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  “At least I’m not considered a breastfeeding risk anymore.”

  He laughed. The night before, I’d had a special session with a lactation consultant, and afterward they changed my chart from “poor” to “fair.” Laurie, on the other hand, had been upgraded to “good,” which made me very proud.

  I slipped on my maternity jeans and grumbled at the fact that they still fit. I was hoping they would be so big that they might even slide off. No such luck.

  I started to pack, jamming more items into the bag that was already full. With a little patience and some struggle, I managed to zip it closed.

  I glanced up at Jim. “I brought extra stuff hoping I would be able to wear regular clothes out. But packed maternity stuff, too, just in case.”

  He smiled. “You look lovely, Mommy. Now let’s get out of here.”

  After a few newborn photos of Laurie and hugs with hospital staff, we scrambled into the car. Laurie felt extremely far away from me all the way in the backseat. I rode home twisted around in the front seat, watching her as though she were a fragile egg ready to crack over the slightest bump in the road.

  Mostly we rode in silence. Exhaustion and excitement danced inside me.

  Jim had only been able to take a week off from work. I had six short weeks of maternity leave from the large architectural firm where I was an office manager.

  Now, more than ever, I wondered how I would be able to return to work. Jim and I both needed to work. We lived in one of the most expensive cities in the United States. But how could I leave my peanut for forty-plus hours a week?

  Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a homeless guy. My heart stopped. His red hair vaguely resembled Jim’s. His face was covered with a scraggly beard.

  I whispered, “Is that George?”

  Jim nearly careened off the road, trying to get a good look.

  It wasn’t George.

  The dirty, decrepit-looking homeless guy wasn’t George. I didn’t know whether to be relieved or not.

  <><><>

  Jim called the medical examiner, but was unable to reach anyone. He got Nick Dowling’s voice mail and, at my prodding, left a detailed message about George’s various scars.

  The week went by with no return call.

  Home seemed different now. Everything was special. Laurie’s first home, her first dining room and living room. Her own bedroom, decorated in pink and mint green. Although I kept her bassinet in my room, so she spent her first sleepy week right beside Jim and me.

  Unfortunately, she was sleepy only during the daytime hours and kept Jim and me, well really mostly me, up all night.

  I was panicky about everything. Was she getting enough to eat? Why wouldn’t she sleep at night? Was it good for her to sleep all day? Would she scratch her eyes out with the little nails that grew immediately after I filed them? And most of all, was she still breathing?

  Mom was over every single day to take care of “her girls.” On the day Jim returned to work, I tried desperately to get a little rest. I was barely awake when Mom arrived around 10 A.M., my arms and back achy from holding Laurie all night.

  Mom eyed me up and down. I had on pink flannel pajamas with black French poodles and glow-in-the-dark Eiffel towers. I had worn the same pajamas all week.

  “Kate, you look exhausted.”

  Tears streamed down my face, landing directly on my fluffy blue slippers. “I know.”

  “It’s nothing to cry about,” Mom said, alarmed. “Give me the baby and go get some sleep.”

  “It’s not that,” I whimpered.

  “What it is then?”

  “I love her so much.”

  “I know, dear.”

  I clutched Laurie. “What if I do something wrong?”

  “You’re not going to do anything wrong, honey. You’re going to be a great mom. You are a great mom.”

  Mom hugged Laurie and me.

  I felt better. The logical part of my mind knew that hormones were responsible for these tears, but that didn’t seem to make it any easier.

  “Mom, do you love me as much as I love Laurie?”

  “Yes.”

  Tears welled again in my eyes. “I never knew.”

  “I know.” She stroked my hair. “Go to bed. I’ll watch Laurie.”

  I moved to the bedroom feeling a little giddy over the thought of sleep. My head hit the pillow fast, and although I expected to be asleep immediately, I lay awake. I listened to the sounds in the house. I could hear my mother in the kitchen, doing dishes.

  “Mom,” I called. “You’re supposed to be watching Laurie!”

  “I am watching her.”

  “You’re doing dishes,” I called from my room.

  “She’s asleep.”

  “You have to watch her. Make sure she’s breathing.”

  “Of course she’s breathing.”

  “I can’t sleep unless I know you’re watching her.”

  Mother peeked through the bedroom door. “Okay, Katie, I’ll watch Laurie every minute. Just rest, for God’s sake. You’re turning a little nutty.” She shut the door tightly behind her.

  I tried to will myself to sleep. I couldn’t have been more exhausted, and yet sleep eluded me.

  The phone rang. I picked it up.

  “Mrs. Connolly? This is Nick Dowling from the medical examiner’s office.”

  My blood surged to my toes, leaving me light-headed. “Yes?”

  “Is Mr. Connolly available?”

  “No. He’s at work. Did you get our message? About George’s scars.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I sure did. I’m sorry I didn’t call you back sooner. The victim’s family had to be notified. Now I can confirm that the body we recovered was definitely not George Connolly.”

  Air rushed back into my lungs. “Thank God!”

  Not George! Not George!

  “Will someone be able to pick up Mr. Connolly’s bags? We don’t need them any longer and we haven’t been able to reach him.”

