Bundle of Trouble mim-1 Page 5

His face creased with concern. “Was everything all right?”

  I smiled. “Yes.”

  He seemed unconvinced. “May I tell him your name?”

  “Kate Connolly.”

  His eyes widened, then his face flushed again. “One minute.”

  I watched as he hurried through swinging doors. Why was he so flustered?

  I pulled Laurie out of her stroller. Still sleeping? I gently rubbed her face. She twitched her feet. Good. Still breathing.

  After several minutes, José reappeared, followed by a disarmingly handsome man. He was about five-foot-ten, with black hair. His eyes were so blue I wondered if he was wearing colored contacts. He was sharply dressed in slacks and a blue button-down shirt, accented by a burgundy tie. The only thing that contradicted his elegant style was a five o’clock shadow. Which, while some consider in fashion, has always struck me as unkempt.

  Maybe he had a rough night?

  He sauntered over to me and casually rested both hands on the table. “Rich Hanlen. May I help you, Ma’am?”

  Ma’am, was it? I sighed. I guess when you have a baby, no one calls you “Miss” anymore.

  “Is George Connolly working today?”

  He straightened, folding his arms across his chest. “George? I don’t believe-”

  “Michelle Avery told me he worked here.”

  He scratched the stubble on his chin, then glanced around the restaurant. “Why don’t you come back to my office?”

  I bundled Laurie into her stroller, not bothering with any of the straps as the manager was already through the restaurant and at the kitchen door. I maneuvered the stroller toward him, the front wheel catching on a chair and further delaying me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Rich take a deep breath. I struggled to free the wheel.

  Why did I feel rushed? Couldn’t he wait a second for a woman with a baby?

  I caught up to him then followed him through the kitchen doors and down a narrow hallway to a dark, cramped room. To call the space an office was a joke. My human filing cabinet cubicle was larger than this.

  “Is this your baby?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” I answered.

  Why else would I be lugging an infant around?

  Up close, the colored lenses made his eyes seem like they were floating. Eerie.

  He reached out to touch Laurie. “She’s tiny.”

  I moved her stroller before his hand could reach her cheek. His eyes locked on mine. We stared at each other for a moment, sizing each other up.

  No way was Mr. Creepy touching my baby.

  He shifted subtly, understanding. Don’t mess with baby cub when Mama Lion’s around.

  “How old is she?”

  “Almost two weeks.”

  He looked me up and down. “You look pretty good for a chick that just popped out a baby.”

  What happened to “ma’am”? Maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea to follow this guy into a dark room. Suddenly, it was difficult to breathe.

  He circled around behind me. “So, you know Michelle?”

  Was he checking out my ass?

  I shifted, forcing him to face me. He smirked.

  “I know Michelle.” I said, “You know George?”

  He nodded, clearly enjoying himself.

  I imagined him asking the female staff “to his office,” then copping a feel.

  Hoping to intimidate him a little, I pulled a notebook from the diaper bag that was now serving double-duty as my purse.

  Oops. No pen.

  I eyed the pencil cup on his desk.

  If I leaned in to grab one, I’d give him a shot of my milk-engorged cleavage. I flipped opened my notebook and hoped he wouldn’t notice that I wasn’t actually writing anything down.

  In my most official voice I said, “I need to reach George. Can you tell me when he’s scheduled to come in?”

  He leered. “I haven’t seen him in a while. I don’t know what Michelle told you, but he’s not on any schedule or anything.”

  “What does he do here?”

  “This and that.”

  Why all the secrecy about George?

  “How long have you been managing the restaurant?”

  He scratched at his newly forming beard. “ ’Bout three months.”

  “Around June?” I asked, for clarification.

  “That’s right.”

  “June fifteenth or sixteenth, would you say?”

  “What are you getting at?”

  “You started managing the restaurant after Brad’s. . disappearance? I take it you knew Brad Avery.”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “Sure. Yeah. ’Course I knew Brad. He and I were good buddies.”

