Diana Orgain's Blog, page 15
April 13, 2021
Nursing a Grudge (Maternal Instincts Mystery Series: Book Four) Sneak Peek – Chapter One Continued
Did you miss Part One?
From Nursing a Grudge
Chapter One
The hostesses with the frizzy red hair returned with two steaming
mugs in her hands. She placed my coffee in front of me, sloshing hot
liquid over the top and onto the table. I pulled Laurie away
protectively.
The waitress didn’t even notice; she merely put Jill’s mug in front
of her and asked, “Ready to order?”
Jill smiled up at her. “Not yet.”
The waitress smiled back.
Well, there you go. Jill got smiles, I got a coffee mess.
“Let me know when you’re ready,” the waitress said. She spun
around and attended to the other moms that were camped out on a
large leather couch in the corner of the tea house. One mom leaned in
and whispered something to the waitress, then they all turned and
stared at us.
I lifted my mug and sighed as I placed it back down into the
puddle of coffee on the table. I needed another hand. “Want to hold
Laurie?” I asked.
Jill quickly glanced at her immaculate blouse. “Um, yeah. Sure.”
She didn’t look at all sure.
I reached into the hulking diaper bag that was always with me now
and pulled out a clean spit-up rag and handed it to Jill.
She looked relieved as she placed it onto her shoulder and took
Laurie.
I quickly wiped up the liquid on the table and watched in horror as
Laurie batted a hand dangerously close to Jill’s hot chocolate. The
other hand had already found its way into Jill’s hair.
Jill grimaced.
I finished mopping up the coffee and much to Jill’s relief took
Laurie back, who squealed like a demon.
“Tell me more about your experience with Brent Miles,” I said,
hoping to distract Jill from Laurie’s wailing.
“Oh no, let’s not talk about him. He’s boring.” Jill’s eyes roved out
the window and she frowned.
I followed her gaze out the window. “What?” I asked.
The man with the skull cap was still on the corner. He seemed to
be staring right at us. A chill ran up my spine and I hugged Laurie
to me.
“That guy is still there,” I said.
Jill fluttered a hand around dismissing him.
“What do you think he’s still doing there?” I asked.
Jill shrugged nonchalantly. “He’s probably waiting for someone.”
I stared at him through the glass. He took something out of his
pocket and looked down at it, most likely a phone. Jill was probably
right; in a few seconds whoever he was waiting for would turn up. I
tried to ignore him even though my P.I. senses were firing like
crazy.
“He gives me the creeps,” I muttered.
Jill turned away from the window. “I have news.” She glanced at
the swinging doors and whispered. “I got my own show over at the
Foodie Network.”
“What?” I whispered back, only my whisper was so loud, it
bordered on being a cheer.
Jill’s hand covered her lips, signaling me to keep my voice down.
“That’s awesome!” I said, this time more quietly.
She nodded at me. “I just came from the studio. The set is
amazing!”
The swinging doors to the back opened as our waitress walked
through them. She stopped momentarily to check in on the moms in
the corner.
“Shoot,” I said. “We’d better order or she might yell at me.”
Jill snorted and flipped her menu over.
I scanned the list. I was hopeless under pressure. I only made out
words like saucy, spicy, savory and hot. It told me nothing.
The waitress stood before us poised with paper and pen.
I decided to order whatever Jill did, which turned out to be the
Mediterranean Panini: prosciutto ham, fresh basil, tomato and feta.
Sounds good to me.
“Same for me,” I said.
The waitress nodded at me. I’d just made her life easier and I was
somewhat in her good graces now. She retreated through the
swinging doors.
As soon as the waitress was out of earshot, Jill leaned in and whis‐
pered urgently. “I can’t let Brent Miles know about the show. He can
ruin things for me, Kate.”
The skin on my arms turned to goose bumps. “Ruin things for
you? How?”
Before she could answer, the sound of a dog barking erupted out
of Jill’s purse. I stared at it, surprised.
Jill giggled. “Like my ring tone?” She pulled her Tory Burch bag
onto her lap and began to dig through the front pocket. “Brent Miles
is weird, Kate.” She pulled out her phone and grimaced. “Egad, I hope
it isn’t him calling right now!”
The vision of the skull cap man holding his cell phone flashed in
my mind. I twisted in my chair to look across the street.
Skull cap man was gone.
“UC Med Center,” Jill said.
I turned back to her. She was staring at her phone display an
expression on her face somewhere between puzzled and cautious.
“I missed the call,” she said flatly.
I grimaced. A hospital calling couldn’t be good news, could it?
Unless it was a message from her doctor, then it might be. Only
judging by the look on Jill’s face, it didn’t seem hopeful. “Maybe they’ll
leave a message,” I said.
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Jill shook her phone as if that would speed up the voicemail alert
function. “I hope everything is all right with Perry. He went hiking
this morning.” Her lips twisted and her forehead creased as she
thought for a moment. “I hope he didn’t sprain an ankle or
something.”
I nodded reassuringly. “And who is Perry?”
Her face lit up with a smile. “He is my latest conquest. He’s hot,
hot, hot Kate. I can’t wait for you to meet him. 6’4’’, sandy blond hair,
dimpled chin. Looks straight out of a Pendleton catalogue.”
I laughed. “You usually go for the short, bald type.”
Jill almost snorted out her hot chocolate, then clamped a napkin
to her mouth. After a second she cleared her throat and said, “I do
not.”
I laughed again. “What about Henry?”
Jill chuckled. “I was 16 for God’s sake, and he wasn’t bald. He
was…”
“Bald. He was bald. Even at 17, he had a receding hairline.”
“Henry was very sweet. I can’t believe you have such a cruel
memory.”
I feigned innocence. “I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with
short, bald guys. I’m just saying I thought they were your type.”
“Nobody’s type is short and bald.”
“Let’s see, there was Henry, then Richard, Brandon, Mitchell—”
“Okay, shut up. Maybe looks aren’t that important. All the guys
you mentioned were like, artistic, poets, you know?”
It was my turn to snort.
Jill pointed a finger at me. “And you’re forgetting Gunter.
Remember him?”
“Who could forget Gunter? He was a Nordic god.”
Jill raised her eyebrows at me. “Only he was a little jerky. Perry is
just as hot as Gunter, but sweet.”
She blushed.
“Oh. A little rosy around the edges, are you? Is it love? How long
have you been seeing each other?”
“A few months,” she smiled. “We met at Bottle Top downtown. Do
you know it?”
I shook my head. “Please, I don’t get out.”
She laughed. “You’re out now.”
I waved her off. “This is different. It’s a baby-friendly place. What
is Bottle Top, a club?”
“No, a swanky restaurant I reviewed,” Jill said.
“So it’s love, then?” I pressed.
“I gave it a pretty good review.”
I laughed. “I meant Perry.”
She smiled. “Him, too! I give him a great review!”
“Wedding bells?” I asked.
She blushed. “You know what, Kate? Maybe. Maybe, finally, yes.”
Her phone beeped and she glanced at the screen, then frowned.
She held up a finger. “One second, okay?”
I waved a hand at her. “Of course.”
She tapped at the screen, then pressed the phone to her ear.
My stomach rumbled and I fidgeted with my water glass. When
was my lunch going to arrive? The waitress hadn’t even brought a
bread basket!
I laughed to myself suddenly, thinking if I were a restaurant critic,
I would be as harsh as Jill. I absently wondered what she liked about
this place. Yes, the atmosphere was cozy and kid friendly, but where
was the food, for God’s sake?
Jill covered her mouth with her hand. I watched her face. It didn’t
look like good news.
Our waitress approached with steaming plates in hand. As she
placed the dishes in front of us, Jill pushed back from the table.
“Kate. I’m so sorry. I have to go. Perry’s at UC. He fell from Painted
Rock.”
“What? Is he okay?”
