Double trouble, p.1
Double Trouble, page 1
Double Trouble
A Maternal Instincts Mystery
Diana Orgain
Other Titles by Diana Orgain
In the Maternal Instincts Mystery Series
Bundle of Trouble
Motherhood is Murder
Formula for Murder
Nursing a Grudge
Pampered to Death
Killer Cravings
A Deathly Rattle
Rockabye Murder
Prams and Poison
Lethal Lullaby
Cereal Killer
Double Trouble
Murder comes Crawling (Coming soon)
* * *
In the iWitch Mystery Series
A Witch Called Wanda
I Wanda put a spell on you
Brewing up Murder
* * *
In the Gluten-Free Mystery Series
Murder as Sticky as Jam
Murder as Sweet as Honey
Murder as Savory as Biscuits
* * *
In the Love or Money Mystery Series
A First Date with Death
A Second Chance at Murder
Third Time’s a Crime
* * *
In the Roundup Crew Mystery Series
Yappy Hour
Trigger Yappy
Double Trouble
A Maternal Instincts Mystery
* * *
by
Diana Orgain
* * *
Copyright © 2022 by Diana Orgain
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty~One
Chapter Twenty~Two
Preview of Dying For Gold
Preview of Dying for Gold
Preview of Dying for Gold
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Other Titles by Diana Orgain
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About the Author
Chapter One
To-Do:
Throw Laurie’s birthday party.
Organize pantry.
Repack hospital bag more efficiently.
Clean bathroom.
Fix crooked poster in nursery.
Vacuum everything.
Vacuum everything again.
Find a case? No, not this month. No time.
* * *
“Girl’s day!” shrieked my best friend Paula, clinking an imaginary champagne glass as the automatic doors opened in front of us. “Time for a shopping spree!”
I tugged at a red shopping cart nested inside another cart. “Well, the budget is exactly two hundred dollars, so I’m not sure how much room that’s going to leave for spreeing.”
The shopping cart didn’t budge. I grimaced and pulled harder.
Paula threw out her arms, looking far too fashionable in her belted teal shirtdress and brown ankle boots. “Conveniently, my friend, you happen to know an event planner extraordinaire. I can throw the world’s best first birthday party on even the most shoestring of budgets.”
Shoestring budget? I jerked, startled. It’s Laurie’s first birthday party, not the Met Gala. Shouldn’t two hundred dollars be enough? Am I . . . shortchanging my baby girl?
Someone tapped my shoulder, and I waddle-pivoted to find an elderly Hispanic gentleman offering me a cart. “Here, señora,” he said in a thick accent, his gaze flicking to my heavily pregnant belly. “For you.”
I let out a little sigh of gratitude and accepted the cart. “Thank you.”
I was almost thirty-six weeks pregnant with the twins, and a lot of everyday tasks weren’t coming as easily as they used to. Gripping the handle, I leaned forward to let the cart bear the brunt of my extra weight and followed Paula into the store.
Our first stop: the crowded clearance aisle.
“We’ll just see what we have here,” said Paula, “before we wander over to the party section. Since we’re keeping the budget modest, we want to stretch every dollar.”
I bit my lip, a wave of guilt washing over me. Should we have set aside a bigger budget for the party? Maybe I should call Jim, and we can agree on an extra hundred dollars?
My husband was working from home with Laurie and Paula’s two kids, but surely he had time for a quick phone call . . .
I shook my head and chided myself. She’s not even going to remember this party. She’ll just be happy that she gets to smear chocolate cake all over her face. And our expenses are going to go way, way up when the twins are born.
I pawed through the nearest rack, looking through the haphazard collection of scented candles, mermaid-print bandanas, and fidget toys. I picked up a patriotic-looking snow globe and squinted at the figure of George Washington in the center.
What in the world?
I shook it, and red-white-and-blue sparkles blizzarded around George Washington.
Leftover Fourth of July merchandise.
I snorted and set the snow globe back down, moving on to inspect a bin full of umbrellas emblazoned with phrases like “dance in puddles” and “rain waters my soul.”
“There’s not a whole lot of party stuff here,” I called to Paula.
But my friend was bending over, digging deep into the bowels of a display rack.
Movement in the corner of the store caught my eye. I turned my head, glimpsing a collection of giant inflatables peering down at me from several aisles over—a witch with a cauldron, a stack of leering pumpkins, and a purple dragon.
My chest tightened. That’s right—Halloween’s next month, and I still need to get Laurie a costume! And what about the twins? They’re due in four short weeks!
Dry panic flooded my mouth.
I’m never going to get everything done!
“Got it!” called Paula triumphantly. She waved a roll of yellow crepe streamers in the air. “In duck-yellow, just like Laurie’s ducky-themed bedroom. And they’re buy-one-get-one-free!”