  “Didn’t you think it was odd, his vanishing like that?”

  He moved toward the desk and sat on the edge, forcing me to step back. I bumped into the wall behind me and jarred Laurie’s stroller. She wailed and kicked, protesting being awakened.

  I jiggled the stroller to soothe her and pressed backward as far away from Mr. Sleazy as I could. I felt the coolness of the wall through Jim’s shirt. I resisted the urge to shiver.

  He licked his lips and smiled a crooked little smile. “You a cop?”

  “No.”

  He squinted. “What’s with all the questions, then?”

  “I just think that you’d have wondered when suddenly your boss, your good buddy, didn’t show up.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “Michelle told me they’d had a fight, that he was leaving her. When he didn’t come to work, it was obvious that he’d left her. So she and Mrs. A asked me to run things for her.”

  “Mrs. A?”

  “Brad’s mother. She’s part owner,” he clarified.

  “Michelle told me Brad was having an affair.”

  “Don’t know nothing ’bout that.”

  Didn’t he? Mr. Rico Suave here, with the jet black hair and colored contacts. Mr. Leery. Mr. Good Buddy of the deceased.

  “Do you know who might?” I pressed.

  He unfolded his arms and stood up, leaning in a little too close to me. “Might what?”

  “Never mind,” I mumbled. It was none of my business anyway.

  I closed my notebook and bent over to shove it into the diaper bag. The notebook caught on a little rag doll I’d packed for Laurie. I had to do a quick rearrange and cram everything in. When I straightened, my heart jumped into my throat.

  He had Laurie in his arms.

  He gazed down at her. “She’s really beautiful. Fragile, huh?”

  “Yes,” I whispered, swallowing the lump in my throat.

  “I love babies,” he said.

  Why hadn’t I strapped her in!

  I forced myself to breathe.

  And think.

  I reached past him and pulled the office door open. Light flooded into the room, causing Laurie to stir and wail again.

  “Here,” he said, handing Laurie back to me.

  Such relief washed over me that my knees felt weak. I snatched Laurie from him, barely able to contain myself. I pushed her stroller into the hallway muttering, “Jerk.”

  The office door clicked closed behind me. But not soon enough that I didn’t hear his snicker.

  Laurie wailed again and I stopped short of the swinging kitchen doors to soothe her. She kicked her feet up at me. One foot with Mom’s booty on, the other bare.

  I did a quick check underneath her, then down the hallway. No booty.

  Probably left behind in the office.

  Forget it. No way was I going back in there for a stupid booty.

  Mom will kill me.

  Maybe I could knock and not go inside. I pulled Laurie’s stroller backward down the hallway toward his office. I heard his voice through the door. “. . asking a bunch of questions ’bout Brad.”

  There was silence. I froze.

  Then he said, “No way. Why would I tell her ’bout the fight?”

  He paused again. I held my breath.

  Then I heard him say,
“Haven’t seen George since last week, but he’ll be here tomorrow for the delivery.”

  I abandoned the booty and wheeled the stroller out of the restaurant. I hustled toward Jim’s car hoping to dodge a parking ticket. Shattered glass littered the street. The driver’s side window was broken.

  Not again.

  I swallowed the panic building in my chest. I glanced up and down the street. Empty.

  Thank God. What would I have done anyway? Beat the burglar with my diaper bag?

  I dialed Jim. Voice mail. I dialed Michelle. Voice mail. Why was no one around when you needed them?

  A vehicle pulled in front of Jim’s car. A stocky balding man stepped out. He noted the glass on the street, then moved toward me. He reached into his pocket and produced a badge reading INSPECTOR PATRICK MCNEARNY. “Miss, I’m with SFPD. This your car?”

  Ah. Miss again!

  “Yeah.”

  “Anything taken?”

  “No. I. . uh. . I haven’t checked.”

  I glanced over my shoulder into Jim’s car. Everything seemed to be in order. I leaned over the driver’s seat and pulled open the glove box. Papers were crumpled, as if someone had rummaged through it.

