Bundle of Trouble

“If I was going to kill you, I could have done it through the crack in the door. But please, by all means, call Mrs. Avery.”

He was right. He could have already killed me.

I shut the door in his face. He rang the bell again. I ignored him, got out the phonebook.

Ah! Here was an instance where actually using the phonebook would be faster than an online lookup. Okay, so maybe the books were still good for something.

I found two numbers under Avery, Michelle’s and another one. I dialed the second one.

The doorbell rang again. Let him wait.

I got voice mail. Of course. No one answers their phone anymore. I left a message. Why couldn’t anything be easy? The bell rang yet again. I opened the door with the chain in place.

“Stop ringing the bell. You’re going to wake my baby.”

He looked contrite. “Sorry. Did you reach her?”

I rolled my eyes. “No. You’re going to have to come back after I hear from her.”

Now it was his turn to roll his eyes, tilting his head back in a huge dramatic gesture. “Listen, lady,” he said on an exhale. “I got a job to do. People are unsafe, like you said yourself. Your friend ended up dead. If someone killed her, it sure as hell wasn’t me. I’m one of the good guys.” He opened his hands in an imploring gesture. “I’m trying to get to the bottom of this.”

I chewed on my lower lip. I believed him. I’d believed him from the start. But the logical part of my brain told me I couldn’t just let strangers into my house.

When had I become fraidycat Kate?

“Don’t ring the bell again,” I warned. I shut the door. I dialed the number on Galigani’s card marked MOBILE.

I watched him through the peephole. He stood on my doorstep and waited, ignoring his ringing cell phone.

“Pick it up, it’s me,” I said, through the door.

He laughed and dug his phone out of a hip pocket. “Hello?”

“What do you want to know?”

“I just need a little info. You knew Brad Avery?”

“No. Just Michelle.”

He pulled a little notebook from his pocket; scraps of paper flew out of the back. I watched him pick up the slips of paper from my doorstep, bunch them up, and shove them into his pocket. “Michelle, huh? The second wife.”

There was a first? Was that Gloria?

“You found her dead?” he continued.

“How do you know that?”

The ends of his mustache went up. He looked toward the peephole. “It’s my job to know. Are you going to open the door?”

He was right. This was ridiculous. I hung up and opened the door.

I motioned him inside. He stepped forward cautiously, eyeing me up and down.

He visibly relaxed. “You know, I’m probably more frightened than you. You know who I am and what I’m doing here. I never know who I’m talking to. For all I know, you could be the murderer.”

I opened my mouth to defend myself, but he raised his hand in protest. “I know! I know! You’re going to say you’re not. Everyone says that. I don’t think you are anyway. The guilty ones are never paranoid. They want you to march right in and start asking questions. They like to think they’re so smart they can fool you. Hell, sometimes they do.”

I gestured toward the sofa, then shoved a pillow and a blanket to the side to make room for him. “Do you want coffee or anything?”

He shook his head and sat. “How did you know Michelle?”

“We went to high school together.”

I recounted for him the details of my finding Michelle dead. I left every single George reference out.

He tapped his notebook and squinted at me. “Why do I get the feeling you’re hiding something, Mrs. Connolly?”

I shrugged. If he wanted to know anything about George, let him ask me directly.

“Do you know anything about Michelle’s investments?”

I frowned. “Investments?”

What exactly was he getting at?

“I understand she and Brad owned a restaurant.”

I pressed my lips together to remind to myself to keep my trap shut about George. “Yup, that’s about what I know, too.”

“Ever been there before?”

“I ate lunch there day before yesterday. My car got broken into in front. I don’t think I’ll be going back.”

He scratched at his mustache. “You mentioned that earlier. Second time, huh?”

What had I said earlier?

“Something about your brother-in-law missing,” he continued.

Big-mouth Kate. “That’s right,” was the best I could muster. I closed my eyes, willing myself to focus. How much did this guy know or need to know?

Could he help us locate George?

“What do you charge?” I wondered out loud.

He squinted at me. “You want your husband followed or something?”

I looked down at my robe. “Do I look that bad?”

His face flushed. “Uh. . sorry. . that’s the most common thing people want to hire me for. Two hundred dollars an hour.”

I gagged. Obviously, I was in the wrong profession.

“You need help locating your brother-in-law?”

I stared at him.

Yes. The answer was yes. Yet I muttered, “Ummm. . not sure. .”

Galigani nodded. “You mind telling me where you were on June fifteenth?”

Was he serious? I studied his face. He studied me back.

“I honestly can’t remember. I could look it up on my calendar.”

“Please,” he said, not taking his eyes off me.

“All right,” I mumbled as I made my way toward my bedroom, where I kept my appointment calendar.

I grabbed the calendar and peeked in on Laurie. She was as still as a statue. I stood over her, waiting for any kind of movement.

Her foot twitched, followed by some shadow boxing. She settled down after a moment, still asleep.

I heard Galigani shuffling in the living room and quickly made my way back. I paged to June. “Ah yes!” I said. “June fifteenth. I knew it sounded familiar. Our friend Paula’s little boy, Danny, turned two. They had a party for him.”

“You went to the party?” Galigani asked.

“Of course.”

“Was your husband with you?”

My breath caught. I felt as though Galigani had hit me in the stomach with a baseball bat. “Jim and I were at the party all day. Together. Plenty of people saw us.”

What I didn’t tell Galigani was that Jim had left the party early. He had come down with a terrible sinus headache, which he gets at least once every summer when the pollen count is at its highest in San Francisco. Although Jim didn’t like leaving me unescorted, I had insisted he go home, but there was no reason for Galigani to know that.

“Hmmm,” Galigani murmured as he scratched his mustache. “Can I see that?” He gestured to my appointment book.

“Sure.” I handed Galigani my book, trying to act nonchalant. “I’ve even got the invite somewhere.” I reached