Diana Orgain's Blog, page 16
March 31, 2021
Motherhood is Murder (Maternal Instincts Mystery Series: Book Two) Sneak Peek – Chapter Two Continued…
Did you miss Chapter one?
From Motherhood is Murder
Chapter Two Continued…
Outreach
THE BOAT SWAYED, THE MOTION BROUGHT MY MIND BACK TO THE
present.
I still needed to call Mom. How could I find a network? I extended
my arm and did a ridiculous dance trying to coax more than two bars
out of the phone.
I quickly dialed home. All I could see in my mind’s eye was
Laurie’s pretty round face with her rosy cheeks and toothless grin.
Thank God I’d pumped before leaving the house this evening. I only
hoped they wouldn’t keep us here too much longer. I was missing
Laurie like crazy.
I twisted and suddenly saw full bars. Mom answered on the third
ring.
“How’s Lemon Drop?” I asked.
Samba music blared in the background, then suddenly stopped.
“She fine, dear. Sleeping.”
“What are you listening to?”
“Ricky Martin.”
“Laurie is sleeping through Ricky Martin?”
“Yes, well, she’s really still too young to enjoy the finer things in
life.”
I filled Mom in on the developments.
She gasped. “Don’t worry about Laurie and me, we’re fine. Just
take care of whatever you need to. We’ll be here.”
What would I do without Mom?
As I was about to thank her and hang up, I heard a male voice in
the background. “Who’s that?”
“Oh! That’s Hank. He came over to keep me company.”
After nearly fifteen years of being single, Mom had recently
started dating again. Hank was the man who’d brought her out of
hiding.
“What are you, a teenager? You have some guy over as soon as the
adults are out of the house?”
Mom laughed. “I needed somebody to samba with and Laurie just
wasn’t cooperating.”
From the main staircase four police officers in uniform descended.
They wore solemn expressions and walked in lockstep.
“I gotta go,” I said to Mom and hung up.
I returned to our table, where Jim and my, no doubt, cold coffee
were waiting.
Upon reaching the bottom of the stairs, the officers dispersed.
Each one approached a different table, the divide and conquer
method.
The officer that came to our table was Asian-American. He had a
strong compact build and a smooth complexion. He leaned forward,
his hands resting on the tabletop, and cleared his throat. “Evening,
ladies and gentlemen, I’m Officer Lee. Sorry about the delay. The
captain wants to dock as soon as possible, but before we can let you
all go—I need to get a statement from each of you and some contact
information.”
“How’s Helene?” Margaret asked.
Officer Lee focused on Margaret and sized her up, nodding to
himself several times. “The medical staff is with her now.”
Medical staff?
He meant the medical examiner, I was sure of it. But I supposed
SFPD had a reason for not disclosing that. I hadn’t had an opportunity
to mention to anyone that I had bumped into the ME. Now, I felt
certain I should keep it to myself.
Except, of course, for Jim.
Reflexively my hand reached out to touch Jim’s leg. He placed his
hand over mine and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
Officer Lee straightened and pulled out a notebook from his
breast pocket. “I’d like to begin with you,” he said to Margaret. “Please
follow me.”
Margaret gave the napkin in her lap one final wring, then stood
up. Her tutu sprang to attention.
Officer Lee seemed momentarily dazed by Margaret’s attire. He
gathered himself enough to mumble, “If everyone can please get their
identification cards or driver’s licenses ready, it’ll make this whole
process go much smoother.”
Margaret followed Lee toward the lounge area, where they carved out
a private space to speak. The rest of us at the table exchanged sympathetic
looks and began to gather up purses and wallets to prove our identity.
Evelyn craned to look out the starboard windows. “Where’s the
hospital boat? Why aren’t they shuttling her off the boat?”
“Maybe she’s not hurt all that bad,” Sara offered.
“Then why are the police here?” Evelyn shrieked.
Evelyn’s husband put his hand on her shoulder. Evelyn sat up
straighter and pushed her belly out.
Sara gave Evelyn the evil eye. “How should I know why the police
are here? Maybe all this has something to do with you!”
“Me!” Evelyn said, pressing her hand to her heart.
Sara’s husband, Howard, looked stunned. “Sara!” He took hold of
her arm.
She shrugged him off. “Why did you even come on this cruise?”
she said to Evelyn. “You aren’t a member of Roo & You anymore. I’m
sure Helene made that clear to you!”
Evelyn’s face flushed bright red. A lock of blond hair slipped from
her barrette and fell across her face; she fiercely brushed it aside, then
jutted her finger out at Sara. “I saw you and Helene arguing at the top
of the stairs. I saw you. I saw you fighting!”
Indignation crossed Sara’s face, but before she could reply, her
husband noisily pushed his chair back from the table and stood.
“Come on. We don’t need to sit here and listen to this.”
Sara seemed torn. She looked as though she wanted to stay and
fight with Evelyn, but couldn’t find the courage to stand up to her
husband.
She pressed her lips together as her husband grabbed her arm. She
stood and glared at Evelyn, then walked with him to the lounge area.
Evelyn’s husband, Fred, patted her arm. “Honey, don’t upset your‐
self or the baby.”
Evelyn huffed an inaudible response.
Our table fell into silence.
A fight?
I remembered Sara, Miss No-Nonsense, in the bathroom and how
disheveled she looked. Why had her dress been wet?
I imagined Helene throwing a drink at her and Sara pushing
Helene down the stairs.
No.
Too dramatic.
Jim leaned close to me and whispered, “I didn’t know we’d get to
see fireworks on this cruise.”
I elbowed him.
“And we didn’t even have to pay extra!” he continued.
One agency or other was always advertising firework displays on
the San Francisco Bay, whether it was after a ball game or during a
dinner cruise. Usually there was an extra charge at those events.
I shook my head at him, conjuring visions of the medical examiner
hovering over a pasty Helene.
Poor thing!
<><><>
Fred leaned in toward Evelyn. “What did she mean, you aren’t a
member of Roo & You?”
Evelyn flicked her hand about as though to distract us or at the
very least indicate to her husband to move off the topic. “I saw Helene
and Sara bickering at the top of the staircase that Helene fell down.”
“Over what?” Fred asked.
Margaret and Officer Lee approached our table. Evelyn fanned her
hand at Fred, silencing him.
Margaret reached her chair and seated herself, tucking in her tutu
around her. Lee scanned the room. I followed his gaze, which settled
on Sara and Howard arguing in a corner of the lounge. I turned back
to face Officer Lee, only to see him leave our table and head toward
Sara.
Margaret’s lipstick had faded to nothing and her eyes looked
drawn. I glanced at my watch. It was well past midnight now and I
was feeling sapped. With Margaret’s return, the table had fallen into
silence and I longed to be alone with Jim.
Jim wrapped his arm around my shoulder. “Are you cold, honey?
You want me to get you some hot coffee?”
