Motherhood is Murder(21)

Alan was climbing into a silver Lexus. I hesitated in pulling out of my parking space as I wanted to trail him, but another car was already angling for my spot.

I pulled out then passed Alan’s Lexus. He pulled out behind me.

Great.

I sped up and turned right at the next corner. I made a quick U-turn. His Lexus and my car intersected at the corner. I ducked my head so he wouldn’t see my face and waited a moment for his car to pass.

Instead he honked for me to cross through the intersection. I didn’t want to peek up but what was I supposed to do? He honked again. I stayed tucked out of view. He didn’t know my car but he would recognize my face.

I recalled the look he gave me at Helene’s funeral. He didn’t want me around then and certainly he wouldn’t want me following him now.

My phone rang from the depths of the diaper bag.

Shoot.

That was probably Jim.

I pulled the bag close and rummaged around inside.

Another car honked from behind me. It seemed that enough time had passed that Alan would be gone by now. I peeked up over the dashboard. No Lexus.

The car behind me honked again and my phone continued to ring.

I dropped the bag, ignoring the phone, and turned right. I spotted Alan’s taillights a block and a half ahead of me.

Oh good.

I’m not so bad at this follow-the-leader thing after all!

My phone continued to ring, and just as I reached for the bag again, it stopped.

The Lexus was only slightly ahead of me now so I slowed down. I followed the turns Alan made and ended up right at his and Margaret’s home.

No “other woman” tonight.

Dissatisfied, I turned the car around to go home. At least he hadn’t spotted me; that was one good thing. I could try again tomorrow.

I found my phone. The voice mail icon was showing. I listened to the message—it was Evelyn returning my call.

Okay. When one door closes, another opens.





CHAPTER TEN





Washed-up





To Do:



1. Get binoculars.

2. Talk to other members of Roo & You.

3. Exercise.

4. Pick up PI book from library.

5. Plan menu for Thanksgiving.

After leaving Jim to babysit Laurie, I met Evelyn at Ocean Beach. Her thin blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she wore flip-flops. I waved as she approached.

She’d surprised me by suggesting a walk on the beach. With her at eight months pregnant, I figured the last thing she’d want to do would be to shuffle through sand, but I needed to work off the baby weight and she insisted she wanted the exercise.

So, hey, I could kill two birds at once. Work out and investigate—multitasking again!

“Thank you for meeting with me,” I said, pulling my baseball cap down a bit to shade my eyes from the glare of the sun.

Why hadn’t I brought my sunglasses? It was early November and the sun was low in the sky. The weather was clear and thankfully the gusts of wind seemed to be holding off until a later hour. We walked down the concrete steps from the La Playa Boulevard entrance and stepped onto the sand. Evelyn promptly removed her flip-flops.

She frowned at my cross-trainers. “Walking barefoot in the sand is good for your feet.”

“Hmmm,” I mumbled, not about to remove my shoes and socks.

Yes, digging your feet in the sand is wonderful, but the Pacific Ocean at this latitude is freezing. One dip in the water and my toes go numb.

We walked toward the water in silence. The sand near La Playa Boulevard is extremely hard to get around in because it’s deep and loose. But near the water it’s compacted by wave after wave, making it a lot firmer and easier to walk on.

I was silent, doing all I could not to keel over. Good Lord, walking on the beach after having a baby is tough! I glanced at Evelyn, who even at eight months pregnant seemed to be cruising along the sand with no effort. I knew from dinner the other night that she had a two-year-old also.

How was it that she was so fit?

The water splashed against her bare feet, but she didn’t seem to mind at all.

“Where’s your baby?” Evelyn asked.

“At home with Daddy.”

Evelyn raised an eyebrow with interest. “A stay-at-home dad?”

“Well, not . . . Sort of. Not really, he works from home.”

She frowned. “Doing what?”

“Consulting, advertising,” I said, matching her frown.

What was she frowning at?

“Oh.” She swung her flip-flops around as she picked up her pace.

“And yours?” I asked.

She puffed up her chest. “He’s an IT manager.”

I suppressed a giggle at her competitive nature. Obviously, she liked playing “tit for tat.” Nyah-nyah, my husband has a better job than yours.

I thought Jim’s job was awesome. He was creative and fun and got to come up with all sorts of great campaigns. Maybe to someone like Evelyn, Jim’s brainstorms were just doodles.

I changed topics. “And your son? Where is he today?”

“With the nanny.”

Of course.

Everyone who is anyone has a nanny. When was I going to get a nanny? Although if you’re a stay-at-home mom, what do you do with a nanny? Take a break, I suppose. Go get your nails done. I glanced at Evelyn—she had a matching manicure and pedicure in an unbelievably delicious shade of orange. Sort of tangerine.