Painted Rock was a cliff on the north side of San Francisco. It was
a featured attraction on the Land’s End hike that ran from Ocean
Beach and Sutro Baths all the way to the Legion of Honor. There were
many notorious cliffs, one of which was Painted Rock, which boasted
some of the most spectacular views of the Marin Headlands and the
Golden Gate Bridge. The cliff literally dangled over the Pacific. A fall
from there could be grave.
“I don’t know.” Jill pulled a credit card from her purse.
I waved her away. “I got it, don’t worry. Do you want me to go
with you?”
“Oh, thank you, Kate. But no, you have the baby. You can’t bring
her to a hospital.” Her face crinkled at the word hospital and I could
only guess what was rushing through her mind. She added, “I’ll call
you tonight.”
She leaned over to kiss my cheek, then rubbed Laurie’s knee.
“Goodbye little baby. I hope to see you soon.”
I nodded and watched her leave, an uneasiness overcoming me. I
looked at the corner. Skull cap man was back, and this time he trailed
after Jill.
”I couldn’t stop reading!”
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Diana Orgain is the USA Today Bestselling Author of the Maternal Instincts Mystery Series, Love or Money Mystery series, and The Roundup Crew Mysteries. Diana is also the New York Times Bestselling co-author of the Scrapbooking Mystery Series with Laura Childs. To keep up to date with the latest releases visit Diana at www.dianaorgain.com GRAB YOUR COPY OF NURSING A GRUDGE HERE
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Nursing a Grudge (Maternal Instincts Mystery Series: Book Four) Sneak Peek – Chapter One
Did you miss Book One ?
Did you miss Book Two ?
Did you miss Book Three ?
From Nursing a Grudge
Chapter One
TO DO:
1. Catch up with old friends!
2. √ Phone Jill and set a date.
3. Land a new client.
4. Buy Paula a present for new baby.
5. Get back in shape!
From inside Tea & Tumble, I checked my phone for the
umpteenth time. My best friend, Paula, was due to give birth any day
now, and I’d promised to babysit her toddler when the time came. The
café was empty save for myself, my four-month old daughter and
another pair of moms with their infants camped out in the corner.
Tea & Tumble was rated as the top pick for baby friendly cafes in
the Bay Area. It was decorated in pinks and greens with a colorful,
plush carpet in the corner of the dining area and a large leather couch.
On the carpet, the two infants drooled over picture books, while their
mothers were perched on the couch sipping lattes.
I glanced at Laurie, who cooed up at me from her baby carrier
nestled at my feet. “Paula’s going to have her baby any day now. Are
you ready for a new friend?”
Laurie batted her hand out, grabbing at imaginary items.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” I said. I freed her from the infant carrier,
then lowered my voice. “Then you can slobber over the book of the
month club choice like those other two in the corner.”
Laurie flashed me a wide, toothless grin.
“Besides,” I said. “A girl can never have too many friends.”
A gust of wind vibrated the windows of the café, and I glanced
outside to see Jill parking her car.
I hadn’t seen Jill since quite some time before my pregnancy, and I
was looking forward to visiting with her and catching up on gossip.
She climbed out of the car, wearing an asymmetrical orange
blouse that caught the wind and billowed about her. She reached
inside the car and pulled out a tan coat that matched her leggings and
set off her black, stiletto thigh-high boots. As she wrapped it around
herself, she spotted me in the window and waved vigorously. She
sprinted across the street in her stiletto boots, short blond bob flap‐
ping in the wind.
Dear God, I wouldn’t be able to walk in those boots, much less run in
them, but Jill looks chic and fashionable, as usual.
I placed Laurie up to the window and moved her little wrist back
and forth in a hello. When I pulled her back into my lap, a man
wearing a long, dark coat and a black skull cap with a Smith &
Wesson logo on it turned the corner.
He raised an arm as if hailing Jill.
She didn’t notice him and pulled open the door to the café.
The wind rumbled through the café as Jill stepped in.
The moms in the corner glared at Jill as she made her way toward
my table, annoyed that their tête-à-tête had been momentarily inter‐
rupted. Jill ignored them as she clippity-clopped over to my table.
Jill pressed her frozen cheek against mine. “Hey, stranger!”
Jill and I had been chummy once, but had fallen out of touch. In
fact, now that I thought about it, it’d probably been several years since
we’d last seen each other. But since the birth of my daughter I’d felt
the need to get in touch with old friends and build a community
around her. I held her up. She was dressed in a little pink knit dress
that my best friend Paula had sent while visiting Paris.
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“This is Peanut,” I said.
“Oooh, love the dress,” Jill leaned in toward Laurie, who reached
out and grabbed a fistful of Jill’s blonde bob while shrieking with
delight.
Jill’s hand shot up to her head to save her hair from getting pulled
out by the roots.
“Sorry,” I said, detangling Jill’s hair from Laurie’s fist.
Jill laughed and rubbed Laurie’s chubby knee. “Good to meet you,
you feisty little thing.”
“And sorry I’ve been so out of touch,” I said.
She pulled off her coat and took the seat across from us. “Well, I
can see you’ve been busy so, of course, I forgive you.”
She didn’t know the half of it. We’d only talked briefly to set up
our lunch date and I still hadn’t told her about my new career as a P.I.
Since giving birth to Laurie, I’d managed to be involved in several
murder investigations and basically had decided to launch a private
investigation business. But since I didn’t have a P.I. license, I was
doing a semi-very-unofficial mentorship under Albert Galigani, an
ex-cop, to hone my skills and become marketable.
“Do you know the guy across the street?” I asked.
Jill frowned. “What guy?” She glanced over her shoulder.
“The one on the corner wearing the Smith & Wesson skull cap,” I
prompted.
Jill remained turned away from me. “Why would I know him?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I thought he called out to you when you
were crossing the street.”
She gripped the table in a rather alarmed way, then swiveled back
to face me. “I don’t know him.”
Something about the expression on Jill’s face told me she was
nervous about the man.
I stared out the window, past the fog, and studied the man. He was
Caucasian and looked to be in his thirties. He wore a long, dark coat
and his skull cap was pulled down around his ears.
“He seems to be lurking,” I said.
Jill waved away my concern. “This is San Francisco. There’s always
someone lurking.”
The swinging double doors at the back of the restaurant creaked
open and the hostess who had seated me approached. She handed us
menus, then ran a hand over her frizzy red hair. “Anything to drink?”
“I’ll take a cup of coffee,” I said.
Jill bit her lip as she perused the back of the menu where the
beverages were listed. “I’ll take a Mexican hot chocolate.”
Mexican hot chocolate? Yum!
I flipped my menu over and scanned the list.
The waitress nodded and turned to go.
“Uh. Wait. I think…”
I found the entry: “Fiery Hot Chocolate | Muy Caliente! Our own
hot chocolate blend that really packs a kick. Starts creamy with a
hand-scooped ganache topping and ends with a spicy wallop.”
“Oh. I see. Fiery, spicy, kick, wallop. It sounds… um…”
Jill laughed. “It’s not for the weak hearted. It’s made with chipotle
chili chocolate.”
“I’ll stick with the coffee.”
The waitress looked at me through her eyelashes. I understood the
look as a warning not to waste her time again.
What attitude!
She turned on her heel and disappeared through the swinging doors.
“So what have you been up to?” I asked. “Catch me up on your
career. I understand you’re the hottest restaurant critic around.”
Jill sat to attention. “An accidental career. Who would’ve thunk it?”
I balanced Laurie on my lap, letting her dig her feet into my thighs
as she practiced putting her weight on her legs. She could only keep
herself upright for a moment before her legs turned to Jell-O again.
“You always had a discriminating palate,” I said.
She giggled. “You mean I like to eat. And I know how to string a
few snarky remarks together. Enough, anyway, to make people pay
attention.”
In the past few months, Jill had become somewhat of an internet
sensation. Her reviews were everywhere and she was always popping
up on the latest foodie blog.
