Motherhood is Murder(69)

Nervous and not sure what to do, I spun around on my heel as the front door swung open and the porch light flooded the stoop. Margaret stood before me, her hair a tangled mess. She wore an oversized white button-down oxford shirt and black and white pants in what can only be described as a cow pattern. Nevertheless, probably because she was tall and thin, the ridiculous pants seemed to work on her.

“Kate! Oh! I didn’t realize it was you. I thought maybe it was Alan and I didn’t want to get the door. Then I heard the car alarm . . . is everything all right?”

I was standing with both hands clasped over my wildly beating heart, fearing it might pop out of my chest as in a silly cartoon. “Margaret! Thank God you’re okay! Why haven’t you returned my calls?”

“Come in.” She stepped aside and let me enter the enormous family room.

The room was dark with a cathedral-style ceiling, exposed beams, and glossy hardwood floors. Margaret turned on a small side table lamp. The décor was casual with a wide-screen television that hung from the main wall and some bean bag chairs thrown across the floor.

She motioned for me to take a seat in a brown leather wing-back chair that faced the bean bags.

“Have you been calling me?” she asked. “I thought I left you a voice mail on . . . oh, the other day . . . when was it?” She scratched her head. “I don’t know. Sorry, I’ve been kind of out of it. Have you learned anything?” she asked.

I semicollapsed into the chair, hoping my heart would slow down. “Margaret, what happened to the window? I was worried sick about you!”

She glanced at the front door. “Oh. My two-year-old threw his baseball into it.”

Well, at least that was one mystery solved.

I leaned forward in my chair. “Can you tell me where you were on the fifteenth?”

She sank into one of the bean bags. “What?”

“Last Tuesday the fifteenth. Do you remember? That was the day Celia and I ended up in the hospital. Can you tell me where you were?’ ”

“I’m sorry I didn’t visit you.” She folded her skinny spider legs under her. “So much is going on here. My mom took the boys to dinner at Chuck E. Cheese tonight, just to give me a little breathing room. Since leaving Alan, I’ve been . . .” She waved her hand around and appeared distracted.

I must have woken her. She seemed out of it. That or . . .

Was she using again?

“Did you go to Bruce’s house that day?”

“No.” She looked thoughtful as she ran her hands through her hair, trying to smooth over the tangles. “I don’t think so. The fifteenth was the day I left Alan. It’s the day I came here.”

“Can you retrace your steps for me?”

“I think so, why?”

“It’s important. Please.”

She scratched at the nape of her neck, then smoothed down her hair. “Let’s see. I went grocery shopping. The nanny came to watch the boys and help me pack. Then I came here.”

“Did you see Celia that day?”

Margaret’s expression changed.

My heart dropped.

She sat a little straighter. “I did see Celia, as a matter of fact. I saw her at the little sandwich shop near my house.”

Darn!

I had been hoping that Margaret would have been nowhere near Celia. Now she’d had access to both Celia and Helene. Although since she had so readily admitted seeing Celia, she could hardly be guilty, could she?

“Celia was with Howard,” Margaret continued. “You know Sara’s husband, right? I thought it was strange—them being together, but I remembered she hired him to do the midwife center. So they were probably having a follow-up meeting.”

I covered my mouth with my hand.

Could Howard be the married man?

Did Miss No-Nonsense know about or suspect his infidelity? I recalled her outrage about Alan cheating on Margaret and her outspoken opinion that Margaret should leave the “two-timer.” I wondered how she would feel now that the shoe might be on the other foot.

“Margaret, that day outside your house I told you I was going to speak with Sara, and well, it might have just been me, but it seemed like you didn’t want me to talk to her.”

She sighed. “I figured you were going to ask her if she knew about Alan’s infidelity and . . .” She shrugged. “I guess I was embarrassed. You know airing dirty laundry in front of the neighbors.”

I glanced at my watch. “When are you expecting your mom?”

I dreaded telling her about Alan’s affair with Helene and wanted to be sure that I didn’t leave her alone and vulnerable to taking anything. I wanted to be sure someone would be with her before I left.

Margaret glanced at a handsome cuckoo clock standing in the corner. “Maybe in about fifteen minutes, why?”

“You were right. Alan was having an affair.”

Margaret nodded, her eyes welling with tears. “I knew it. I knew it.” She bit her fist and her eyes glazed over.

I waited for her to look at me. When she seemed to have collected herself, I continued, “Margaret, this is going to be difficult to hear but I found out he was seeing Helene.”