Bundle of Trouble(71)
Mrs. Avery whipped the reading glasses off her face, flashing a look of annoyance toward me. “Bradley was so handsome, not to mention wealthy. How could she be in love with someone else?”
“She’s kind of a free spirit.”
“What? Like a hippie?” Mrs. Avery spat the word, her expression sour, as if the word had left a bad taste in her mouth.
Our waiter appeared at our table and placed a covered dish in front of each of us. A busboy assisted him in uncovering our plates simultaneously. Nice. Country club dining at its finest.
We dug into our meals. After a moment she said, “Do you think Jennifer’s boyfriend could have done it?” Her voice softened. “After all, my Bradley was thrown into the bay. It had to be someone with some strength.”
“I thought about that, too. It’s a possibility.” I paused. “Mrs. Avery, what can you tell me about Rich Hanlen? As I understand it, he took over the general management of El Paraiso after Brad’s disappearance. Went from assistant manager to—”
“No, no, no.” Mrs. Avery shook her head. “Rich would never hurt Brad. They were best friends. Best friends.” She waved her hand at me, implying I dismiss any bad thoughts about Rich.
I nodded and took a bite of my meal.
So much for trying to put the blame on Mr. Creepy.
Mrs. Avery replaced her glasses and studied my chart a little bit more, then said the inevitable. “This woman, Kiku, is high on your list, too.”
I cringed, remembering Kiku’s beautiful smile and pregnant belly. I didn’t want it to be Kiku.
“I have a witness who can place her at Michelle’s home on the day of her death. And I know she has access to the drug that killed Michelle. But when I spoke with Michelle’s sister, KelliAnn, she told me suicide was very probable.”
Mrs. Avery tapped her manicured nails on the table and frowned. “Is that what she said? I don’t believe it. I can’t believe it.” She pulled her purse onto her lap, returned her glasses, and extracted a lace hankie. “What about Kiku and Bradley’s murder?”
“I haven’t been able to find that strong a connection between Brad and Kiku.”
“What about Svetlana?” Mrs. Avery sniffed and dabbed at her nose with her hankie. “Do you think Bradley and Svetlana were killed by the same person?”
“It’s very probable. They were killed by the same gun.”
Mrs. Avery snapped to attention. “The same gun? If they were killed by the same person, how do you explain that my poor son was dumped in the bay and Svetlana wasn’t?”
“I can only guess that Brad’s murder was premeditated, planned, and that Svetlana may have been killed in desperation. Not enough time or opportunity to dispose of her body.”
“Do you think this woman, Kiku, is strong enough to discard my Bradley . . .” Her voice gave out, and she shook her head back and forth with her eyes closed.
“No. I don’t.”
Not unless someone helped her, someone like George.
A tear slipped down Mrs. Avery’s face. I bit my tongue, suppressing my newly acquired maternal instinct to comfort her. Mrs. Avery delicately wiped her cheeks with the lace hankie. I swallowed the last of my omelet and sighed.
After leaving the Olympic Club, I made my way directly home. I glanced at my watch. I was a little late, but not by much. Still plenty of time for Jim to get to his meeting with his former client.
He greeted me at the door carrying Laurie and looking frantic. Laurie’s red face was howling up at him, her little fists waving about.
“Thank God you’re here. She won’t stop crying!”
I pulled her into my arms. She immediately stopped.
“Must be nice to be the favorite,” Jim said.
“Not the favorite. Just the mommy. You said she only slept when I was gone!”
Jim threw his arms up in despair. “That was last time.”
“Did you change her diaper?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you feed her?”
“I tried. No go.”
“What about the pacifier?”
“She threw it at me!” He collapsed onto his favorite easy chair. “I’ve tried everything!”
“Did you try the baby carrier?” I pointed to the contraption that was slung on the couch in the exact location I had left it yesterday.
“I don’t even know how to put that thing on.”
“I showed you how to put it on.”
“I don’t remember.”
“You don’t remember or you weren’t listening?”
Jim shrugged. “It’s hard to think fast under all the pressure.”
“Pressure?”
“The crying.”