defined, deadlines set up and sign-up sheets posted, Susan handed out whistles and we began stringing them on necklaces.
“Is there any more news about Tamara?” Karen asked.
Leslie shook her head. “The police don’t tell us anything. To them, she’s just one of the missing nannies.”
“They weren’t all nannies, you know. That fourth one was actually the mother, not a sitter. She’d adopted a baby from China.”
I tensed, listening.
“Really? Well, that breaks the pattern, doesn’t it?”
“Not necessarily. The mom was blonde and fair. The baby was Chinese, so she didn’t look like her mother. Plus, the mom was young, in her twenties. The killer probably thought she was a nanny.”
“Killer? Why’d you say ‘killer’? Do we actually know that they’re dead? I mean, they haven’t found any bodies, have they?”
“Who knows what they’ve found?” Susan said, her eyes meeting mine. “They’re probably withholding a lot of what they know, so they don’t tip the guy off.”
I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. Not just nannies were victims. Adoptive mothers might be targets, too. I wasn’t going to mention the garbage bag or fingers. Neither, apparently, was Susan.
On the other side of the glass, Coach Gene cheerfully demonstrated a cartwheel on the balance beam. Kids in leotards bounced on trampolines, did flips on uneven parallel bars. I envied their innocence, their glee.
Gretchen opened a box of homemade Christmas cookies. “Okay, we have our plan. Now let’s cut the glumness. Help yourselves.” She took a star coated with green sugar. We passed the rest around, and for a while we munched and talked, trying to be normal. A cheery tape of “Jingle Bells” drifted in from the gym, the music, the conversation as weightless as snowflakes. But, instead of mistletoe and holly on the walls, we hung alarm whistles on string.
“Peas?” I heard Davinder ask. “Your kids eat peas?”
“They love peas. Frozen, straight from the box, like candy. Or in tuna, or with rotini and cheese.”
I wandered off and sat by the observation window, watching the children practice, listening to the lulling rhythm, the gentle flow of women’s chatter. After a while, Leslie drifted over and sat beside me, staring quietly at her knees. She was deeply depressed about Tamara. I thought about suggesting help, offering her a referral, but then Karen joined us.
“Is Billy okay, Leslie?” she asked.
The voice startled her, bringing her back. “Huh?”
“I wondered if he’s changed. You know, his sleeping or eating. Sometimes with kids, that’s the only way to tell if something’s wrong. Emotionally. I mean. He must be a mess with Tamara being gone and you and his dad being so upset—”
Karen stopped midsentence. The interruption wasn’t a noise or even a gasp; it was a sudden, pervasive silence. Leslie spun around to face the door. Everyone froze as the stranger entered and scanned the room. I looked up and, in the instant before he saw me, I had just enough time to recognize Charlie—and the fact that he was carrying a gun.
THIRTY-SEVEN
UNSHAVEN, UNKEMPT, HIS FRAYED JACKET HANGING LOOSELY over grease-stained pants, Charlie shuffled in. Dark circles ringed his red, strained eyes, and he spoke slowly, as if no one were in the room but the two of us.
“Don’t you worry, miss,” he said. “I told you I’d protect you.”
Susan stepped directly in front of him. She was accustomed to guns and criminals. “What do you think you’re doing, sir?” she stared at him, ignoring the gun.
Charlie stepped back and closed the observation room door, shoving a chair under the doorknob. “Step back, ma’am. Don’t interfere. I’m here to help.”
Susan spoke calmly, as if men wandered in carrying guns all the time. “Well, you have to put the gun away. There are children—”
Charlie scowled as he aimed the gun right at her. “Who are you? Mind your business. I’ve got to talk to Miss Zoe.”
I ran over and stood between them. “Charlie, what are you doing? You can’t just point a gun at people. These are my friends.”
He waved the gun toward the window. “Let’s go over there and talk, Miss Zoe.” Charlie limped along, guiding me back across the room, wheezing as he stepped around chairs. Women huddled close, wide-eyed and silent.
“What the hell is this, Charlie?” I asked. “What’s the gun for?”
“Protection, miss. I told you. You’re in danger. But don’t worry. I’m here for you and the little girl.”
Behind him, Susan pointed and waved, trying to send me some message I couldn’t decode.
“You’ll scare the children, Charlie. Put the gun away.”
“I can’t do that, miss. I