“Your latest review went viral, right?”
Jill put a finger to her mouth and eyed the moms in the corner.
Although they seemed engrossed in their own conversation, Jill
leaned in and whispered. “Don’t talk about that, though. My picture’s
not out there and I don’t want people to know who I am. Not yet
anyway.”
I nodded. “Are you going to do a review of this place?”
“If I have time.” Jill shrugged. “Maybe. It’s just that something’s
happened recently that’s kind of stuck in my craw.”
I waited for her to continue, but instead of saying anything she
rubbed at her chin.
“What is it?” I asked.
“I reviewed Brent Miles’ latest restaurant. Or should I say his
attempt at a restaurant.” She made a face indicating how lacking she’d
actually found it. “Anyway, he called me. It was very…well,
frightening—”
“Frightening? What happened?”
“He threatened me.” Jill leaned across the table closer to me. “He
warned me that I need to recant the review. Said I better make it seem
sincere or else.”
“Or else what?”
She raised an eyebrow at me and shrugged. “I told him to stuff it.
Just because he owns half of San Francisco he thinks everyone is
ready to kiss his ass. Well, he can kiss mine now, because I’m not
recanting anything!”
Her tone surprised me. I had always known she was tough but
now she seemed downright ferocious.
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Diana Orgain is the USA Today Bestselling Author of the Maternal Instincts Mystery Series, Love or Money Mystery series, and The Roundup Crew Mysteries. Diana is also the New York Times Bestselling co-author of the Scrapbooking Mystery Series with Laura Childs. To keep up to date with the latest releases visit Diana at www.dianaorgain.com GRAB YOUR COPY OF NURSING A GRUDGE HERE
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April 12, 2021
Formula for Murder (Maternal Instincts Mystery Series: Book Three) Sneak Peek – Chapter Three Continued…
Go back to Chapter One?
Go back to Chapter Two?
From Formula for Murder
Chapter Three Continued…
Shortly after 8:00 A.M. Mom called in a panic. Thankfully I was in
the shower so Jim had to deal with her near hysterics. She was
coming right over Jim informed me as I toweled off and stared into
my closet.
“Okay, good. She can obsess over Laurie with me,” I said.
Jim snorted. “Laurie’s fine. You’re the one that needs to get looked
at. Please make an appointment.”
The doorbell sounded, interrupting our conversation. “That was
fast,” I said.
Jim left me to select some clothes and went to answer the door.
Paula’s voice drifted down the hallway.
I threw on a pair of jeans and a sweater and rushed to the living
room. My best friend, Paula, now eight months pregnant, was
cradling Laurie above her massive belly. She studied Laurie’s face. “I
got your message,” she said. “Pupils look fine. She looks alert and
happy. Has she vomited?”
“I don’t know. She spits up a lot. How can you tell?”
Paula’s two-year-old son, Danny, clung to her leg and pulled on
her maternity top. “It’s kinda hard. But you can usually tell by the
volume. Is she keeping anything down?”
“Yes. It must be just spit-up.” I knelt down and extended my arms.
“Hi, Danny!”
He rushed to me and wrapped his arms around my neck, sort of
hanging from it. “Ouch! Oh, honey, wait.” I disentangled myself
from him.
Concern showed on Jim’s face.
Paula looked at me, her brow creasing. “Are you hurt?”
“No. No. I’m totally fine. He caught me off guard is all.”
The doorbell sounded again.
I moved toward it and pulled it open. Mom flung her arms around
me and crushed me against her. “I’m so glad you’re alive!”
I silently winced. My neck did hurt but no reason to cause a fuss.
Mom released me and rushed to pluck Laurie out of Paula’s arms.
“My love!” she said to Laurie, who cooed up at her. Then Mom
instructed Paula “to have a seat before she went into labor.”
“I wish standing caused labor,” Paula said.
I rubbed my neck. Paula squinted at me. “I’m scared about brain
damage,” I confessed to her.
“Why are you scared?” She smiled. “You’ve lived your whole life
with it.”
I poked her arm. “Come on, idiot, not me.”
Paula made a face. “Laurie? No way. She was in a five-point
harness, right?”
I nodded and chewed my lip. “But what if her little brain was
scrambled?”
Paula laughed. “She’s not an egg. Babies are very resilient. She’s
fine. No brain damage. I promise.” Paula wrapped her fingers around
my arm. “You’re the one whose gonna be hurting.”
“I don’t care about me,” I said.
Jim put a hand on my shoulder. “We do, though. Make an
appointment.”
Paula agreed, then sat on my couch and put her swollen feet on the
coffee table. Danny tried to climb into the little room left on her lap.
Jim plucked Danny off her. “Come with me, buddy. Let’s make you
a chocolate milkshake.”
“Oh! I’ll take one of those,” Paula called after Jim as they headed to
the kitchen.
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Mom was doing an elaborate baby-calming dance for Laurie, who
was giggling up at her. “Where’s your Christmas tree?” Mom asked.
“At the Christmas tree lot,” I answered, taking a seat on the couch
next to Paula.
I put my head on Paula’s shoulder and whispered in a voice that
threatened to crack, “I’m a terrible mother.”
“I know, you don’t have your Christmas cards out yet,” Paula whis‐
pered back to me.
We watched Mom making faces at Laurie.
A tear slipped down my cheek without me even realizing it. It
touched my lip and I tasted the salt. “If I was a good mom I would
have never let myself get rear-ended with Laurie in the car.”
After a little prodding from Paula, Jim decided to take Danny to
the Christmas tree lot to pick out a Christmas tree for us. While they
were gone Paula hacked into my computer and printed out labels for
my Christmas cards. It took her about three minutes and saved me
several hours of frustration.
Mom helped out by executing a string of calls to my insurance
company, trying to get through to a live person. She finally gave up
when the garage called to notify me that my Chevy had been deemed
a total loss. The mechanic said I should be hearing from an adjuster
shortly.
Jim and Danny returned with the best Charlie Brown Christmas
tree they could find. We spent the rest of the afternoon stringing
popcorn, decorating the tree, and listening to Mom singing carols
off-key.
Several days passed and I still hadn’t heard from our insurance
company. I’d made an appointment with our regular pediatrician, Dr.
Clement, who concurred with the emergency room pediatrician and
Paula. Laurie seemed completely unharmed by the incident. I, on the
other hand, seemed to get progressively stiffer. Which Dr. Clement
suggested was absolutely normal.
I snuggled next to Jim on the couch and tried to put the accident
out of my mind. The day had been busy. Besides the appointment I
was doing background work for Galigani, which although a bit mind‐
less was helping me learn the general ins and outs of the investigation
business.
Since giving birth to Laurie, I’d managed to be involved in several
murder investigations and basically had decided to launch a private
investigation business. But since I didn’t have a PI license, Albert Gali‐
gani, an ex-cop and now successful private investigator, had more or
less agreed, depending on his mood, to mentor me. He’d given me
what he called “homework” to improve my skills, but the homework
felt more like “penance.” My eyes were tired from staring at the
computer screen but every time I closed them I still saw typed text
floating and scrolling.
I must have dozed off because Jim shook me awake. “Look at this,
Kate!”
I pried an eye open and immediately looked for Laurie.
Jim indicated the television. “It’s Nancy Pickett. She was found
dead.”
“What?” I sat to attention and stared at the TV.
“We are saddened to report that our colleague, Nancy Pickett, was
found dead yesterday afternoon. Nancy had been with our station five
years, reporting the best stories in the Bay Area.” The anchor’s eyes
filled with tears. “Again, Nancy Pickett, dead at the age of thirty-five.”
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Diana Orgain is the USA Today Bestselling Author of the Maternal Instincts Mystery Series, Love or Money Mystery series, and The Roundup Crew Mysteries. Diana is also the New York Times Bestselling co-author of the Scrapbooking Mystery Series with Laura Childs. To keep up to date with the latest releases visit Diana at www.dianaorgain.com GRAB YOUR COPY OF FORMULA FOR MURDER HERE
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Formula for Murder (Maternal Instincts Mystery Series: Book Three) Sneak Peek – Chapter Three
Go back to Chapter One?
