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Motherhood is Murder(54)

By:Diana Orgain


Maybe she could afford the rent because she wasn’t spending money on coffee or dry cleaning bills.

“This is a nice place you have here. How long have you been here?”

“The center is brand-new. Sara’s husband, you know Sara, right?”

I nodded.

“He remodeled it for me. He’s a contractor—gave me a great price. The place used to be a record store. I got a deal on the rent because the area is low foot traffic, which is fine with me, because people don’t usually select a midwife by spontaneously walking in. Let me show you around.”

I followed her to a back room. There was a beautiful birthing pool in the center of the room. Around the sides of the room were large exercise balls, a shelf with towels, and several laundry baskets. Celia dimmed the lights and pressed Play on the stereo. There were small lights around the baseboards and the room seemed to glow.

“This room is where most of my moms deliver. There’s an exam room next door. Did you want to see that?”

I shook my head. “No. This is wonderful.”

And it was. It was truly beautiful and relaxing. I still couldn’t see myself giving birth outside of a hospital, but now I understood the draw.

“Did Margaret give birth here?”

“No, she was my first client in the Bay Area after I moved up from L.A. She had Marcus at her home.”

I imagined Celia assisting Margaret giving birth. Margaret—swollen belly, sweating, tired, probably swearing at Alan, juxtaposed next to Celia—olive skin, calm, beautiful.

How could a father witnessing the birth of his baby choose to be with the midwife instead of the mother of his own child?

At that moment in my mind, Alan was worse than pond scum.

“I’ve always wanted my own center,” Celia continued.

“So, I got this lease and fixed up the place. I need to find some staff now. Do you know anyone?”

I shook my head.

Celia led me back up to the front.

I pointed to the roses on the reception console. “Boyfriend?”

She smiled. “No. The roses are from me. The one thing I allowed myself to splurge on when I got out of the hospital.”





CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR





Research





To Do:



1. Why would anyone poison Celia?

2. Where is Margaret?

3. Must get house in order for Thanksgiving!

4. Shop, cook, clean.

5. Drink water.

6. Exercise—or will have nothing to wear for Thanksgiving!

On my way home, I’d stopped in at the library to pick up my reserved copy of The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Private Investigation. While there I checked out a few picture books for Laurie and a cookbook for Jim.

By the time I arrived home, I was famished and exhausted. Laurie needed attention, but fortunately Jim had taken a stab at dinner. Spaghetti and meatballs—nothing fancy, just frozen ones—with some canned sauce. But beggars can’t be choosers.

I ate three bowls before I felt satisfied and then shortly afterward felt overstuffed and regretted the extra helpings.

Hopefully the cookbook would help us be a little more creative with our meals. There was even a section on homemade baby food!

Over dinner, Jim told me I’d missed a call from my mom.

“She’s back?” I asked.

“Yeah. She’s coming over in the morning. I suggest you don’t tell her about your foray in the hospital. Not unless you have a death wish.”





I had been anxious to get to bed to catch up on lost sleep, but once my head hit the pillow, I tossed and turned. The night of the cruise was still fresh in my mind, not to mention my venture to the emergency room. I felt like talking to Jim, but he was emitting soft snoring sounds. I peeked at Laurie, snoozing peacefully in the bassinet next to our bed.

I turned on the bedside table lamp and cracked open The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Private Investigation. I read the section on research then climbed out of bed and padded down the hallway. In the office, I logged on to the computer and fumbled my way through a bit of background information on Bruce. I was able to review his personal website as a financial advisor and pull a credit report for him.

He had great credit, but that didn’t tell me much. I e-mailed Galigani and requested he help me with subscribing to one of the databases licensed PIs had access to.

For lack of anything better to do, I googled “Celia Martin midwife”—a gazillion things came up but nothing of value. I clicked through several articles on midwives and the benefits of home births. I read a disturbing account of a pregnant woman in Miami who had disappeared on her way to a natural child birthing center. Her husband was deployed in the military. The woman was on her own to have the baby and had selected a midwife to assist. Only she’d never made it to the center. One of her neighbors had reported seeing her leave the house in labor and had offered to drive her. She’d declined, telling him it was the early stages of labor and she was not having regular contractions.

The authorities suspected she’d gone into active labor while driving and had an accident. Although when the car was finally recovered, months later, there was no evidence of the mother or baby.