I perked up. “I’ll go with you.”
We stood to leave and ended up taking orders from our table for
hot teas and coffees. As we made our way to the bar, I noticed that
several passengers were speaking with officers at strategic locations
throughout the dining and lounge area. One silver-haired woman was
speaking animatedly with a female officer. She was gesticulating
wildly while the officer scribbled notes on a notepad.
I tried to eavesdrop on their conversation, but Jim was walking too
fast. At six foot two, Jim has serious long legs, so they don’t even have
to be moving all that fast to leave me in the dust. I pulled at his arm to
slow him down.
He stopped walking and smiled at me. “Sorry, honey.” He kissed
me. “It’s terrible about your friend. I hope she’s okay.”
“She’s not. When I called Mom, I bumped into Nick Dowling,” I
said.
Jim’s eyes narrowed. “Isn’t he the coroner?”
“Medical examiner, yeah.”
Jim paled. “Does his being here mean Helene is—”
“Dead,” I whispered.
“Does anyone else know?” Jim asked.
I shrugged. “Well, I suppose the cops do and I’m sure Margaret’s
podiatrist husband knows. Right? I mean even though he’s —”
“Okay, okay. I know a podiatrist can be a doctor. I meant, do you
think anyone at our table knows?”
“I think they all know a podiatrist can be a doctor.”
Jim shook his head at my bad joke. “Do they know about Helene?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Well, don’t say anything, all right? It looks bad that the ME is
here, but we don’t know anything for sure, right? So let’s not say
anything and get anyone more upset than they already are.”
I nodded in agreement. We reached the bar and placed our order.
Officer Lee appeared next to me.
“Mrs. Connolly, I’d like to have a word with you next.”
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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 Two
Did you miss Chapter one?
From Motherhood is Murder
Chapter Two
Outreach
I waved my cell phone around, counting bars as I moved
from window to window. I had five bars showing until I
hit the first number on the keypad, then three bars disappeared.
Most of the passengers were now lingering in the lounge area. The
captain had announced that we would be further delayed and compli‐
mentary hot beverages would be served.
Jim was in line getting me a hot coffee, while I frantically tried to
reach my mother, who was babysitting for us.
I moved away from the windows, still focused on the phone, and
slammed directly into Nick Dowling, the San Francisco Medical
Examiner.
“Mrs. Connolly! What a coincidence.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. If Nick was here, it couldn’t be
good news for Helene.
“Mr. Dowling. Don’t tell me Helene is . . .”
Nick brushed his bangs off his forehead. “Well, I’m not supposed
to tell you anything. You know that, Kate.”
After giving birth to Laurie just a few short weeks ago, I’d been
dragged into a murder investigation. Well, maybe “dragged” wasn’t
the right word. I had launched a fledgling private investigation busi‐
ness. Maybe “launched” wasn’t the right word either. I had solved a
missing person’s case, and two murders.
Yes, I had solved it.
I’d also met the medical examiner.
The ME is called to a scene only when a death has occurred.
I closed my eyes and bowed my head. I felt Nick’s hand on my
elbow.
“I’m sorry, Kate. Were you close?”
I shook my head. “No, I only met her briefly. She and another
mom invited me to join their mommy group. Tonight I met the whole
gang.”
He sighed. Something buzzed from inside his jacket pocket.
“Sorry, I have to get that.” He fished out his cell phone and hurried
toward the exit.
Nick had reception, why didn’t I?
I tried to focus on my phone but there was a tightening in my
chest, my eyes teared.
Poor Helene. Dead? What could have happened?
How could a fall down some steps have killed her? Had she broken
her neck? Head trauma or what?
One minute she was alive and well, eating dinner with us, then
suddenly she was gone.
How many children did she have? They needed their mommy.
I swallowed the lump forming in my throat.
What was behind all the looks exchanged at my table? There
seemed to be some animosity between the women.
Could Helene have been murdered?
Maybe someone pushed her down the stairs.
No, that didn’t make any sense.
Certainly if anyone was trying to kill her, they wouldn’t have done
it on a crowded dinner cruise, much less by pushing her down a stair‐
well. That would have been stupid.
Push her overboard, maybe, but not down some steps.
It had to have been an accident. Or perhaps she’d died of natural
causes. But she looked so healthy!
Maybe an aneurysm—those could strike suddenly and take some‐
one’s life even if they were young and seemingly healthy.
The medical examiner would figure it out.
Could I help in any way? Maybe there’d be a need for a PI?
Right. What was I thinking? I had no license. No way to land a case
on my own. The only way I could fathom landing a case would be to
enroll help from Senior PI Albert Galigani.
Galigani had been instrumental on my first case. Maybe he would
let me use his license, or work for him. I’d do whatever it took to
make myself legit.
I pushed the thought aside. Legitimacy didn’t matter. Helping
Helene did. Although I hardly knew her, my heart grieved.
I recalled meeting her last week. I was at Angles de la Terre, the
ultrachic baby store in downtown San Francisco. It was pricey, but
they carried high-end products and had a great selection of items
such as cradle cap cream, which I hadn’t been able to find at Target.
Never mind the fact that there is no Target or Walmart in San Fran‐
cisco. So after being forced to shop in a neighboring town and
striking out, I made the trip downtown.
I was rewarded by the smell of chocolate wafting in from next
door to Angles de la Terre. A tiny chocolatier selling only superb
candy had been at the same location for ninety years. I stopped in and
conducted a quality check. After all, old-time traditions need to be
maintained. And who better to taste the chocolate than a San Fran‐
cisco native?
Wasn’t there something about chocolate that had medicinal properties
anyway?
As I roamed the aisles of Angles de la Terre, I licked what
remained of the truffle off my fingers. Indeed the quality was still
superb.
I pushed Laurie’s stroller down the organic cotton diapers aisle,
which was flanked by signs noting MADE BY FAIR TRADE
WORKERS, and felt my shoulders relax to the new age music. The
next aisle held the remedies I was looking for, including cradle cap
cream.
<><><>
I grabbed the bottle and examined the ingredients—all natural, of
course.
And ooh—aroma-therapeutic properties.
A woman, tall and slender with impeccable posture, rounded the
corner of my aisle.
She stopped short of Laurie’s stroller and gazed down at her.
Laurie was decked out in a frilly little pink dress with matching pink
booties and hat.
“She’s beautiful,” the woman said.
I smiled. “Thank you.”
She scrutinized me. “Your first?”
I laughed. “That obvious, huh?”
“All new moms have that same look about them.”
“Clueless?”
It was her turn to laugh. “No. Sort of shocked, kinda giddy, and
yet . . .”
“Clueless.”
The woman chuckled and stuck out her hand. “I’m Margaret Lipe.”
I juggled the bottle of cream to my left hand and shook hers.
“Kate.”
