Motherhood is Murder Page 11

  I couldn’t make eye contact with him. It took all my effort to shake my head.

  “Were you close to Celia?” Bruce’s confusion showed through his tone.

  I shook my head again and sobbed.

  Bruce tapped nervously at the doorway frame. “Right. Right. It still is very upsetting.”

  I met his gaze. “The salmon, Bruce.”

  Bruce took a step back as though I’d punched him. “What? You can’t think . . . you think the salmon was . . . bad? It was as fresh as—”

  “Not bad! Poison! Helene was poisoned. Celia’s in critical condition. I ate the salmon and now I’m sick.”

  “You can’t think . . . Kate! I prepared the salmon myself.”

  “I’m sure you did!” I spat.

  “Kate, I swear there was nothing wrong with the salmon. I didn’t kill Helene or Celia. You can’t seriously think that.”

  Just then one of the EMTs pressed his way past Bruce. “Excuse us, sir.”

  The other EMT laid the stretcher across the floor straddling the bathroom and the hallway. “Okay, ma’am, easy does it. Just lie down here.”

  “Where’s my baby?” I sobbed.

  “Don’t worry, ma’am, we’ve secured her in the ambulance. Your husband is on his way to the hospital.”

  I crawled onto the stretcher and felt myself being suspended in midair. I glanced at Bruce. He looked as pale as Celia had. Only he was standing on his own and alive.

  The EMTs paused at the front door, adjusting their grips on the stretcher. Bruce looked down at me. “Kate, I swear it. I swear the food was fine.”

  I simply moaned.

  One of the EMTs answered for me. “Sir, we have to get her to the hospital.”

  The urgency in his voice caused Bruce to step back and succeeded in sending me into another panic. Tears welled in my throat and my mind was on Laurie.

  Please, God, no matter what happens to me, please let Laurie be okay.

  A vision of Jim raising Laurie alone sent another shock wave through me. My stomach clenched violently.

  Although the EMTs descended the three flights of steps smoothly, I still managed to feel guilty about my weight. My fat butt was causing them to move cautiously down the steps, probably delaying emergency treatment that could save Laurie’s and my life.

  When they pushed the stretcher into the ambulance, I saw Laurie. She was nestled in a see-through plastic crib, much like the one she’d been in at the hospital only a few short weeks ago when she was born. The EMTs had wrapped her in the blanket I had used to shield myself when I nursed her and she seemed content.

  I wanted desperately to hold her, but I was strapped down into mobile mode. The ambulance lurched forward. One of the EMTs remained in the back with us. He hovered over Laurie and smiled. “Her color looks good. Her heart rate is steady. I think she’s going to be fine.”

  His comments settled my nerves a bit, but I still felt tears spilling out of my eyes. The ride to the hospital was short, and somehow the fact that the driver hadn’t put the sirens on did much to calm me.

  We couldn’t be in such bad shape if they didn’t use the sirens, could we?

  “Where’s Celia?” I asked.

  “The other team went on ahead of us,” he said.

  When we arrived at the hospital, Laurie was attended to first. A pediatrician conferred with one of the EMTs as they hovered over her crib. Jim suddenly appeared.

  “Jim!” I practically screamed from the stretcher.

  “Honey!” He rushed over to me and embraced me. “What happened? How are you feeling?”

  “Terrible. My stomach is killing me. I got sick, but they’re still going to have my stomach pumped! Celia’s in critical condition. Helene was poisoned—”

  “Shhh. Hold on, honey. I’m having a hard time following. Who is Celia?”

  A nurse appeared at my side. “Mrs. Connolly, I’m going to take you in now.”

  Jim looked panicked. “Wait, I—”

  “Stay with Laurie, please!”

  Jim nodded and looked solemn. Tears streamed down my cheeks.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Emergency

  I was wheeled into another room. A team of doctors and nurses hovered over me. There were at least six people in the room with me.

  A man dressed in scrubs stepped forward, “Mrs. Connolly, I’m Dr. Wong. As you know, we’re going to perform a gastric irrigation. You will experience minor discomfort. But the procedure is brief, after which you’ll be given activated charcoal to absorb any poison that might remain.”

