Rockabye Murder Page 2

  * * *

  “Mrs. Connolly?”

  I surveyed the fiery-haired man standing on my doorstep. He had thick glasses, a bulbous nose, and so much energy that he couldn’t seem to keep his hands still. I glanced toward the street. A pickup truck bearing the name Jo-Jo’s Jobs was parked at the curb, but this couldn’t possibly be the contractor, could it?

  “Yes, I’m Kate Connolly,” I said, trying to hide my amusement. “And you are?”

  His head bobbed like a pigeon, and he grabbed my hand and shook it. “Jo-Jo Jones,” he exclaimed in a strong Irish brogue. “I’m here to do the garage renovation job.”

  “Of course,” I said, drawing back my hand and glancing at my watch. He was an hour early, and Jim wasn’t home yet. But better early than late, right? At least I hadn’t tried to bake anything today. I beckoned him inside. “Come on in.”

  He stayed on the porch and waved a sheaf of papers at me with frenetic energy. “I got muddy boots, lassie. Don’t wanna track it in yer house. Got yer plans here and just need to take a look around, make sure everything’s in order here to start. So, maybe if you’d just open up the garage door, I could go in and outta there?”

  “Oh, sure! I’ll do that,” I said. I closed the door and opened up the garage for him. As the door began to roll up, I called, “Just let me know if you need anything!”

  Jo-Jo had as much energy as my mom. Well. Paula did say he was eccentric.

  And also, that he did great work at half the cost of the big general contracting companies in the area.

  I could live with eccentric.

  At a little cry from Laurie’s room, I padded down the hall and into her ducky-themed nursery, accented with pink and mint green, and scooped her out of her crib.

  “Hello, little duck,” I whispered, smacking a big kiss on her cheek. “How is my favorite girl?”

  A meticulously clean Whiskers rubbed up against my legs. The evening before, I’d bathed all the flour and crusted egg off Whiskers while my mom vacuumed the living room and finished the brownies. They’d tasted more like cookies than brownies, but they were still delicious if I did say so myself.

  Hard to go wrong with chocolate and sugar.

  In the living room, I set Laurie down next to the coffee table and sat beside her. “Guess what, peanut? You get to see Mr. Kenny today while Mama and Daddy and Grandma go to dance class!”

  Dr. Greene had assured me that dancing was a perfectly good prenatal exercise, as long as I avoided full-on acrobatics. I assured her that I had no intention of letting Jim, or anyone, toss me into the air, and so dance lessons were on—starting tonight.

  And so was a little sleuthing.

  Laurie’s squeal interrupted my reverie. She reached up and gripped the edge of the coffee table as I made a silly face at her. “That’s right,” I said. “You’re going to have a lot of fun with Mr. Kenny!”

  My phone buzzed, and I opened a text from Paula.

  Let’s do it!! I’m between clients and need to do something besides laundry and changing diapers, stat.

  I pumped my fist. Paula’s savvy interior design skills would be a huge help with the fundraiser, and I wanted an excuse to spend more time with her.

  Tell me about it, I typed back. You would not believe the mess Laurie and Whiskers made yesterday.

  The phone buzzed with her reply: Wait till there’s 5 of them.

  My nose scrunched, and I typed back. 5?

  L, twin 1, twin 2, cat, Jim, she replied.

  I snorted and searched my mind for a witty reply, then glanced at Laurie and gasped.

  My baby was standing, clinging to the edge of the coffee table. She’d pulled herself to her feet.

  My. Baby. Had. Pulled. Herself. To. Her Feet.

  I dropped the phone and squealed, “Good job, peanut!”

  Laurie fell back onto her bottom, looking almost affronted, like she couldn’t figure out how she’d ended up back where she’d started.

  “You did so good!” I picked up my phone and opened the camera app in case she did it again. “You stood up!”

  Laurie, Prodigy Baby Extraordinaire and no doubt future partner in Connolly and Connolly Private Investigators, gurgled and clapped.

  A pounding at the basement door which separated our house and garage interrupted my celebration. Must be Jo-Jo. I grabbed the $10,000 cashier’s check off the counter.

  Farewell, life savings.

