It was suspicious. I’d keep an eye on her.

  But I didn’t want her to think I was keeping an eye on her.

  I started to lean forward—then glanced down at my bandaged stomach and thought better of it—and said, “Do you know if any of the grieving parents blamed Samuel for their baby’s death?”

  She sucked in a deep breath, and her hand flew to her mouth. “You don’t think that—”

  “Grief can make people do crazy things,” I said sadly. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

  “I mean, he was killed here,” she murmured. “Oh, goodness. That’s so sad. Heaping tragedy on tragedy.” She stood abruptly and shook her head. “But we don’t know for sure that that was why.” Her voice took on a darkly ironic tone. “Maybe it was one of the floozies he was sleeping with. He certainly . . . got around, shall we say. Maybe one of them found out about the others and—”

  She stopped abruptly, whirled back around, and stared wide-eyed at me. “Oh, goodness. Do . . . do I need a lawyer? I’m an ex! And I was here in the hospital when it happened!”

  I pressed my lips together, startled by the sudden shift. A sudden wave of exhaustion overtook me.

  I just gave birth. To twins! Can I really do this? Take on a new case?

  I didn’t answer her question—I was playing a role of a wide-eyed young mom who liked true-crime documentaries, after all.

  “I-I’ve got to call my boyfriend.” She stood suddenly and bolted toward the door. “Hit the call button if you need anything. I’ll be back to check on you in a few minutes.”

  Her boyfriend? That means she’s already moved on.

  I glanced from the door to the call button. “Well, this presents another problem,” I muttered. “How am I supposed to investigate anything when I’m stuck in a room recovering from surgery?”

  And even if I could leave the room, would I want to investigate? What I desperately wanted was time with my newborn sons. Time to meet them and cuddle them and pour fierce maternal love on them.

  But . . . I swallowed back a wash of bile. As awful a person as Samuel was, he was somebody’s son. Someone had given birth to him, had nursed him, had kissed his scraped knees and wept over his first broken heart.

  Tears sprang to my eyes. His poor mother. Does she know yet?

  I blinked away the tears, startled by the sudden well of emotion, picturing a woman, about sixty, aging gracefully, with features strikingly similar to Samuel’s.

  Must be the postpartum hormones.

  But the picture wouldn’t leave me, and a decision solidified deep in my gut.

  I’ll catch the person who did this, I promised.

  There will be justice for your son.

  Chapter Ten

  I twiddled my thumbs and waited for someone to come check on me.

  And waited.

  And waited.

  And waited.

  I must have dozed off because I awoke to some commotion in the hallway. My ears pricked up.

  The police must have arrived.

  My fingers itched for my notebook and pen, to help organize my thoughts. But my purse was across the room, and I couldn’t climb out of bed to get it in my current state.

  Exhaustion gnawed at me, but the case wouldn’t let me go.

  “Okay,” I whispered, “let’s go over what we know.”

  I closed my eyes and pictured a legal-sized notepad, imagining scrawling out my notes.

  Victim: Samuel Hall, late thirties.

  Profession: NICU doctor, but with a temporary (at least? maybe permanently?) suspended license. Currently working as a receptionist in the maternity ward.

  Hobbies: Drinking. Womanizing.

  Suspects:

  Nurse Renee: ex-fiancée, was cheated on, broke up with him after his license was suspended. But apparently, already has a new boyfriend?

  Nurse Bindi: thought he would burn in hell, for undetermined reasons.

  Samuel’s other lovers? Especially anyone who thought she was the only woman in his life.

  The bereaved parents of Samuel’s lost patients—especially anyone who knew about the DUI.

  “I need a pen and paper,” I whispered. I reached for the call button, but before I pressed it, the door opened.

  I glanced up, expecting Nurse Renee. But to my surprise and delight, my good friend Officer Deb stood in the doorway.

  “Deb!” I cried out. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  She studied me skeptically. “You look exhausted.”

