dabbed at them furiously with a crumpled handkerchief, making them red and swollen.

The woman with the beautiful olive skin handed Margaret a card. “Do you need directions to the cemetery, Margaret?”

Margaret released her clutch from my elbow and fumbled for the card. “I don’t know.” She gestured to her husband, who was standing next to the circle of attendees surrounding Bruce. “I’m sure Alan knows the way, but I’ll take one just in case. Celia, have you met Kate Connolly?”

Celia appraised me with her dark eyes. “No.” She smiled a wide smile and stretched out her hand. “Celia Martin.”

I shook her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Margaret resumed her clutch on my arm. “Kate is a private investigator.”

I felt myself flush inwardly. Could I really pass myself off as a PI?

Why did I ever give that PI card to Margaret?

Okay, I had somehow fumbled through a case a few weeks ago, but I didn’t even have a license.

And yet, the prideful side of me or the incredibly stupid side, if they are even different, found myself nodding and saying, “Yup”—like that was really going to convince anyone of my qualifications! “Yup”! Like an idiot! I didn’t say the proper word, “yes,” only “yup,” which rhymes with “pup,” which sounds like “schmuck”—how fitting.

Celia, nevertheless, seemed impressed. “Oh!” She gasped.

Margaret turned to me. “Celia’s a midwife. She delivered my second, Marcus.” Margaret’s eyes teared over again. Celia reached out and squeezed her hand.

Sara approached us. She squinted at me. Not quite a frown, but definitely something.

Maybe the chignon was too tight. It made her look so severe, so no-nonsense!

She embraced Margaret and the two wept.

Celia glanced at me, flashing a sad smile. She indicated the cards in her hand and excused herself. I glanced at my watch. I’d been out of the house almost two hours. I had fed Laurie before leaving but was now starting to feel the familiar burn in my breasts indicating feeding time was approaching.

I needed to leave now.

Margaret and Sara disentangled from each other. Sara gave me a curt nod. “Kate, I didn’t think you would be here. Thank you for coming.”

“You’re coming to the reception, aren’t you?” Margaret asked.

I glanced at my watch again.

“She probably needs to get back to her baby. Don’t you, Kate?” Sara asked.

Why so much disdain?

I felt a surge of rebellion. The answer of course, was “Yes, yup!” I needed to get back to Laurie—that is what any responsible mother would say. It is what any good mother would have said. Instead I found myself smiling and saying, “Well, she is with her dad and I think there’s even some milk reserve . . . I suppose it’s okay for me to be out just a little while longer.”

Margaret’s face visibly relaxed. “Oh, good. Good.”

Sara and I exchanged tight smiles.

Margaret’s husband, Alan, approached. He offered his arm to Margaret. “Shall we?”

Margaret nodded. Alan’s eyes raked me over. They had a glimmer of recognition, but it seemed he couldn’t quite place me.

“Kate Connolly,” I offered. “We met the other night on the dinner cruise.”

His eyes darkened and he looked at me as though I were some kind of stalker. “Of course.”

Right.

So now there were two people who didn’t want me around.

CHAPTER FIVE

Disconnect

On my way out of the church, I noticed Inspector McNearny and Inspector Jones hovering around the back.

Homicide cops.

I had met both of them while working on my first case a few weeks ago. In fact, McNearny was a good friend of Galigani’s and through that friendship our tenuous meeting had turned a bit more friendly.

McNearny raised a hand to me and gave me a “not now” look.

Okay, maybe we weren’t that friendly.

He and Jones seemed to be trying to blend in with the crowd. They had positioned themselves near the exit and were pretending to be absorbed with the items posted on the church bulletin board.

Good Lord, didn’t they know that even plainclothes cops still looked like cops?

McNearny’s brown sport coat and no-nonsense shoes looked worn and at odds with this more affluent crowd. Jones’s blue suit was more compatible with the crowd, but his austere crew cut gave him that military look many San Francisco cops sport. Not to mention that both of them were as stiff and stilted as wooden chess pieces.

At least Jones smiled at me when I passed him.

What are they doing here? And why try to look undercover?

I noticed Celia, the midwife, watching me watching the cops. When we made eye contact, hers flicked over to McNearny.