The Nanny Murders Part 7

"I'm sure he does." Her tone was sarcastic. "The question is, how closely will you have to work?"

"I'm serious, Susan." I tried to sound calm.

"What? You think this is legitimate? You think Homicide normally consults art therapists?"

"I wouldn't know." I pulled out a gray dress and held it up in front of the mirror. Too frumpy and shapeless. And the navy was too daytime.

"About what, precisely, will you consult? Teaching watercol-ors at the Police Academy? Offering decoupage therapy to the Highway Patrol?"

"He wants my help with a case."

"A case of what? The hots?"

"Very funny." How did she know I was attracted to him? Had she heard it in my voice? Was it that obvious? "He wants to talk about the neighborhood. He thinks the nanny guy is local."

"Yeah, so do I. But why is he talking to you? Why not, say, to Leslie? Or me-I live around here, too. I'll tell you why. Because Leslie and I happen to be dowdy and married, and you happen to be stunning and single."

Stunning? Me? I glanced in the mirror, saw definite cheekbones, symmetrical features. But stunning? "Susan, you're not dowdy. Besides, I'm a therapist. He thinks I'll have insights about the psychological profile."

"Sure. That's it. He's taking you to a candlelit dinner because you're a therapist. Zoe, you can't be that naive."

"Susan, not everything's about s.e.x." I looked at my long black wool skirt. It was comfy, went with everything, had a slit up the back.

"You can't mean that. Everything certainly is about s.e.x. Unless it's about food-but even food is about s.e.x, really."

I shifted the topic. "So you're sure it's all right to bring Molly over?"

"Of course. Molly's always welcome."

"And you really feel better?" She sounded better. Probably she was. It was a pattern with her, swinging from emotional pits to soaring heights.

"Much better. Zoe, I don't know what happened, except that I was completely blown away by Tamara's disappearance. But somehow I've got it together again."

"Did you sleep last night?" I rifled through my sweaters. Purple? Mauve? Red?

"No, but I rested this afternoon. Tim surprised me and came back to town on the red-eye. We had ... a long lunch." Her voice was a satisfied purr.

I smiled. "Good. I'm glad Tim's around." Maybe she'd feel safer now. "Maybe more 'long lunches' will stop the nightmares."

"I doubt it. But they have a definite therapeutic effect. I'm much less tense. My body's relaxed and my complexion's cleared up. At least for now-Tim leaves again Sunday."

"d.a.m.n. Think you'll go crazy again?"

"I might, but not as bad. I promise. Meantime, we decorated our tree and I've started the baking. I'm back on track."

"You scared me, you know. I thought you were in trouble. This didn't seem like your normal mood swing."

"I know. But I'm fine." She sounded happy. Too happy. She sounded idiotic. "I'm over my crisis. I'm upset and angry like everyone. But I'm not over the edge anymore."

"So basically, o.r.g.a.s.ms cured your breakdown?"

"Maybe. At least, they didn't hurt."

"What a staggering concept. Think of the implications for patients at the Inst.i.tute. Instead of group therapy, we'll hold orgies. Instead of drugs, we'll prescribe s.e.x."

She laughed. "It's worth a try. But I don't know if it's a cure. I still get nightmares; I just don't react the same way. I had this dream last night where I'm in court and next to me is a blonde. Just the blonde part-her head, on the chair, staring at me. She's got blood around her neck, and it's oozing into a puddle on the chair."

"Okay."

"I'm defending the guy who decapitated her, so she's angry. She wants me to feel sorry for her so I'll slip up and let him hang. But, instead, I start making all sorts of puns. To the jury. Stupid puns. About not losing our heads, remaining detached when considering the body of evidence, not getting ahead of ourselves, and minding the rules of law. The closing is uproariously funny to me, hilarious. The jury, the judge, and the defendant are all in hysterics. I win the case. And I wake up laughing out loud."

A chapped spot on my lips throbbed. I chewed it, tasted blood. "h.e.l.l of a dream," I said. "Think it was about the nannies? You're worried you'll have to defend the creep?"

"I just think it means I'm feeling confident again, not intimidated by doubts." The dream sounded grisly, but Susan was obviously amused by it. Even motivated. She sounded almost like herself again. I took out a charcoal cashmere, a black patterned handknit, and the purple cowlneck. Why couldn't I decide?

"G.o.d, the gymnastics moms must think I'm a lunatic," Susan went on. "I think I scared them."

"I'd say so, yes. But you woke them up."

"Think they all ran out to buy guns today?"

"More likely, they're all at South Street Karate."

She laughed at the thought. "Leslie the Black Belt." Leslie was bone thin and barely five feet tall. "Seriously, though, we should follow up. Organize. Form a town watch. Set up that buddy system. And quickly."

Susan did sound better. I smirked, imagining Tim healing her with his potency. Superstud wasn't Tim's image. Paunchy, flat-b.u.t.ted, and bald on the back of his head, Tim seemed like a big stuffed animal, more stuffed than animal. unexpectedly, Nick Stiles came to mind. He wasn't wearing a shirt.

"So bring Molly over. Meantime, I'll ask my guys at the Roundhouse what's up with Stiles." The Roundhouse was police headquarters.

"No, Susan. Don't-really-"

"I want to know his situation. Is he married? Divorced? Is he a player?"

I swallowed. "Susan, this is not a date." "Of course it's not. And Molly can stay as late as you want. She can even sleep over." "Susan-"

"Just in case your meeting lasts later than expected. She's welcome to stay."