  I mustered a dry laugh. “I feel exhausted. I just had twins! And surgery.”

  “Your babies are doing great,” she said. “I checked on that before I came in here. Figured you’d want to know.”

  A rush of gratitude flooded me. “Thank you.” Tears sprang to my eyes again. “I hadn’t realized how much I needed to hear that.”

  “And Jim is holding at least one of them at all times. They’re getting plenty of love.”

  A soft smile sprang to my lips. “Thank you, Deb.”

  Then her expression turned serious. “You heard about the murder?”

  I nodded. “I’ve already started compiling a list of suspects.”

  She chortled and closed the door behind her. “We all went back to the station after the party—figured we’d get a little more work done on that other case—and when we got the call about a murder in the maternity ward at the hospital, McNearny slammed the desk and yelled, ‘Darn it, Connolly!’”

  I chuckled and crossed my arms. “I might have been in a different hospital. He didn’t know where I was giving birth.”

  “You have some kinda sixth sense for going where the murders happen,” she said with a grin. “We figured we’d find you here. He’d have come in here himself to gripe at you, but I thought you might prefer to talk with a woman in your current state.”

  “Suppose that’s another thing I should thank you for.” I grinned. “At the very least, I prefer not to talk to McNearny in my current state. Let’s wait until tomorrow for that at least.”

  “Well.” She pulled up a chair to my bedside and whipped out a pen and paper. “You should probably let us handle most of the heavy lifting this time. You’re in no condition to poke around and look for clues. Who’s on your suspect list?”

  I stared longingly at the pen, but Deb was right. If I wanted justice for Samuel, to bring some sense of closing and consolation to his poor mother, I had to accept my limitations and work more closely with the police on this case.

  “I have four suspects so far,” I said. “Well . . . two of them are categories of suspects.”

  I gave her the rundown on everything I’d learned from Nurse Renee—the cheating, the DUI, the breakup, the license suspension—plus the fight I’d overheard between Docta C and Nurse Bindi.

  Deb gave a low whistle. “Sounds like a real piece of work.”

  “He was someone’s son,” I whispered, my voice suddenly husky.

  She glanced up at me sharply, then her features relaxed. “Of course he was,” she said. “And we’ll bring the murderer to justice.” She paused, then asked, “Do you have anything else for me?”

  I shook my head. “Not yet.”

  “Need anything? Water? A snack?” She glanced at the monitors I was hooked up to and cracked a grin. “Morphine?”

  Smirking, I said, “The epidural is still holding up. I’d like to see my babies, if you can pull any strings.”

  Deb nodded. “I’ll pass the message along for you. Can you text me if you learn anything else?”

  “Oh!” I pointed at my purse across the room. “Could you bring me my purse? My phone’s in there.”

  As is a notepad and pen.

  “Sure thing.” She handed me my purse and headed for the door.

  “Oh! Deb?”

  She turned back around, one eyebrow raised. “Yeah?”

  I grimaced. “Have you or McNearny told anyone I’m a private investigator?”

  “Of course not,” she said, as if the answer should be obvious. “There’s a murderer on the loose, and you’re not in any state to fight back if you’re attacked. We don’t need anyone offing the department’s best private asset.”

  With a shaky smile, I said, “My thoughts exactly. I’ve been keeping it on the down-low, pretending that I’m asking questions because I like true-crime shows.”

  She laughed out loud. “That’s a great cover story. You’re one of a kind, Kate. Remember—text me if you find out anything. You can’t be a lone cowgirl on this one.”

  “I promise.”

  She shook her head and muttered, “I can’t believe you went into labor right before a murderer struck at your maternity ward. You really do have a sixth sense.”

  “A sixth sense? No, more like bad timing,” I said.

  “The worst,” she agreed, opening the door and disappearing into the hall.

  I riffled through the bag to find a pen and paper. It was a small notepad—the one I’d been using for my to-do list this month, not the legal-sized paper I preferred for cases—but it would do.

