Laura Lippman - The Girl in the Green Raincoat: A Tess Monaghan Novel

For Niki, Claire, Logan, and Nash

Contents

I am being held hostage, Tess Monaghan whispered into her iPhone. By a terrorist. The agenda is unclear, the demands vague, but shes prepared to hold me here for at least two months. Twelve weeks or eighteen years, depending on how you look at it.

Nice way to talk about our future child, said her boyfriend, Crow, tucking a quilt around her, although it was a typical early autumn Baltimore, not at all chilly. The quilt was a gift from Crows mother, an artist with an exceptional eye, which made up for her lapses when it came to the nickname she had allowed her only son to keep into adulthood. Under normal circumstances Tess would have been thrilled by this updated version of a Geese-in-Flight, rendered in her favorite colors: muted greens and golds chosen to complement the recently winterized sun porch. But it was another reminder of her captivity, no different from an orange jumpsuit.

All summer long she had looked forward to sitting in this addition to her bungalow, watching the leaves change, warming her back at the two-faced fireplace connected to the living room. But that anticipation had been based on her belief that she would be able to leave the room when she wanted, not forced to lie here for days on end, under strict instructions to move as little as possible. Much to her horror, there had even been a discussion of bedpans, and her well-intentioned aunt had sent her an antique chamber pot. The doctor told Tess she could avoid that indignity, except perhaps at night. As long as you dont overdo it, she added. Overdo a slow waddle to the bathroom! This made no sense to Tess. Raucous fun could be overdone. Drinking could be overdone. High-fat food could be overdone, even exercise. But a ten-foot walk to the bathroom?

Bring wine, she hissed into the phone. And Matthews pizza. Those lima beans with feta cheese from Mezze. Sopa-pillas from Golden West. Hurry!

Crow took the phone from her gently. Oh, he was forever gentle, wasnt he, except when his sperm was storming the gates of ones diaphragm, eluding spermicide and wiggling its way into the winners circle, a 99-to-1 long shot that drilled into her unsuspecting egg, creating the truculent would-be person who now had her pinned to this wicker chaise longue.

Youre welcome to visit, he told her oldest and best friend, Whitney Talbot. And shes actually allowed to have some salt, within normal limits. Shes joking about the wine.

I am not! If this state werent so backward, I could buy wine on the Internet. Stupid protectionist liquor lobby. I bet Eddies will deliver, if it comes to that.

They probably would, Crow agreed, bidding Whitney goodbye and placing the iPhone on the stack of books that Tesss aunt had sent with the chamber pot, trying to anticipate all her moods and whims. But Ive already spoken to them about our situation and your dietary requirements for the next ten weeks. Meanwhile, watch your tone. Even mock outrage can goose your blood pressure. In fact

He took the cuff out. Tess already hated the sight of it. Most expensive bracelet Ive ever owned, she muttered as he fitted it over her left bicep, and although the device was only eighty-nine dollars, this was a literal truth. That eighty-nine dollars was the first of many expenses, she now realized, that would not be covered by the modest group health insurance she had set up for her company. She would need a family plan, which cost four times as much, and even then there might be more unanticipated expenses that could drain their savings. She willed herself to calm down as the cuff swelled and deflated. But being angry was preferable to being scared, and she had been extremely scared since ending up in the E.R. three days ago.

The first warning bell, in hindsight, had been the ease with which shed sat through five hours of surveillance without a twinge of discomfort. Normally, the ability to last hours before her bladder asserting herself would be a cause for celebration in Tess Monaghans world. Although many manufacturers had tried, there was no perfect solution for what she called the feminine relief problem. Men had more options, especially if they werent shy. Since becoming a private investigator six years ago, she had trained herself to be extremely stoic, and often blessed her father for those early years, when his insistence on making good time on family trips taught a young Tess to sync her body to the familys ancient station wagons need for fuel. Edging into her third trimester, she discovered that pregnancy inevitably took its toll on her stalwart bladder, making surveillance problematic. Which was a problem, for surveillance was the bread-and-butter mainstay of Keys Investigations. That and Dumpster-diving, which she had reluctantly put on hold since she learned she was pregnant.

However, pregnancy turned out to be an excellent cover for surveillance. Women looked at her belly, not her face. Men looked away from her. Especially the one man she was determined to catch on her iPhones camera, a deadbeat dad named Jordan Baum. A house painter, he maintained via his attorney that he had taken a bad fall on a job, sustaining the impossible-to-disprove soft tissue damage. His baby mama believed that Jordan was a cheater twice over, working off the books for a contractor who preferred to pay in cash, allowing Jordan to shortchange her and the government.

But Jordan Baum was cagey enough not to take jobs that placed him in public view. Over the week that Tess had been watching him, hed hobbled in and out of a major rehab near the Canton waterfront, and while it was suspicious for an out-of-work painter to keep visiting a house-under-renovation, it wasnt proof of anything. Stymied, she arranged for an attractive blonde to cross his path, a blonde who would prove much unluckier to Jordan Baum than any black cat.

On the appointed day, Whitney hid around the corner from the work site until alerted by text message that Jordan was making his faux laborious way toward the building. Whitney sailed out, arms piled high with stacks of paper. Tess had asked only that she drop them, but Whitney literally threw herself into the role, sprawling at Jordans feet, screaming in horror as her papers scattered, faking an injury to her knee. Gallant Jordan ran aboutsometimes limping, sometimes notgathered the papers, and helped Whitney to her feet. She insisted on buying him coffee at a nearby diner. All the while, Tess was snapping photos of the miraculously healed Jordan. These would be enough to make him kick in what he owed his ex. The IRS could hire its own private investigator to get their piece.

But once a cheater, always a cheater, Tess told Whitney over a celebratory late lunch at Matthews Pizza. Hell pay for a while, then fall behind again. Without a regular check to garnish, its impossible to make him stay current.

Did you know he has four kids by three different women? Whitney asked. He actually took their photos out of his wallet and said, I make beautiful babies. Is that a new seduction technique, advertising ones bona fides as a baby daddy? I mean, I know I lead a relatively sheltered life, butwhats wrong, Tess?

Tess had finally registered the strange absence of her bladders demands. The realization was quickly followed by a pressing presence intense cramps, then a stretch of violent vomiting, first in the restaurants tiny ladies room, then on the sidewalk, then the gutter, and finally down the side of Whitneys Suburban as Whitney rushed her to Johns Hopkins. Its seen worse, Whitney said when Tess apologized between retching episodes. My moms corgis are prone to diarrhea.

The tale unspooled in the E.R., where the doctors tended to Tess with reassuringly brisk confidence. Preeclampsia was just another day at the office for them. At thirty-five, Tess was officially a high-risk pregnancy. She was at risk, her child was at risk, and unless she wanted to deliver a baby the size of a bratwurstWhitney had provided that elegant imageshe must spend the rest of her pregnancy in bed.