My mind raced as I lay in my hospital bed in the recovery room, trying to sleep. Acute loneliness flooded me, but I resisted the urge to text Jim to ask him to come give me a hug.

  I’d told Jim to stay with the babies. I couldn’t be with them, so he needed to be. I wanted them to have a parent at their side at all times, to not be alone in a hospital on their first full day in the outside world.

  We really should name them.

  They could only be Primus and Secundus so long—names like that would get them bullied in kindergarten.

  We can’t let Mom know that those are the nicknames we’ve given them. She’ll think they’re perfectly offbeat and charming and try to browbeat us into keeping them.

  Aidan and Caidyn? Jason and Jeremy? Jim Jr and . . . Archibald?

  I let out a heavy sigh. My suggestions were starting to sound like Jim’s.

  The first hints of daylight crept through the curtains, and I still hadn’t fallen asleep. My mind wandered back to that strange interaction with Nurse Bindi.

  She clearly loathed Samuel.

  Did she blame him for the deaths of any NICU babies? Bindi herself had said she’d do anything for her little NICU angels.

  Did anything include murder?

  “But Samuel’s license had been suspended,” I murmured. “There weren’t any babies in danger.”

  Maybe the licensing board was going to give him his license back? I made a mental note to ask Deb to look into that angle.

  All at once, afternoon sunlight streamed into my room and Nurse Renee was standing at my bedside. I blinked up at her, disoriented.

  I must have fallen asleep after all.

  “Morning, new mama!” she said. “It’s time for your next round of pain medicine, and the doctor wants you to try walking around. Do you think you’re up for that?”

  I yawned, grimacing when I realized how much my C-section wound hurt. “Yeah, I think I’m going to need that medicine.”

  She handed me a pill and a small cup of water.

  I swallowed it back and squinted at her. “You’re back already?”

  She nodded, soft sadness shining in her eyes. “The nurse who found the body had a panic attack and asked to take today off. They moved a few shifts around as a result, and I agreed to come in early. I think work will help take my mind off of . . . well, everything.”

  “Did you sleep all right?” I asked.

  “Well enough to do my job,” she said. “And that’s all that matters.”

  She slowly helped me to my feet, and I let out a sharp gasp. “Ooooh.”

  “Is that too much?” She eased me back down.

  I bit my lip. “It hurt, but I think I was it was more dizzying than painful. Do you think I could get some food before we try again?”

  “Yeah, I’ll have some sent up.” She paused. “Did . . . did you ever hear exactly what happened to Samuel? I know you were trying to play sleuth.”

  I shook my head, my thoughts lighting up with suspicion. No way was I giving information to a potential suspect. The less she thought I knew, the more likely she was to incriminate herself.

  “No . . . I think I kinda forgot about all that after you left, to be honest. I just keep thinking about how much I miss my babies.”

  She chewed her lip, looking disappointed. “I’ll have that food sent up, and I’ll be back in a while.”

  A few minutes later, another staff member delivered me a plate of hospital food—a slice of unappetizing-looking chicken and a side of lukewarm peas that must have come straight out of a can.

  Not exactly gourmet, but I’ll take what I can get. I was so hungry that it didn’t taste half bad.

  After another hour, Nurse Renee returned. “Should we try this again?” she asked with a soft but strained smile.

  “Sure! I think I’ll be a little steadier this time.” I tried to act natural, like I didn’t suspect her of murder.

  She helped me to my feet, and this time, I was able to stand unassisted.

  “I’m definitely sore,” I said, “but it’s a lot easier to stand. Can I see my babies again?”

  “We’ll get you over there again soon.” She chuckled. “But the doctor wants to make sure you’re moving again. Recovery after a C-section can be tough.”

  I took a few steps, then lurched forward, nearly running into the wall. “It’s like I’m still pregnant,” I grumbled, turning back around and leaning against the wall. “I’m so bloated.”

  With a sympathetic shrug, Renee said, “Yeah, those IV liquids are bloating. So, did the cops ever interview you about Samuel?”