  “It looks like someone went through this,” I said.

  The officer nodded.

  “My address is on the registration,” I said.

  “They were probably looking for money. I’ll write a report for you. The best I can tell you is to file an insurance claim.” He pulled out a notebook. “Your name?”

  “Kate Connolly.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Connolly?” He frowned, flipped through his book, and read an old entry.

  My heart tightened. Could this officer be looking for George?

  The officer scribbled something. “Is this car registered to you?”

  “My husband, actually. My car. .” I took a breath. “My car’s in the shop.”

  I didn’t have the guts to tell him my car had been broken into outside of Michelle’s house. What if George was behind this? Was he looking for his bags? Would he really break into my car and Jim’s?

  Was I getting paranoid?

  Could it be a coincidence? I’d lived in San Francisco my entire life and had never had my car broken into. Now twice in two days?

  The officer copied information off the registration. “Like I said, I suggest you file an insurance claim.” He handed the registration back to me, his eyes narrowing.

  “Meter’s expired.”

  I watched in silence as he crossed the street and pulled open the door to El Paraiso.

  •CHAPTER SEVEN•

  The Second Week-Crying for Assistance

  I awoke, still groggy, to Laurie’s hunger cries at 3 A.M. I leaned over the bassinet and picked her up. She was soaked all the way through her little jammies.

  I poked Jim. “You’re the night shift, remember?”

  “Yeah,” he murmured.

  “She’s wet. She needs a full costume change.”

  No answer.

  “Jim! Wake up.”

  “Mmmhmm.”

  Laurie wailed. I put her right next to his ear. No movement.

  “How can you sleep through this?”

  Men!

  I walked down the dark hall, to her nursery, bumping into the walls as I went. Somehow it seemed easier to get out of bed and change Laurie myself than try to get Jim up.

  I switched on the light, rousing Laurie and me into wakefulness. She continued to complain throughout the entire diaper and pajama routine.

  I was so exhausted I buttoned her pajamas wrong and had to undo everything, then redo it. I vowed to buy only pajamas with zippers in the future.

  I made my way back to our bedroom, now fully awake, thinking about our cars getting broken into. Could George have done it? I couldn’t imagine George breaking into our cars; besides, how would he even know we had his bags? If not George, then who?

  I recalled the mundane items in the bags. Why would anyone want them? Had I missed something?

  I collapsed into the rocker with Laurie, trying to soothe her into quiet mode.

  Michelle hadn’t returned my call. Maybe I should go over there tomorrow. After all, what else did I have to do all day?

  Sleep?

  Ha.

  I filled the time the best way I could and dialed the only person I could think of that would be up at this ungodly hour, my girlfriend, Paula, in France. Paula and her husband, David, had relocated several months ago. David worked for a top consulting firm. In order to move up in his career, he’d been “asked” to take an assignment in France and relocate his family.

  I jiggled Laurie in my arms and listened to the phone ring. With no sleep, I felt incapable of doing the math on the time difference. I figured it must be sometime in the afternoon. Her voice mail kicked on and I left a sluggish, incoherent message.

  I logged on to the computer and emailed her.

  Tried to call you. Lots to tell, but its 4am here and even though I can’t sleep because Laurie is awake I can’t really type with her in my arms either. Thinking of you. Call or email when you get the chance.

  XOXOXOX.

  I finally successfully placed Laurie in her bassinet and crawled back into bed as the alarm went off at 6 A.M. Every earlier attempt had been fouled by Laurie’s startle reflex; as soon as I set her down, her little arms would shoot straight up as though she were falling.

  Jim jarred awake. “Were you up all night?”

  “Practically.”

  He rubbed my back. “Oh, honey, why didn’t you wake me?”

  “I tried.”

  “You did?”

  My eyelids felt like sandpaper, and my arms and back were sore from rocking Laurie. “Yeah.”

  He stroked my hair. “If she wakes up again tonight, get me up.”