“Oh, those are very pretty!” I exclaimed, but my gaze flicked back to the Halloween inflatables.
I didn’t like the witch inflatable, I decided. She had a judgmental expression on her face—like she disapproved of my paltry party budget.
Or maybe she just knew that I’d never accomplish everything on my list.
“Should we go to the party section now?” I asked. “I’d like to get back home soon so I can vacuum.”
Paula dropped the streamers into the cart and put her hands on her hips. “You vacuumed yesterday, Kate.”
“So?” I shrugged nonchalantly, trying to play it casual. “We can’t have it dusty at Laurie’s party.”
“And Jim said he couldn’t stop you from organizing the pantry on Tuesday.”
I frowned. “It was in dire need of organization. I think it hadn’t been done in a whole year.”
“A year,” said Paula, overenunciating the words. “What happened a year ago?”
Oooooooh. I pushed the cart forward a few steps, feeling sheepish. “Okay, so maybe I go into nesting mode in the last month of a pregnancy. Is that a crime? Should we call a detective?”
Paula’s serious expression wavered, and she suppressed a giggle. “You are a detective. Wait—you don’t have any cases on your plate right now, do you?”
I shook my head. “No. No way. The next few months are going to be crazy busy, and I can’t take on any new cases. I told Galigani that already. He agrees. I deserve a little maternity leave.”
Paula stood in front of the cart, her arms crossed. “Exactly! That’s what I’m saying. You don’t need to vacuum again—give yourself a break. Remember how you ended up on bedrest for the last week of your pregnancy with Laurie?”
With a scowl, I protested, “That was preeclampsia! It had absolutely nothing to do with overexerting myself nesting.”
She studied me skeptically.
“In fact,” I added, “Dr. Greene told me that staying active might even help me avoid preeclampsia bedrest.”
“You and your facts.” She turned away from me to riffle through another rack of clearance items. “But I’m still not going to let you cut short our girls’ day so you can go vacuum. We have a party to plan!”
I fell silent, glancing up at the Halloween inflatables. That witch was definitely mocking me—there was an unmistakable gleam in her eyes. Her expression somehow reminded me of Sergeant Patrick McNearny, the homicide detective I often feuded with while solving murder cases.
I smirked quietly to myself. I wouldn’t tell Sergeant McNearny that he reminded me of an inflatable witch. He might not appreciate the humor.
“Oh!” Paula whirled back toward me, holding up a roll of blue crepe streamer. “Your ultrasound! How did it go?”
Resting a hand on my baby bump, I said, “Dr. Greene said she was finally able to tell if they’re boys or girls—”
“One of each?” Paula squealed, eyes shining. “That’ll be so fun! Oh, you can dress them in little outfits that almost match, but with boy and girl flair for each, and—”
“I don’t know that it’s one of each,” I interjected. “She didn’t tell me. I’m dying to know, but Jim wants to be surprised.”
Paula made a face. “I’ll talk to him. He’s crazy. We need to know.” She set the blue streamer back on the shelf in a huff. “What if you have two little boys and a closet full of Laurie’s pink onesies?”
I swallowed back a sudden surge of anxiety. “Laurie had a lot of neutral clothes when she was tiny,” I said weakly.
But deep down, I knew Paula was right. If either of twins was a boy—and especially if both of them were boys—we’d be totally unprepared.
Newborns spit up on six outfits a day. And twins . . .
We’d be dressing them in pink frilly skirts by the end of the first week!
I glanced down at my purse in the cart, then unzipped it and pulled out a thin white envelope. “I had Dr. Greene write it down and put it in this envelope, just in case I could talk Jim into it. Should I open it? We could shop for baby clothes while we’re here, and—”
Paula snatched the envelope from my hands. “I have a great idea!” she exclaimed. “Let’s do a gender reveal at Laurie’s birthday party! Everyone will be at your house, anyway. I’ll handle all the details, and surprise you and Jim!”
My lips twitched.
I’m not so sure about this . . .
“But shouldn’t this party be about Laurie?” I asked. “We’d be letting the new babies take center stage at her birthday celebration. I already feel like I’m not making a big enough deal about it by capping the budget at two hundred dollars.”
Paula waved away my objection. “Laurie will be fine. She’s not going to know the difference.”
Well, that’s true. I was just thinking that Laurie won’t even remember this party . . . but still . . .
“I won’t take no for an answer,” said Paula firmly, turning on her heel and pointing to the left. “To the party aisle!”
After another moment of hesitation, I nodded and pushed the cart after Paula. It was always easier to cooperate with Paula’s whims than to resist them.
Maybe if I cooperated, we’d get home sooner.
And then I can vacuum.
In my open purse, I spied a half-crumpled piece of paper. My newest to-do list. I smoothed it out, looking at everything I needed to do.
Party planning. Focus on throwing Laurie a great first birthday.
