Bundle of Trouble(36)

“My friend is dead. I’d like to talk to anyone who could help.”

Begrudgingly she gave me Winter’s full name and phone number.





Something didn’t ring true. I wanted to check her story with Winter, but first I had to go home. It was time to feed Laurie. My breasts were starting to hurt. I worried about mastitis, although I wasn’t entirely sure what it was. Could it be related to plugged milk ducts? I didn’t know what that was either. Whatever they were, neither sounded good, and I knew I didn’t want them.





•CHAPTER TWELVE•




The Third Week—Ah

I steered the Chevy home, and nearly had a heart attack when I saw Galigani’s Honda parked across the street.

Was he staking out my house?

Don’t get paranoid, Kate.

I pulled into the garage and ran upstairs. Mother was watching the Spanish language station. Laurie was asleep in the bassinet.

“What are you doing?” I asked Mom.

“I’m trying to learn Spanish.”

“Why?” I glanced at the screen. El Gordo y La Flaca was on.

“Because Hank asked me to go with him on a cruise to the Mexican Riviera.”

I strained to look out the window at Galigani’s car.

“Did anyone call or ring the bell or anything?”

“No. So, is it okay with you, dear?”

“What?”

“I’ll only be gone a week. But I wanted to make sure I clear any vacation plans with you first. Because of Laurie.

Who’ll watch her when you need to go shopping? What did you get anyway?” She searched the floor for shopping bags.

“Oh. Nothing. Nothing fit.”

Mother mistook my distraction as disappointment. “Don’t worry, dear, it’s only been a few weeks. You’ll get your figure back in no time.”

“Mom, I need to go downstairs a minute, okay?”

She stared after me as I closed the front door behind me and ran down the steps.

Was Galigani having trouble with his car again?

As I approached, I noticed he was slumped over the steering wheel. I felt faint.

Oh, sweet Jesus. Not again.

I knocked on his window. He didn’t move. I couldn’t tell if he was breathing or not. He looked pretty lifeless.

Had someone killed Galigani in front of my house?

I ran back inside the house, ignoring the excruciating pain that shot through my hips and pelvic bones. I grabbed the phone and dialed 9-1-1.

Mom noticed the alarm on my face. “What it is, dear?”

“I don’t know.” Please don’t be dead, I prayed. “There’s a man parked outside and he’s slumped over the steering wheel.”

Mother rushed to the window. “Do you know him?”

I shrugged my shoulders noncommittally, not wanting to lie again, but not wanting to tell the truth either. How many white lies can a person tell before it catches up to her? Before she becomes a liar?

“Is he a neighbor?” Mom persisted, squinting through the front window, trying to get a good look into the Honda.

I ignored Mom and told the 9-1-1 operator what I knew.

The operated asked, “Does it appear that a crime has been committed? Does the victim have a gunshot wound or anything?”

“Not that I can tell. He’s doubled over the steering wheel.”

“Does he respond when you knock on the window?”

“No.”

“Do you know CPR?”

“Yes.”

“All right, ma’am, I’m calling the EMTs. They’ll be there shortly. In the meantime, you can try to gain access to the car and attempt CPR.”

Maybe I could break a window?

Well, at least I knew there was no one lurking in the car.

I searched my front room for a heavy object.

Nothing.

I ran to the closet and fumbled around inside. The best I could do was grab a broom. I sprinted down the steps.

Please don’t be dead, don’t be dead, don’t be dead, I chanted as I made my way toward Galigani’s car.

Mom watched from the window as I swung the broom over my head.

Wait. I hadn’t even tried the doors. I let the broom drop to the ground and tried the driver’s door.

The door opened. I could hear sirens approaching. I pulled Galigani away from the steering wheel. His body was wet and hot. Blood?

I shook him and called his name, trying to get a better look at him and any injuries he might have. As I pulled him toward the open door and light, he tumbled onto the cement, taking me with him. The sirens grew louder. Suddenly, I was looking straight into the grill of a rapidly approaching fire truck.

Please God, don’t let me die this way.

I tried to push Galigani’s huge mass off me. He weighed a ton, but I had a tiny infant to live for. I heaved against him with all my might. My forgotten ab muscles were screaming out, as if to say: “Sure! You don’t work us for nine months and now you want action?”