  Surprised by the quick change in subjects, I stuttered, “Uh . . . no?”

  She looked confused, and I struggled to clarify.

  “I mean, yeah, a policewoman did come talk to me, but I wouldn’t call it an interview, exactly. I think she just wanted to know if I’d seen anything out of the ordinary, but I couldn’t tell her much of anything . . . since I was giving birth when the murder happened.”

  “They interviewed me,” she blurted. “It was the woman. Detective Fisher. Must have been the same one who interviewed you.”

  “Oh,” I said lightly. “How’d that go?” I lowered my voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Did you find out anything interesting?”

  But Renee just seemed distressed. “She was asking me all sorts of questions about my breakup with Samuel. It was like she thought I was a suspect! But I know I’m not—I could never be . . .”

  My lips twitched. “But the police don’t know that yet. They have to overturn every clue, and murders are often committed by a significant other or an ex. At least that’s what the true-crime documentaries and detective novels say.”

  “But they should know I’d never do it,” she said weakly.

  I raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

  “I . . . never mind. I just can’t believe . . .”

  Another thing that seemed suspicious about Renee, I noted. She was either hiding something, or she was entitled—like she thought she was too special for the police to even consider her as a suspect . . . when her ex had been murdered!

  Could she be a narcissist? If she was the killer, narcissism might explain how she struck in cold blood and went back to work immediately afterward without any apparent remorse.

  Something was off about Renee. I just wasn’t sure what.

  “Well,” I said, taking a few steps back toward the bed. “All you have to do is prove your alibi, right? Prove that you were somewhere else when the murder happened?”

  “That’s just the problem,” she whispered. “I can’t. I told that policewoman to just check the tapes. We have cameras in all the halls, for security reasons. But she said there’s something wrong with the tapes and they can’t see any of them.”

  Something wrong with the tapes? That means it was an inside job. Someone tampered with the cameras in advance.

  That probably ruled out any grieving parents, and it certainly made the hospital staff a whole lot more suspicious.

  “And I . . . I left the delivery room for a few minutes. It took me a little while to find an orderly, and that was right in the window when Samuel was—”

  Her voice cracked. “When Samuel was killed.”

  I sank back down to sit on the bed and reached out to grab her hand. “It’s going to be all right,” I said firmly. “They’ll bring the real killer to justice. I’m sure of it.”

  I watched her face closely for any flicker of reaction, but I couldn’t read her. Couldn’t tell whether she was comforted or terrified by my words.

  She abruptly changed the subject, and I didn’t pry further while she helped me practice walking. I didn’t want to raise her suspicions—I still hoped to get more information out of her, and I was still vulnerable in her care.

  “All right,” she finally said. “The doctor wants you to walk around for an hour or two, and then we’ll see about getting you back for another visit with the babies.”

  I certainly wasn’t going to argue with that! I’d cooperate with anything that would earn me another visit with my sweet little angels.

  So I walked the halls, feeling absolutely, positively like a bloated walrus. I glanced down at the hospital gown I was wearing, feeling a sense of panic. Had I been this bloated after giving birth to Laurie? Was this normal? Or was I doomed to look and feel like a pregnant lady forever?

  I hadn’t lost my Laurie-pregnancy weight before getting pregnant with the twins. Would that make a difference?

  This is the least of my concerns, I chided myself. The babies are being taken care of, and we’re all going to go home soon, and that’s what matters.

  Besides, I knew I was being silly. I was just bloated. I would lose the baby weight eventually, if I didn’t have another surprise pregnancy.

  Right?

  Focus on something else. Murderers. We’ve got to find a murderer.

  I walked around the corner and nearly collided with none other than Sergeant McNearny.

  Chapter Twelve

  “K-kate?” Sergeant McNearny stammered, blanching.

  My eyebrows knit together, and I squinted at him. “McNearny? What are you doing here?” I studied him. “And with . . . flowers?”

  The officer was carrying a bouquet of fresh flowers in a small vase—red roses, no less!