We turned onto the party aisle, and my eyes landed on the last item on my list—one I’d scratched out already: 8. Find a new case? No, not this month. No time.
I nodded, satisfied with my decision. Even though part of me itched to put my detective skills to good use, the smarter part of my brain knew I should take a few weeks off.
Unless, of course, a case finds me . . .
Chapter Two
“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls!” called Paula, standing on an upside-down bucket in my living room. “In five minutes, we’re going to have the gender reveal for the twins! Everyone start thinking about making their way into the kitchen. David is arriving with the cakes any moment.” She placed her hand dramatically over her chest. “I was starting to worry the bakery wasn’t going to finish them in time!”
From across the room, I made mournful eye contact with Jim. Paula’s idea for a gender reveal was a pair of cakes—cupcake-sized, I hoped—that she wanted Jim and I to smash into each other’s faces like an enthusiastic bride and groom at a wedding reception.
The idea didn’t thrill me . . . but Paula had been so enthusiastic, and it seemed easier to play along.
I was too pregnant to argue.
Our house was packed out with friends and family. My mom and her boyfriend Galigani sat on the couch in conversation with Jim’s brother, George, and George’s wife, Kiku, who was holding her little one. My dad and stepmom stood near the doorway to the kitchen with Deb, my policewoman friend. Laurie shuffled across the floor, chasing Paula’s toddler son, and our poor cat Whiskers hid under one of the couches evading Paula’s nine-month-old-daughter Chloe.
A knock sounded at the door, and I opened it to find my friend and rival PI, Vicente Domingo and his cousin Baramendi, with Sergeant McNearny a step behind them.
“Sorry we’re late!” Baramendi said. “We were just wrapping up a few loose ends at work.”
Vicente shrugged sheepishly. “Kate knows how it is,” he said. “Sometimes you just can’t break away from an important case.”
“Oh?” I raised an eyebrow, suddenly intrigued. “Anything I can help with?” I asked against all my better judgment.
McNearny scowled at me, though there was a grudging respect in his eyes. “Not a chance, Connolly. You’re on maternity leave, remember? Galigani said you told him yourself that you didn’t want any cases for a few weeks.”
“That’s right,” Galigani piped up from his position on the couch.
“I know, I know,” I grumbled, waving them inside. “I’m just not a hundred percent sure I meant it.”
Vicente chuckled, and the group joined us inside.
McNearny grumbled, “Connolly, with your uncanny sense of timing, there’ll probably be a murder in the hospital while you’re giving birth.”
From across the room, Deb yelled, “I heard that, Sergeant! Don’t you be giving Kate a hard time now.”
Just then, Rachelle—our new nanny—walked out of the kitchen, carrying two glasses of ice water. “Hi Uncle Patrick!” she called, waving cheerily at Sergeant McNearny.
The sergeant muttered something unintelligible in my general direction. He still wasn’t thrilled that I’d hired his niece as our nanny—but it seemed like he was starting to get used to the idea.
A shrill baby scream broke over the party noise. I whirled, my heart jolting to a gallop, to see Laurie sitting on her bottom in the middle of the living room, her face crumpled in a deep sob.
“Ooooh!” I cooed as I swooped toward her and eased myself to sit at her side. “What’s wrong, little duck? Don’t cry at your own birthday party, sweet girl!”
Laurie threw herself into my lap with a guttural sob.
“Oh, honey,” I murmured, stroking her back. “Did you fall down?”
Paula’s three-year-old peeked out from behind Rachelle’s legs, his wide-eyed expression giving him away.
I crossed my arms and trained a stern stare on him. “Danny,” I called in a commanding voice. “Did you make her cry?”
Danny bit his lip, then took a small step forward and pulled a stuffed duck from behind his back. “Sorry, Laurie,” he said, holding out the duck.
I accepted the duck from Danny and handed it to Laurie. She grabbed it and clutched it tightly to her chest.
“Oh, did he take your duck?” I asked. “See? He gave it back and said he’s sorry. Can you say, ‘I forgive you’?”
Laurie just studied Danny dourly, and I suppressed a snort. I hadn’t expected Laurie to actually repeat the words, but her expression clearly communicated that she did not forgive him.
The door opened, but I ignored it, focusing on negotiating a peace between the two children. “Danny, can you—”
Someone jostled my arm, and I looked up sharply. My eyes widened. Paula’s husband had arrived with the cakes. And . . .suddenly a delighted baby Chloe zipped across the floor to greet her father.
Oh no.
He was tripping, falling, windmilling his arms with panic in his eyes.
The world slowed down as the cake boxes flew toward the ceiling, flipping over in midair and dumping a pair of bigger-than-cupcake-sized white-frosted cakes directly above our heads. By instinct, I leaned forward, covering Laurie, protecting her from the oncoming frosting missiles.
