The nanny murders by Merry Bloch Jones Read Free Book Online

be late.”
    I stood at the window, wondering what to tell her. Truth was important to me; I wanted never to lie to her or shatter her trust. Maybe I’d fudge it, tell her that if she believed in Santa or the Tooth Fairy, they’d exist, at least in a way. Oh, who knew.
    I watched her confidently take her spot in the circle of five-and six-year-olds who prepared to stretch, kick, leap, flip, jump, and tumble. Equipment was strategically arranged throughout the gym—trampolines, vaulting horses, balance beams, bars, parallel bars, rings, and floor mats, and, at the far wall, the kids’ favorite: the pit, an in-ground swimming pool filled with odd-shaped chunks of foam rubber. After each class, children leaped, lunged, flipped, cartwheeled, or got pitched into the pit, then worked their way out screaming and laughing.
    Molly was adept at gymnastics. She flipped fearlessly, cartwheeled artfully. Gravity did not intimidate her. To me, her skill was a clear reminder that we had no genetic ties. I was not and had never been light on my feet. “Graceful” and “agile” were not adjectives used to describe me. I’d been a swimmer, a water person, never completely comfortable on land, but Molly was. For the zillionth time I wondered what else she’d inherited, what other surprising traits or talents would emerge over time. She knew she’d been adopted but hadn’t seemed too interested in that fact. Not yet. I wondered when she would be, what she’d want to know, what I would tell her. What I could.
    Mothers clustered on folding chairs in the observation room, heads bent together, buzzing. I knew better than to look for Susan—she and Emily were always late—so I found an empty chair and joined the group. Nobody greeted me. Not a singleperson as much as looked my way. I swallowed. I waited. Still nothing. I began to feel awkward, as if I were intruding. But that was nonsense. I belonged here as much as anyone; these women were my friends.
    Something was wrong. Normally, Karen greeted me with a hug, dark eyes smiling. Now, Karen didn’t even blink at me. In fact, Karen and Davinder were staring at—what was her name? Chubby little Serena’s mom—the spunky woman with the curls—Ileana? That was it, Ileana. Why? Oh. Because Ileana was crying.
    Then I noticed Leslie. Her long red hair hung limp and dull; her skin was so ashen that even her freckles seemed washed out. Her eyes were glazed, focused inward. Even though she was staring my way, she didn’t seem to see me. Finally, Karen motioned for me to come take the seat beside her. Quietly, with a sense of dread, I edged my way around the chairs and squeezed in.
    “But why’d she leave Billy there?” Ileana dabbed her nose as she asked. “Didn’t she say anything about where she was going?”
    “No. Nothing,” Karen shook her head. “We don’t know why. She just ran up to the woman, told Billy to stay with her, and ran out of the park.”
    “And the woman—she just sat there? Why didn’t she do something?”
    “How could she? She had her own two kids. She couldn’t just leave them there to chase a stranger.”
    “Maybe not. But she could have stopped her. She could have done something.”
    “Stopped who? What happened?” I broke in.
    Wordlessly, without glancing at me, Ileana handed me the morning Inquirer. With all that had happened at work, I hadn’t had a chance to see it.
    “No, probably she couldn’t,” Davinder insisted, her dark eyesswollen with sorrow. “We shouldn’t blame her. She had no idea what was going to happen. We’ve got hindsight.”
    I glanced at the paper. The faces of four women stared at me from the front page. One of them was Tamara, Leslie’s nanny. I looked at Leslie, then closed my eyes. This couldn’t be true.
    But the newspaper insisted that it was, in glaring boldface above a three-column spread. Another young woman was missing, the fourth in three weeks. This one, also a nanny, was from Society Hill. I looked at