  His mouth opened, then closed. Finally, he held them out and blurted, “They’re-they’re for you.”

  I tried—and failed—to suppress a snort. “You . . . brought me a bouquet of red roses?”

  “S-seemed like the new mom should have some flowers. The grocery store had roses. I can take them back . . .”

  “No.” I reached out and accepted the offering. “They’re perfectly lovely. I’m just surprised. I’ll set them up in my room.”

  Of course Sergeant McNearny is clueless that red roses are usually a romantic offering. Men.

  But I’d accept the gift with gratitude, in the spirit it was intended. It was actually a very sweet gesture on his part.

  We butted heads on cases all the time, but over the last year, we’d moved from cold antipathy to grudging respect to the beginning of something like friendship.

  I nodded down the hall. “My room is just back there. I’ll put the flowers where I can appreciate them.”

  We headed toward the room, my steps slow and tight.

  Will I ever walk normally again?

  I turned to McNearny and said in a low voice, “So, what can you tell me about the case?”

  McNearny snorted. “Not much. I’ve decided to let Fisher take the lead on this one.”

  “Deb?”

  That surprised me even more than the display of red roses. Deb had earned a promotion a little while back, and she’d worked enough murder cases to qualify her to head one up . . . but McNearny didn’t relinquish control lightly.

  “Yeah. Thought it was time to let her stretch her wings.”

  We reached the doorway to my room just as a warm, familiar voice called, “Kate!”

  I turned, and a huge smile lit up my face. My husband was walking down the hall toward me.

  “Jim!” I cried. “How are the babies?”

  “They’re doing great! Oh, hey, McNearny!” He stopped and stared at the flowers in my hand. “Oh, who sent flowers?”

  I smirked. “McNearny brought them. Wasn’t that sweet of him?”

  Jim elbowed McNearny in the ribs. “Wouldn’t have thought you were the sentimental type. That’s actually really nice.”

  McNearny muttered under his breath, “Well, I’ll certainly never make that mistake again.”

  With a laugh, Jim said, “Hey, some niceness looks good on you.”

  McNearny shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Well, I had to come here anyway to check on the case.”

  Why is he acting so strangely?

  Jim leaned forward and gently kissed my forehead. “I just came by to check on you, honey. How are you feeling?”

  I leaned up against him. “Definitely sore, and definitely missing my babies, but good otherwise.”

  “It’s so good to see you up and walking around. The twins are doing great. The nurse said they should be able to go home in just a couple days.”

  “Oh, that’s wonderful,” I said, breathing out some of the tension I’d been holding. Standing there with my head on my husband’s shoulder, I soaked in his love and care, letting it warm the loneliness that had settled in on me overnight.

  But then I stepped back. “Thank you for coming to see me. But . . . go back to them now, all right? I can’t stand the thought of one of us not being there with them.”

  “Of course,” he said, beaming at me. “I’m so glad you’re doing better. Do you want to come see them?”

  “Yes!” I exclaimed.

  But just then Docta C strode around the corner, and all my hopes of sneaking out for a visit popped like a bubble.

  “All right, Mrs. Connolly,” he called, “let’s get you back into the room so I can check on how you’re doing.”

  My shoulder slumped, but Jim tilted my chin up.

  “We’ll sneak you out there later,” he whispered.

  “I heard that,” Docta C said, his tone unamused. “We’ll make sure she gets a visit with the twins as soon as we have the staff to manage it, but she can’t leave the maternity wing on foot. We’ll need to have an orderly take her over there in a wheelchair.”

  My hands balled into fists, and I was seized with the unaccountable urge to smack Docta C in the jaw. If I could walk here, why not in the NICU?

  I dug my fingernails into my palms to keep from committing assault in front of a police officer.

  Just new mom hormones. I inhaled deeply and exhaled. Just new mom hormones.

  I didn’t usually have fantasies of violence, but I was getting pretty darn fed up with this arrogant doctor . . . and pretty desperate to hold my babies.

