased all that much, but she could have been window-shopping, too.

Kiku pressed her hands against her belly. “What was yesterday?”

“Svetlana Avery, Brad’s ex-wife, was killed.”

Kiku gasped, her complexion paling. She covered her mouth with her hand. “Poor people. Everyone killed?”

“Did you know Svetlana?”

Kiku shook her head furiously back and forth.

I closed my eyes and sighed. Something wasn’t right. She had Valium, along with another million people in the world. Did it make her a killer? She claimed she didn’t know Michelle or Svetlana. What did Galigani know that I was too stupid or inexperienced to figure out on my own?

“Thanks for your time, Kiku. If you think of anything that can help me with my investigation, will you call me?”

Kiku wrote down the number I rattled off. I’d have to add another item to my never-ending to-do list—print business cards!

I waved to her as I stepped out. “Good luck with the birth. You’ll have fun with your new baby. You’ll love being a mom.”

I checked my voice mail as soon as I reached the car. There was a message from Crane; he’d tried the number I’d given him for George and got a “temporarily out of service” message. I threw my cell phone to the floor on the passenger side and screamed out my frustration, startling Laurie enough to make her cry, too. Great!

“Sorry, petunia,” I mumbled.

Laurie continued to fuss. I put the car in drive and pulled out. The motion soon settled her down.

I aimlessly headed to Pier 23. No George in sight. Okay, Plan B.

I glanced at my watch as I parked in front of El Paraiso. Not quite lunchtime.

I pulled the baby carrier out of my trunk and put it on, then picked Laurie up out of the car seat and adjusted her inside the carrier. She immediately nestled herself between my breasts and fell asleep.

I walked into the restaurant. It was the lull before the noontime rush. The hostess with stud piercings on her face was sorting menus at her podium. She glanced unenthusiastically at me.

“Hi. Is George Connolly working today?”

She frowned and fingered the stud through her eyebrow. “George Connolly? We don’t have anyone here by that name.”

“Okay. How about the manager, Rich Hanlen?”

“Oh. He’s not in yet. He usually comes in around noon. If it’s important, he’s probably across the street.” She lifted her chin in the general direction of the window.

I looked through glass and saw a bar. “Café du Sur?” I asked.

She’d already gone back to sorting the menus.

I crossed the street and pulled open the door of Café du Sur. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dim interior. A country song