  I opened the door to the garage to find Jo-Jo jumping up and down. “Mrs. Connolly!” he yelled in that thick Irish brogue. “It’s grand!”

  “What’s grand?” I asked slowly.

  “The project!”

  He paced the garage back and forth, his flaming hair taking on a life of its own, as if it too, thought our garage-turned-bedroom reno was grand.

  “I’m glad you think so,” I said, crossing my arms and taking a step into the garage, then closing the door behind me so Whiskers couldn’t make a mad dash for the great outdoors. Eccentric, indeed.

  No, he didn’t have as much energy as my mom—he had more energy than my mom. Paula will certainly never hear the end of this.

  “Everything’s set to begin.” He held his arms up like a referee declaring a 49ers touchdown.

  “No trouble with the plans, then? You’ll be able to do it for the price you quoted?”

  “No trouble at all! It’ll be under budget! Gonna be a grand addition, lassie. I’ll begin the work soon!”

  “Wonderful!” I held out the cashier’s check. “I guess I owe you this, then.”

  He took the check from me and stuffed it into his breast pocket. “There’s just one more thing, lassie. But not to worry.” His voice hesitated but his feet didn’t. He kept up his rapid pacing. It was making me dizzy. “I’m not sure exactly what day I’ll be set to start. I ’ave to catch a flight back to Dublin tomorrow to get me visa straightened right out.”

  I tried to process what he’d just said. “You’re leaving the country tomo—”

  He ran into a pile of cardboard boxes and sent half of them tumbling to the floor, stirring up a layer of dust. My throat tickled, and I sneezed.

  When I opened my eyes again, he was already out the garage and in my driveway, waving back at me. “We’ll get ya started as soon as I’m back, lassie!”

  He practically waltzed to his truck, clambered into the cab, and drove off, his tires screeching. I stared after him, my brain still trying to catch up with that one unexpected, terrifying detail.

  Wait! What?

  What did getting his visa straightened out entail? What if they didn’t let him back in the country, and I’d just sent him away with a cashier’s check for ten thousand dollars? My throat felt tight. But he’d already driven away. I couldn’t change it now.

  I could only hope that Paula hadn’t steered us wrong and that Jo-Jo wasn’t running off with our deposit.

  I tiptoed into the living room to check on Laurie. She was chewing contentedly on the foot of a stuffed duck. All was well in babyland. I collapsed onto the couch and rested a hand on my midsection.

  We were going to think positively about this.

  Jo-Jo would come back. And my biggest problem was going to be dealing with all that frenzied energy. If Jo-Jo and Mom worked together, I was pretty sure they could singlehandedly power the sun.

  I’m an extrovert, but this might feel like a very long renovation. “It’ll be worth it for you two,” I murmured to the twins, still cradling my bump. “We’ll have a beautiful nursery.”

  Snagging my phone, I fired off one more text to Paula: He’s going back to Ireland tomorrow?

  Kenny arrived just as I finished putting on my mascara.

  “Kate, can I order—”

  “Pizza money is on the counter,” I said with a grin. Kenny, who’d just turned eighteen, lived to raid our fridge and to devour any pizza we would buy him. His folks still hadn’t given up trying to make him a vegan.

  He flipped his pink hair—the tips used to be purple b
ut now they were blue— and gave me two thumbs up before scooping up Laurie.

  I stared at his hair. The tips were blue on one side, but on the other . . . “Did you shave half your head?”

  He groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

  Blinking a few times, I asked, “Why did you shave half your head? I mean, it looks great—edgy and artistic, and all that. But you don’t seem happy about it.”

  “I got a bird stuck in it,” he mumbled.

  “You got a what stuck in it?”

  He sat down with Laurie and started to play peek-a-boo. “So, I took Siena—you know, the one with the nose ring—on a date to the zoo.”

  Ah, yes, Kenny had been quite enthusiastic about Nose Ring, as I’d taken to calling her in my head. He’d met her a couple of weeks ago while busking with his tuba at Fisherman’s Wharf.

  He covered his eyes. “We went into the aviary. Peekaboo!” He opened his hands and peeked out at Laurie.

  “Oh no.” I grimaced.