  I jotted down my notes, observations, and suspicions, then tucked the notepad back in my purse so Nurse Renee wouldn’t see it when she came back in.

  Then I waited again.

  The door opened, startling me awake.

  I blinked, trying to reorient myself, and let out a huge yawn.

  How long was I asleep? I still feel exhausted.

  Nurse Renee entered the room, looking nearly as tired as I felt, her curly red hair pulled up into a messy bun.

  She smiled at me, but it looked forced. “How’s it going?” she asked.

  “I still can’t feel any pain,” I said. “How are my babies?”

  “They’re doing great.” Her tone reassured me. “It’s just about the end of my shift, so I wanted to check on you and see if you needed anything.”

  “Can I see them?” I blurted.

  She checked my surgery site and nodded. “I’ll have an orderly come and take you to NICU.”

  Excitement flooded me. If I could feel my feet, I’d tap dance on the bed!

  All thoughts of the case dropped away. I was going to see my babies!

  Nurse Renee left, and I hummed a happy tune while I waited for the orderly. A few minutes later, the door opened again, and Mama Tina walked in, pushing a wheelchair.

  “Well, hello again, my dear,” she chirped. “I hear you’re about to meet a couple of very special babies!”

  She eased me into the wheelchair and pushed me down the hall. Three cops stood in a huddle in a doorway, including Deb and Sergeant McNearny. My eyes darted toward them as we passed by, but they didn’t give any sign of recognition.

  I set my jaw. This was like being undercover.

  Deep undercover. I took a deep breath. “Police are still here?” I asked Mama Tina quietly. “I heard someone was killed.”

  Mama Tina let out a low whistle. “That poor front desk boy,” she said. “Sad business.”

  “Does anyone know what happened yet?”

  “Stabbed.” She hesitated. “I mean, that’s what I’m assuming. Caught a glimpse of the body before the cops arrived—there was definitely blood.” She patted my shoulder. “But what am I talking about? You shouldn’t have to think about such things on this happy day! Your babies are here!”

  “I’ve just been thinking about the victim’s mother,” I said softly.

  “Well,” she said, her voice growing chipper again, “that’s very sweet of you, and perfectly natural, I suppose. Yes, I’m sure this will bring grief to his mother—but that was already his habit, I think.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, seizing the opening to corroborate Nurse Renee’s story.

  She tsked. “Let’s just say Samuel had a history here at the hospital. He was very successful at his job, and he squandered it all.”

  “He was very successful as a receptionist?”

  “Well, he used to have a different job. A better job.”

  “What happened? Did he get demoted too?”

  She chuckled softly. “You could say that. Listen, I really shouldn’t say more. The hospital doesn’t want us to talk about it.”

  We crossed out of the maternity ward and into the NICU, passing another reception area and waiting room before heading down another hall. I let the conversation go, not wanting to ask too many questions where we might be overheard.

  “And here we are!” exclaimed Mama Tina as we made the final turn.

  I blinked, surprised and delighted at the sight. I’d expected a big, open room full of baby incubators, full of pacing, anxious parents and nurses moving from child to child.

  But instead, I found myself in a private room with only two incubators. A tiny baby lay in one, hooked up to wires and tubes. Nurse Bindi was bent over him, adjusting one of the tubes. Next to the incubator, Jim sat holding the other baby, swaddled tightly in blankets.

  “Jim!” I cried.

  My husband looked up and gave me a huge smile. “Kate! I’m so glad you’re here! Come meet the boys!”

  He stood, and Mama Tina wheeled me over to him. My breath caught in my throat as Jim handed me the baby.

  “He’s perfect!” I whispered, feeling his sweet little warmth against me.

  I glanced at the baby in the incubator, feeling suddenly sad. “What’s wrong?” I asked. “Is he all right?”

  “He’s just fine!” Nurse Bindi said, her head popping up. “Just a little small, which is to be expected in twins born early, and we’re helping him work on his breathing a little bit.”

