Paula grabbed my knee. I shook my head at her. She nodded emphatically. I put the phone on mute.

“Are you crazy? I’m not meeting him!” I said.

“Tell him to meet you at the café down the street. I’ll go with you.”

I shook my head. “I promised Jim I wouldn’t investigate—”

Paula waved me off. “Don’t tell him.”

“I can’t lie to him.”

“I didn’t say lie. I said don’t tell him.”

“Do you do that with David?” I asked.

“Pfft. All the time.”

“I can’t,” I said. “What if—”

“Stop it! You’re meant for this line of work. Nothing will happen. It’s a public place and I’ll be right there.”

“How are you supposed to protect me?” I asked, indicating her belly.

“Ah, together we’ll be okay.”

“Yeah, the postpartum detective and her prenatal side-kick.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Redirected

To Do:

1. ?

2. Catch up on e-mails.

3. . Find maid/nanny.

4. Laurie swim classes?—Yes—sign up.

5. Order girdle thing.

I watched from across the street as Paula entered the café. Only the tables in the window were visible. She disappeared; presumably she was at the counter ordering.

I pulled out my cell phone and retrieved the messages I had ignored earlier: one from Mom, one from Paula, and one from Margaret. Mom had called as she was getting ready to board her flight to Mexico:

“Darling! When I was in Napa today at Cakebread Cellars, I talked Albert into being your mentor and letting you use his license. My flight is boarding now but I’ll be home in a few days. Call you then. Love you! Kisses to Laurie and Jim.”

I closed my eyes.

What did I feel? Relief? Betrayal?

I was extremely relieved Mom had gotten on her flight and missed Jim’s call about Laurie and me. But at the same time I felt like I was betraying her. If she knew about the hospital, she’d tell Albert Galigani to forget sponsoring me.

But if I had his sponsorship, Jim would let me continue on the case . . .

Paula’s message:

“Girl! I am home! Paris was trčs magnifique but I’m happy to be back. What are you doing tomorrow?”

Margaret’s message:

“Kate! Bruce just called me on his way to the police station. He said you and Celia were rushed to the hospital . . . Oh my God. I hope you are all right. Please call me.”

As I was about to dial Margaret, Paula came back into view and sat in one of the window tables. She placed a paper cup on the sill, then pulled out her cell phone and connected a pair of headphones to it. She put the headphones on and tapped her foot to no music, our sign that she thought Bruce was there.

I crossed the street and entered the café. Bruce was sitting in a table in the corner, close enough to Paula for her to eavesdrop comfortably.

He stood as he saw me and smiled nervously. “Kate, thank you so much for meeting me.” His eyes lowered to his hands and he seemed to be searching for words.

I positioned the chair opposite him in such a way that I could face him and see Paula at the next table. I sat. “It’s okay, Bruce. Sit down.”

He crumpled into his chair looking much slimmer than he had a few short days before.

What, the guy doesn’t eat for a day and he withers away to nothing?

Life’s so unfair.

He had beard stubble and looked exhausted, although his hair was impeccable along with his sweater and jeans. In fact, the jeans looked ironed.

Do people really iron their jeans?

“Can I get you a latte or a cap or something?” Bruce asked.

I shook my head. He fiddled with his cup and nodded.

On the walk over, Paula and I had decided ordering coffee here was probably safe. But while waiting on the corner, I’d imagined Bruce slipping a mickey into my coffee. How ridiculous could I get? Yet, it was easier on my neurotic mind just to skip the drink entirely instead of obsessively watching for any sleight of hand.

“So you were at the police station yesterday? Want to bring me up to date?” I asked.

“How did you know?” he asked.

Before I could answer he said, “Oh, Margaret, right?”

I nodded. “She left me a message.”

He closed his eyes. “Jesus, Kate. These have been the worst days of my life. First Helene, that awful night on the boat . . . Then yesterday. Celia getting sick, you and your baby being rushed to the hospital . . . She’s okay, right? Your baby?”

I nodded.

Bruce swallowed. “And then when you were being taken by the EMTs, you