Go back to Chapter Two?
From Formula for Murder
Chapter Three
To Do:
1. Call Dr. Clement for appointment. What if Laurie’s brain is
scrambled? The ER doc didn’t test for brain damage, did he?
Is there a test for that?
2. Call insurance.
3. Reschedule holiday photos.
4. Christmas tree, cards, shopping, decorating. Shoot! Behind
again! NOT efficient.
5. Find stupid kid that hit us so I can give him a piece of my
mind!
6. Finish background checks Galigani gave me.
7. Get new PI client. How do I do this? Forget it, focus on
catching up first!
Once home from the consulate I dialed Mom and then my best
friend, Paula. I got voice mails and left messages. Jim and I
decided on soup for dinner although neither one of us had much of an
appetite.
I hovered over Laurie even more than usual, then finally upon
Jim’s urging went to bed early. Jim stayed up watching the news
with Laurie. At one point in the night I got out of bed to check on
them and found Jim singing and rocking Laurie. She was mesmer‐
ized by him, smiling and happily banging his face with her hands. I
retreated back to bed, relieved that she wasn’t showing any signs of
distress listed on the sheet the emergency room pediatrician had
given me.
I woke up when Jim climbed into bed.
“Where’s Laurie?” I asked.
“In her nest,” Jim answered.
I rolled over and sat up to peek into the bassinet by my bedside.
Since Laurie had been born I’d become accustomed to sleeping with
my side table lamp on and now wondered how I’d ever slept in the
dark.
The light glowed on Laurie, casting a gentle shadow across one
side of her face. “Is she okay?” I asked.
“I think so, honey. I really do. She seems fine,” Jim said.
“Any vomiting, listlessness, diarrhea, melancholy, rash—”
“Noooo, honey,” Jim said, in his best calm-down-and-don’t-get-hysterical-on-me tone.
I lay back and snuggled into his arms. “Okay.”
After a moment, he said, “Well, she did spit up . . . but that’s
normal, right?”
I sat up again. “How do you know it was spit-up and not vomit?”
Jim shrugged. “I don’t.”
I peered over at Laurie in her bassinet. “Can she sleep in here with
us?” I asked.
Jim rose and crossed around our bed to the bassinet. He picked her
up and then climbed back into bed. We nestled her between us.
“I love my girls,” Jim said. “I’d do anything for you two.”
“Yeah,” I snickered. “Even have a showdown with an unsuspecting
Frenchman.”
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“I don’t think he’s as unsuspecting as he’d have you believe.”
The night-light illuminated his face and I traced a finger across his
lips. He kissed my finger.
“Good night, honey. Get some rest. You went through a lot today.”
“You, too.”
Despite my best efforts for sleep, I woke every fifteen minutes and
checked on Laurie. She slept great, only waking at midnight then at
3:00 A.M. for her normal feedings, which were actually so much more
convenient with her lying right next to me.
Why didn’t she sleep in our bed every night?
Was she showing any signs of distress? I reviewed the list in my
mind. Vomiting, well, we weren’t sure. I’d have to watch that. List‐
lessness?
Wait.
Listlessness? She had been sleeping an awful lot. Did that count?
I lay awake next to her and watched her snooze, poking her softly
every so often to make sure her reflexes were still intact.
At 6:00 A.M. she woke up for another feeding. She had a wet diaper
that had soaked through to our sheet. No wonder I didn’t make a
regular practice of bringing her into our bed.
I rose to change her diaper, my neck stiff and sore. Another reason
she didn’t normally camp in our bed. I could barely move my neck
from side to side.
I scooped her up and took her to the nursery down the hall. I
changed her soiled pink-stripped pajamas to a clean white set with a
bunny in a Santa suit on it. I tickled her.
She seemed pleased to be in clean clothes and rewarded me with a
toothless grin.
After nursing her, I set her down on her play mat and proceeded to
the kitchen to put on coffee. Jim materialized next to me as soon as
the coffeemaker beeped to completion.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“With what?” I asked, surprised.
“With you, honey, you’re moving funny.”
“I am? Oh. My neck is stiff. I must have slept kiddiwampus with
Laurie in our bed.”
Jim squinted. “Are you sure you don’t have whiplash?”
“Whiplash? No. I’m fine.”
Actually, now that he mentioned it, more than my neck hurt. My
mid and lower back and even my hips were sore, too.
I swallowed some Motrin with my morning coffee and tried to
ignore the fact that if I had been injured in the accident then the
chances were greater that Laurie had been injured, too.
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Diana Orgain is the USA Today Bestselling Author of the Maternal Instincts Mystery Series, Love or Money Mystery series, and The Roundup Crew Mysteries. Diana is also the New York Times Bestselling co-author of the Scrapbooking Mystery Series with Laura Childs. To keep up to date with the latest releases visit Diana at www.dianaorgain.com GRAB YOUR COPY OF FORMULA FOR MURDER HERE
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Formula for Murder (Maternal Instincts Mystery Series: Book Three) Sneak Peek – Chapter Two Continued…
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From Formula for Murder
Chapter Two Continued…
The woman returned with a man by her side. He looked to be in
his late thirties. He had a square jaw and strong, straight nose. His
dark brown hair was smoothly combed back and held in place with
lots of spray or mousse. He wore a blue shirt that was unbuttoned one
or two buttons too many. Dark curly chest hair peeked out as he
swaggered toward us.
Before they reached us, Jim turned to me and quietly asked, “Is
that the guy?”
“No. The driver was much younger. Like seventeen or eighteen.”
When he approached us the man immediately extended his hand
to Jim. “Monsieur, I am Jean-Luc Gaudet, the Deputy Consul General.
Mademoiselle tells me you were a victim of a hit-and-run.”
Jim looked at Jean-Luc’s hand but didn’t shake it. “My wife and
infant daughter were in the car. Is that bashed-up SUV yours? The
one with the missing fender?”
Jean-Luc seamlessly turned his outstretched hand into a gesture,
shifting his palm face up and motioning us toward a corner of the
lobby that held some leather chairs and a small table covered in
magazines.
We moved toward the chairs as Jean-Luc said, “The vehicle is
registered in my name.” He pointed to the leather chairs, indicating
for us to take a seat. “Please.”
Jean-Luc and I sat; Jim remained standing. I cradled Laurie’s car
seat bucket in my lap. An older couple entered the building, and
Jean-Luc watched them as they made their way to the reception counter.
He and the woman from reception exchanged glances, then the
woman broke loose from us and returned to the reception area.
I tried to move Jim with my eyes, looking from him back to the
empty chair and raising a pleading eyebrow.
Jim shook his head and mouthed, “Not our buddy.” He broke eye
contact with me and stared at Jean-Luc.
Jean-Luc rose to match Jim’s stance. “Please accept my apologies.
You’ve obviously been through some terrible trauma today. Unfortu‐
nately, I didn’t go anywhere today, so I wasn’t driving the vehicle.”
Jim’s eyes narrowed. “Right. Nice. Okay, someone on your staff
obviously was. Someone has keys, access, whatever. Or are you saying
it was stolen and conveniently parked back in your garage?”
Jean-Luc blew air from his lips in an exaggerated French puff. He
fixed his face in an expression of confusion and raised his hands and
eyes as though searching for an answer from the ceiling.
Watching him play dumb made me want to rip out every last chest
hair and shove them up his nose.
Jim clenched first his jaw then his fist. “My wife and baby had to be
assisted out of -our vehicle by the other party that got hit. They had to
wait for the ambulance on a bed of ice plant, abandoned! My daugh‐
ter’s only three months old!”
Jean-Luc’s face was unreadable.