  “His breathing?” Panic flooded me.

  Bindi clasped her hands together. “Don’t you worry about a thing, mama. We’ll have him out of here in no time at all. Two or three days at the most. He’s not in any danger, and he’ll get the best care I can give him. I’d do anything for my little NICU angels!”

  I kissed my son’s soft forehead, and Jim moved over to sit next to the incubator, resting his hand on the other’s baby’s tummy.

  “Have you been here all night?” I asked Jim.

  He nodded. “Mom was here for a long time too, but I sent her home to rest.”

  “What should we name them?” I asked, marveling at their perfect, miniature features. “I’ve . . . been thinking of names for girls!”

  “Me too,” said Jim. “What about . . . Lawrence and Lucas?”

  I wrinkled my nose. “We can’t have a Laurie and a Lawrence. I do like Lucas, though. What about Logan and Lucas?”

  Jim tilted his head and stared down at the baby in the incubator. “I don’t feel like Logan fits either of them, to tell you the truth.”

  “Well, the names don’t need to start with L, do they?”

  We tossed names back and forth for about ten minutes, and then I laughed aloud. “Well, we don’t have to name them right away. Let’s give them nicknames for now, and we can keep thinking about it.”

  “Thing One and Thing Two?” asked Jim. “Like in Dr. Seuss?”

  “Oh no!” I crooned, reaching down to caress the baby’s nose. “We can’t possible call such perfect little angels things.”

  “Hmm,” said Jim, his eyes sparkling. “Well, how Tweedledee and Tweedledum.”

  I tried to purse my lips in disapproval, but I couldn’t suppress the giggle that squeaked out of me. “Not that, either. Can we find something a little more dignified?”

  He tilted his head. “How about Primus and Secundus?”

  My forehead wrinkled. “What and what?”

  “Primus and Secundus. It means first and second in Latin. The film I’m about to start doing marketing design for is a period piece set in Ancient Rome, and the main character is a second-born son named Secundus.”

  I cracked a smile. “I like that. As the placeholder nickname. Not their real names, of course.”

  “Might work for real names . . .” Jim mused.

  “Not a chance.” I kissed the baby’s forehead. “But we’ll call them that until we come up with something we both like.”

  “Well, you’re holding Primus over there,” said Jim. “He was born first.”

  “Hello, sweet Primus,” I cooed. “I’m your mama, and I missed you so much.”

  I’m not sure how long I sat there holding Primus, marveling at the miracle of motherhood, at how much I loved these new babies so dearly already.

  But my mood immediately soured when Docta C entered the room. “There you are,” he snapped. “I’ve been looking for you. I didn’t sign off on you moving to the NICU. You need to be sleeping. We’re going to have you up and walking around in a few hours.”

  Nurse Bindi stalked in behind him and crossed her arms. “Dr. Phillips,” she said in a clipped tone, “perhaps you’d like to be a little more compassionate with this new mama here.”

  He let out a sigh and raked a hand through his hair. “Sorry,” he murmured to me. “It’s just been quite a day, and I got worried when I couldn’t find you. There’s a murderer on the loose, after all.”

  “And what makes you think any of our moms and babies would be in danger?” she snapped. “And even if you did, what gives you the right to scare her like that?”

  Jim and I shared a long, wide-eyed glance.

  What’s going on with this place? I’d never seen so much open animosity in any professional setting—much less in a healthcare facility.

  And in the maternity ward and NICU, no less.

  Docta C’s jaw dropped as if he, too, was surprised at how much Bindi had let her guard down in front of a patient. “I . . . I just—”

  She shoved past him. “No one who killed Samuel Hall is going to go after the moms and babies here. If anything, the killer did them a favor. They made sure Samuel will never practice medicine again.”

  My mind raced as I took in the fierce expression on her face. She didn’t look at all sad or shocked about Samuel’s murder.

  In fact, the expression in her eyes sent chills down my spine.

  If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she was happy he’s dead.

  Chapter Eleven