“Magic Moments!” she said. “That’s the best product line ever. You
only need a little bit and it works like a charm. Have you tried their
infant massage oil?” She reached over and picked up a bottle. “It’s got
lavender and I don’t know what else in it.” She flipped it over to
examine the label. “Well, whatever it is, it just makes your little one
snooze away.”
“Who wouldn’t want that?”
Margaret raised her eyebrows in a knowing response and handed
me the bottle. “A few drops and you’re set.”
“I haven’t heard about Magic Moments.”
She looked at me like I was from Mars. “Are you local?”
I nodded.
“Don’t you belong to a mommy group?” she asked.
“No. Who has the time?”
“You have to make the time. It’s important not to lose yourself in
the mothering process.”
“Yeah. It’s easy to get caught up in diapers, milk, and not much
else.” I shook the bottles in my hand. “Except maybe for cradle cap
remedies.”
“Well, mommy groups are really good for recommendations and
keeping up with the latest scoop on everything! I run one and I’m
always on the lookout for what works, what saves time, who’s the best
nanny, that sort of thing. And it’s great to have the support. When I
had my second baby, the other moms in the group took turns
bringing me homemade dinners. Are you a stay-at-home?”
“Oh, a stay-at-home mom? Yes, I mean, I guess so . . . well, I work,
too . . . sort of.”
She nodded knowingly. “You haven’t decided. Are you still on
maternity leave?”
“Uh. No . . . I . . . um . . .”
Why was I stuttering like a ninny?
I knew what I was doing. I had quit my job and I was staying at
home with Laurie. The fact that I was trying to start my own business
didn’t change my status. Did it? Was I considered a working mom? Or
was I a stay-at-home mom?
“I’m at home but I also work,” I blurted. I reached into my diaper
bag and proudly presented her with a homemade PI business card I
had printed.
Margaret looked at the card curiously. “Ooooh. A private inves‐
tigator?”
My natural inclination was to shy away from the attention, but I
recalled my best friend, Paula, scolding me. “If you want to launch a
business, the first thing you have to do is tell everybody!”
I simply nodded at Margaret and stood there flatfooted.
Another woman appeared at the head of the aisle. “There you are!”
“Oh, sorry. I was chatting,” Margaret said. “This is Helene. We
cofounded our mommy group, Roo & You.”
Helene, lean and mean, was sporting designer blue jeans and char‐
treuse high heels. Her tan wool jacket was open slightly, revealing a
blouse in the exact same shade as her shoes. She reached out and
shook my hand. Hanging from her arm was the matching chartreuse
handbag.
“Is Margaret recruiting you?” Helene leaned over the stroller.
“She’s darling. Pretty in pink and matchy-matchy. Just like me. I
love it.”
“Next week our group is going on a dinner cruise,” Margaret said.
“Why don’t you join us?”
“A dinner cruise?” I asked.
“We usually meet at my place on Thursday afternoons for a play‐
date, but since you’re working, you might not be able to make after‐
noons, huh?”
So there it was. I was working. I wasn’t a stay-at-home.
Something inside me deflated. I wanted to be a stay-at-home
mommy. Why couldn’t I be? After all, I wasn’t really working. I didn’t
have a current client. I was free on Thursday afternoons. I could make
a playdate, whatever that was.
“Helene caught a cruising bug,” Margaret continued. “She scored
us tickets for a cruise around the bay. We’re all bringing our
husbands.”
“One thing that happens to new moms is that you practically
forget about the dads. They need attention, too.” Helene rummaged
around her handbag and pulled out a package of Nicorette gum.
“Margaret wanted to include our guys. So, Roo & You hired a couple
of babysitters to watch the wee ones.” She unwrapped a piece of gum
and popped it into her mouth. “And we’re going sailing!”
A bay dinner cruise.
An evening with Jim and no baby? No nursing, no diapers, no bath
time, no crying?
Hmmm. A cruise did sound a little more enticing than a playdate.
What would I wear?
Margaret dug a card out of her purse and handed it to me. It read
Roo & You—President and had a little graphic of a kangaroo with a
baby in its pouch. “You should come along and check out our group,”
she said.
“It sounds like fun,” I replied.
Helene poked Margaret. “We need to go. Marcus is probably
hungry by now.”
Margaret smiled at me. “He’s six months old and I’m vetting a new
nanny. Unfortunately, someone stole the one I used with my two year-old.”
A nanny. Must be nice.
Helene chomped on the gum. “This stuff doesn’t work. I still want
a cigarette.”
“You should try those patches.” Margaret said, linking her arm
through Helene’s. She turned to me. “Call or e-mail me. I’ll save you
two tickets for the cruise.”
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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 One Continued…
Did you miss Chapter one?
From Motherhood is Murder
Chapter One Continued…
At Sea
Evelyn squeezed my elbow and flitted off to gather her husband.
Jim pulled my chair out for me.
“Coast Guard? What’s going on?” I asked.
Jim’s lips formed a line. “I was at the bar getting a Bud, when the
brunette—”
“Sara, Miss No-Nonsense?”
“No. The other one, the one with the . . . with the . . .” Jim waved
his hands around. “Fluffy dress.”
I nodded. “Margaret.”
Margaret was wearing a ballet tutu. I wish I could say it looked as
ridiculous as it sounded, but the truth was it looked fabulous.
Margaret was supertall, pencil thin, and had shapely legs. She looked
as if she could have stepped out of a children’s book—a cartoon char‐
acter with spindly spider legs and a ruffle at her waist. But the gold
top and shoes added something indescribable to the outfit. Making
the cartoon Olive Oyl look glamorous and runway-ish.
“Yeah, Margaret,” Jim continued. “She ran up to us, looking a little
dazed, and said Helene fell down the back staircase. Said she was
unconscious—”
“Unconscious?” I felt a shiver run down my spine.
Jim pulled out my dining chair. “The captain asked if there was a
doctor on board.”
I sat down and let him push my chair in.
We were the only ones at our table. Earlier, we had dined with all
the parents from my new mothers’ group: Sara, Helene, Margaret,
Evelyn, and their husbands.
We had christened them: Sara was Miss No-Nonsense, Helene was
Lean and Mean, Margaret was Tutu, and Evelyn was Preggers. We
referred to the husbands as Cardboard Cutout Numbers 1 through 4.
Now, it felt almost irreverent to have given everyone a nickname.
“Where is everybody?” asked Jim.
I shrugged. “Helene, we know about, so her husband is probably
with her, right? Wasn’t Margaret’s husband—”
“Alan?”
“Yeah, Alan, isn’t he a doctor?”
Jim frowned. “A podiatrist.”
“Okay. Well, med school and all. Maybe she twisted her ankle. Did
you see the heels she was wearing?”
Jim tried to hide his smirk by sipping his beer.
I pushed his shoulder. “What’s so funny?”
“You. We just heard that Helene may be unconscious and you’re
worrying about her shoes!”