  Maybe a little excursion was what I needed. Nothing too strenuous, just something to get my mind off milk and diapers.

  “I can get them.”

  After I hung up with Dowling, I immediately dialed Jim’s work number. I got his voice mail and left a message with the good news. The body was most definitely not George. What a relief. I felt as if a heavy weight had been lifted from my heart. George and I had never been close, and Jim and George’s relationship was tenuous at best, but an untimely death would have been staggering.

  I made my way to the living room and peeked in on Mom and Laurie. The baby was still sound asleep in her bassinet. “I’m going to make coffee. Want some?”

  Mom barely looked up from her knitting. She was making something out of hideous green yarn. “I thought you were going to get some rest?”

  “I can’t sleep. I talked to the medical examiner. The body they recovered was not George.”

  Mom’s head jerked up and she peered at me over her reading glasses. “Thank goodness. Jim will be very relieved to hear that.” She lowered her gaze to her knitting, and almost on automatic pilot her hands continued their work.

  “What are you knitting?”

  “Booties for Laurie.”

  Great.

  “Green?”

  She glanced up at me. “Well, she has so much pink already. Are you allowed to have coffee when you’re breastfeeding?”

  “A little. Will you watch Laurie, Mom? I need to shower and get dressed.”

  “I am watching Laurie, dear. Are you going somewhere?”

  “I’m going to get George’s bags from the medical examiner’s office. They can’t locate him.”

  Mom tsked. “What do you suppose his bags were doing on that pier?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “I could go for you,” she offered.

  “I’d like to get some fresh air.”

  “Don’t overdo it. You’re up and around much sooner than I was after I had your brother, Andrew.”r />
  Mom prattled on about her childbirth experience as I prepared for my first solo outing since Laurie’s birth.

  <><><>

  I trudged up the steps to the medical examiner’s office and asked the receptionist, a girl with bleached blond hair pulled taut into a ponytail making her look no older than seventeen, if I could speak with Nick Dowling. I braced myself against the reception counter, out of breath and feeling a little light-headed from my walk. I had finally parked about three city blocks away at a thirty-minute meter. The receptionist gave me a sympathetic smile, dazzling me with teeth that must have been as bleached as her hair and indicated the waiting area. I sat, exhausted, as she went to get Dowling,

  My jeans were straining at the seams. I had gambled on wearing a pair of nonmaternity jeans. No elastic waistband! I reasoned that the pair I had selected were stretch jeans and should fit fine. However, they were too binding, making me feel more bloated than ever. When was I supposed to get my figure back?

  I glanced down at my protruding tummy, then worried that milk might leak through my blouse. I realized I hadn’t thought of Laurie in a few minutes, and my mind flashed on her little face. I felt ridiculous in the waiting room.

  What was I doing here?

  I should be home with Laurie.

  I remembered when Jim and I first met and fell in love, five years ago. I would think about him night and day, and when I caught myself thinking of anything other than him, I was surprised by the feeling of guilt that flickered through me. Now, I felt the same way about Laurie.

  Before I could turn around and leave, the door opened and in walked a tall, bearded man.

  “Mrs. Connolly, I’m Nick Dowling,” he said, extending his hand.

  His face was kind, with bright blue eyes that peered at me through dark lashes. I shook his hand.

  “Follow me,” he said.

  For an instant I hesitated, thinking he was going to bring me back into the morgue. I didn’t have the stomach to see any cadavers. Instead, he led me to his office.

  A huge desk covered with scattered papers dominated the room. A phone, hidden under a stack of papers, rang. He ignored it as he crossed the office toward a box in the corner.

  “Can you tell me who the body was?” I asked.

  He scratched his head. “It was in the papers. Didn’t you read about it?”

  “I just had a baby. I haven’t been doing a lot of reading lately.”

  “Congratulations! This business must have come at an inopportune time. I’m glad it wasn’t your brother-in-law,” he said, his kind eyes shining. “Fellow by the name of Brad Avery. We were able to positively identify the body using dental records.” He opened the box and pulled out two duffel bags and a sleeping bag.

  Was it true, then? Was he homeless? Where was he sleeping now?

  Dowling helped me load the duffel bags one on each shoulder and then handed me the smelly sleeping bag.

  I returned to the lobby, looking for the receptionist, hoping she might be able to help me carry George’s things. No receptionist in sight, just an elegantly dressed woman waiting at the desk. She glanced up at me lugging George’s bags.

  I froze. It was Michelle Dupree, an old friend from high school, who had also been my rival in theater. I hadn’t seen her in ages.

  She was dressed in gray gabardine pants with a button-down, pinstriped blouse. For as long as I had known her, she had always been fashionable, even in high school. We went to an all-girls private high school where we had to wear uniforms. Somehow, Michelle always looked better than the rest of us in them. She would wear the navy sweater around her neck, like Jackie O, or she would wear red shoes, which would have looked just plain silly on anyone else, but on her managed to be striking.

  I glanced down at her feet. Some things don’t change. She wore bright purple suede boots. They looked fabulous. Me? Squeezed into jeans and tennis shoes, lugging George’s stinky stuff. Figures, I’d run into the fashion queen.