Jim continued, “I just picked up my wife and infant from the emer‐
gency room. They got emergency rooms in France, right?”
“Pfft. Emergency room?” Jean-Luc’s eyebrows creased. “Why?
Because of a little bump, they don’t look hurt—”
Jim closed the distance between him and Jean-Luc. “You interested
in a visit to the emergency room today?”
Jim’s face was inches away from the man, his meaning clear.
Jean-Luc’s head turned toward the reception desk. The woman
was staring at us wide-eyed. The couple she was helping mirrored her
expression.
Jim said, in a whisper that only Jean-Luc and I could hear, “My
wife can identify the driver.”
It was the final blow.
Jean-Luc lowered his eyes and cleared his throat. “Un moment. S’il
vous plaît.”
He stepped toward the woman at reception and said something to
her in French. She nodded and retreated down the corridor. He shook
hands with the couple she had been helping. The older gentleman put
a hand on Jean-Luc’s forearm and pulled him close. Laughter erupted
from them.
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“Jerk,” Jim said.
I glanced at Laurie and gently rocked the car seat back and forth.
Her hand fidgeted but other than the small movement she was sound
asleep.
“What was with the emergency room stuff? Were you threatening
the guy?” I asked Jim.
The receptionist returned and handed a card to Jean-Luc. He
approached us and handed the card to me. “Madam, please take my
card. Our insurance information is on the back. We’ll gladly pay for
the repairs to your car and any bills you have from the hospital. Please
accept our apologies.”
We left the consulate in silence and crossed the street to Jim’s car. I
loaded Laurie into the back and secured the car seat carrier to the
base.
I decided to ride in the passenger seat next to Jim instead of in the
back next to Laurie. He seemed to need me more than she did at the
moment, since she was still asleep and he was fuming.
I fastened my seat belt and waited. Jim didn’t start the car.
“I would have liked to squeeze his neck until his head popped off,”
Jim said.
I put my hand on his thigh to soothe him. “Honey—”
“Then kick his head over the roof.”
A nervous giggle escaped me. “That’s awful!”
But hadn’t I wanted to rip his chest hairs out?
Jim shrugged. “Is it? I think a hit-and-run is awful, cowardly. And
then that guy trying to cover it up—it’s reprehensible.”
The doors of the consulate opened and two ladies exited. Both tall
and slender, one a brunette, the other blonde. They were chatting and
when they reached the sidewalk they turned away from each other
and parted ways. I watched the blonde walk toward us.
“Hey, that’s Nancy Pickett from channel five,” I said.
Jim nodded. “The other one was Kimberly Newman.”
Nancy Pickett, a serious investigative reporter, was the one always
sent out to do a story during the eye of the storm or to report on the
city’s latest drug bust. As recently as last night, she’d been covering a
major pet food chain store scam and had received an honorable
mention from a neighborhood merchant organization for saving the
lives of countless dogs.
Kimberly Newman, on the other hand, was a high-society girl
turned weather woman, turned part-time journalist. She was always
pictured on the news or in the paper and on the web at the tony Pac
Height parties on someone’s arm. I think her most recent conquest
was a San Francisco city supervisor.
What were Nancy Pickett and Kimberly Newman doing at the French
consulate?
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Diana Orgain is the USA Today Bestselling Author of the Maternal Instincts Mystery Series, Love or Money Mystery series, and The Roundup Crew Mysteries. Diana is also the New York Times Bestselling co-author of the Scrapbooking Mystery Series with Laura Childs. To keep up to date with the latest releases visit Diana at www.dianaorgain.com GRAB YOUR COPY OF FORMULA FOR MURDER HERE
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Formula for Murder (Maternal Instincts Mystery Series: Book Three) Sneak Peek – Chapter Two
Go back to Chapter One?
From Formula for Murder
Chapter Two
We agreed that we’d drive by the French consulate on
Bush Street and see if anything seemed obvious. Short
of a smashed vehicle parked in front I wasn’t sure what we were
looking for.
I sat in the back of Jim’s car, hovering over Laurie. Thank good‐
ness we’d had an extra car seat. My car had been towed after the inci‐
dent and the pediatrician had told me to discard the car seat that had
been in the accident, as it was likely the harnesses was damaged.
We drove down Bush Street and spotted the consulate adjacent to
the French school and Church of Notre Dame des Victoires. It had
began to drizzle, but when Jim turned the wipers on, there was only
enough rain to smear across the windshield.
“Looks like they have a parking garage,” Jim said.
“It’s probably for staff only, right?” I asked.
Jim pulled the car up to the entrance and read the sign. “Yeah. You
need an electronic key card to get in. Perfect place to hide a vehicle
after a hit-and-run, huh?”
“Okay. Let’s go home.”
I was exhausted not only physically—every emotion in me had
been pushed to the brink this morning.
“Not so fast. I want to check things out. I’m going in by foot.”
We parked across the street at a meter.
Jim hopped out of the car and emptied all the change from his
pocket into the meter. He frowned and tapped at it. “Busted. This is
BS. What a day.”
I watched as he crossed into the parking garage and slipped under
the electronic arm. I stroked Laurie’s cheek. She was sound asleep and
breathing deeply.
“Don’t be hurt, squirrel. Be like the doc said. Be just fine, okay,
little monkey?” I pressed my lips to her forehead and smelled the baby
shampoo I’d applied this morning. Had it really only been a few
hours ago?
Jim emerged from the parking garage and ran over to the car. He
bent down to my window. “You’re not going to believe this: There’s a
silver SUV with a smashed-in front end and it’s missing a bumper!”
His cell phone was in his hand and he opened it now. “You got that
cop’s number?”
I climbed out of the car.
“Never mind, I got it here,” Jim said, as he scrolled through his
recent calls. His lips turned down in distaste as he waited for someone
to pick up. “Voice mail,” he said, shaking his head back and forth.
“Leave a message,” I said.
Jim closed his phone. “Why bother? I’m going in.”
“What?”
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“By the time the cop gets down here, assuming he’ll even come, the
rat could leave.” Jim turned to cross the street.
“No! Wait! Jim, you can’t—”
Jim’s brow furrowed and he said, “Stay here with Laurie.”
“If you’re going in, then me, too. I mean, I saw the guy.”
Jim squinted at me. “Do you feel up to it?”
“Yeah. Why don’t you stay here with Laurie?”
“No way!” He leaned into the car and unfastened Laurie’s carrier
from the car seat restraints. “Let’s go together.”
He lifted Laurie’s car seat out of the car and looked down the
street for oncoming traffic. We crossed the street in silence.
At the entrance of the consulate, he asked, “So you think you’ll
recognize the guy?”
“I’m sure of it.”
“Okay. If you see him point him out to me. I’ll do the talking.”
I laughed despite myself. “What? You think I’m going to say the
wrong thing?”
Jim pulled open the glass door. He waited for me to step inside,
and as I crossed in front of him he said, “I have no idea what you
would say, honey. That’s why I’m going to do the talking.”
We stepped into what looked more or less like a fancy hotel lobby.
An elegant French lady about the age of twenty-five stood behind a
huge counter topped with red marble.
She tapped her fingernails, which were painted a matching red, on
the marble and said in a singsong, “Bonjour.”
Jim handed me Laurie in her car seat and stepped ahead of me and
up to the counter.
“You speak English, right?”
The woman smiled and with a beautiful French accent said, “Of
course.”
“My wife and infant were rear-ended by a consulate vehicle a few
hours ago on Lombard Street. The driver never stopped.” He pulled out
his cell phone and clicked to the photos. He pushed his phone toward her.
“The SUV is parked in your lot. Can you get the driver out here for me?”
Her eyes widened at the photo, her face showing first shock then
dismay. “Mon Dieu! Un moment. S’il vous plaît.”
Clenching the phone in her hand she pushed away from the
counter.
“No. Not with my phone,” Jim said sharply. He stuck his hand out.