“I’m not worried about her shoes! I’m wondering what happened
to her and where everybody is. I mean, the woman practically kills
herself wearing some ungodly high heels, just to please some man,
who probably laughed at her—”
<><><>
Margaret descended the main staircase and closed the distance on
our table. I cut myself off despite Jim’s snickers into his beer. She
raised her hand in acknowledgment and sat down grim-faced.
“Where’s Alan?” I asked.
“With Helene,” she answered.
I shot Jim a smug look, which he ignored.
“How is she?” Jim asked.
Margaret’s eyes clouded over and she shrugged helplessly. “I don’t
know.”
We sat in awkward silence. I perused the other three tables in the
dining room. The parties at each table were as somber as we were.
The four-hour dinner cruise on the San Francisco Bay had now been
delayed indefinitely and nobody looked pleased about it.
Margaret fiddled with a cocktail glass that lingered beside her
half-eaten dessert. She lifted the glass and examined the contents.
Only two melting ice cubes remained. She stirred them with her
straw, hoping, I suppose, to release any vodka that might be clinging
to them. After a moment of disappointing results, she returned the
glass to the table. Her eyes flicked toward the bar.
“Can I get you anything?” Jim asked.
Margaret flushed. “No. God, no. Thank you.” She picked up her
discarded navy cloth napkin and wrung it.
From the main staircase Sara and her husband approached. Behind
them Evelyn and her husband were struggling to keep up. Evelyn had
one hand on her pregnant belly and the other on her husband’s shoul‐
der. They took their places at our table in silence. The men smelled of
cigar smoke and looked relaxed. In contrast, both women had pinched
expressions.
Now, there were only three vacant spots at our table. Helene’s, her
husband’s, and Alan’s. My eyes fell on Helene’s empty spot. Sara gave
me a tight smile, then put her hand on Margaret’s to stop her
fidgeting.
“Everything will be fine, you’ll see,” Sara said to Margaret.
Margaret lowered her eyes and nodded.
Suddenly we felt a bump and the ship jostled back and forth.
Everyone in the dining room turned toward the sound. Through the
starboard window we could see the U.S. Coast Guard vessel had
arrived. Crew members were roping the smaller craft to our ship.
The Coast Guard quickly boarded our ship and disappeared out of
sight with the crew members.
Margaret cleared her throat and eyed Evelyn. “Does anyone know
what happened? I mean, did she just slip or what?”
I had noticed that the woman hadn’t been very chatty with Evelyn
throughout the dinner and now wondered what the look Margaret
had flashed her might mean.
Evelyn shrugged and returned Margaret’s look evenly. “How
would I know? Ask Sara.”
Sara pressed her shoulders back and sat a little taller.
“She was really out of it,” Evelyn continued, rubbing her extended
belly. “How much did she have to drink anyway?”
“I didn’t think she had that much, did she?” Margaret asked.
Helene’s empty place seemed to dominate the table. Her dessert
plate still held the untouched apple turnover. The ice cream had
melted and run over the edge of the plate onto the navy and white
place mat. Next to the plate, two drained cocktail glasses loomed, and
in the tall wineglass only the stain of red wine remained.
A strange hush settled on our table.
Howard, Sara’s husband, slouched into his chair and casually slung
his arm around the back of Sara’s. “Looks like we’re going to be here
awhile.”
Everyone at the table looked at Howard, and then followed his
eyes to the starboard window. The night and bay were dark except for
a troubling light that was converging upon us.
“Oh good!” Margaret exclaimed. “That must be the hospital boat
for Helene.”
The craft nudged itself alongside us. Silence descended on the
entire dining room as letters on the boat came into view: “SFPD.”
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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 One
Did you miss Book One?
From Motherhood is Murder
Chapter One
At Sea
To Do:
1.Buy diapers.
2.Make Laurie’s two-month check.
3.Find good “how to” book for PI business.
4. x Find dress for dinner cruise.
5. x Ask Mom to babysit.
6.Exercise.
I STARED INTO THE BATHROOM MIRROR AND WONDERED HOW I’D FAILED
to bring a hairbrush along on the San Francisco Bay dinner cruise. I
ran my hands down the length of my mop, trying to tame the frizzies.
If I put a little water on the problem, would it help or make it worse?
The door to the restroom flew open. Sara, one of the moms from
my new mommy group, appeared. She looked worse than I did. Her
lipstick was smudged and her hair had the volume of a lion’s mane.
“Oh my God! Kate! I didn’t know you were here.” She took a step
back toward the door, then hesitated, looking like she’d been caught
with her hand in the cookie jar.
She was so prim and proper at dinner. Probably doesn’t like to be seen
1looking so rumpled, but hey, if you can’t look bad in the ladies’ room, then
there’s no safe haven.
Sara ran her hands along the front of her black cocktail dress,
which was wrinkled and wet, then squinted at her reflection. She
jumped into action, grabbing a paper towel and fixing the smeared
lipstick. “Your husband’s been looking everywhere for you. The
captain’s called an ‘all hands on deck.’”
“My hands, too?” I asked, wiggling my fingers under the faucet to
activate the automatic water flow.
Sara scrunched her mouth in disapproval.
“I guess I’m not up on ship rules,” I said to her reflection.
“Everyone has to go back to their tables, now!” She grabbed
another paper towel and frantically scrubbed at the wet section of her
dress.
I stopped fussing with my hair and shifted my gaze from Sara’s
reflection to Sara.
If everyone was supposed to be back to their tables, what was she doing
here?
“Why?” I asked.
“There’s been an accident.”
Goose bumps rose on my arms. “What kind of accident?”
“Helene fell down the back staircase.” Sara motioned me toward
the door. “Come on, come on.”
WE MADE OUR WAY THROUGH A DIMLY LIT CORRIDOR TOWARD THE MAIN
dining hall. The cruise ship held roughly seventy-five passengers
although tonight it was only about half full.
The change in atmosphere was immediately noticeable. Not to
mention eerie. The dance floor was empty and the music was off. We
crossed the bar area, which moments ago had been packed, and
hurried to our dining table.
Most of the passengers were seated at their tables. The chatter that
had animated the room was subdued.
I spotted Jim standing alone at our table, gripping the back of his
chair. He surveyed the room. When he saw me, his expression relaxed
a notch, going from grim to serious.
I hurried to him and reached for his hand.
He embraced me. “Kate! I was worried.”
“I need to find my husband,” Sara said as she rushed past us and
headed for the main stairwell.
“What’s happened? Sara said Helene fell down some steps. Is it
serious?”
“I’m not sure. The captain asked everyone to return to their dining
tables. Didn’t you hear him on the microphone? Where’ve you been?”
Before I could answer, my elbow was jogged by Evelyn, another
mommy from our group. She was eight months pregnant with her
second child. Her blond hair was pinned neatly back, and her green eyes
flashed, enhanced by the lime scarf she wore. The scarf was arranged to
draw the eye toward her protruding belly, which she proudly stroked.
