girls had that sugar-free whole fruit stuff."
It figured. I could remember Kitty on the playground peeling fresh clementines for her kids. When mine had asked for a snack, I'd been reduced to offering them each a breath mint.
"I should have..."--Lisa paused and wiped her eyes--"appreciated her more, you know?"
"How long had you known her?"
"Three years?" she sniffled. "Since the girls were in nursery school? I'd do three days a week, Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, from one to six thirty. When she went to the city, she'd take the one twenty-two, and she'd be home by six, almost always, and she'd always call when she was going to be late."
"How often did she go to New York?"
Lisa twirled her cup around the table some more. "Depends. Sometimes a lot. And sometimes she'd just be home. She had a computer in the bedroom. She'd work there." I looked down at her hands and saw that her fingernails were bitten to the quick, her cuticles were ragged and scabbed.
"Do you know what she was doing in the city?"
Lisa shook her head. "She never told me. I never asked."
Never told. Never asked. Very interesting. According to Laura Lynn Baird, Kitty had worked from home. They'd collaborated by phone and by email--the perfect, flexible part-time gig for a stay-at-home mother who'd told me she never left her kids. So if Kitty wasn't going into the city to work, what was she doing there? I had an idea. A guess, at least.
"Did she dress like she was going to work or going to..." Meet up with a mystery man in a midtown hotel for hours of illicit passion and overpriced liquor from the minibar? "Do something else?" I concluded.
"I don't know," Lisa said, after she'd paused for a long look at my underwear-baring ensemble. "She just wore clothes. Skirts and sweaters. Normal things."
Ah, yes. Normal things. I remembered them well. "I'll bet you've got intuition," I said, using one of Janie's techniques: when in doubt, flatter. "Anyone who's good with kids--and I've heard great things about you--you must have kind of a sense about people."
Lisa shrugged, but I could see from the faint flush in her cheeks that she was pleased. Or maybe not. Maybe she was just having some kind of allergic reaction to underwear.
"What was your sense of Kitty?" I asked. "Was she happy, or anxious, or bored? Do you think she could have been..." I paused, gathering myself. "I don't know. Maybe having an affair?"
Lisa's flush deepened. "I don't know," she said. "I really have no idea." She picked at the cuticle on her left thumb until she'd drawn a bead of blood. "How many hours a week are you looking for?" she asked.
It took me a minute to remember why I'd ostensibly asked her out for coffee. "Oh, um...ten? Fifteen, maybe? It would be really basic. You'd just have to watch the kids. You wouldn't have to do any housework or even answer the phone." I paused to sip my drink and regroup before asking, as casually as I could, "Did you ever answer Kitty's phone?" Good one, Kate, I thought. Subtle. Like a fart in an elevator.
She shook her head...and I saw she was starting to look puzzled. "She said to just let voice mail pick up, so that's what I did. You don't have voice mail?"
"Well, we do, sure, but sometimes, I guess, the personal touch is nice." Oh boy, was this going nowhere fast. So much for my career as Kate Klein, ace investigator of suburban wrongdoings from eight-thirty to eleven forty-five on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. I stared into Lisa's eyes, trying to pin her down with my gaze so that she wouldn't bolt or, worse, start talking about babysitting again.
"You know, I used to babysit when I was your age," I said. Flattery hadn't worked, so maybe empathy would. "I loved it, except sometimes the fathers would think it was, you know, their constitutional right to try and hit on me." This was, of course, a complete fabrication. I had picked up the occasional babysitting gig when I was in high school, but none of the fathers had so much as shaken my
It figured. I could remember Kitty on the playground peeling fresh clementines for her kids. When mine had asked for a snack, I'd been reduced to offering them each a breath mint.
"I should have..."--Lisa paused and wiped her eyes--"appreciated her more, you know?"
"How long had you known her?"
"Three years?" she sniffled. "Since the girls were in nursery school? I'd do three days a week, Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, from one to six thirty. When she went to the city, she'd take the one twenty-two, and she'd be home by six, almost always, and she'd always call when she was going to be late."
"How often did she go to New York?"
Lisa twirled her cup around the table some more. "Depends. Sometimes a lot. And sometimes she'd just be home. She had a computer in the bedroom. She'd work there." I looked down at her hands and saw that her fingernails were bitten to the quick, her cuticles were ragged and scabbed.
"Do you know what she was doing in the city?"
Lisa shook her head. "She never told me. I never asked."
Never told. Never asked. Very interesting. According to Laura Lynn Baird, Kitty had worked from home. They'd collaborated by phone and by email--the perfect, flexible part-time gig for a stay-at-home mother who'd told me she never left her kids. So if Kitty wasn't going into the city to work, what was she doing there? I had an idea. A guess, at least.
"Did she dress like she was going to work or going to..." Meet up with a mystery man in a midtown hotel for hours of illicit passion and overpriced liquor from the minibar? "Do something else?" I concluded.
"I don't know," Lisa said, after she'd paused for a long look at my underwear-baring ensemble. "She just wore clothes. Skirts and sweaters. Normal things."
Ah, yes. Normal things. I remembered them well. "I'll bet you've got intuition," I said, using one of Janie's techniques: when in doubt, flatter. "Anyone who's good with kids--and I've heard great things about you--you must have kind of a sense about people."
Lisa shrugged, but I could see from the faint flush in her cheeks that she was pleased. Or maybe not. Maybe she was just having some kind of allergic reaction to underwear.
"What was your sense of Kitty?" I asked. "Was she happy, or anxious, or bored? Do you think she could have been..." I paused, gathering myself. "I don't know. Maybe having an affair?"
Lisa's flush deepened. "I don't know," she said. "I really have no idea." She picked at the cuticle on her left thumb until she'd drawn a bead of blood. "How many hours a week are you looking for?" she asked.
It took me a minute to remember why I'd ostensibly asked her out for coffee. "Oh, um...ten? Fifteen, maybe? It would be really basic. You'd just have to watch the kids. You wouldn't have to do any housework or even answer the phone." I paused to sip my drink and regroup before asking, as casually as I could, "Did you ever answer Kitty's phone?" Good one, Kate, I thought. Subtle. Like a fart in an elevator.
She shook her head...and I saw she was starting to look puzzled. "She said to just let voice mail pick up, so that's what I did. You don't have voice mail?"
"Well, we do, sure, but sometimes, I guess, the personal touch is nice." Oh boy, was this going nowhere fast. So much for my career as Kate Klein, ace investigator of suburban wrongdoings from eight-thirty to eleven forty-five on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. I stared into Lisa's eyes, trying to pin her down with my gaze so that she wouldn't bolt or, worse, start talking about babysitting again.
"You know, I used to babysit when I was your age," I said. Flattery hadn't worked, so maybe empathy would. "I loved it, except sometimes the fathers would think it was, you know, their constitutional right to try and hit on me." This was, of course, a complete fabrication. I had picked up the occasional babysitting gig when I was in high school, but none of the fathers had so much as shaken my
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