Kiku smiled. “Monday? Shopping. Why?”
“Brad’s wife, Michelle, died on Monday. I was hoping maybe you knew something about it. Had seen or heard something....”
She frowned, her delicate forehead creasing in the middle. “I didn’t know Brad’s wife . . .”
I picked up Laurie’s bucket and headed to the front door. “How about yesterday morning?”
Kiku looked confused. “Yesterday more shopping. Why?”
I smiled. “Of course. You have to get all the baby goodies ready before D-day.”
I glanced around the apartment. It didn’t look like she had purchased all that much, but she could have been window-shopping, too.
Kiku pressed her hands against her belly. “What was yesterday?”
“Svetlana Avery, Brad’s ex-wife, was killed.”
Kiku gasped, her complexion paling. She covered her mouth with her hand. “Poor people. Everyone killed?”
“Did you know Svetlana?”
Kiku shook her head furiously back and forth.
I closed my eyes and sighed. Something wasn’t right. She had Valium, along with another million people in the world. Did it make her a killer? She claimed she didn’t know Michelle or Svetlana. What did Galigani know that I was too stupid or inexperienced to figure out on my own?
“Thanks for your time, Kiku. If you think of anything that can help me with my investigation, will you call me?”
Kiku wrote down the number I rattled off. I’d have to add another item to my never-ending to-do list—print business cards!
I waved to her as I stepped out. “Good luck with the birth. You’ll have fun with your new baby. You’ll love being a mom.”
I checked my voice mail as soon as I reached the car. There was a message from Crane; he’d tried the number I’d given him for George and got a “temporarily out of service” message. I threw my cell phone to the floor on the passenger side and screamed out my frustration, startling Laurie enough to make her cry, too. Great!
“Sorry, petunia,” I mumbled.
Laurie continued to fuss. I put the car in drive and pulled out. The motion soon settled her down.
I aimlessly headed to Pier 23. No George in sight. Okay, Plan B.
I glanced at my watch as I parked in front of El Paraiso. Not quite lunchtime.
I pulled the baby carrier out of my trunk and put it on, then picked Laurie up out of the car seat and adjusted her inside the carrier. She immediately nestled herself between my breasts and fell asleep.
I walked into the restaurant. It was the lull before the noontime rush. The hostess with stud piercings on her face was sorting menus at her podium. She glanced unenthusiastically at me.
“Hi. Is George Connolly working today?”
She frowned and fingered the stud through her eyebrow. “George Connolly? We don’t have anyone here by that name.”
“Okay. How about the manager, Rich Hanlen?”
“Oh. He’s not in yet. He usually comes in around noon. If it’s important, he’s probably across the street.” She lifted her chin in the general direction of the window.
I looked through glass and saw a bar. “Café du Sur?” I asked.
She’d already gone back to sorting the menus.
I crossed the street and pulled open the door of Café du Sur. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dim interior. A country song was playing on an old-fashioned jukebox against the wall. The bar was practically deserted, except for the bartender, Rich, and two older men playing dice. They all looked up at me as I came in.
Perfect. If I could talk to Rich here, I wouldn’t have to suffer through another conversation in his dark office, especially with Laurie in tow. There was no way I wanted to risk that again, although I felt Laurie was much safer now nestled next to me in the baby carrier rather than in the stroller.
The bartender moved down the bar toward me. Rich stood and picked up his drink, as a slow look of recognition crossed his face. I couldn’t very well say he was happy to see me.
I managed a weak hello and a wave. He broke away from the other men and met me in the middle of the bar, along with the bartender.
I felt like an idiot. What kind of mother would take a four-week-old baby into a bar?
Rich placed his empty glass on the counter and said, “I’ll have another and whatever the lady would like.”
The bartender nodded and turned to me. “Ma’am?”
I’d have to get used to the “ma’am” thing quickly. It seemed to be happening far too often these days. On the bright side, I could have something to drink here without worrying that the bartender would poison me.
“How about an orange juice?”
The bartender poured my juice and prepared an Irish coffee for Rich in silence. I watched with longing as the bartender piled the whipped cream onto the coffee, but resisted the urge to change my order.