The Nanny Murders Part 13

Aha. He blinked. "Zoe, don't believe everything you hear. People are on the verge of panic, and rumors are going to fly. Don't pay attention. Leave the investigation to the police and the FBI."

First a blink, then an evasion. Nick knew about the bag; Susan had heard him talking about it. He was lying, but I couldn't tell him that I knew. Was I as bad as he was, testing him? Setting him up?

"Nick, if we're going to have any kind of relationship, I have to be able to trust you. I have to know you'll tell me the truth. Not twist it for your convenience or omit it altogether."

He swallowed some coffee. "The truth? That's a pretty complex topic, isn't it? There are a lot of sides to the truth; it isn't solid and fixed like concrete. It's more like Jell-O-fluid, changing with the circ.u.mstance, the moment, the point of view. Most people can't grasp that."

"That's a sociopath's definition. Truth is truth, not something you can shape to suit your purpose."

"Okay. Is this about the nanny case? Or about life in general?"

"How can you separate the two?"

"Okay, then. If that's how you want it, here's the truth: I'll tell you everything you need to know about the nanny case. But the whole picture? That's for the police. Leave it to us. You're a civilian."

"So if a woman's body was found down the street, you wouldn't tell me."

Half his mouth curled. It looked almost sinister. "I wouldn't divulge information that could endanger a case. Not to you or anyone else. Please. Give this up, will you?"

"Give it up? You just said you wouldn't tell me-" "So?"

"So you lied to me about the body, Nick. Didn't you? And, if you'd lie about that, what else will you lie about? What are the rules? What can I trust?"

"Oh, man." Nick's hand brushed his hair, and he sat forward, elbows on his knees. "Look. Let's get clear on this right away. You're a smart, talented, pretty lady. And I'm a cop. A cop. That's where the line is drawn. Understand?"

No. I didn't. But I understood that we were fighting. I was mad, and so was he.

"I decide what you or the press or the public or anyone else knows about this or any other investigation. I don't need people spreading rumors and making things worse than they already are."

"You decide what others are allowed to know? Is that just on police matters? Or on personal ones, too?"

He hesitated only a moment. "It's how it is. Period. Hey-you can be p.i.s.sed if you want. You can tell me to get lost. But I am who I am, and I deal with things my way. Fact is, Zoe, I like you. I'd like to spend time with you. But that's not going to happen if you're going to interfere in the way I work. Or the way I am."

I was seething. "Fine." The words came through clenched jaws. "Then I guess that's that. Because I can't be with a man who isn't honest with me."

He didn't answer. For a moment, we sat deadlocked in silence. In a normal situation, he would have left then. I expected him to, wanted him to. But just then, Molly came back into the kitchen, eyeing us warily. Instantly, Nick and I slapped stiff smiles on our faces, masking our hostilities. I wondered, once again, if this was what it was like to be part of a family. Protecting children from being hurt by the affairs of the adults around them. Molly sat beside me and I put my arm around her.

"Still hungry, Mollybear?" I would ignore Nick. I would punish him by shutting him out.

She shrugged, looked from me to Nick. "Are you guys in a fight?" she whispered.

Nick answered in a calm voice. "No, your mom and I aren't fighting. Not really. Even good friends have disagreements sometimes. We're having one, and we're talking about it so we can work it out." His eyes watched me while he spoke, and I saw in them the almost painful tenderness of the night before.

Molly nodded. "Don't worry," she a.s.sured him. "Two people can't always agree every time." Where had she heard that? How had she arrived at that wisdom?

Nick smiled his half smile. "You're a smart girl, Molly. Smarter than a lot of grown-ups."

He reached across the table for my hand and held on to it, but I held mine in a firm fist, not relenting. Still, despite our unresolved issues, for a while longer, we remained calm and friendly for Molly's sake. We'd had our first argument, and as far as I was concerned it would be our last. What an idiot I'd been. How had I so casually-and so suddenly-let this man into our lives? And gone to bed with him? So soon? And introduced him to Molly? What had I been thinking? I glanced across the table, avoiding Nick's eyes, glimpsing his strong jawline, his shoulders, his meaty hands. My body reacted, even now. Obviously, I hadn't been thinking; that was the problem.

