The nanny murders (3 page)

I lay back and watched the darkness, listening to night sounds: wailing sirens, revving engines, screeching brakes, and, whenever I’d begin to doze, the patient flapping of black wings.

I puffed up the pillow. I tossed. I flipped. I looked at the empty pillow next to mine. My ex-husband’s ex-pillow. I frowned at it and turned my back. I already had too many scary images in my head; I didn’t need to stir up more by revisiting my former marriage. Desperate for diversion, I reached for the remote. Colors flickered. Animated candy bars sang Christmas carols and flew in reindeer-driven sleighs. I changed channels. A green convertible careened around a corner, pursued by police. Click. A talking head with a necktie and an authoritative voice updated the news. I turned him off before he could mention the missing nannies.

Finally, giving up, I got out of bed. Go downstairs and exercise, I told myself. Go work out. You’ll get tired. You’ll sleep better. You’ll feel better about yourself. I thought about it. I imagined turning on the StairMaster and climbing to exhaustion long into the night.

Instead, I went to the window. Occasional cars passed, even
at this bleak hour. Across the street, the electric Santa blinked on and off, bathing the street with alternating beams of light and darkness, darkness and light. Victor’s upstairs light was on, a solitary silhouette behind his shades. Apparently, he couldn’t sleep, either. Old Charlie was up, too. He was out on his porch, sitting alone in the cold shadows, smoking a pipe.

FOUR

I
OVERSLEPT
.
MISSED THE TRAIN
—
I’D HAVE TO FIND A CAB
.
I’D
already kissed Molly good-bye and headed for the door. I was almost gone, and would have been if I hadn’t stopped to answer the phone. Who knows why I did it—Angela would have picked it up. Maybe it was habit, a trained reaction. Maybe I was like those lab animals and had a conditioned response. Hear the bell ring; get the phone. For whatever reason, though, I answered it.

“Hi, Zoe.”

Damn. Why hadn’t I just kept going? “Zoe? You there?”

No, I told myself. I’m not. In fact, I’m not even me—I’m the wrong number. I’m the maid.

“Hi, Michael,” I finally said. “What’s up?”

Why? I asked myself. Why had I answered the phone? And why had he called? What did he want now? I had no patience, no time, no energy for Michael. Not that I was bitter or anything. Michael and I had parted “amicably”—wasn’t that how people described divorces that didn’t involve actual hit men? Our divorce had been that kind of “amicable.” In fact, we still spoke regularly; Michael called every few weeks to ask for something— a favor, a recipe, a book or CD. Our living room furniture. Our silver. Of course, maybe this time it would be different. Maybe he just wanted to hear my voice. Or ask my opinion. Or maybe he had to tell me something—like that someone had died. But I
doubted it; there weren’t many people we both still knew. When we’d divorced, along with the bath towels, we’d split up the friends. We hadn’t shared anyone in over five years. So what did he want?

“How are you, Zoe?” His voice was chatty, casual. He talked as if we spoke every day. He droned on, telling me news of his work, his parents, his sister, his new car, and for a moment it seemed as if the corpse of our ten-year marriage had stirred to life. As if Michael were just at the office, calling to see what was for dinner. I fought the dreadful impulse to ask what time he’d be home. What was going on? What did he want? upstairs, Molly and Angela argued about what Molly would wear. Angela was losing.

“Michael? Look, I’m on my way out. What’s up?”

“Oh. Okay, then. I’ll call back when you’re not busy.”

He sounded disappointed. Actually, he sounded desolate. A very unlike-Michael way to sound. And it wasn’t like him to back off. Michael never hesitated to ask for anything; he seemed to think I owed him whatever he wanted. So why was he offering to call later? Something was wrong. Did he need money? Or—oh God—was he sick? Dying? Lord. Maybe he needed bone marrow. Or a kidney.

Or a finger.

There it was again. The damned finger kept poking its way into my thoughts. I looked out the kitchen window. Jake, a local contractor, hurried by carrying a large sack and a toolbox, wearing a sleeveless sweatshirt and cutoff jeans. Jake dressed for summer no matter what the weather, and his beefy shoulders and biceps rippled in the morning light. Across the street, Charlie stepped out onto his front stoop, carrying his trash. He looked around, squinting into the frosty sunshine.

“It’s just that this is real important, Zoe. I need to ask a big favor.”
I swallowed. I wasn’t willing to part with an organ. I’d give blood, but that was it.

“Well, not a favor, actually. I’ve told you about Margaret.”

Margaret? Phew. I was off the hook. He didn’t need a donor. This was about Margaret, the woman he’d been seeing off and on for a year. Had she dumped him?

