Bundle of Trouble - By Diana Orgain Page 0,60
on her knees, weeding!
“It’s okay! My mother gardened until I was born.”
I was unconvinced. “Oh. Well, all right. But come inside now. It’s getting cold.”
Kiku struggled to her feet, holding a few cut dahlias in her hand. She disappeared into a doorway and a few minutes later I greeted her at her front door.
“The door was open,” I explained. “I was worried about you, so I came in.”
“I didn’t remember where I left the key, so I leave door open.”
I stared at her. Ah, the forgetfulness of pregnancy. I had locked myself out of my car three times and had been warned by AAA road service that I had exceeded the maximum calls. One more call would have cost me at least a hundred and fifty dollars.
“You can’t leave the door open, though,” I protested.
“Why? Neighbors good people.”
“But I walked right in. What if . . . well, what if it wasn’t me and . . .” I stopped myself.
What if I was the one in danger? After all, Kiku had been with Michelle that morning and had access to Valium.
Kiku waved a hand in the air, dismissing my objection, and proceeded to the kitchen. I followed her and watched as she placed the dahlias in a bright vase.
Kiku turned and looked at me expectantly. “You come for haircut?”
I laughed. “Ah! No.”
“You need a trim.”
What was the harm?
“Sure. Yes. Go ahead and trim.”
She motioned me to one of the kitchen chairs. “Sit.”
From a drawer she pulled out a plastic wrap and whipped it around me. She grabbed a spray bottle and spritzed my hair.
I fingered the bracelet in my pocket. “Kiku, George is my brother-in-law.”
Kiku spun me around to face her. “Brother?” she cried happily. “I didn’t know. Didn’t know you were George’s sister.”
“Sister-in-law. I’m married to George’s brother, Jim.”
Kiku selected a pair of scissors from the drawer. “George has brother? I no meet.”
“Do you know where George is now?” I asked.
She stood behind me and evaluated my hair. “At work.”
I turned around to see her face. “Yeah, but what’s he do exactly?”
“He works at restaurant, El Paraiso. That’s how we meet. He’s a chef.”
A chef? Oh brother, she didn’t know a thing.
“Kiku, George told me he saw you at Michelle Avery’s place the morning she was killed.”
She turned me around and proceeded to whack at my hair. I tried not to shudder at the length of the locks that were falling around me.
I suddenly remembered the play Sweeney Todd. Probably questioning someone about her whereabouts on the morning of a murder while she’s holding sharp scissors wasn’t a smart idea.
“Yes,” she said without skipping a beat.
“You told me you didn’t know Michelle Avery.”
She stopped cutting my hair. I turned toward her. Her eyes were glossy. “No, I mean, I didn’t know Michelle dead. George didn’t tell me. I went to see her about George’s job.”
“His job?”
“Yes. I went to restaurant. George no there. I worry, maybe he fired. Baby is coming, we need money.”
“What did Michelle tell you?”
Kiku turned me around and proceeded with the haircut. “Michelle said he still worked for her. At restaurant. She said George good worker. But now I’m worried again because she and Brad are dead!”
What about the wine at Michelle’s place? Someone had drunk wine with Michelle. Kiku wouldn’t have been drinking in her condition, right? So maybe Michelle had had another visitor.
“Did you see anyone else coming or going from Michelle’s place?”
Kiku remained silent for a moment. “No.”
I wondered about her hesitation. Then I realized she was studying me and my hair.
My breath caught. “Is everything okay?”
“You’re beautiful!” She smiled and brandished a mirror in front of me. The cut, while far shorter than I would have ever conceded to under other circumstances, looked stunning. I felt sassy and hip.
“Thank you.”
Kiku smiled. “Ten dollars.”
I laughed. “You deserve twenty, at least.”
I dug into my pockets.
No wallet.
It was in the diaper bag, along with everything else. I pulled out the bracelet.
“Uh . . . Um . . . I forgot my wallet, but I’m good for it. I promise.” I handed her the silver bracelet. “This must be yours.”
“No.”
“It has to be. It fell out of George’s bag.”
She read the inscription on the bracelet. “What’s ‘berry’?”
I shrugged. “I thought you’d know.”
She studied the bracelet in silence. “Why George have that?” She handed it back to me. “If he has other woman, I . . .” She picked up the discarded hair scissors and snapped them open and closed. “I kill him.”
I smiled in spite