Motherhood Is Murder Read Online Free PDF Page B

casting curious shadows on her face and dress. Margaret had on a black dress that was short in the front while long and flowing in the back. I wouldn’t have thought it appropriate for a funeral service, but her graceful movements made the dress soft instead of flashy.
A few moments passed as Margaret and her husband walked down the aisle of the church and seated themselves near the front. Shortly after, Sara entered the church escorted by one of the pallbearers. She was dressed in a J.Crew cashmere sweater and black slacks, her hair pulled back in tight chignon. As her gaze fell on me, she scowled.
Was it a scowl?
At the very least a frown. Maybe she was just wondering what I was doing there.
Others entered the church and were seated by the pallbearers. I watched for Evelyn, but she didn’t attend. Losing a member of her mothers’ club at this late stage of her pregnancy couldn’t be easy on her.
Wait.
What had Sara said? Something about Evelyn not being a part of Roo & You anymore. Why would she be on the cruise if she wasn’t a member of the group?
My thoughts were interrupted by the altar boys entering the church; the service was about to begin.
I spotted Helene’s husband, Bruce, in the first row next to an older couple. By his resemblance to the older man, I guessed the couple were his parents.
Where was Helene’s family? And their children? I didn’t see any small children at all. Could they be with her parents?
Bruce gave a moving eulogy about his and Helene’s dreams for the future. He described their first meeting and shared a story about their honeymoon. He seemed grieved and shocked by her death.
He didn’t mention any children.
Why?
After the service, the casket was carried to the hearse. A woman, with flawless olive-colored skin, handed me a card with directions to the cemetery and the reception at Bruce’s parents’ house. As I took the card from her, Margaret appeared next to me.
“Kate,” Margaret said, clutching at my elbow. “I’m so glad you made it.” Mascara filled the lines around her eyes. She dabbed at them furiously with a crumpled handkerchief, making them red and swollen.
The woman with the beautiful olive skin handed Margaret a card. “Do you need directions to the cemetery, Margaret?”
Margaret released her clutch from my elbow and fumbled for the card. “I don’t know.” She gestured to her husband, who was standing next to the circle of attendees surrounding Bruce. “I’m sure Alan knows the way, but I’ll take one just in case. Celia, have you met Kate Connolly?”
Celia appraised me with her dark eyes. “No.” She smiled a wide smile and stretched out her hand. “Celia Martin.”
I shook her hand. “Nice to meet you.”
Margaret resumed her clutch on my arm. “Kate is a private investigator.”
I felt myself flush inwardly. Could I really pass myself off as a PI?
Why did I ever give that PI card to Margaret?
Okay, I had somehow fumbled through a case a few weeks ago, but I didn’t even have a license.
And yet, the prideful side of me or the incredibly stupid side, if they are even different, found myself nodding and saying, “Yup”—like that was really going to convince anyone of my qualifications! “Yup”! Like an idiot! I didn’t say the proper word, “yes,” only “yup,” which rhymes with “pup,” which sounds like “schmuck”—how fitting.
Celia, nevertheless, seemed impressed. “Oh!” She gasped.
Margaret turned to me. “Celia’s a midwife. She delivered my second, Marcus.” Margaret’s eyes teared over again. Celia reached out and squeezed her hand.
Sara approached us. She squinted at me. Not quite a frown, but definitely something.
Maybe the chignon was too tight. It made her look so severe, so no-nonsense!
She embraced Margaret and the two wept.
Celia glanced at me, flashing a sad smile. She indicated the cards in her hand and excused herself. I glanced at my watch. I’d been out of the house almost two hours. I had fed Laurie before leaving but was now starting to feel the familiar