“Kate! How awful! Did you hear about Helene?” Her lips curled a
bit, almost as if she were suppressing a smile.
Why was she smiling? Almost gloating.
“Sort of. Is she all right?”
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the captain’s voice boomed over the
microphone. “Please take your seats. We will be a bit delayed in
docking in San Francisco due to an unfortunate accident aboard. The
U.S. Coast Guard will be joining us shortly. Thank you in advance for
your full cooperation.”
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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!
March 30, 2021
Bundle of Trouble (Maternal Instincts Mystery Series: Book One) Sneak Peek – Chapter Three continued …
Did you miss Chapter One?
Did you miss Chapter Two?
From Bundle of Trouble
Chapter Three Continued…
RECOVERY/DISCOVERY
Jim shrugged, then pinched the bridge of his nose. “All my life
everyone has tried to help George. Growing up, my mom told me to
take care of him. Your best friend for life, she always said. I did my
best, but nothing was ever good enough for him. He always demanded
more, giving nothing in return and managing to poison everything
and everyone around him.” His face contorted in anger, then turned
to sadness. “I didn’t want the joy of Laurie’s birth clouded over by
news about George.” After a moment, he said, “I took down the guy’s
phone number. I’ll call him when we’re home, make sure I’m really
reaching the medical examiner’s office.”
We sat in silence for a moment. I put my arms around him and
pressed my cheek against his. I understood his desire to postpone bad
news.
As the sun came up, the room began to glow. I glanced at the clock
and realized Laurie was due back at any minute.
“Sorry I woke you,” I said.
He stroked my hair. “Try not to worry about George. I’m doing
it enough for the both of us. You focus on Laurie and on
recovering.”
<><><>
THE DAY NURSE WHEELED IN OUR LITTLE BUNDLE, WRAPPED IN A PINK
and blue striped swaddling blanket with a pink cap on her head. She
looked like a tiny cherub with rosy cheeks. I noticed a scratch on her
face. Laurie’s itty-bitty nails were extremely long. The nurse
explained that hospital staff refused to trim them “because of the
liability.”
How ridiculous was that? A qualified nursing professional
wouldn’t trim those microscopic things. I’m supposed to?
How could I trust myself not to cut off a finger? Where was
Giselle? And who was this day nurse who didn’t even have the
decency to help us trim the little talons?
Laurie swung her hands frightfully close to her bright blue eyes.
Jim and I decided filing them seemed a much safer option.
As I manicured Laurie, Jim called our family and friends
announcing the birth of our daughter. When Jim dialed his Uncle
Roger, I found myself holding my breath.
“Uncle Roger? It’s Jim . . . we had the baby . . . yeah . . . beautiful
baby girl . . . six pounds, five ounces . . . Laurie. Katie’s doing great.”
Jim listened as Roger spoke. I continued to eavesdrop, but couldn’t
make out much from Roger’s end.
I mouthed to Jim, “Ask him about George.”
Jim waved me away, then turned his back to me.
I checked Laurie’s diaper. Her diapers were so tiny, Jim and I
laughed every time we had to change one. She was dry.
I wondered if the nurse had changed her. In the baby preparation
class, they told us we would now become “waste watchers.” Laurie
needed to have as many wet diapers per day as she was days old. Two
days old, two wet diapers. At least until the mother’s milk came in.
Right now she was surviving solely on colostrum, the premilk.
How would it feel to have milk come in? Were you supposed to
feel anything? So far, I’d noticed nothing. What if it didn’t come in?
What then? How would I know anyhow? And even if it did come in,
would it be enough?
Earlier this morning the day nurse had stood over our bed and
observed me breastfeeding. She frowned as she wrote down on my
chart: “Breastfeeding: mother—poor, baby—poor.”
How could she write that?
I’m an overachiever by nature, but the nurse’s remark about me
didn’t bother me as much as the remark about Laurie. How could she
say Laurie was “poor” at anything? I felt an immediate instinct to
defend my little one. Forget that nurse. We would show her. We were
going to become breastfeeding wonders.
When did Giselle’s shift start?
Jim hung up the phone, the sound interrupting my thoughts.
“Uncle Roger hasn’t heard from the medical examiner’s office.”
“Oh? I didn’t hear you ask him.”
“I didn’t. But he didn’t say anything about it, so I know they didn’t
call him.”
“Why didn’t you just ask him?”
“Why bother him? Hasn’t Roger been through enough?”
I felt my stomach tighten. “Aren’t you worried?”
Laurie answered with a wail as though she sensed her father’s
distress.
Avoiding my question, Jim teased, “Go ahead and try that breast‐
feeding thing again. I hear you two are poor at it.”
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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!
Bundle of Trouble (Maternal Instincts Mystery Series: Book One) Sneak Peek – Chapter Three
Did you miss Chapter One?
Did you miss Chapter Two?
From Bundle of Trouble
Chapter Three
RECOVERY/DISCOVERY
We were moved to a bright recovery room with a view
of Saint Ignatius Church. Jim slouched in a corner of
the room on a hospital cot.
Mom had left for the day, ticketless. It was only 5 P.M., but felt
much later.
I held my sleeping pumpernickel in my arms. I was told that
newborns mainly sleep the first week. It’s difficult to wake them even
to nurse. Right now sleep sounded great. Jim and I were exhausted.
“I wish I had space in this stupid hospital bed for you,” I said,
raising the bed slightly, then lowering it again.
Who could ever get comfortable in one of these?
“Don’t worry, honey, I’m fine,” Jim grumbled from the corner cot.
“I miss you way over there.”
He stood, stretched, and hobbled over to me, his legs cramped
from a long night of worry and catnapping on a bad cot. “Let me hold
her awhile.”
I handed the baby to him. He settled himself against the
windowsill and admired her. “Hope for the next generation.”
I knew, of course, that his remark was connected to George. But I
didn’t have the energy to think about that. “I need to sleep awhile,
honey . . .”
I was already drifting off when I felt the covers being tucked
against my chin. “Take care of Laurie,” I mumbled.
“Is that her name?”
“If you like it,” I said, drifting to sleep.
“I do. Get some rest. I promise to take good care of Laurie.”
<><><>
I SLEPT A FITFUL HOUR, DREAMING THAT I WAS SWIMMING IN THE BAY. IN
the dream, I became entangled with a dead body that seemed to pull
me under. As I freed myself from the corpse to swim toward the
surface, my ankle caught in the strap of a bag. The sound of cries
pierced the water. Suddenly, the water was full of bags and corpses. A
shrill cry startled me awake.
I gasped for air as I awoke. Jim was standing over me with the
baby in his arms. “Are you all right?”
I nodded, dumbfounded.