Well, no real harm was done. Molly hadn't invested emotionally yet, and although my feelings were bruised, I'd survive. I'd been stupid, but I'd learned some important facts: Even with his evasions, I knew that the bag with the body was real. And I knew that I was needier than I'd realized. That I had to be on guard and not fall so easily for a man like Nick Stiles.

That morning, sitting across from him, I marveled at how relaxed he seemed, how easily he played word games with Molly.

I couldn't help thinking about the woman who'd shot him. Had he been dishonest with her, too? Had she agonized over his deceit? Had it been merely omissions or actual lies? I pictured her, unsteadily aiming her gun at Nick, and I imagined him diving, struggling for the gun, getting shot in the face, and, in a b.l.o.o.d.y rage, grabbing the weapon and shooting her dead. Stop it, I told myself. That was absurd. Just because he'd hidden some facts about the nanny case didn't mean he'd lied about his wife's death. He hadn't killed her; she'd shot herself. Her death had been by her own hand. Hadn't it? If I asked him about it, all these years later, he'd certainly tell me the truth. Wouldn't he?

TWENTY-TWO.

ASIFONCUE, S SUSAN CALLED SECONDS LATER, JUST AS I I WAS WAS getting into the shower. "I gotta be quick," she blurted. "We're late for piano lessons. Here's the deal: Leslie and I made preliminary plans for organizing the moms. We all have crazy schedules, so we're meeting Thursday during gym. Leslie is bringing about fifty whistles to distribute to nannies. Heather's got colored string-we're going to make necklaces to hang the whistles on. We've got oodles of ideas. Anyhow, you know the routine: I call you; you call Karen; she calls Gretchen, and so on down the phone chain just like for snow days." "Great. You did good." getting into the shower. "I gotta be quick," she blurted. "We're late for piano lessons. Here's the deal: Leslie and I made preliminary plans for organizing the moms. We all have crazy schedules, so we're meeting Thursday during gym. Leslie is bringing about fifty whistles to distribute to nannies. Heather's got colored string-we're going to make necklaces to hang the whistles on. We've got oodles of ideas. Anyhow, you know the routine: I call you; you call Karen; she calls Gretchen, and so on down the phone chain just like for snow days." "Great. You did good."

Her breathing slowed. "Okay. What's wrong?"

Dammit, I couldn't hide anything from her.

"Zoe, I don't have time to pull it out of you. What happened?"

"It's not important. The whistle necklaces are a great idea."

"I'll worry until I know."

"It's no big deal. Just that Stiles came over last night."

"About the case?"

"No. It was a social call."

"Really?" She was quiet for a minute, chewing on that. I could hear her mind whirring. "And?"

Good question, I thought. "And it got complicated. It went south."

"So fast? What the h.e.l.l happened?"

"We don't share priorities. We have different values-" "Zoe, what are you talking about? What does that mean? Who gives a d.a.m.n about sharing values? Tim and I've been married seventeen years, and I don't have a clue what he 'values.' h.e.l.l, we don't agree on anything. We cancel out each other's votes every election." I didn't say anything.

"Why not give it some time? Leave the door open for a while?"

My sheets were still rumpled. My face was sore from whisker burn. "I don't think so, no. Look, he lied about finding the bag of body parts. He denied to my face that it even exists. And he lied to you about the finger. Susan, the man lies."

"So? He might have reasons."

"You're saying that lying's okay if you have reasons?"

"I didn't say lying was okay. It probably isn't. But I don't see what the big deal is. People lie. We all do. Haven't you ever lied? Told someone you loved her runny souffle? Swore you had a great time at a dull party? Faked an o.r.g.a.s.m?"

"That's not the same-"

"Look, we can debate this all day, but the girls are waiting in the car. Remember, Zoe, the truth isn't all it's cracked up to be. We all need a good lie now and then."

"So. Do you lie?"

"I'm a lawyer."

"Okay. Do you lie to me?"

"I might bend the truth now and then. Depends on about what or why." "Ouch."

"See? The truth hurts. I should have lied and said, 'No, I never lie to you.' You'd have felt better."