  If she wakes up again?

  “Nite-nite,” I whispered, falling into a fitful sleep.

  The phone woke Laurie and me. I glanced around, surprised to see that Jim had already left for the office. The clock glowed 9 A.M. No wonder. Had I really slept three hours straight? I felt much better. What a difference a little sleep made.

  I grabbed the ringing phone.

  “Where have you been? I called and called yesterday.”

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “What have you done with my granddaughter? I need to see her before she doesn’t recognize me. And I finished her knit cap.”

  Uh-oh.

  “Green?”

  “No. I ran out of that yarn. Orange.”

  I laughed. “Come over. I need to run a couple errands.” After yesterday’s ordeal with Mr. Creepy and the cars being broken into, I didn’t want Laurie in tow. Just in case.

  I made my daily list while waiting for Mom.

  To Do:

  1. Find George.

  2. Ask Michelle if she told George I have his bags.

  3. Learn how to use hideous breast pump.

  4. Catch up on z’s.

  5. Restart diet.

  6. ✓

  7. Send out birth announcements.

  8. Make birth announcements.

  I dug in my closet, searching for something to wear. Fortunately, my bones weren’t as achy as the day before and some of my pregnancy bloat was starting to disappear. I tried on a pair of nonmaternity slacks. They actually fit.

  Except for the waist.

  I found a flowing silk blouse that I could leave un-tucked to hide the fact that the button was held in place with a rubber band. Hey, progress was progress, and I’d do anything not to have to wear maternity pants.

  What did they say about pregnancy weight: nine months up, nine months down? I sighed at my reflection in the mirror and hurriedly put on lipstick.

  I left Laurie with Mom cooing over her and made my way to Michelle’s.

  I parked in front of the house and found myself checking the street for anyone hanging around. No shady characters or car thieves, but since I hadn’t seen anyone before, I didn’
t exactly feel secure.

  I rang Michelle’s doorbell.

  No answer.

  I rang the bell again, puttering around a bit, waiting. There was no chipping paint to pick at, so I traced the outlines of the numbers of her address. About fifteen times.

  I dug out my cell phone and dialed her. It rang and rang; finally her voice mail clicked on.

  Hmm. Maybe she went somewhere? To get groceries?

  Buy herself more wine?

  When I turned to leave, I saw the day’s newspaper was still on the stairs. I peered through the tiny window, made of brick glass, on her front door. It was meant to let light in but keep Peeping Toms out. I couldn’t see a thing inside.

  An uneasy feeling was building inside me. I decided to check around the house and see if I could find any accessible windows. I fought the paranoia flaring up.

  It’s probably nothing, Kate.

  I peeked into the mail slot at the garage. A gold hard-top Mercedes was visible. I went around to the side of the house and tried to reach the dining room’s stained glass windows, but they were too high.

  A heavy planter box was nearby. I dragged it about a foot so I could climb onto it and look through the window. Even on my tiptoes I wasn’t tall enough.

  I retreated to the front of the house and spotted several thick phone books on the curb. When was the phone company going to stop printing those? With everyone searching the yellow pages online, I couldn’t imagine a need for them much longer. But thankfully they hadn’t stopped yet as they might just give me the boost I needed.

  I grabbed the books and placed them on top of the planter box then climbed up holding on to the old window trim, praying it wouldn’t give. I was able to pull myself high enough to peer through the window into the dining room.

  Michelle was sprawled across the floor.

  I rapped sharply on the window. She didn’t move. I swallowed the fear in my throat and rapped again.

  Nothing.

  Maybe she’s fainted. Maybe she’s passed out drunk.

  I started to climb off the phone books and lost my footing. I fell off the planter box, tearing my slacks on a protruding nail.

  I sat dumbfounded on the cement, the back of my right thigh throbbing from the fall.

  Michelle!

  I picked myself up and hobbled to the front of the house and up the steps again. Leaning on the doorbell, I willed Michelle to get up and answer the door.