“Well, we’re going ahead with it. We’re tying the knot.”

The knot? Marriage? Oh. He was getting married. Well. That explained why he’d been afraid to say what was on his mind. But did I care? No. Of course not. I’d thrown him out. I wasn’t in love with him, didn’t want him back. Michael’s life was his own business. So why was I having trouble following what he was saying? Why was my stomach upside down?

“. . . since you don’t ever wear it anymore. Besides, it was intended for the woman who is my wife.”

“Sorry?”

“That ring’s been in my family for two generations, and I want to keep it there. I want it back, Zoe. What do you say?”

What did I say? A reflexive, absolute, irrefutable “Gosh, Michael. I don’t know.”

“Come on, Zoe. What would you want with it?”

Truth was, nothing. It sat in a velvet box at the back of my sock drawer. I never even looked at it. But Michael had called to get it back. Not to ask for a kidney. Not even to tell me about his upcoming marriage. No, he’d only wanted the ring. Maybe I should give it to him—wait, whoa, I told myself. Just a second. Whether I wore the ring or not wasn’t the point. The point was that Michael had to stop asking me for stuff. I always gave in to him, had already given him enough. Too much. Our leather sofa. The Oriental carpet. The dinnerware. The camcorder. The hutch. Now he wanted the ring. Next time it would be—what? My electric toothbrush? The trash compactor? How about my pearl earrings? They’d been his mother’s, too. As had my roasting
pot. And my eggbeater. Would he want them, too? No, this had to stop. Michael had to detach. He seemed unable to accept that we were divorced and that whatever was mine wasn’t necessarily his as well.

I stared at the cement mixer down the street, parked where Michael used to park. Five years ago, I’d asked him to leave. I’d stood at this same kitchen window, watching him load his car and drive off, his taillights fading into the night. When they were out of sight I’d exhaled, finally alone with a half-empty medicine cabinet, a half-empty closet, and my freedom. But I’d kept the engagement ring. Why?

“Mom!” Molly ran into the kitchen. “Look—do you think it’ll come out today?” She wiggled her tooth. It clung pretty tightly in place.

I covered the mouthpiece. “Don’t think so.” She ran out, then back in. “Do you know where my red sweatpants are?”

Amazingly, I did. “The dryer.”

She headed to the laundry, with Angela trying to catch up.

Michael was still talking. “Look, it’s not like you’d miss it. You don’t wear it anymore, but Margaret would, and she loves antique jewelry. Besides, it belongs with my bride.”

So Margaret wanted my ring. Why would someone want her husband’s ex-wife’s ring? I picked up Molly’s cereal bowl and plopped it into the sink, picturing gems hopping from woman to woman, finger to finger.

“What do you say, Zoe?”

“I don’t know, Michael—”

“Why?” He was annoyed. “What don’t you know? What could you possibly want with that ring? It was my grandmother’s, for godsakes.”

“Try to understand this: It isn’t about the ring. It’s about you wanting things all the time. Why I do or don’t want the ring—or
anything else in my possession—isn’t your business.” Damn. How had he managed to twist it so that I sounded wrong for not automatically giving him back something he’d given me years ago? Oh Lord. Why had I picked up the phone?

“Zoe, I thought you’d be more reasonable. Please do this for me.” He was beginning to whine, a grating sound, like a cat in heat.

“Look, okay. I’ll think about it.”

He pounced on that as encouragement. “When? I need to know.”

His voice was pathetic. It was too easy to be mean to him. And what was the point? There was nothing to win; we were finished.

“I’ll let you know.”

“Great. I’ll call you tonight.”

“No, not tonight.”

“Zoe. The wedding’s on New Year’s Day. I’m planning to give it to her for Christmas.”

How touching. My ring would make a lovely Christmas gift. Technically, of course, it was not Michael’s to give, but a detail like that wouldn’t faze him; he just assumed he could have whatever he wanted. My property was his stash, there to dig into anytime.

“Gotta go, Michael.” I hung up, fuming.

Michael was so—so Michael. How had I married that man? Had I ever loved him? I wondered. He’d been smart, charming. Cute, in a soft, preppy sort of way. A great kisser. Ambitious, hardworking. But had I loved him? I wasn’t sure. More likely, back then, I’d had no sense of who I was. I’d tried to define myself through him, wrapping myself in his life and career as if they were a snug bathrobe. I’d married not so much to be with Michael as to be married. To be a wife. And the ring was a symbol of that marriage, of being Michael’s wife, someone I wasn’t
anymore, didn’t want to be. I stood lost in thought, images and questions darting through my mind, until Molly zoomed downstairs, wearing her red sweatsuit.

