Free Nursing a Grudge is Murder (A Maternal Instincts Mystery) by Diana Orgain Page B

her in ages. I wasn’t at the restaurant the night she was there,” Brent said.
    I picked up my bag. “Thank you, sir. If I have any additional—”
    “You can talk to my attorney, Ms. Connolly. I don't appreciate the unexpected visit to my home. Next time—”
    “Right,” I said over my shoulder as I headed toward the door. “Next time I could end up run over.”
    “Cheap shot,” Brent called after me.
    I crossed the street toward my car. I was fuming. Barramendi had a P.I. on his staff and it wasn’t me.
    And did the guy have to be so cocky?
    I pulled on the handle of my car door and swung it open. V.D. appeared behind me.
    “Wait,” V.D. said. “Which direction are you going?”
    “What?”
    “I need a ride,” he hissed at me.
    “Pfft. Forget it. Call a cab.”
    Like I was really going to help the enemy!
    “No. I need to talk to you. Can you wait until I get his insurance information?”
    While I said, “Oh for crying out loud,” he said, “Thanks,” and walked back into the house.
    I debated whether or not to wait for him.
    How presumptuous for him to assume that I would wait.
    And yet…what could he want to speak to me about?
    I was extremely annoyed with him, that much was true, but for what? For getting hired by Barramendi?
    That was totally sour grapes on my part.
    If I were a polished professional I’d give him a ride and pump for information. Even if it didn’t yield anything on the case, I might at least be able to figure out why Barramendi had hired him and not me.
    What was I lacking?
    Uh…probably experience.
    Although it was true that I’d recently solved a few cases, before my venture into investigating I’d been an office manager. Not much experience solving crimes there. I’d left my day job to have Laurie and then started my venture as a P.I. almost by accident.
    V.D. walked out the front door again. As with many things in life, if you don't make a decision quick, the decision will be made for you.
    V.D. held his helmet in one hand and adjusted the collar of his leather jacket with the other. “Mr. Miles is calling a tow truck, so I'm free to go with you."
    I unlocked my car with the key fob and motioned to Vicente to get in. I asked him for his address. He lived South of Market.
    “So, have you been a P.I. for long?” I asked.
    He looked at me, surprised, “Me? Yes, of course.” And then, as if it hadn't occurred to him before, he said, “And you?”
    Damn.
    Why did I have to go putting my foot in it? Sure, he’d been doing investigations a long time. Why else would Barramendi have hired him? He was experienced, and he was probably good.
    Instead of answering his question, I used one of my all-time favorite distraction tactics: I evaded his questions by asking one of my own, one I knew was sure to get his interest. “You been riding bikes a long time?”
    He nodded, then in a sudden burst of emotion he said, “Can you believe she ran my bike down! It's a 1946 original Harley-Davidson Knucklehead!”
    I refrained from snickering at the word knucklehead.
    But just barely.
    “It was pretty shocking, really, the way she blamed you,” I said.
    He grimaced and sighed. “I can't believe it.”
    From between our seats, my cell phone buzzed. I glanced at the caller ID; it was Paula.
    “Hold on a second,” I said. “My friend’s about to have her baby. This may be the call.”
    Vicente took the opportunity to pull out his own cell phone and scroll.
    Paula's voice filled the line: “This ain’t no false alarm, sister. I am in labor now!”
    “Yeah? Do you need me to pick up Danny?”
    “He's here with his backpack on.”
    “Okay. I’m pretty close, actually. I’m in the Sea Cliff, but I have to drop someone off South of Market and—”
    “What? You have to go South of Market?” Paula asked. “There’s no way you’ll get here in time.”
    “It won't take me—”
    “I knew I should have asked someone more dependable to watch Danny,” Paula said.
    “What?