“Sorry, honey, I didn’t mean to wake you. She’s crying and I don’t
know what to do.” Jim handed me the baby.
“I think she’s hungry, or wet, or both.” I placed her near my breast.
Instead of latching on, she only cried louder, howling into my face.
Jim laughed but I felt like crying, too.
“Maybe we should call the nurse,” I said.
Before we could do anything, a tall, slender African-American
nurse glided into the room. Her name tag read GISELLE.
“What is it now? Little baby girl giving her parents a hard time?
Hush now, they don’t know what they’re doing, girl.” She rewrapped
Laurie’s blanket around her.
In an instant the crying stopped. Laurie gratefully curled into
Giselle. Jim and I stared at her.
“Did anyone teach you how to swaddle?” she asked.
“I thought she was swaddled,” Jim replied.
“Not tight enough. Babies like to be wrapped tight, like a little
burrito, or they feel like they’re falling.” She handed Laurie to Jim and
turned to me. “How’s Mama?” she asked, expertly taking my blood
pressure and temperature.
“Now that you mention a burrito, hungry.”
Giselle smiled. “Dinner’s coming up. What about pain
medication?”
“Yes, please,” Jim said.
When dinner was served, I handed Laurie off to Giselle. Laurie
would spend the night in the nursery down the hall. Giselle would
bring her in whenever she needed to nurse, which felt like every
couple of minutes but at the same time too long in between. I missed
Laurie terribly when she was out of the room, but felt exhausted when
she was brought in.
After gobbling down the hospital dinner of cardboard sliced ham
and runny applesauce, I eagerly turned to chat with Jim. He was
sacked out on the cot in the corner.
I shifted to the edge of the bed to make my way to the restroom.
Wait a minute.
I didn’t need to pee. What a miracle, to go from running to the
restroom every five minutes to not needing to go for an entire night. I
sat in silence.
Finally, I reached for a pen and paper and scratched out a to-do
list.
TO DO (WHEN I GET HOME):
1. Get better at breastfeeding.
2. Lose weight.
3. Take a gazillion pictures of Laurie.
4. Call work and let them know about Laurie and plan a return
date—yuk!
5. George? Where is he?
WAS HE DEAD? WHAT COULD HAVE HAPPENED? I THOUGHT ABOUT
suicide. Certainly if he had become homeless, it seemed possible. Why
hadn’t he come to Jim and me if his only option was the streets?
What about an accident? Could George have fallen into the bay
and drowned?
The medical examiner had said the body was badly decomposed.
How long would it have to be underwater to decay? Had it been
caught on something that kept it submerged? Seaweed?
My mind flashed on the Mafia movies and bodies being held down
with concrete.
What if he had been murdered?
“Jim,” I called. He lay motionless on the cot, in a deep, exhausted
sleep. “Jim,” I called again.
He sat up, startled. “What is it, honey? Something wrong?”
“I can’t sleep. I’m thinking about George. What if it’s him, dead in
the bay? What if he was murdered?”
“Murdered? My God, Kate! I mean, he’s probably not hanging out
with the cream of the crop, but . . .” He paused, letting out a sigh. “We
don’t know anything yet. The medical examiner asked if George had
any identifiers on his body, you know . . . to help them . . . George has
a pin in his ankle and he’s also had his appendix out.”
My heart stopped.
We could have known if it was George twenty-four hours ago!
In my calmest voice, I asked, “Why didn’t you tell the medical
examiner that?”
Jim shrugged. “Part of me is always trying to protect him. What if
the guy who called wasn’t even from the medical examiner’s office?
What if it was someone who’s just trying to find out where George is?
Like someone he owes money to or something like that.”
I held out my hand for Jim. He got up and crossed the room,
sitting on the bed. “Honey,” I said. “That makes no sense. If it was
someone George owes money to, why would they ask about his
scars?”
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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!
March 29, 2021
Bundle of Trouble (Maternal Instincts Mystery Series: Book One) Sneak Peek – Chapter Two continued…
Did you miss Chapter one?
From Bundle of Trouble
Chapter Two pt. 2
Delivery
Mom patted my hand. “Well, that’s normal. Everything is going to
be fine. When did your labor start?”
“Around nine last night. Didn’t you get our messages? Jim must
have called at least three times. Where were you?”
Mom settled herself in the chair next to my bed. “I was at Sylvia’s.
She had a dinner party. There was a lady there who wanted to take
home some leftover crackers. Can you imagine? They had sat out all
night on an hors d’oeuvres plate. And she wanted to take them home!”
Mom knew me too well. She was making small talk, trying to
distract me from thinking thoughts full of doom and gloom. It was
working. I was actually laughing.
I peered over at Jim. His eyes were closed, a grimace on his face.
He wasn’t listening to Mom. He was stressed out. Mom followed my
gaze.
“Now, what’s happened with George?”
Jim flinched. “Let’s not go there, Mom. We got a phone call, right,
Kate? Just a call—”
I clutched Mom’s hand. “Not just a call! It was a call from the
medical examiner. They found a body in the bay and George’s bags on
the pier.”
Mom eyes turned into saucers and she gasped.
“We don’t really know anything yet,” Jim said. “Let’s not get all
melodramatic.”
Mom and I exchanged looks. “Everything will be fine, you’ll see.”
She gave my hand a squeeze, then released it and folded her hands
into her lap.
An awkward silence descended over us. Just then the nurse slipped
into the room. “Don’t mind me,” she said. “I want to see how far along
we are.”
Jim watched the nurse, his brow creased in concern. I tried to
remain calm, my attention returning to the beeping monitor
reporting the baby’s heart rate.
“Oh, goodness, the baby’s practically here,” the nurse announced.
I sat up a little. Mom clapped her hands in childish delight and Jim
crossed the room to stand next to me.
“I’ll call your doctor,” the nurse said, turning to leave.
Mom started to follow her. “I’ll be right back. I just need to feed
my parking meter.”
The nurse spun around and stared at Mom. “Don’t leave now. You
may miss the birth.”
“The baby’s coming that fast?” Mom asked.
“I hope I can get the doctor here in time,” the nurse said, rushing
out.
“I hope I don’t get a ticket,” Mom said.
I laughed. “Why didn’t you park in the hospital parking lot?”
Mom shrugged. “There was a spot in front.” She hurried across the
room to the window, straining to get a peek at her car.
Jim tried to hide the smile that played on his lips. He leaned in
close to me and whispered, “Here I am worried about you, the baby,
and my brother the screw-up, while I could be worrying about really
important stuff like getting a parking ticket.”
I giggled. “Or who took home stale crackers from a party.”
Our eyes locked. Jim’s face broke into a huge smile. “I love you,
Kate.”
Mom came away from the window. “No ticket yet, that I can see.”
Dr. Greene, my ob-gyn, popped into the room, her brown hair
held in place with two tortoiseshell clips. She walked straight to my
side, looking confident in her blue scrubs. She smiled into my face.