“Found ‘em, Mom.”

“Good work.” I grabbed her for a hug.

She looked pensive. “Mom? How does the Tooth Fairy get in the house?”

“I guess she flies.”

She frowned. “She isn’t real, is she? You made her up.”

What should I tell her? I was late for work, had no time for a discussion. Molly at times revealed insight beyond her years; at others, she clung to childlike fantasies. I wasn’t sure which way to go on the Tooth Fairy. “I didn’t make her up. But can we save this for tonight when we have more time?”

Still frowning, she nodded, and I was temporarily off the hook. Angela approached, carrying socks. A block away, the church bell began ringing the hour. Oh Lord—I was late. It was nine. I grabbed my coat, said good-bye to Angela, kissed Molly, and ran out the door.

Jake stood at the bottom of our front steps, biceps bulging, sandy hair tied back in a ponytail, the dimple in his chin shadowed by three days of beard. “Morning, Ms. Hayes.”

“Hi,” I nodded.

“Watch yourself—your steps are icy,” he said. “I’ll have my guys sprinkle some salt.” “Thanks, Jake, that’s great.”

“No trouble.” His teeth twinkled when he smiled. Almost handsome, he would have been irresistible if his eyes were just a tiny bit farther apart. Jake’s contracting company had done most of the renovations on our street. He was always around, always helpful. When Molly was a baby, he’d helped me lift her stroller up the steps at least a hundred times. “Be careful,” he warned. “Sidewalk’s slippery.”

“Thanks, Jake.”

I rushed on down the street, passing curbside trash bags, realizing it was trash day. Michael had distracted me, so I hadn’t put our bag out; maybe Angela would remember. Damn Michael, anyway. He’d made me later than I’d already been. I should have told him flat out, no, forget it. No way was I going to give him another thing. But then, the ring had been his grandmother’s. Maybe I should give in one more time. Cursing, I stared at the sidewalk, resisting the debate, refusing thoughts of ex-husbands, rings, and fingers. I plowed ahead, watching only the squares of pavement ahead of my feet, not where I was going. At the corner of Fifth, I almost ran smack into old Charlie.

“Oops, sorry,” I called, whizzing by. Damn, that was close.

“Whoa, Miss Zoe,” Charlie wheezed. “You’ll get a speeding ticket, you don’t slow down.”

“Sorry.” I kept moving, trying to get around him, but Charlie stepped sideways, blocking me, apparently determined to have a neighborly chat.

“I’m late for work,” I explained.

“You can’t be late, miss; you haven’t even got there yet,” Charlie replied. “Besides, you have to meet someone. We have a new neighbor.”

The new neighbor stood beside Charlie. He wore a camel cashmere overcoat and tortoise shell glasses. He was slight in build, pale in complexion, sparse in hair. Refined, probably in his late thirties. Removing a leather glove, he extended his hand. “Woods is my name. Phillip Woods.”

His hand was larger than I’d have expected, his grip softer.

“I’m Zoe Hayes,” I panted. “I live right across from Charlie.”

He nodded. “Yes, of course. The house with the wrought-iron chairs. I’ve seen you out and about.” He blinked rapidly, almost twitching. A nervous person.

I tried to calm him down with a compliment. “My daughter
likes your Santa Claus.” I smiled, trying to conceal how I felt about the thing.

“Does she? Well, that’s the idea, isn’t it? ’Tis the season. It’s all for the children, right?” His eyes flitted from point to point, settling nowhere.

I nodded, backing away. “I really do have to run—late for work. See you, Charlie. Nice to meet you, Mr. Woods.” I stepped around Charlie to the curb.

“Yes. Likewise, Ms. Hayes.”

Charlie took my arm and walked with me for a few steps. Lowering his voice, he said, “Miss Zoe? Watch your step. Mind yourself and your little girl. It’s a bad world we live in. You hear?”

I nodded and kept walking. “Don’t you worry, Charlie. I will.”

I hurried off to find a taxi, but I felt Charlie’s eyes on me, the weight of his gaze, until I turned the corner at Sixth. He seemed kind—even grandfatherly—but he said the oddest things.

FIVE

T
HE INSTITUTE WAS SEPARATED FROM WEST PHILADELPHIA BY
high wrought-iron fences and expansive sculpted gardens. A rambling configuration of dark brick and stone, for almost a hundred years it had housed patients with disabling diseases of the mind. Today, it hunkered moody and brooding under the stark winter sky.