It was no use arguing. Susan would think what she wanted. I knew the truth. My dinner date wasn't a step toward romance or seduction. It was a step in the pursuit of a serial kidnapper and probable murderer. When we hung up, I started for the bathtub to get Molly but stopped at the bedroom mirror.

Was I stunning? Strands of stark gray streaked the brown of my hair. My skin was pretty smooth, eyes clear. Brows dark and arched. Forehead high, facial bones defined. Lips full. The face was symmetrical. But stunning? I looked closer, trying to see my face as if it were unfamiliar. A stranger's. What would I think of it? Was it a face I'd even notice if it weren't on my own neck? What did stunning mean, anyway? I stared, trying to decide. I posed, changed expressions. Decided it wasn't possible for me to decide; the answer would be found by other eyes. Besides, I had to get moving.

I took a fresh towel into the bathroom for Molly, wrapped her up, brushed her hair, and tried to ignore the persistent image of Stiles, turning around, the muscles rippling in his back.

THIRTEEN.

As I FINISHED MOLLY'S HAIR, THE PHONE RANG AGAIN FINISHED MOLLY'S HAIR, THE PHONE RANG AGAIN. HE'S HE'S canceling, I thought. Stiles is going to cancel. I didn't want him to, considered not answering. After all, if he couldn't reach me, he couldn't cancel. canceling, I thought. Stiles is going to cancel. I didn't want him to, considered not answering. After all, if he couldn't reach me, he couldn't cancel.

Molly came out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel. She c.o.c.ked her head, watching me as I stood motionless, staring at the jangling phone. "Mom-pick up the phone!"

I took a deep breath. What was wrong with me? Even without dinner, I'd still work on the case. I'd just pick up a copy of the profile in the morning instead of at dinner. Who needed his d.a.m.ned dinner, anyhow? I answered, prepared for his excuse, whatever it would be.

"Zoe? What's wrong?"

Phew. It wasn't Stiles. Our meeting was still on. "Hi, Michael."

"I was beginning to think you weren't there. I was getting worried."

"Worried? Why?"

"Why? You can't be serious. You're a single woman. Single women are disappearing almost daily in your neighborhood. And it's getting dark, so I knew you wouldn't be out with your kid-"

"Wait. You think I never go out after dark?"

"Mom, I have tangles." Molly hopped up next to me on the bed, her brush caught in her hair.

"Are you saying that you do? With everything that's been going on down there?"

I ground my teeth and gently untangled Molly's knots, refusing to be baited. "As a matter of fact, I'm about to head out now. But thanks for your concern. What can I do for you?"

"Head out? Now? I was hoping to stop by. Bring you some Chinese."

"Some Chinese."

"Yeah. I'm in the area. I thought you'd enjoy it. Still like Peking duck?"

Oh Lord. What did he want?

The knots were out. "Who's on the phone?" Molly whispered.

"Go get dressed," I whispered back. "It's n.o.body." She nodded as if my answer made sense and scampered away, dragging her towel. "So, what's the deal, Michael? You trying to bribe me?"

Leave it to Michael to offer a couple of egg rolls in exchange for a flawless diamond.

"Bribe you? d.a.m.n, Zoe. Why do you always suspect the worst? I was just thinking of you, all alone there with your kid, n.o.body to check on you, trapped in that tiny house while all around you, every five minutes, single women are getting s.n.a.t.c.hed-"

"Thanks, Michael." Was he trying to scare me? "I'm fine. No need to worry. Take it easy." I started to hang up.

"Wait-Zoe? Well. As long as I've got you on the phone, I might as well ask you. Have you given any thought to the engagement ring situation?"

Good old Michael. "That's what you really called about, isn't it?"

"No. Not at all. I told you why I called. I was worried about you. Have you decided yet?"

I sighed. I didn't want to give him another thing, no matter what it was, but the ring really belonged with his family. Still, I didn't want to be pressured. "Actually, no."

"No?" "No."

He considered it. "No as in you haven't thought about it yet? Or no as in you won't give it back?"

"Pick one." The man would never give up. Molly ran back in, dressed in her underwear, carrying an armload of clothes.

"What should I wear, Mom?"

"How about the green sweatsuit?"

"The green sweatsuit?" Michael didn't understand.

"Molly's going to Susan's. She's deciding what to wear."

"I can't. I wore that last time I was there."

I sighed. She wasn't even six yet. I wondered what she'd be like as a teenager. "Then wear the gray or the navy."

"Okay, the gray. No. The navy. Wait-" She ran off again, leaving three outfits scattered on my bedroom floor.

"Look, Michael, I don't have an answer for you, and I have to get going."

He wouldn't give up. "Okay. How about we talk later? I'll bring dinner when you get back from Susan's."

"I'm not going to Susan's. Molly is. I'm going out to dinner."

He hesitated, letting the information sink in. "You have a date?" Like that was inconceivable. "A dinner date?"

"I've gotta go."

"Who is he?"

"You don't know him."

"So. Some guy's taking you out for a cla.s.sy meal. Careful, Zoe. Sounds like he's trying to get in your pants." I thought I heard a hint of jealousy in his voice.

"Not everyone schemes the way you do, Michael."

"Why would I scheme? I've already been in your pants." Lord. "Thanks for reminding me."

"No problem. Tell you what, though. This guy's pretty lame if he thinks he can buy in with just a pricey meal." There was definitely something indignant in his voice.

"Look-I gotta go."

"Me, too. But, Zoe, do me a favor-"

"Don't worry. I'll be careful."