  “Oh yes.” He covered his eyes again. “Anyway, we were walking through the South American Rainforest Aviary exhibit, and there was this obnoxious fly buzzing around me. I don’t know if it thought my hair was a pink fruit or a flower or what. And this green jay absolutely divebombed the heck out of that fly.”

  I tried not to laugh. “That’s horrible.”

  “Darn bird collided with me and got its claws all tangled in my hair. I couldn’t get it out, Siena couldn’t get it out, the zookeeper chick couldn’t get it out, zookeeper chick’s manager couldn’t get it out.” He was still covering his eyes, and Laurie reached up and pulled his hand off his face. “The only way to free the bird without hurting it was to cut it out of my hair. So, instead of cutting all my hair short to match or walking around with a weird mangled spot, I just shaved that side.”

  “Did you get another date out of it, at least?” I asked sympathetically, pursing my lips to force myself to maintain a serious expression.

  “Eh, there wasn’t really that X-factor, you know? Even before the bird incident. I don’t think either of us was really feeling it. But I did get zookeeper chick’s phone number.”

  Jim emerged from the bedroom, looking handsome in his button-up and slacks. I glanced down at my jeans and plain blue maternity blouse and wondered if I was underdressed.

  “Can you teach Laurie how to play the tuba tonight?” Jim asked. “Maybe get her a spot playing for the symphony?”

  “Sure thing,” Kenny said with a smirk. “We’ll audition together next month.”

  “Enjoy the pizza!” I said, slinging my purse over my shoulder. “Try to leave me a slice. I’m eating for three.”

  “No promises. Enjoy the dance class!”

  “Wish me luck—I hear that some weird things have been happening at the studio, and I’m hoping I can solve the mystery for them.”

  “Let me know if I can help you track down the bad guy,” called Kenny. “Those stories always play well with girls.” He carried Laurie over to that awful chipmunk bus and said, “Should we work on your alphabet, Miss L?”

  It was only a twelve-minute drive to Tre Fratelli Danzanti, which was nestled in the Mission District right between a Mexican food restaurant and another dance studio. We lucked into finding a parking spot right away—pulling up just as someone else was leaving.

  “Excellent,” I said to Jim as I climbed out of the car. “That’ll give us some time to talk to Dave and his brothers before class.”

  Mom had texted to say she and Galigani weren’t coming tonight, so it would be a private lesson for Jim and me.

  Jim slid his credit card into the parking meter, then nudged me in the ribs and looped my arm through his. “Just in case they’re in need of San Francisco’s finest private investigator?”

  I smiled innocently. “Well, I can’t wait to hear more about the weird things happening at the studio and I couldn’t very well turn down a friend in need.”

  The lobby of the dance studio was clean but nondescript, with a simple oak desk and computer, plus a few chairs. The only thing that stood out was the quote stenciled on the wall behind the desk: Dance first. Think later. It’s the natural order. -Samuel Beckett (sort of)

  I pointed at it, and Jim snorted. “Typical Dave.”

  A woman in her late twenties came around the corner, her floral minidress swishing over a pair of pink leggings. “Oh!” she cried, her hand flying to the flower in her curly black hair. “You must be Jim and Kate!”

  “Yes,” I said. “Are you our dance teacher?”

  She crossed to us and took both my hands in hers. “I’m Petunia Petal, Dave’s girlfriend. He’s told me so much about you—I recognized you from your pictures.”

  I tried my hardest to keep my expression neutral, but she must have seen a look of amusement flash across my face, because she laughed and added in a conspiratorial whisper, “Well, really I’m Mary Williams, but don’t tell anyone. I go by Petunia Petal with everyone in the dance world. I’m breaking into doing it professionally—dancing, not just teaching—and it’s easier to be memorable with a flashy stage name. There are too many Mary Williamses in the world for anyone to find me by Googling.”

  “Great to meet you, Petunia,” said Jim.

  Just then, Dave came barreling toward us from the back. “Jim! Kate!”

  Dave, the oldest of the Tre Fratelli Danzanti - three dancing brothers -was tall, dark and Italian, a fine handsome catch considering that alone, but the fact he could dance would make any girl swoon. He hugged Jim, thumping him on the back.

  “Been too long,” said Jim.