  The boys are safe and cared for, I reminded myself. They’re not in any danger. You don’t have to fight for them.

  So I bit my lip and nodded at Docta C.

  “Hey!” Jim slapped McNearny on the back. “Want to come meet the twins? They’re boys!”

  McNearny squinted, confused. “Didn’t you guys just announce you were having two girls?”

  “We were wrong! Come on!”

  Jim and McNearny headed down the hall, and I stared after them, forlorn.

  Why does McNearny get to see the babies, and I can’t? I’m their mother!

  But I begrudgingly cooperated as Docta C escorted me back into my hospital room. I set the flowers on the counter where I had a good view of them and sank down onto the bed as Docta C ran through a few questions with me.

  “Listen,” he said. “I need you to focus on rest and recovery. Unscheduled C-section are harder on new moms, because you’ve done both parts now the labor and the surgery. Ok? I need you to promise me you’re going to rest.”

  “I will,” I lied.

  But by the time he left, I was starting to feel a sleepy again. Must be the pain medicine kicking in, I thought groggily. I let my eyelashes flutter closed and welcomed the sleep.

  Sleep would get me an hour or two closer to going home with my babies.

  “Daaaaaarling!”

  My mother’s voice interrupted my slumber. I blinked, vaguely disoriented. Mom and Galigani were at my bedside . . . and Mom was carrying Laurie!

  I could have cried with joy. “Laurie!” I exclaimed, reaching for my baby girl. “Happy birthday, little duck!”

  Laurie reached back, and I motioned for Mom to set her on my left side, so she wouldn’t jostle the C-section wound.

  I hugged her close, relieved to have one of my babies in my arms.

  Then my jaw dropped. “Her hair!” I wailed.

  Laurie’s beautiful curls had been chopped off until she was nearly bald!

  Bald was an overstatement, maybe, but whatever haircut my mom had given her had been an absolute butcher job, leaving Laurie’s hair hacked in uneven tufts above the ear.

  Mom, apparently mistaking my horror for joy, grinned and nudged Galigani. “We brought a present!”

  Only then did I notice the absolutely massive gift bag that Galigani was carrying. He shot me an apologetic grimace as he handed it to me.

  In sheer disbelief, I reached into the bag and pulled out a twenty-by-thirty-inch collage picture frame. In the center, two compartments were labeled Baby’s First Curl and Baby’s First Tooth. In the Baby’s First Curl compartment, a long lock of Laurie’s perfect hair lay limp and lifeless.

  The rest of the collage was half-filled with photos of Laurie—the largest of them showing a grinning, shorn Laurie in a photo studio, clutching the most hideous of stuffed animals.

  Is that a stuffed . . . fish?

  “I thought about what you were saying about wanting Laurie’s first birthday to be special, and since you couldn’t be there, I decided we’d have an incredible girls’ day full of memories.”

  Memories? Laurie’s a year old! What memories will she have?

  “She . . . won’t remember it?” I offered weakly.

  “That’s why we documented it! So she’ll have the pictures forever! I took her to the mall, and we got a haircut”—she ticked off numbers on her fingers—“and then to the aquarium, where I bought her a darling stuffed eel! She really seemed interested in the eels.”

  Ah. I glanced back at the picture. It was an eel, not a stuffed fish.

  Mom continued, “Then we went back to the mall for a special birthday outfit and a photoshoot! Oh, and I booked that family photo session you wanted while we were there. In fact, I really should thank you for asking me to do that! That was what inspired me to take her for a beauty day and a first-birthday photoshoot!”

  I looked more closely at the photo and bit back another gasp. Laurie was wearing an absolute monstrosity of an outfit—a sparkly, multicolored dress absolutely covered in ruffles and long fringe. The dress somehow simultaneously evoked a disco party, a flapper dress, and the Victorian era.

  I glanced down at Laurie, who was resting her head against my chest. She was currently wearing one of the many respectable dresses I’d bought for her.

  A small mercy.

  “Oh, and you changed her out of the birthday dress already,” I murmured.

 

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