  Good God! Charcoal! They are going to give me charcoal!

  Like briquettes?

  I must have nodded because Dr. Wong said, “Good.”

  “Wait, wait. My baby! Will she have to have charcoal? Irrigation?”

  Dr. Wong blinked at me. “Dr. Monroe is attending to her now. Unless she starts to show severe symptoms, they’ll wait for our findings before they proceed with a treatment plan.”

  Severe symptoms. What have I done!

  A woman leaned over and touched my shoulder. “Kate, I’m Nancy. I’ll be assisting Dr. Wong. Try to relax and turn over onto your left side. We’ll be inserting this tube through your mouth, into the esophagus, and down to your stomach.”

  Think happy thoughts. Beach thoughts. Don’t focus on the tube. I’m on the beach. The water is lapping against the sand. The air is refreshing. No. Not cold! Hot, it’s hot. I am on the beach in Hawaii. Don’t think about the tube.

  The nurse sprayed a numbing agent into my mouth and down my throat. Even though it smelled like spearmint, it tasted like tin. She inserted the tube into my mouth and I experienced the most horrendous feeling as she shoved it down my throat. Like when a long noodle gets stuck in your throat and you don’t know if you need to swallow or try and hack it out.

  My gag reflex kicked into high gear and I felt like I was somewhere between puking and suffocating.

  This was worse than labor!

  Nancy leaned in close. “You are doing great. Dr. Wong is starting the irrigation now. This will only take about ten minutes.”

  Ten minutes! Oh God! I don’t have enough beach thoughts for ten minutes.

  Think healthy thoughts. Healthy me. Healthy Laurie. Everyone healthy, fine, pink, happy. There. At least one minute must have gone by. Right? Only nine left.

  Dr. Wong semigrunted.

  What did that mean?

  He watched the fluid leaving my stomach. I glanced down, causing myself to go cross-eyed and only glimpsed some rose-colored liquid. The tube was connected to a bag but I couldn’t make anything else out.

  What was he grunting about?

  “Good, Kate. Everything is good,” Nancy soothed.

  Dr. Wong nodded.

  Okay, relax. Maybe only eight minutes left.

  How many seconds is that? Think 8 times 60 is . . . wait, okay 8 times 5 is 40. 40 plus 8 is 48. Good God, what had happened to my math skills? Take 48, add the 0, so 480 seconds. If I count to 480 slowly, the procedure will be done. And actually, it took me so long to do the math that probably one minute has already gone by. Oh . . . what is 7 times 60?

  Nancy rubbed my arm. I tried to get back into my beach reverie, but Dr. Wong was up and moving around distracting me.

  I had to swallow but with a tube in my throat, how was I supposed to do that?

  Quick! Think about something else!

  How many more seconds?

  I watched Dr. Wong open a package and fiddle with the bag that was connected to the tube in my mouth.

  Nancy squeezed my elbow. “We’re just completing the rinse and are preparing for the charcoal. More than halfway through now, honey. You’re doing fine.”

  Dr. Wong handed the bag to another physician, who was focused on a monitor. He took the bag and promptly left the room.

  I imagined them examining the contents for the poison in order to figure out how to treat Laurie.

  Was she going to have to have this awful tube inserted?

  The thought of Laurie threw me into overdrive and tears streamed down my face.


  “Calm down, honey. We’re almost through here. You’re going to be fine.” Nancy patted my arm.

  Trying to suppress the sobs was making my breathing speed up. But breathing fast with a tube down your throat is really difficult so I willed myself to stop panicking.

  Laurie was with a doctor and Jim. Surely they were taking good care of her.

  Dr. Wong prepared a syringe.

  “We’re going to take a small sample of blood to send to the lab,” Nancy said as she wrapped a rubber tie around my arm.

  I wanted to nod my understanding, but didn’t want to move the tube.

  Screw it.

  They were going to take my blood whether I nodded or not.

  I hardly felt the pinprick of the needle over the tube, which seemed to be growing inside my throat. Weren’t ten minutes up yet?

  After they drew the blood, Dr. Wong examined the package attached to the tube and nodded to Nancy.