  “It has been.” Dave slung his arm around Petunia. “Hon, this is my best friend Jim and his wife, Kate. Jim and Kate, meet . . . Petunia?” He glanced at her with a questioning expression.

  “Embarrassing to forget your girlfriend’s name,” I quipped.

  He blushed. “Well, it’s just—”

  “She told us,” I said warmly. “Mary sometimes, but Petunia at the studio.”

  Dave gave us a smile and a wink. “In that case, this is my girlfriend Petunia. She dances professionally and also teaches classes here.” He turned to Petunia. “Jim’s an ad guru, and Kate manages an architectural firm office.”

  “Not anymore!” I shook my head. “I left the soul-sucking corporate world behind when Laurie was born.”

  “Good for you,” said Petunia. “Are you staying at home with her, then?”

  “Kate’s the best private investigator in town.” Jim rested his hands on my shoulders. “She’s been solving homicides left and right.”

  Dave’s jaw dropped. “Whoa, that’s awesome!”

  My chest swelled with pride.

  We chatted about my most recent case for a few minutes, and just when I was hoping they’d talk about the mysterious incidents at the studio, Dave changed the subject.

  “Thanks for signing up for the lesson, by the way,” he said, shifting uncomfortably. “When we talked, I wasn’t trying to get you to spend money propping us up—”

  No need for him to feel uncomfortable. “I jumped at the opportunity,” I interjected. “I’d been meaning to sign up for an exercise class, and this sounded like fun.”

  Dave visibly relaxed.

  “Tell us about this fundraiser,” said Jim. “Is the studio in trouble?”

  “Oh, it’s not for the studio,” said Dave, beckoning us toward the hall. We followed him to a brightly lit room with a gleaming wooden dance floor and a wall of mirrors. A divider on one side partitioned it off from the next room over. “I mean, the studio makes a profit, but not enough of a profit to pay us owners much. That’s fine for me and Eddie, but Jack, well . . .”

  Petunia’s face softened, and she whispered, “Jack and Sharon have been trying to have a baby for five years.”

  Instinctively, I cradled my baby bump. “Sharon’s a kindergarten teacher, isn’t she?”

  “First grade,” said Dave, his lips set in a grim line. “She’s desperate for a baby, and .
. . I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t mind me telling you this—their insurance doesn’t cover any fertility treatments, and they can’t afford them on her salary and his earnings from the studio.”

  “Oh,” I whispered. My heart went out to Sharon. She’d always seemed so warm and maternal.

  “Anyway.” Dave scuffed a toe on the gleaming wooden floor. “They’ve scrimped and saved, and our folks pitched in, but they’re still about $3000 short. We’re trying to raise some money to give Jack a $3000 bonus, and we figured we’d do a 1950s swing dance. Between the cover charge, some money we can make from the cash bar, and the extra lessons people will sign up for . . .”

  “Can we help?” I asked. “My friend Paula—you remember Paula, right? She was my maid of honor. She’s incredible at interior design. And Jim can do posters and marketing! And I can help where you need me.”

  Like figuring out about those weird things happening at the studio, I thought.

  Dave’s face lit up, and he glanced at Jim. “That’d be incredible. Do you have time to design posters for us? I know you’re working with some big-time clients these days, and I’d hate to impose.”

  “I absolutely have time,” Jim said firmly. He glanced at his watch. “Hey, there’s still five minutes before the lesson is scheduled to start. Let’s get all the information together, and I’ll work up a draft poster for you tomorrow.”

  Dave thumped him on the back. “You’re a good man. I have a whole plan on the computer. Let’s go print it out.”

  The guys left for the lobby, leaving Petunia and me on the dance floor. “Oh, I’m so glad they gave us a moment,” said Petunia in another one of her conspiratorial whispers. “I’ve been dying to ask you a question.”

  Here we go. Why yes, I’d be happy to investigate for you. No charge. Thank you for asking.

  She half-covered her mouth to hide her sheepish grin. “You’ve known Dave for years. Do you have any ideas on how I can get him to propose?”

  Chapter 3

  Petunia wants to marry Dave?

  “Oh,” I said, momentarily confused. “How long have you been dating?”