She looked caught off guard, but nodded politely and handed the
phone back to Jim.
She disappeared down a corridor.
“You didn’t have to yell at her.”
“I didn’t yell at her. I stopped her from walking away with the only
evidence we have and accidentally deleting it.”
“Well, we know—”
“Listen, honey, I love you but this is exactly why I’m the one that’s
going to do the talking. These people are not your friends. They’re not
your buddies. They’re obviously the kind of people who have no
regard for smashing into a woman and child and taking off. So we’re
agreed, right? I’m doing the talking.”
I gathered air in my cheeks, blew it out in a huff, and nodded.
Giving up control is difficult for me, but it seemed an easier route
then arguing with Jim right now.
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Diana Orgain is the USA Today Bestselling Author of the Maternal Instincts Mystery Series, Love or Money Mystery series, and The Roundup Crew Mysteries. Diana is also the New York Times Bestselling co-author of the Scrapbooking Mystery Series with Laura Childs. To keep up to date with the latest releases visit Diana at www.dianaorgain.com GRAB YOUR COPY OF FORMULA FOR MURDER HERE
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Formula for Murder (Maternal Instincts Mystery Series: Book Three) Sneak Peek – Chapter One Continued…
Go Back to The Beginning of Chapter One
From Formula for Murder
Chapter One Continued…
I absently looked around for my purse. For the first time since the
accident I saw my car. It was completely totaled. My trunk was
smashed in and the hood looked like an accordion.
How had I walked away from that?
What about Laurie . . . could she really be all right?
Tears flooded my eyes. “I don’t know where my purse is. I can give
you my number . . . Can you call my husband?”
The officer jotted down my home number. “I’ll tell him to pick you
up at the hospital.” He looked at me for approval.
I nodded. “Thank you.”
“I’ll be in touch, ma’am. I hope your baby is all right.” Anger flashed
across his face and his jaw tightened. “Don’t worry: I’m gonna get the
guy who hit you.”
I thanked him, then jumped into the ambulance, anxious to be
with Laurie. She was still crying. Not knowing how to best channel
my distress, I broke down and began to sob also, my brain trying to
process the fact that this was the second time in Laurie’s short life that
we’d shared an ambulance ride together. The fact that this time was
not my fault did little to settle my nerves.
Why had the driver left the scene? Sure, he was probably scared, but
didn’t he know a hit-and-run was a criminal act?
The EMT attending to Laurie put a small blanket over her and
glanced at me. “Are you in pain, ma’am?”
I searched my pockets in a useless effort to find a pacifier for
Laurie and shrugged at the EMT. “I want to hold her.”
“I know,” he said, almost in a whisper. “It’s hard to listen to them
cry. Did you know just the sound of a baby’s cry makes your blood
pressure go up?”
I shook my head.
He continued, “Yeah, in all mammals except for rats.”
We rounded a corner and arrived at the hospital. Laurie and I were
unloaded and ushered to a small room. A nurse freed Laurie from the
car seat, before I could protest, and laid her on a table to take her
vitals.
Someone in green medical scrubs was asking me if I had any cuts
or abrasions. I shook my head and felt a blood pressure cuff go
around my arm. My eyes locked on Laurie, I didn’t even bother to
look at him.
The nurse hovering over her asked, “How old is the baby?”
“Three months,” I answered.
“When’s the last time she ate?” she asked, stripping Laurie of her
beautiful little holiday dress.
“A few hours ago.”
The nurse attached small metal pads to Laurie’s chest. Laurie let
out a sharp cry.
“I’m so sorry they’re cold, sweetie,” she said.
The man attending me dropped my arm. “Normal,” he said.
I glanced at him in disbelief, then read the digital display: 120
over 80.
I closed my eyes. Did this mean I was a rat?
Surely if I were any kind of decent mother my blood pressure would be
through the roof.
“Can you take it again?” I asked.
The man frowned. “You’re fine.”
I didn’t feel fine. I felt like a failure.
How could my blood pressure be fine? I’m a total and complete failure as
a mom.
“Do you want to see a doctor?” the man asked me.
Again, I shook my head. “No. Just a pediatrician for Laurie.”
He nodded and left the room. The other nurse turned to me. “Are
you breastfeeding?”
I nodded.
She handed Laurie to me. “Why don’t you nurse her now and see if
she calms down a bit. All her vital signs are very good. Do you still
want a pediatrician to look at her?”
“Yes, of course!” I answered.
The nurse nodded in understanding and left the room, promising
to send the pediatrician on call.
I squeezed Laurie and fresh tears ran down my cheeks.
“Littlest! Please be okay. Please don’t be hurt,” I sobbed.
Laurie’s hand entangled itself in my hair and she yanked at it,
letting out a howl.
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I laughed and let her tug at my hair. “If you’re mad at missing a
meal, then you’re probably okay, huh?”
I bundled her in a blanket, nursed her, and waited for the doctor
while replaying the accident in my mind. Was there anything I could
have done differently? Why did he take off? I know he was just a kid,
probably only recently got his license. But how could he abandon us
like that?
The door to the room opened and my husband, Jim, appeared. I
leapt out of the chair, still holding Laurie, and fell into him. His strong
arms engulfed us and made me feel safe for the first time since the
accident.
In a rush of words I told him about the hit-and-run. He listened to
me while he watched Laurie.
There was a soft rap at the door, followed by the creak of it open‐
ing. The pediatrician, a tall man with smooth olive skin and dark hair,
stepped in. He had me place Laurie on the exam table, which caused
me to go into full sob mode again.
He peppered Jim with questions regarding Laurie’s health, as he
examined her. After a bit, he subjected me to the same battery of
questions.
He finally said, “I think she’s fine. Of course, we’ll have to monitor
her for signs of distress for the next forty-eight hours or so. But
newborns are mostly cartilage; it’s probably you, Mom, who’s going to
be hurting.”
He handed me a checklist of symptoms to watch for, including:
vomiting, diarrhea, and lethargy, and then left the room.
I rebundled Laurie. “What did the police tell you?” I asked Jim.
“Not much. He said the guy in the car in front of you followed the
assailant. He ended up losing him, but was pretty sure it was a vehicle
from the French consulate’s fleet.”
A vehicle from the French consulate?
What did that mean? Why did he speed off? Why not stop?
“Was the car stolen?” I asked.
Jim shrugged. “I don’t know, the cop barely gave me the time of
day. Told me to file an insurance claim and gave me an incident
number.” Jim stared at me with a dumbfounded expression—one I’m
sure matched my own.
After a moment, he said, “Of course, I didn’t press him much. I
only wanted to find out about you and Laurie and how you guys were
doing.”
I nodded.
“Why’d you ask if the car was stolen?” Jim asked.
“It was a teenager driving it.”
Jim exhaled. “So it’s some diplomat’s kid.”
“Maybe,” I agreed.
He squinted at me. “Let’s go there.”
“What?”
“Let’s track down the snot nose that hit you and Laurie.”
“Shouldn’t we let the police do that?”
Jim clenched a fist. “They already know it’s a car from the
consulate. You think they’re itching to get involved with some diplo‐
mat’s pinhead son? If they were, they’d already be over there, right?”
I pulled Laurie close to me and pressed my nose into her soft
cheek. She was asleep but my squeeze caused her little hand to reach
out. I placed my finger in her palm and felt her small hand wrap
around it.
“You know the police aren’t going to do a darn thing,” Jim contin‐
ued. “They want us to open an insurance claim. Let us take the hit.”
Anger surged inside of me. “We already took the hit. Literally!
Laurie and I.”
Oh God, please let my baby be all right.
The doctor had said to watch for signs of distress.
Didn’t I always?
I would be even more vigilant now.
“What about Laurie? I want to get her home. Make sure she’s okay.
I want her to be warm and fed and content . . .” My voice caught as a
sob bubbled in my throat. “I want her to be okay.”