  She leaned over and said, “Okay, Kate, the procedure is complete. I’m going to remove the tube now. You’ll feel a little discomfort as I do this.”

  “A little,” of course, turned out to be an understatement. It felt like she was ripping out my throat. What followed was a severe case of dry heaves.

  Nancy rubbed my shoulder. “Yes, yes. This is normal. Take your time.”

  I recovered a bit and lay down on my back. It had been the worst experience of my life, bar none.

  Please, God, don’t let Laurie have to have her stomach pumped!

  Dr. Wong leaned into me. “Kate, the contents of your stomach and your blood will be analyzed in the lab. We’ll be monitoring you for symptoms. I need you to try and rest as much as possible.”

  I nodded.

  I guessed that they would compare my results to Celia’s and Helene’s in order to figure out a treatment for Laurie. With the procedure over, I had nowhere to turn my thoughts except to Laurie.

  An image of her, with all sorts of tubes attached to her tiny body, popped into my head. This image charged me with so much emotion that my heart felt like it was collapsing onto itself and suffocating me.

  I prayed and wept.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Faux Pas

  I awoke with a start. Jim was sitting on the end of the bed, holding my feet in his lap. Suddenly the events of the previous hours flooded my mind. I was in the recovery room at the hospital, everything looking foreign and sparse. I bolted upright.

  “Laurie! Where is she? How is—” A sob choked off the rest of my words.

  Jim rubbed my feet. “Laurie is fine. She’s being spoiled rotten over in the pediatric unit. The nurses keep passing her around and cooing at her. She’s loving it.”

  I swallowed hard. My throat was extremely sore and dry from the procedure and crying made it feel worse, but I couldn’t help myself. Tears streamed down my cheeks as relief overwhelmed me. “She’s okay? What did they do? Did they pump her stomach?”

  “No. They didn’t have to do anything to her. She was perfectly fine,” Jim soothed.

  “I . . . I . . . didn’t poison her through my milk?” I sobbed.

  Jim squeezed my feet. “The doctor doesn’t think you were poisoned.”

  I stared at him.

  Not poisoned?

  This was good. This was very good. Laurie hadn’t had to be treated. I had not been poisoned!

  Why didn’t I feel elated?

  Because I’d had my stomach pumped for NOTHING! “What about my symptoms?” I asked.

  “What symptoms, honey?”

  “I threw up. My tongue was getting thick. It was hard to breathe. I was sick.”

  “Honey, those weren’t symptoms of poisoning. The doctor says most likely you were experiencing a panic attack.”

  I shook my head. “No. No. I was sick. I threw up in the toilet at Bruce’s condo. What if I flushed the evidence?”

  “They’re going to run the test anyway, but they probably won’t have results for a week or so. The doc said you didn’t have the same stuff going as Celia. He’s pretty sure your results are going to be negative.”

  “But if they don’t know for sure, what about Laurie?”

  “She never showed any signs of distress. No shallow breathing, drowsiness, slowed heart rate, and whatever all else. The doctor rattled off so many symptoms that I lost track. Point being, she didn’t have any of them.”

  Thank God for all the doctors and nurses, going to medical school, studying so hard, and sacrificing so much to be able to help us!

  “How is Celia?” I asked.

  “She’s in stable condition. She was almost unconscious by the time they got her here. So they think her results are going to show something. But anyway, they were able to pump her stomach in time and expect a full recovery.” Jim’s expression was grave. “You saved her life.”

  We sat in silence for a moment.

  “My throat is killing me,” I said.

  Jim handed me a cup of water with a straw from the bedside table. I sipped the water and felt it burn going down. Swallowing made the pain worse.

  We sat in silence for a moment then tears sprang to my eyes again. “When can I see Laurie? Is she really okay?”

  Jim got up from the end of the bed and moved toward me. He wrapped his arms around me. “She’s really okay. They didn’t need to pump her tummy or even give her any medication. They watched all her vital signs for over six hours.”

  I started to wipe my tears but gave up and buried my face in Jim’s chest and bawled.

  Jim stroked my hair and rocked me back and forth. “Everything is fine, honey. I think you’re a little stressed out. But you’re fine. Laurie’s fine. Everybody’s fine.”

