he was cheating on her. At least Helene never gave me any indication . . .” She looked miserably at what was left of the brownie on her plate, then shrugged and popped the rest of it in her mouth. “Well, these really are extenuating circumstances, aren’t they?”

I nodded. “Go ahead, I promise no nutrition police are going to pop out of the woodworks here.”

She motioned toward my latte. “You’re not drinking your coffee.”

“Uh . . .” I glanced at Laurie.

“Oh!” Margaret said. “I know how protective new moms are. Here, give me the baby. I’ll tell you I never, not once, spilled hot liquid on my kid’s head. But I know how obsessive the thought can be.”

I unstrapped Laurie and handed her to Margaret, who smiled for the first time that afternoon. The smile brought relief to her face while at the same time highlighting her swollen eyes.

She gazed at Laurie. “You forget how tiny they start out. I mean . . .” She gestured to her baby in the stroller, who was now snoozing. “Marcus is only six months old, but he seems gargantuan compared to your little thing. I can’t believe that he was this size only a few months ago.” Margaret stroked Laurie’s hair. “Is she lifting her head ninety degrees during tummy time?”

What? Ninety degrees!

I knew I was slacking on that tummy time!

I sipped my latte. It was ice cold. “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

Margaret’s eyes grew wide. “Oh,” she said, rounding her mouth and eyes in an exaggerated way.

Was Laurie supposed to be able to hold her head up ninety degrees?

“I mean, she lifts her head. She certainly lifts her head when we do tummy time.”

Margaret nodded sympathetically.

I tried to calm the defensiveness that was swelling inside me. Was my face red? I sipped the cold latte, ignoring the acid flavor. I needed the caffeine anyway.

“When are they supposed to be able to do that?” I asked.

Margaret glanced at her baby and fidgeted slightly. “I don’t really remember, but I thought it was around two months.”

“Well, Laurie’s not quite two months yet. She’s only seven weeks.”

Margaret smiled. “Of course, she’ll be holding her head up in no time. So anyway, I was in this class at the hospital and was becoming very friendly with Evelyn. Helene had the nice idea of forming a group. We would meet at each other’s houses and organize events and stuff. It worked really well for a while.”

“For a while? What happened?”

“I got pregnant again and my neighbor Sara did, too. We asked her to join our group. This may have been one of the things that set Evelyn off, I don’t know. But she seemed different. And we ended up having to ask her to leave the group.”

“Is that why there was so much tension with Evelyn on the cruise?”

Margaret looked at me and shrugged.

“What about the fight Evelyn said she overheard between Helene and Sara?”

“I don’t know anything about that. I asked Sara about it at the funeral, but she said Evelyn was exaggerating. Which, knowing Evelyn, is not at all surprising. I have to find out what happened to Helene. I need your help, Kate.” At this, her eyes filled with tears.

I handed her a napkin off the table. She dabbed at her eyes.

Here was my moment to tell her I didn’t have a license.

It’s nothing to be ashamed of—after all, it’s true. Say it, say it, say it.

“There’s something . . . uh . . . I want—”

“Kate, I have a semiconfession.”

I stopped stuttering and focused on Margaret.

“When I met you and you said you were a PI, I knew I needed to hire you.”

“Hire me for what?”

She sighed. “I’ve suspected for a long time that Alan’s been having an affair. He’s been coming home late and acting distant . . . and . . . well, really the list can go on and on. Point being, I thought I could hire you to follow him. And then maybe, finally, I’d have the truth . . . And . . . Oh God. I feel so guilty.” She broke down and sobbed.

Kenny looked over at us from his table. He made a little sad face showing sympathy then ducked his head again to fiddle with his iPod.

“What do you feel guilty about?” I asked.

“Kate.” She pressed a hand over her heart. “It’s all my fault. I’m scared that it’s my fault.”

“The affair?”

She shook her head vehemently. “Helene!”

“I’m not following you.”

Margaret glanced around the