Jim pulled Laurie and me into an embrace. “She’s okay, honey.
She’s gonna be fine,” he said, his voice full of emotion “You heard the
doctor: She’s all cartilage.”
“She not all cartilage. She’s a person! A tiny defenseless little
person, with a heart and soul and . . .” Tears rolled down my face.
He tightened his grasp around me. Laurie squirmed between us.
“It happened so fast, Jim. One minute you’re there, stopped at a
light, and then the next . . . what if . . .”
“I love you guys so much. I can’t stand the thought. All I can do is
fight, Kate. I want to find the guy who ran into you. Accidents happen,
I know. But you can’t just leave a mother and child in the middle of
the road after smashing their car to smithereens.”
I nodded, swallowing back my fears. I picked up Laurie’s discarded
dress and handed it to Jim. “Let’s go.”
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Diana Orgain is the USA Today Bestselling Author of the Maternal Instincts Mystery Series, Love or Money Mystery series, and The Roundup Crew Mysteries. Diana is also the New York Times Bestselling co-author of the Scrapbooking Mystery Series with Laura Childs. To keep up to date with the latest releases visit Diana at www.dianaorgain.com GRAB YOUR COPY OF FORMULA FOR MURDER HERE
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April 11, 2021
Formula for Murder (Maternal Instincts Mystery Series: Book Three) Sneak Peek – Chapter One
Did you miss Book One ?
Did you miss Book Two ?
From Formula for Murder
Chapter One
To Do:
1. x Make holiday photo appointment for Laurie.
2. Send out Christmas cards Get them printed first—then
send out Christmas cards.
3. Complete Start Christmas shopping.
4. Find a “Baby’s First Christmas” ornament.
5. Get Christmas tree.
6. Finish background checks Galigani gave me.
7. Get new PI client. How do I do this?
I checked Laurie in the rearview mirror. She was sound
asleep; as usual, the motion of the car had lulled her into
slumber.
She looked adorable, wearing a tiny red satin dress with matching
red booties. We were on our way to get her first holiday photos taken.
I couldn’t believe three months had evaporated; it seemed like she was
born just yesterday. My best friend, Paula, had warned me the time
would fly by, but this was ridiculous. How had I put off taking
Laurie’s holiday photos? Now it was the first week in December and
I’d be hustling to get them taken, printed, and sent out as Christmas
cards.
It’s all right. From now on efficiency will be my middle name.
I cruised down the hill to the stoplight and stepped on the brake.
Out of habit, I glanced in the rearview again and saw a silver SUV
barreling down the hill.
Was the car out of control? It continued to speed and there was no
telltale sign of the nose dipping as it would if the driver were braking.
They were getting closer! Almost on top of us.
I quickly looked for a way to avoid impact. The cars in front of me
were waiting on the traffic signal and a steady stream of cross traffic
moved through the intersection.
No! The SUV was going to hit us!
My eyes were transfixed on the rearview mirror. I held my breath,
bracing myself for the crash at the same time my brain screamed for a
miracle.
Please stop in time. Please don’t hit me and my baby!
Adrenaline shot through me, and everything felt as though it was
happening in slow motion. I watched in horror as the SUV swerved
violently to the right, but there was no way it could avoid hitting us.
The impact jolted us forward and I banged my head on the
steering wheel. My seat belt caught and tugged at me just as we
slammed into the car in front of us, then my entire body jerked back‐
ward, the base of my head smacking into the headrest.
Laurie let out a shrill wail, piercing into my heart. My gaze shot
right and I locked eyes with the assailing driver. He was young, maybe
only sixteen or seventeen, with longish brown hair and peach fuzz on
his chin. His eyes were wide in shock. The SUV revved and tore off
through the red light.
The light changed to green, and traffic—which had been stopped
all around us—began to move again.
The passenger door of the vehicle in front of us opened and a
woman jumped out. She rushed to my driver’s side. I unfastened my
belt with only one thing on my mind.
Laurie!
My hands were shaking from the adrenaline pulsing through my
system. I pushed open my door.
The woman asked, “Are you all right?”
“I don’t know. My baby! My baby!”
The woman’s eyes widened as she focused on Laurie in her car
seat.
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Why wasn’t she crying? She had cried out on impact but now she was
silent.
My heart was lodged in my throat. I struggled with the door
handle, my hands fumbling it. The woman reached over me and easily
opened the door. I dove inside the backseat to Laurie’s side.
Traffic sped around us. One vehicle slowed then stopped. The
driver yelled, “Is everyone okay? Do you want me to call a tow truck?
The police?”
I swallowed past the lump in my throat and shouted, “Call an
ambulance!”
My voice sounded near hysterical even to me. I examined Laurie,
who upon seeing me started to fidget and then began to cry.
Was she hurt? Was I supposed to move her? Panic about spinal
cord injury flooded my mind.
“What do I do?” I asked the woman. “I don’t want to take her out of
the car seat. What if it hurts her little spine?”
“Can we get the entire car seat out of the car? Traffic’s not waiting,
honey, and I want to get you two out of danger.”
I unclipped the car seat bucket and pulled the carrier out of the
car. The woman grabbed the carrier, and we crossed a lane of traffic
to the side of the road.
She set Laurie’s bucket down on a bed of ice plants. “My husband
went after the guy,” the woman said. “I can’t believe he just took off
like that!”
I nodded distractedly, my mind and attention on Laurie. “He was
young, a kid.”
The woman blew out her breath in a sharp huff. “Probably on
drugs!”
I leaned in as close to Laurie as I could without removing her from
the seat, trying to soothe her.
“Did you see the plates on the car?” the woman asked me.
I rubbed Laurie’s cheek, she rooted toward my hand. She was
either hungry or looking for soothing. “No,” I answered. “Just him.
Long brown hair, peach fuzz, wide-eyed doe look on his face.”
“Foreign diplomat car. DL? What code is that? French?” she asked.
Sirens screamed from up the hill.
Help is on the way!
I pressed my cheek against Laurie’s and whispered, “Shhh, little
angel, pumpkiny pie, Mommy’s here and help’s coming fast.”
The woman said something inaudible and looked up in time to see
an ambulance accompanied by a police cruiser pull up to the curb.
The paramedics jumped out of the ambulance.
An officer stepped out of the patrol car and began speaking with
the woman.
One EMT leaned over Laurie and me. “How are you?”
“I’m okay. I think. My baby is only three months old. I didn’t want
to take her out of the seat. Because, you know, I didn’t know if it was
okay to move her. I’m scared of neck or spinal injury—”
“Right, right,” the EMT said, flashing a light across Laurie’s eyes.
I knelt in the ice plant and hovered over them, not caring about
the dew that soaked through the knees of my jeans and chilled me.
The EMT looked at me. “Her eyes are responding okay, but I can’t
tell much without taking her out of the seat. You want to go to the
hospital? It’s down the street.”
I nodded, trying to shove down the hysteria welling inside me.
The EMT picked up Laurie’s bucket. Laurie was now seemingly
beginning to panic, too, and her cry turned into a shriek, her tiny
arms flapping about.
It broke my heart to see her in distress, not really able to calm her.
Every fiber of my being screamed to grab the bucket from him, pull
Laurie out, and cradle her.
Please just be hungry or fussy. Don’t be hurt, don’t be injured!
The other EMT helped me up off my knees. The woman seemed
to be recounting the accident to the police officer. As soon as I got to
my feet I followed Laurie into the ambulance. The EMT who had
assisted me moved to the officer and said something I couldn’t
pick up.
The officer nodded and came toward me. He was slightly taller
than me and had a stocky build. Somehow his build reassured me as
though it made him sturdy and dependable. “Ma’am, I’ll need a state‐ment
from you. If you leave me your information I can get it from you
later.”