  I looked up from Jim’s chest into his eyes and nodded.

  “I love you, honey. Just close your eyes and rest for a while. They said you’ll probably be released as soon as Dr. Wong gives you a final evaluation. I’m going to check on Laurie and see when they will release her.” He rose from the hospital bed.

  “Wait! I want to go with you. I have to see Petunia.” I swung my legs out of the bed, feeling a chill through the thin hospital gown.

  “No, honey. You need to stay put and wait for the doctor.” His brow creased with concern. “Are you hungry? Should I order a pizza or something. I mean, your stomach’s empty, right?”

  I groaned. The thought of eating made my throat constrict. I couldn’t imagine swallowing anything solid for a hundred years.

  “Soup, probably.”

  Jim nodded and pulled open the room door. “Course, yeah, right. Soup is good food.” He offered me a smile. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  He shut the door behind him.

  I sat back on the bed, ignoring the chill I felt. I had needlessly put Laurie and myself in harm’s way. The guilt I felt was debilitating. Freezing in the hospital gown would be punishment for my crimes.

  And yet . . .

  Had I really put Laurie and me in danger? Or was it only a perceived danger?

  After all, I hadn’t been poisoned. I had only freaked out a bit. Had a “panic attack.”

  Big deal. Didn’t all new moms have panic attacks at one point or another?

  I mean, what was the difference in panicking to see if Laurie was still breathing in her sleep and thinking I’d been poisoned by a murderer?

  I buried my head in my hands. Good Lord, maybe I really was losing my mind.

  My thoughts turned to Celia. She would recover.

  I had saved her life.

  See. I did have value. Even if I was going crazy. Celia was alive today because of me.

  Had Bruce killed Helene?

  What did this mean about Alan? Was Margaret really in any danger? Had she been imagining Alan’s suspicious behavior?

  A nurse peeked in. “Mrs. Connolly, Dr. Wong will be another fifteen to twenty minutes.”

  “Okay, thank you. Can I get dressed?”

  “Not yet. He’ll need to examine you again before discharge. Do you need anything? More water?”

  “No. Can you tell me what room Celia . . . oh, I don’t remember her last na
me . . .”

  “Martinez?” the nurse asked.

  Martinez? Was that it?

  “The woman who was brought in just before you?” the nurse asked.

  I nodded.

  “She’s in Room 1712. Right around the corner.” She left the room.

  I spotted a pair of slipper socks on the bedside table and ripped open the plastic package. After putting them on, I left the room to locate Celia. I knocked at her door.

  “Come in,” she called.

  She was sitting in bed propped up with a bunch of pillows. She was pale but looked astonishingly well rested. She seemed startled to see me.

  “Kate! What are you doing here?”

  I approached the bed. “I came to see how you were recovering.”

  “Why are you in a hospital gown?”

  She offered me the only chair in the small room. I sat and recounted the events that had transpired after she had lost consciousness the best I could. When I finished, my throat was sore and raw. I imagined hers would still be also. I pushed the bedside cart/table, which had a pitcher of water and a cup with a straw on it, toward Celia. Next to the water was a business card from SFPD. I couldn’t make out the name. Celia watched me and nodded.

  “Thank you,” she said, reaching for the cup.

  “How are you feeling?” I asked.

  “As good as can be expected.” She took a sip of water. “Oooh. It hurts to swallow!”

  “I know.”

  She put the cup down. “I’m happy to be alive, though.” “Have you talked to the police?” I asked.

  “They were here earlier.” She indicated the card that was on the table.

  I took the opportunity to take a closer look. Officer McNearny. Homicide.

  Celia’s lips twisted to the right, her beautiful face becoming a hard mask. “I can’t believe Bruce tried to kill me. I would have never thought him capable of it. If you hadn’t called 9-1-1, Kate . . .” She faltered. “I can’t even go there.”

  But actually I hadn’t called 9-1-1. Bruce had . . .

  I recalled the hushed conversation between Bruce and Celia. I had thought something romantic could or had developed between them, but then he mentioned the pending adoption. His trying to kill her made no sense, unless he thought she knew something.