“How are you doing, Kate?”
“Okay, I guess. I don’t feel a thing.”
She smiled wider. “That’s the beauty of modern medicine. Just
push when I tell you.”
After about twelve minutes of pushing, Dr. Greene said the words
I’ll never forget in all my life: “Kate, reach down and grab your baby.”
What? She wanted me to pull the baby out?
Startled by her words, I instinctively reached down.
There she was. I grasped my baby girl and pulled her to my chest.
I clutched her to me with a desperation I had never felt before,
trying to press her right into my heart. Everyone else in the room
seemed to fade into the background. My little angel, my little love.
She was the most beautiful thing in the world. Her round, pretty
face was punctuated with a button nose, and strawberry blond hair
11graced the top of her head. Dark blue eyes peered at me, examining
me with the wisdom of an old soul.
I realized Jim was crying. He reached down and enveloped the
baby and me in his arms and I forgave him for muting the TV.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mom pull a hankie from her
purse and wipe a tear. “Don’t worry, darling, I’ve already memorized
her face. No one’s switching her on us.”
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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!
March 26, 2021
Bundle of Trouble (Maternal Instincts Mystery Series: Book One) Sneak Peek – Chapter Two
Did you miss Chapter one?
From Bundle of Trouble
Chapter Two
Delivery
After checking into the hospital and spending several hours in “observation,” we were finally moved to our own labor and delivery room.
“When can I get the epidural?” I asked the nurse escorting us.
“I’ll call the anesthesiologist now,” she said, leaving the room.
Jim plopped himself onto the recliner in the corner and picked up the remote control.
“Hey, I’m having contractions here . . . they’re starting to get strong. Aren’t you supposed to be breathing with me?”
“Right,” he nodded, flipping through the channels. “He he he, ha ha ha,” he said in an unconvincing rendition of Lamaze breathing.
“Jim!”
“Hmmm?”
“I need your help now.”
His eyebrows furrowed. “No TV?”
“Get me the epi . . . oooh.”
He pressed the mute button. I sighed and gave in to the contractions.
Another hour passed before the anesthesiologist walked in. I was horrified to see that he looked all of about seventeen.
“Sorry to make you wait,” he said. “There was an emergency C-section.”
“I’m just glad you’re here now,” Jim said.
The anesthesiologist laughed. “How are we doing?”
“She’s doing great, really great,” Jim said.
I would have told him to shut up, but that would have taken more energy than I had. Was this teeny bopper qualified to put a fifteen-inch needle in my spine? What exactly could go wrong with the epidural? I was about to chicken out when the nurse rushed in.
“Oh, here you are,” she said to the anesthesiologist. “Let’s go, before she’s too far along.”
Before I could back out, my torso and legs were blissfully numb.
The nurse placed a metal contraption, resembling a suction cup, on my belly and studied a monitor. “Do you feel anything?”
“Nope.”
“Good, because that was a big contraction.”
I smiled. “I didn’t feel a thing.”
The anesthesiologist nodded as he left the room. The nurse advised us to get some rest. Jim returned to the recliner and put the volume back up on the TV. I glanced at the clock: 3 A.M. already. Where was my mother?
My thoughts drifted back to George. What had his bags been doing on the pier? An image of a swollen corpse with a John Doe tag on its foot crept into my mind. I shook my head trying to dissociate the image from George and willed myself to think sweet, pink, baby thoughts.
I scratched my thigh to double-check the effectiveness of the epidural.
During my pregnancy, I had heard dozens of horror stories about infants with umbilical cords wrapped around their tiny necks, only to have the doctor push the infant’s head back into the birth canal and perform an emergency C-section. In most of the stories the poor mother had to go through the C-section without any anesthesia. At least I’d already had the epidural.
At 7 A.M., the door to the room opened and my mother appeared, dressed in jeans and sneakers, with binoculars around her neck.
“How you doing?” she asked cheerfully. Without waiting for a reply, she reached up and put two hands on Jim’s shoulders pulling him down to her five-foot-two level to kiss his cheeks. After which she handed him her purse and said, “I’m here now, Jim. You can sleep.”
Jim smiled, clutched the purse, and happily retreated to his cot. Mom had adopted Jim long ago, even before we were married; it was a relationship Jim treasured since he had lost his own parents so many years earlier.
Just seeing Mom relaxed me. She placed her freezing hands on my face and kissed my cheeks. “Are you running a fever?”
“No. Your hands are cold. Where have you been? You look like a tourist,” I joked.
“What do you mean?”
I indicated the binoculars.
“Well, I want pictures of my first grandchild!”
From Jim’s corner came a snorted laugh, the kind that comes out through your nose when you’re trying to suppress it. I laughed freely.
“What?” Mother demanded.
“They’re binoculars,” Jim said.
Mother glanced down at her chest.
“Oh, dear! I meant to grab the camera.”
Jim relaxed, lying back on the cot.
Mom stroked my hair, then leaned over and kissed my forehead.
“You’re frowning,” she said.
“I’m worried about the baby. I’m worried about George.” I looked over at Jim. His eyes filled with tears.
“George?” Mom turned to look at Jim. Jim covered his face with his hands.
Mom clucked. “Let’s start with the baby. Why are you worried?”
I shook my head and took a deep breath. “Don’t know. Nervous, maybe.”
Mom patted my hand. “Well, that’s normal. Everything is going to be fine. When did your labor start?”
“Around nine last night. Didn’t you get our messages? Jim must have called at least three times. Where were you?”
Mom settled herself in the chair next to my bed. “I was at Sylvia’s. She had a dinner party. There was a lady there who wanted to take home some leftover crackers. Can you imagine? They had sat out all night on an hors d’oeuvres plate. And she wanted to take them home!”
Mom knew me too well. She was making small talk, trying to distract me from thinking thoughts full of doom and gloom. It was working. I was actually laughing.
I peered over at Jim. His eyes were closed, a grimace on his face. He wasn’t listening to Mom. He was stressed out. Mom followed my gaze.
“Now, what’s happened with George?”
I crumpled the to-do list in my hand.
Bring on the drugs.
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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!
March 25, 2021
Bundle of Trouble (Maternal Instincts Mystery Series: Book One) Sneak Peek – Chapter One Continued
Did you miss part one?
From Bundle of Trouble
Chapter One (Continued)
Jim expertly navigated the San Francisco streets as we made our way to California Pacific Hospital. Even as the contractions grew stronger, I couldn’t stop thinking about George.
Jim’s parents had died when he was starting college. George, his only brother, had merely been fourteen, still in high school. Their Uncle Roger had taken George in. George had lived rent-free for many years, too many years, never caring to get a job or make a living.