  “Michelle Dupree?” I asked.

  “Katie Donovan?” She matched my astonished tone. Then she grabbed me by the back of the neck and pulled me to her. George’s bags shuffled to the floor. She squeezed me a little too tightly, almost knocking the wind out of me.

  “It’s Connolly now.” I hugged her back for a second, then tried to extract myself from her viselike grip.

  “Right. Of course. You would be married, of course.” Michelle smiled somewhat sadly and released me. “With a ton of kids, I’m sure.”

  “Actually, only one. She’s all of eight days old.”

  Before Michelle could react, we were interrupted by the receptionist. “Thank you for waiting, Mrs. Avery. I need your signature here.” She handed Michelle paperwork to sign.

  My breath caught. Mrs. Avery? Michelle signed, then handed the forms back to the receptionist who said, “I’ll be right back with your copies.”

  Michelle put her hand to her temple and stared out the windows for a long moment. She took a deep breath. “I found out that . . . my husband . . .” Her mouth twitched. “They recovered his body in the bay.” She covered her eyes with her hands and sobbed.

  “Oh, Michelle!” I put my arms around her. “How awful, awful, awful.”

  “I came here so that they can release his remains to me. Can you imagine, Kate? He was only thirty-five.” Michelle wiped at her eyes with her fingertips.

  I tsked. “So young.”

  It could have been George.

  It could have been any number of people I knew. I felt a sadness pull at me.

  She gripped me, whispering, “Brad was murdered, Kate. He was shot and his body was discarded into the bay.” Her eyes darted back and forth across the lobby. “The police aren’t telling me much. I suppose they always suspect the wife but . . .”

  The receptionist returned. Michelle became silent, composed herself, then took the forms from the girl.

  “Let me help you with your things,” Michelle said, grabbing one of George’s bags and heading toward the door.

  From her tone, I understood she wanted to speak to me in private, and hey, I needed help with the bags, so how could I refuse?

  We walked in silence toward my car. The wind had picked up, and despite the fact we were enjoying Indian summer, the best time of year in San Francisco, it was starting to get chilly.

  I tried to process what Michelle had said. Her husband had been murdered? What were George’s things doing on that pier? Was he connected to the Averys?

  At my car, Michelle dumped George’s bag into the trunk. One bag caught on the trunk latch, toppling over. A few T-shirts spilled out onto the street. Michelle and I bent to pick them up.

  I had to lean on the car in order to get up. Maybe leaving the house hadn’t been such a good idea. I felt like I’d been hit by a bus.

  “What were you doing at the medical examiner’s office?” she asked.

  I stuffed the T-shirts into the bag.

  What could I say? If Michelle was a suspect in her husband’s murder, wouldn’t George be a suspect also?

  I slammed my trunk shut. “My brother-in-law’s bags were found on the pier where—”

  “Brad was found. Yes, the police mentioned something about that,” she said, trying to keep her hair from flying into her face. “They think it’s totally unrelated and I’d like to keep it that way.”

  “What?”

  “The cops think it’s unrelated because George’s bags were found last week and Brad’s been missing since June.” She handed me a silver bracelet. “Here, this fell, too.”

  Too tired to open the trunk again, I stuffed it into my pocket. “Do you know George? Did Brad?”

  Michelle hesitated and looked around. The receptionist from the medical examiner’s office walked toward us, then past us, presumably on her way to lunch since it was almost noon. I needed to get back and feed Laurie, not to mention myself.

  My stomach growled. I placed a hand over it, trying to suppress it. “Do you know where George is? I
s he all right?”

  Michelle’s eyes lingered on the receptionist as she clicked away from us in her fake Jimmy Choos.

  She put a hand on my forearm and pulled me close to her. “Listen, Kate, will you come to my place tomorrow?” Her face looked drawn and she seemed tired. What did my face look like with all of the two hours’ sleep I’d gotten since Laurie was born?

  “I’d love to talk to you . . . catch up and stuff . . . well, and I’d like to talk to you”—Michelle looked up and down the block again—“about Brad.”

  I nodded. “I’ll bring Laurie over so you can meet her.”

  Michelle’s face brightened. “Would you? Oh, Kate.” She grabbed me again in another bear hug. “Oh! That would mean so much. Come over, what? Around noon? I’ll have lunch ready for us.”

  We exchanged addresses and phone numbers and I climbed into my car, trying to make a getaway before she squeezed me again. I didn’t make it. She leaned in through the car window and placed her skinny arms around my neck. “See you tomorrow!”

  ***

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  Diana Orgain is the USA Today Bestselling author of the MATERNAL INSTINCTS MYSTERY SERIES: Bundle of Trouble, Motherhood is Murder, Formula for Murder, Nursing a Grudge and Pampered to Death. She is the co-author of NY Times Bestselling Scrapbooking Mystery Series with Laura Childs. Diana’s FOR LOVE OR MONEY SERIES is now available and as is her ROUNDUP CREW MYSTERY SERIES: Yappy Hour and Trigger Yappy. For a complete listing of books, as well as excerpts and contests, and to connect with Diana:

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