Bundle of Trouble (21 page)

“Sorry, petunia,” I mumbled.

Laurie continued to fuss. I put the car in drive and pulled out. The motion soon settled her down.

I aimlessly headed to Pier 23. No George in sight. Okay, Plan B.

I glanced at my watch as I parked in front of El Paraiso. Not quite lunchtime.

I pulled the baby carrier out of my trunk and put it on, then picked Laurie up out of the car seat and adjusted her inside the carrier. She immediately nestled herself between my breasts and fell asleep.

I walked into the restaurant. It was the lull before the noontime rush. The hostess with stud piercings on her face was sorting menus at her podium. She glanced unenthusiastically at me.

“Hi. Is George Connolly working today?”

She frowned and fingered the stud through her eyebrow. “George Connolly? We don’t have anyone here by that name.”

“Okay. How about the manager, Rich Hanlen?”

“Oh. He’s not in yet. He usually comes in around noon. If it’s important, he’s probably across the street.” She lifted her chin in the general direction of the window.

I looked through glass and saw a bar. “Café du Sur?” I asked.

She’d already gone back to sorting the menus.

 

 

I crossed the street and pulled open the door of Café du Sur. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dim interior. A country song was playing on an old-fashioned jukebox against the wall. The bar was practically deserted, except for the bartender, Rich, and two older men playing dice. They all looked up at me as I came in.

Perfect. If I could talk to Rich here, I wouldn’t have to suffer through another conversation in his dark office, especially with Laurie in tow. There was no way I wanted to risk that again, although I felt Laurie was much safer now nestled next to me in the baby carrier rather than in the stroller.

The bartender moved down the bar toward me. Rich stood and picked up his drink, as a slow look of recognition crossed his face. I couldn’t very well say he was happy to see me.

I managed a weak hello and a wave. He broke away from the other men and met me in the middle of the bar, along with the bartender.

I felt like an idiot. What kind of mother would take a four-week-old baby into a bar?

Rich placed his empty glass on the counter and said, “I’ll have another and whatever the lady would like.”

The bartender nodded and turned to me. “Ma’am?”

I’d have to get used to the “ma’am” thing quickly. It seemed to be happening far too often these days. On the bright side, I could have something to drink here without worrying that the bartender would poison me.

“How about an orange juice?”

The bartender poured my juice and prepared an Irish coffee for Rich in silence. I watched with longing as the bartender piled the whipped cream onto the coffee, but resisted the urge to change my order.

After we were served, the bartender retreated to the end of the bar where the older men were sitting, out of earshot, although still safely in sight.

“What can I do for you?” Rich asked, placing a twenty on the bar to cover our drinks.

“I’m really in a bind. I need to know where George is. I saw him yesterday, he told me he works at El Paraiso, but your hostess says he doesn’t.”

Rich played with his glass. “Oh, she doesn’t know him. If you’re looking for him, why not try his old lady? I mean, the baby’s due anytime, so he won’t be far.”

I felt my heart thumping in my throat. I tried to swallow it down and act casual. My shock must have shown.

He raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t know you were going to be an auntie? Gal by the name of Kiku. She’s very nice. I’m sure you’ll all be one happy, cozy family.” He stirred the cream into his coffee and took a self-satisfied sip.

I fought the childish impulse to smash his face into the cream.

Kiku was with George?

“May I ask where you were yesterday morning, say between the hours of nine and noon?”

He frowned. “Here at the bar. Why?”

“Svetlana Avery was found murdered yesterday morning. Shot.”

His face paled. “Holy shit.”

“A witness saw a man leaving her house. Any idea who that could have been?”

Rich paused, then took a long drink and shook his head. “Nope. I knew her when she was with Brad. Good-looking chick, I’m sure there was no shortage of men in her life.”

“What about Monday, more or less around the same time, nine to noon?”

He studied me a moment. “Monday was when Michelle was killed. Are you trying to pin these murders on me?”

“Not at all. Can you tell me where you were?”

Rich swung on the barstool and called, “Hey, Burt, can you come here a sec?”

The bartender sauntered over. “Another?”

“No,” Rich said. “Can you tell the lady where I was on Monday from nine to noon?”

Burt smiled, then turned to me. “Rich was here, sweet-heart, sitting right there on that barstool, having a couple of Irish coffees.”

“How ’bout yesterday?” Rich pushed.

“Same.”

“Thanks, Burt,” Rich said.

Burt nodded, then retreated back to his corner.

I drank my juice and decided on a different tactic. “Rich, I need your help.” I softened my voice. “I’ve been hired by Brad’s mother to find out what happened to him.”

His shoulder rose as he inhaled, then dropped a degree as he let out an audible sigh. “I already told you I don’t know what happened.”

“Who was he sleeping with?”

“Back to that? You’re relentless, aren’t you?” He studied first my face, then tried my breast, which due to the baby carrier was pushed to the side and conveniently located for his perusal.

I shifted on the barstool. “You won’t find the answer there.”

He laughed, a curiously embarrassed laugh. And I thought he was beyond social mores.

“Sorry . . . I . . . yeah, you were asking about Brad. Chicks always ask about Brad. All my life they’ve asked about him, and now, even when he’s dead and gone, they’re still asking.”

“You hardly seem like you’d play second fiddle to him.”

“You mean I look okay? That’s what you mean. But chicks like money and Brad had tons of it. Not that I’m hurting now either, but, you know, the Averys are loaded.”

“Are you close to Gloria Avery?”

“What do you mean?”

“She seemed very fond of you,” I lied.

He looked pleasantly surprised. “Old Glo? I always thought she had a soft spot for me.”

“You’ve known her a long time?”

He polished off his drink and pushed the empty glass away from him. “Well, sure. Brad and I met in high school.”

“You went to the same school?”

“Are you kidding me? Brad went to Trinity. You know how expensive that school is? I went to good ole Lincoln High. We met at a Holy Rosary dance in ’93.”

“I went to Holy Rosary.”

He looked me over, his eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed.

I couldn’t read the look. Was it disdain?

He said, “Right. I forgot you knew Michelle in high school.”

“Yeah, but Brad didn’t go to any dance with Michelle. I don’t think they knew each other then.”

Rich tried to hide his smirk in his drink. “Nah, it wasn’t Michelle.”

“Who’d he go with?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “It was a long time ago. I barely remember the name of my date, much less his.” He stood, smoothing down his leather jacket. “I gotta get to the restaurant.”

“Who was your date?”

“What?”

“At the dance, when you met Rich, who was your date?”

“Carol something.”

He waved at the bartender and slipped out the front door. I pulled out my notebook. What had the interview yielded me?

Nothing.

Well, at least I knew where to look for George and that he was expecting a baby. What now? I reviewed my to-do list, checking things off and adding a few.

 

1. Free Jim.

2. Find Brad and/or Michelle’s killer.

3. ✓

4. ✓

5. Call Winter Henderson re: hippie chick alibi.

6. Make OB appointment.

7. ✓

8. Check out Horoaki graduation date from UCSF.

9. Print business cards.

10. Find George AGAIN.

•CHAPTER SIXTEEN•

The Fifth Week—The Need to Suck

On my way home I dialed first Jim’s cell phone—no answer—then Mr. Crane’s. No answer. I left a somewhat irrational message for Mr. Crane with Kiku and George’s address.

By the time Laurie and I got home, we were both exhausted and hungry.

I called Jim’s name as soon as I opened the garage door.

No Jim.

In frustration, I threw Laurie’s diaper bag across the room.