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Diana Orgain is the USA Today Bestselling Author of the Maternal Instincts Mystery Series, Love or Money Mystery series, and The Roundup Crew Mysteries. Diana is also the New York Times Bestselling co-author of the Scrapbooking Mystery Series with Laura Childs. To keep up to date with the latest releases visit Diana at www.dianaorgain.com Share the love!
Motherhood is Murder (Maternal Instincts Mystery Series: Book Two) Sneak Peek – Chapter Three Continued…
Did you miss Chapter Two?
From Motherhood is Murder
Chapter Three Continued…
DIGGING
“I was on the upper deck, admiring the view of the Golden Gate.”
“With whom?” Lee asked.
“By myself.”
Lee squinted at me. “Where was your husband?”
“Dancing. Are you with homicide?”
Lee looked surprised. “No. Why would you think the homicide
division would be here?”
Oh no! Way to put your foot in it, Kate!
“Sorry. I . . . never mind.”
Lee scowled and made another note. “So you were on the upper
deck and your husband was on the main. Dancing? Alone?”
“No. We’d been dancing together, but I got tired and wanted to get
some air. Margaret had been sitting alone at our table for a while
because her husband . . . well, actually, I don’t know where her
husband was . . . maybe he just doesn’t dance. I asked Jim to dance
with her because she looked lonely. And I went to the upper deck to
get some air and enjoy the view.”
“So you left your husband with Margaret?”
I nodded.
Lee narrowed his eyes at me. “Margaret was the one who found
Helene at the bottom of the stairs.”
“Uh-huh,” I answered, not following his train of thought.
Lee pinched his lips together, then said in a condescending tone,
“So, how can Margaret be dancing with your husband on the main
deck and find her friend on the upper deck at the same time?”
I shrugged. “Oh. Well, maybe she didn’t want to dance with Jim . . .
I really don’t know, I haven’t asked him . . .”
Lee shook his head at me. He looked as though he wanted to roll
his eyes, but some ounce of professionalism remained because he
controlled himself.
“Did you see anyone on the upper deck?” he asked.
“Yeah. There were people around.”
“Who?”
I stirred my coffee and thought.
“Take your time,” Lee said, tapping his pen against the video
glass top.
<><><>
“I don’t know, I wasn’t cataloging people. I mean, I don’t
remember being entirely alone, people were hovering around oohing
and ahhing at the bridge. But I can’t exactly say who I saw.”
Lee stopped tapping his pen. “I see. Were you upset with anyone
here tonight?”
“No, of course not.”
“Did you argue or fight with anyone tonight?”
“No.”
“Did you see anyone arguing or overhear anything?”
Evelyn accused Sara of fighting with Helene. Should I tell the officer that?
But what did I really know?
I shook my head. “I didn’t overhear any fights.”
“When was the last time you saw Helene?”
“After dinner. We were served dessert, but she didn’t eat hers. She
said she needed a cigarette. So, she and Margaret went upstairs.”
“Margaret?” Lee looked at his notebook and read back to me my
own words. “‘Margaret had been sitting alone at our table for a
while.’” He gestured with his hand for me to elaborate.
“Yeah, that’s right, but it was later in the evening. Margaret did go
upstairs with Helene, but then came back alone. At that point, dinner
was over, so people were milling about. I didn’t keep track of every‐
one’s movements.”
Maybe I should have.
How would I ever make a good PI if I wasn’t more observant?
“So, Helene said she wasn’t feeling well. Was she drunk?”
I shrugged, recalling the empty glasses at her place. “She seemed a
little tipsy.”
Lee pulled his card from a breast pocket and handed it to me.
“Okay, Mrs. Connolly, if you remember anything, call me. Otherwise,
if I can see your driver’s license for a moment, I think we’re done
here.”
As I pulled my wallet from my purse, several slips of paper rained
onto the floor. I grabbed the two by my feet, one a shopping list, the
other my to-do list. Officer Lee retrieved the piece of paper near him.
One of my homemade PI business cards.
Oh no!
Officer Lee read the card and frowned. “You’re an investigator?”
“I . . . um . . . I’m trying to be.”
Lee leaned in closer as the Pac-Man machine again killed off a
character, the tune underscoring my feeling of consternation. He
scratched his chin. “Anything else you can think of that you want to
share with me right now?”
“Like what?” I stuttered.
Lee pressed his palms against the video game and closed in on me.
“Mrs. Connolly, were you on this cruise for business?”
“What? No. What do you mean?”
Lee evaluated me for a long moment. I sat perfectly still, not even
sure what expression I should put on my face.
Finally Lee rested back into the lounge chair. “Okay. We’ll be in
touch if we need anything else.”
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Diana Orgain is the USA Today Bestselling Author of the Maternal Instincts Mystery Series, Love or Money Mystery series, and The Roundup Crew Mysteries. Diana is also the New York Times Bestselling co-author of the Scrapbooking Mystery Series with Laura Childs. To keep up to date with the latest releases visit Diana at www.dianaorgain.com Share the love!
Motherhood is Murder (Maternal Instincts Mystery Series: Book Two) Sneak Peek – Chapter Three
Did you miss Chapter Two?
From Motherhood is Murder
Chapter Three
DIGGING
Officer Lee and I situated ourselves in a corner of the bar, each
of us in a black lounge chair, a video console game of PacMan between us.
I placed my coffee on the video game tabletop and fingered the
recycling logo on the Styrofoam cup. “What can I do to help?”
“Tell me about your evening. What you were doing on this dinner
cruise?” Lee asked.
I shrugged. “What everyone else was doing, having dinner.”
Lee closed his eyes and shook his head slightly, indicating he didn’t
think my comment was funny.
He placed his notebook on the tabletop. At the moment the game
preview was killing off one of the Pac-Mans and the defeat music
accompanied Lee as he said, “How well did you know Mrs. Helene
Chambers?”
“Not well at all. I met her and Margaret last week. They invited me
on this cruise. I was checking out the Roo & You club.”
“The mommy club?”
I nodded.
“What about the spouses?” Lee asked.
“What do you mean?”
<><><>
He looked at me as though I was incredibly naive. “Did you know
anyone else at your table? Any of the spouses?”
Was he asking if I’d had an affair with any of them?
I looked down at my red cocktail dress. Certainly some cleavage
was showing, but nothing risqué. Why would he suggest anything like
that?
I leveled my stare at him. “Only my own spouse.”
“Did your husband know anyone?”
I shook my head again.
Lee’s expression looked sour. “I don’t get it.”
“Get what?”
“Why you would go on a dinner cruise with a group of people you
don’t know.”
“Like I said, I met Helene and Margaret, they were funny and
smart and invited me to join this mommy support club.”
He wrote in his pad and said slowly, “Mom-my sup-port.” He
finished writing and looked up. “What’s that mean?”
Another Pac-Man bit the dust and the music played as the token
crumpled into thin air. I was beginning to feel aligned with the little
game piece, running and dodging. And from Lee’s tone I feared that
my end could be the same.
“I wanted to talk to other moms. You know, have a peer group. Be
able to check in with someone and make sure you’re not nuts.”
He made another note. “So you feel like you’re going crazy?”
Was this guy for real?
I reflexively glanced around the room for the woman officer.
Surely, she would understand.
I shut my eyes and shook my head. “That’s not what I meant.”
“I understand that you were away from your table when the acci‐
dent occurred. Can you tell me your whereabouts around ten thirty
p.m.?”
“Well, I didn’t look at my watch, but I was in the ladies’ room when
Sara told me the captain wanted us back at our tables.”
Lee nodded. “And prior to that?”
Another Pac-Man warbled to his demise.
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Diana Orgain is the USA Today Bestselling Author of the Maternal Instincts Mystery Series, Love or Money Mystery series, and The Roundup Crew Mysteries. Diana is also the New York Times Bestselling co-author of the Scrapbooking Mystery Series with Laura Childs. To keep up to date with the latest releases visit Diana at www.dianaorgain.com Share the love!