"Okay. I see your point. You're right. I'll give him another chance."

"You're lying, aren't you?" "So what? You'll feel better."

"Okay. Look, I know you're p.i.s.sed at him. I was p.i.s.sed off when he pretended there was no finger. But remember, Stiles is working a sensitive case. He's not at liberty to reveal what he knows. It's not fair to ask him to."

Maybe she was right, but I didn't think so. I couldn't trust Nick professionally or personally. And if I were going to let a man get close to me, I had to trust him to tell me the truth, even if it was that my souffle was runny, that my party was a bore, or that a bagful of body parts had been found a block from my front door.

TWENTY-THREE.

"I LIKE YOUR BOYFRIEND, LIKE YOUR BOYFRIEND, M MOM." W WE WERE ON THE WAY TO Karen's for the playdate.

"He's not my boyfriend." I never should have let Nick meet Molly. I had no right to involve her.

"Mom. He's a boy, isn't he? And he's your friend. So he's your boyfriend. Right?"

"If you put it that way. I guess he is."

We were quiet for a few steps. "Is Nick coming back tonight?"

"No. Not tonight, Mollybear. Why? Do you want him to?"

She shook her head as if I were missing the point. "Mom. He's your boyfriend, not mine. The thing is, do you want him to?"

She looked so serious, so like a tiny therapist, that even in my somber mood I had to laugh. She laughed, too. How was this almost six-year-old so smart? And how, with all the fear and alarm raging in our neighborhood, with me having just ended the shortest relationship of my life, were we able to laugh out loud half the way to Karen and Nicholas's? I didn't know. But we were and it felt good. A reprieve. A release of tensions.

Then, with half a block to go, she said, "Is it true about that killer, Mommy?"

The giggling stopped, shattering like a fallen icicle.

"What killer?"

"The man killing all the babysitters."

"No. It's not true." It wasn't technically a lie; he wasn't killing all of them.

She shrugged. "Everybody says it is."

"Well, it's not." Okay, so I was lying. But I had reasons. Besides, truth was like Jell-O. "Will he kill Angela?" "Of course not." "But what if he does?" "He won't."

She was quiet for a few steps. "Mommy. Just pretend. If he does kill Angela, who'll stay with me while you work? Will Nick?"

Nick again. She liked him. I remembered the pressure of his chest against mine. d.a.m.n. I shouldn't have let him come into the house, much less stay the night. "Nothing's going to happen to Angela."

"But I've seen him watching her."

"Who? Nick?" I slowed. A cloud of breath hung in front of her mouth.

"No. The killer."

"How have you seen him?" Was she having nightmares? Fantasies? What was she talking about? "Just . . . I've seen him." No way. "Where?"

"Um." She thought awhile. "All over."

I stopped walking and stooped to meet her eyes. "Molly, are you having bad dreams?"

"Tsk. I know the difference, Mommy. I'm not a baby."

She seemed certain. I stood and we started walking again. "Well, tell me about him. How do you know it's him?"

"I just know."

"Okay. What does he look like?"

She shrugged. "I dunno. Big. He has a baseball hat."

Okay. The killer had been seen "all over," he looked "big," and he wore "a baseball hat." That's what I got for interviewing a kindergartner. Her imagination was running amok; she was scared and had reason to be. I hadn't paid enough attention to what she'd heard and overheard. She must be terrified. It was time to rea.s.sure her.

"Listen, Molly. You're safe. n.o.body's going to hurt you. I won't let them. And Nick's a policeman. He and the other police are going to catch the bad guy."

She looked convinced-but small and cold, shivering inside her hooded pink down jacket. I hugged her, and we held hands as we continued our walk. It must be wonderful to be six and still believe that there was order in the world, that grown-ups loved you and could pick you up in their arms and keep you safe, that they really had control over what happened in life.

Karen and Nicholas greeted us at the door, and the children ran off to play. It wasn't until later, when Molly and Nicholas were decorating holiday cookies, that I understood the effectiveness of my rea.s.surances.

"You know Angela?" she asked Nicholas.

"Course." He smeared blue icing on a Santa cookie.

"She might be killed." Molly spread colored sprinkles over a pink snowman.