Bundle of Trouble - By Diana Orgain Page 0,9

course. You would be married, of course.” Michelle smiled somewhat sadly and released me. “With a ton of kids, I’m sure.”

“Actually, only one. She’s all of eight days old.”

Before Michelle could react, we were interrupted by the receptionist. “Thank you for waiting, Mrs. Avery. I need your signature here.” She handed Michelle paperwork to sign.

My breath caught. Mrs. Avery? Michelle signed, then handed the forms back to the receptionist who said, “I’ll be right back with your copies.”

Michelle put her hand to her temple and stared out the windows for a long moment. She took a deep breath. “I found out that . . . my husband . . .” Her mouth twitched. “They recovered his body in the bay.” She covered her eyes with her hands and sobbed.

“Oh, Michelle!” I put my arms around her. “How awful, awful, awful.”

“I came here so that they can release his remains to me. Can you imagine, Kate? He was only thirty-five.” Michelle wiped at her eyes with her fingertips.

I tsked. “So young.”

It could have been George.

It could have been any number of people I knew. I felt a sadness pull at me.

She gripped me, whispering, “Brad was murdered, Kate. He was shot and his body was discarded into the bay.” Her eyes darted back and forth across the lobby. “The police aren’t telling me much. I suppose they always suspect the wife but . . .”

The receptionist returned. Michelle became silent, composed herself, then took the forms from the girl.

“Let me help you with your things,” Michelle said, grabbing one of George’s bags and heading toward the door.

From her tone, I understood she wanted to speak to me in private, and hey, I needed help with the bags, so how could I refuse?

We walked in silence toward my car. The wind had picked up, and despite the fact we were enjoying Indian summer, the best time of year in San Francisco, it was starting to get chilly.

I tried to process what Michelle had said. Her husband had been murdered? What were George’s things doing on that pier? Was he connected to the Averys?

At my car, Michelle dumped George’s bag into the trunk. One bag caught on the trunk latch, toppling over. A few T-shirts spilled out onto the street. Michelle and I bent to pick them up.

I had to lean on the car in order to get up. Maybe leaving the house hadn’t been such a good idea. I felt like I’d been hit by a bus.

“What were you doing at the medical examiner’s office?” she asked.

I stuffed the T-shirts into the bag.

What could I say? If Michelle was a suspect in her husband’s murder, wouldn’t George be a suspect also?

I slammed my trunk shut. “My brother-in-law’s bags were found on the pier where—”

“Brad was found. Yes, the police mentioned something about that,” she said, trying to keep her hair from flying into her face. “They think it’s totally unrelated and I’d like to keep it that way.”

“What?”

“The cops think it’s unrelated because George’s bags were found last week and Brad’s been missing since June.” She handed me a silver bracelet. “Here, this fell, too.”

Too tired to open the trunk again, I stuffed it into my pocket. “Do you know George? Did Brad?”

Michelle hesitated and looked around. The receptionist from the medical examiner’s office walked toward us, then past us, presumably on her way to lunch since it was almost noon. I needed to get back and feed Laurie, not to mention myself.

My stomach growled. I placed a hand over it, trying to suppress it. “Do you know where George is? Is he all right?”

Michelle’s eyes lingered on the receptionist as she clicked away from us in her fake Jimmy Choos.

She put a hand on my forearm and pulled me close to her. “Listen, Kate, will you come to my place tomorrow?” Her face looked drawn and she seemed tired. What did my face look like with all of the two hours’ sleep I’d gotten since Laurie was born?

“I’d love to talk to you . . . catch up and stuff . . . well, and I’d like to talk to you”—Michelle looked up and down the block again—“about Brad.”

I nodded. “I’ll bring Laurie over so you can meet her.”

Michelle’s face brightened. “Would you? Oh, Kate.” She grabbed me again in another bear hug. “Oh! That would mean so much. Come over, what? Around noon? I’ll have lunch ready for us.”

We exchanged addresses and phone numbers and I climbed into my car,