Bundle of Trouble(59)

•CHAPTER SEVENTEEN•




The Fifth Week—Determination

When I arrived at Kiku’s, I was surprised to find the door slightly open.

I knocked and called out, “Kiku!”

No answer.

I knocked again and called louder.

A chill ran down my spine. I reached into my pockets, searching for my cell phone.

Shit.

It was still in the diaper bag on my living room floor.

I pushed the front door open and called again. “Kiku!”

Nothing.

I stepped into the apartment.

Goose bumps shot up my arms. I scanned the living room, half expecting to see Kiku lying facedown on the floor. What I saw instead was an abundance of baby paraphernalia. A swing, a bouncy chair, and a shimmering white bassinet filled the small room.

Maybe she’d had her baby shower? That would explain the apartment door being ajar. Maybe someone was helping her carry up the gifts and she’d be back any second.

I surprised myself by feeling left out. Of course. Kiku didn’t know I was her baby’s aunt. George had probably never told her about his family.

On further thought, she couldn’t be bringing in gifts. The stuff that was here was already assembled. If she was bringing things up, she’d probably bring everything up at once, then assemble it later.

Baby gear always comes in a box, with the ridiculous statement: “Easy to assemble.” And I don’t care what they claim—none of it, ever, could be opened or closed with “just one hand.” The boxes are covered in lies.

I walked farther into the apartment. Everything looked normal in the kitchen.

Why was Kiku’s door open?

Had someone kidnapped her?

I imagined Kiku tied up hostage style in someone’s filthy garage, gagged, her pregnant belly protruding.

I tried to shake the thought from my mind as I made my way into her small bedroom, looking for any kind of distress.

Nothing seemed out of place. The room was impeccable.

Where could she be?

I peeked into her closet for boogeymen.

No killer hiding there.

The open front door probably meant nothing.

Could she be having the baby?

Oh, God!

I imagined Kiku running out of the apartment, looking for help, leaving the door open. I hoped nothing was wrong.

I glanced down at a jewelry dish that held several small gold rings. All too small, I was sure, for her to wear at the moment.

I glanced down at my own hands. I had yet to replace my wedding ring. I fingered a pretty gold necklace and matching earrings.

Hmmm, all gold.

No silver like the bracelet I’d found.

I ambled over to the bedroom window that overlooked the apartment house gardens. There, I saw Kiku bent over a bed of dahlias.

I pried open the window and called out to her. “Kiku! What are you doing? You shouldn’t be gardening!”

Kiku looked up and squinted toward the window. A look of recognition crossed her face. “Only a few flowers,” she said with a laugh. “For Baby.”

“Yes, but it’s not good for you. I don’t think so anyway. You shouldn’t be on the ground like that.”

I don’t actually know anything about gardening. Jim is the green thumb in our family. But I certainly didn’t like seeing a nine-month-pregnant lady on her knees, weeding!

“It’s okay! My mother gardened until I was born.”

I was unconvinced. “Oh. Well, all right. But come inside now. It’s getting cold.”

Kiku struggled to her feet, holding a few cut dahlias in her hand. She disappeared into a doorway and a few minutes later I greeted her at her front door.

“The door was open,” I explained. “I was worried about you, so I came in.”

“I didn’t remember where I left the key, so I leave door open.”

I stared at her. Ah, the forgetfulness of pregnancy. I had locked myself out of my car three times and had been warned by AAA road service that I had exceeded the maximum calls. One more call would have cost me at least a hundred and fifty dollars.

“You can’t leave the door open, though,” I protested.

“Why? Neighbors good people.”

“But I walked right in. What if . . . well, what if it wasn’t me and . . .” I stopped myself.

What if I was the one in danger? After all, Kiku had been with Michelle that morning and had access to Valium.

Kiku waved a hand in the air, dismissing my objection, and proceeded to the kitchen. I followed her and watched as she placed the dahlias in a bright vase.

Kiku turned and looked at me expectantly. “You come for haircut?”

I laughed. “Ah! No.”

“You need a trim.”

What was the harm?

“Sure. Yes. Go ahead and trim.”

She motioned me to one of the kitchen chairs. “Sit.”

From a drawer she pulled out a plastic wrap and whipped it around me. She grabbed a spray bottle and spritzed my hair.