I come right out and ask her about Howard?

How sure was I that Celia and he were having an affair? If they weren’t and Sara was completely innocent, I’d be sticking my nose where it didn’t belong. On the other hand, Celia was still alive. If Sara was plotting something, better to be safe than sorry.

I rang Sara’s doorbell. She opened the door and squinted at me.

“Oh, I wasn’t expecting you.” She had on a bright orange T-shirt and jeans with paint splotches across the front. She stood in the doorway and kept me on the stoop.

“Sorry I didn’t call first. Do you have a minute?”

She glanced behind her, into what I knew was the living room. “Just one. Go ahead.”

I imagined baby Amanda at her huge play station, flailing around.

“Uh. Yeah. Okay.”

Why wasn’t she letting me inside the house?

Why was Miss No-Nonsense dressed in a dirty old T-shirt?

“Sara, can you tell me where you were on November fifteenth? Did you happen to see Celia Martin that day?”

I waited for her reaction to Celia’s name, but she simply scratched at her chin. “Was that last week? What day? Who’s Celia?”

“It was a Tuesday. Celia is a midwife. She did Margaret’s birth and now she’s helping Evelyn . . .”

Sara scrunched her nose in distaste at the mention of Evelyn’s name. “Oh. Yeah. The midwife.”

“I understand Howard was the general contractor that remodeled the birthing center.”

She frowned and blinked rapidly a few times. “Oh . . . uh . . . uh-huh.”

She hadn’t known.

Her husband had taken the job on the side and hadn’t told her. Even Margaret knew about the job. I guess the mommy group wasn’t as close as they had pretended. Venom, lies, and betrayal all around.

Sara composed herself and asked, “How can I help you?”

“Where were you on the fifteenth, Sara? Did you see Celia?”

“No. Why are you asking?”

“Someone poisoned her with the same drug that killed Helene.”

Sara swallowed and appeared frozen. “Is she all right?”

She didn’t seem to know anything.

I nodded. “Can you tell me where you were on Tuesday morning?”

“Tuesdays are Amanda’s swim class. We were at La Petite Grenouille.”

That would be easy to check.

I rapped on the doorframe. “Okay. Thank you for your time.”

I proceed down the walkway toward my car. As I got in, I noticed she was watching me from the window.

Strange, but was she guilty?

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Swimming?

I stood at the front desk with Laurie in my arms and looked at the pools through the glass doors. There was a small wading pool and another larger pool complete with a covered yellow slide.

In the larger pool there seemed to be a toddler class going on. Only three children and one teenager with a bright pink swim cap on. The teenage instructor was assisting the kids to alternately swim through a tunnel. The children were swimming remarkably well given their age and looked adorable with tiny flippers on their feet.

In the wading pool were several moms holding their infants in their arms. They were following the instructions of another teenager, this one with auburn-colored hair. All the moms would hold the infants up in the air and duck them in the water at the same time.

I couldn’t hear anything through the glass doors, but every time the babies resurfaced, their mouths were shaped into giant O’s and I’m fairly certain they were screaming their little hearts out.

What about this was supposed to be good for them?

I turned Laurie toward the baby pool. “Does that look fun to you? Do you want to do that?”

Laurie pedaled her little feet.

“Is that a yes?”

From the changing area a slim instructor with wet hair that was pulled back in a ponytail approached us.

“Are you here for the free trial class?” she asked.

“Actually, no.” I hesitated. “I . . . uh . . . I wanted to sign up.” I smiled.

She frowned and stepped toward the desk. “Are you on the wait list? Did we call you with an opening?” She flipped through a huge black book that was by the phone.

I eyed the book.

Did they mark the attendance there?

“No. I thought I’d just sign up.”

She frowned. “You thought you would . . . right.” She closed the book with a loud thud. “Why don’t you give me your name? Our wait list is quite long. We’ll call you if any classes are added.”

Still looking at the book, I said, “Right. Or, you know, if anyone drops out or—”

“Our students don’t generally drop out. Yes, there is the occasional