Jim and I often wondered if so much coddling had incapacitated George to the point that he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, stand on his own two feet. He was thirty-three now and always had an excuse for not holding a job. Apparently, everyone was out to get him, take advantage of him, “screw” him somehow. At least that’s the story we’d heard countless times.
The only thing George had going for him was his incredible charm. Although he was a total loser, you’d never know it to talk to him. He could converse with the best of them, disarming everyone with his piercing green eyes.
Uncle Roger had finally evicted George six months ago. There had been an unpleasant incident. Roger had been vague about it, only telling us that the sheriff had to physically remove George from his house. As far as we knew, George had been staying with friends since then.
I glanced at Jim. His face was unreadable, the excitement of the pending birth diluted by the phone call we had received.
I touched Jim’s leg. “Just because his bags were found at the pier doesn’t mean it’s him.”
Jim nodded.
“I mean, what did the guy say? The body was badly decomposed, right? How long would bags sit on a pier in San Francisco? Overnight?”
“Hard to say,” he muttered.
I rubbed his leg trying to reassure him. “I can’t believe any bag would last more than a couple days, max, before a transient, a kid, or someone else would swipe it.”
Jim shrugged and looked grim.
A transient? Why had the medical examiner asked that? George had always lived on the fringe, but homeless?
Please God, don’t let the baby be born on the same day we get bad news about George.
Bad news—what an understatement. How could this happen? I closed my eyes and said a quick prayer for George, Jim, and our baby.
I dug my to-do list out from the bottom of the hospital bag.
To Do (When Labor Starts):
Call Mom.Remember to breathe.Practice yoga.Time contractions.Think happy thoughts.Relax.Call Mom.
Oh, shoot! I’d forgotten to call Mom. I found my cell phone and pressed speed dial. No answer.
Hmmm? Nine P.M., where could she be?
I left a message on her machine and hung up.
I looked over the rest of the list and snorted. What kind of idealist had written this? Think happy thoughts? Remember to breathe?
I took a deep breath. My abdomen tightened, as though a vise were squeezing my belly. Was this only the beginning of labor? My jaw clenched as I doubled over. Jim glanced sideways at me.
He reached out for my hand. “Hang in there, honey, we’re almost at the hospital.”
The vise loosened and I felt almost normal for a moment.
I squeezed Jim’s hand. My husband, my best friend, and my rock. I had visualized this moment in my mind over and over. No matter what variation I gave it in my head, never in a million years could I have imagined the medical examiner calling us right before my going into labor and telling us what? That George was dead?
Before I could process the thought, another contraction overtook me, an undulating and rolling tightening, causing me to grip both my belly and Jim’s hand.
When my best friend, Paula, had given birth, she was surrounded mostly by women. Me, her mother, her sister, and of course, her husband, David. All the women were supportive and whispered words of encouragement while David huddled in the corner of the room, watching TV. When Paula told him she needed him, he’d put the TV on mute.
When I’d recounted the story for Jim, he’d laughed and said, “Oh, honey, David can be kind of a dunce. He doesn’t know what to do.”
Another vise grip brought me back to the present. Could I do this without drugs? I held my breath. Urgh! Remember to breathe.
I crumpled the to-do list in my hand.
Bring on the drugs.
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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!
Bundle of Trouble (Book1 in the Maternal Instincts Mystery Series) Sneak Peek – Chapter One Continued
Did you miss part one?
From Bundle of Trouble
Chapter One (Continued)
Jim expertly navigated the San Francisco streets as we made our way to California Pacific Hospital. Even as the contractions grew stronger, I couldn’t stop thinking about George.
Jim’s parents had died when he was starting college. George, his only brother, had merely been fourteen, still in high school. Their Uncle Roger had taken George in. George had lived rent-free for many years, too many years, never caring to get a job or make a living.
Jim and I often wondered if so much coddling had incapacitated George to the point that he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, stand on his own two feet. He was thirty-three now and always had an excuse for not holding a job. Apparently, everyone was out to get him, take advantage of him, “screw” him somehow. At least that’s the story we’d heard countless times.
The only thing George had going for him was his incredible charm. Although he was a total loser, you’d never know it to talk to him. He could converse with the best of them, disarming everyone with his piercing green eyes.
Uncle Roger had finally evicted George six months ago. There had been an unpleasant incident. Roger had been vague about it, only telling us that the sheriff had to physically remove George from his house. As far as we knew, George had been staying with friends since then.
I glanced at Jim. His face was unreadable, the excitement of the pending birth diluted by the phone call we had received.
I touched Jim’s leg. “Just because his bags were found at the pier doesn’t mean it’s him.”
Jim nodded.
“I mean, what did the guy say? The body was badly decomposed, right? How long would bags sit on a pier in San Francisco? Overnight?”
“Hard to say,” he muttered.
I rubbed his leg trying to reassure him. “I can’t believe any bag would last more than a couple days, max, before a transient, a kid, or someone else would swipe it.”
Jim shrugged and looked grim.
A transient? Why had the medical examiner asked that? George had always lived on the fringe, but homeless?
Please God, don’t let the baby be born on the same day we get bad news about George.
Bad news—what an understatement. How could this happen? I closed my eyes and said a quick prayer for George, Jim, and our baby.
I dug my to-do list out from the bottom of the hospital bag.
To Do (When Labor Starts):
Call Mom.Remember to breathe.Practice yoga.Time contractions.Think happy thoughts.Relax.Call Mom.
Oh, shoot! I’d forgotten to call Mom. I found my cell phone and pressed speed dial. No answer.
Hmmm? Nine P.M., where could she be?
I left a message on her machine and hung up.
I looked over the rest of the list and snorted. What kind of idealist had written this? Think happy thoughts? Remember to breathe?
I took a deep breath. My abdomen tightened, as though a vise were squeezing my belly. Was this only the beginning of labor? My jaw clenched as I doubled over. Jim glanced sideways at me.
He reached out for my hand. “Hang in there, honey, we’re almost at the hospital.”
The vise loosened and I felt almost normal for a moment.
I squeezed Jim’s hand. My husband, my best friend, and my rock. I had visualized this moment in my mind over and over. No matter what variation I gave it in my head, never in a million years could I have imagined the medical examiner calling us right before my going into labor and telling us what? That George was dead?
Before I could process the thought, another contraction overtook me, an undulating and rolling tightening, causing me to grip both my belly and Jim’s hand.
When my best friend, Paula, had given birth, she was surrounded mostly by women. Me, her mother, her sister, and of course, her husband, David. All the women were supportive and whispered words of encouragement while David huddled in the corner of the room, watching TV. When Paula told him she needed him, he’d put the TV on mute.
When I’d recounted the story for Jim, he’d laughed and said, “Oh, honey, David can be kind of a dunce. He doesn’t know what to do.”
Another vise grip brought me back to the present. Could I do this without drugs? I held my breath. Urgh! Remember to breathe.
I crumpled the to-do list in my hand.
Bring on the drugs.
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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
