The nanny murders by Merry Bloch Jones

Her eyes twinkled, her skin glowed, and she smelled like magnolia soap. She took Molly’s hand at the front door and led us into the house. I wasn’t ready to let Molly go; I hadn’t spent time with her all day. But Susan whisked her away, removing her pink woolly mittens and matching parka, and Emily ran out, and the two of them scampered off together.
    “Zoe—it’s great you finally hit it off with someone, even if he is a cop.”
    “I told you. We didn’t ‘hit it off’—”
    “You didn’t have to say it. It’s obvious. It’s in your voice and on your face. You’re wearing it.” I was? Damn.
    The aroma of something deliciously garlicky drifted in from the kitchen. I looked around. The tree glittered in the living room, presents scattered underneath; stockings were hung by the chimney with care. In the sunroom, Lisa was reading and Mozart was playing; Julie was doing needlepoint.
    Grinning, Susan pounded her chest as she walked to the kitchen. “Zoe, guess what—I’ve been planning my trial strategy. And I’m going to win. My guys are going to get off.” She was practically squealing, floating above the floor, waltzing lightly along the hall, leading me to the kitchen.
    I followed, unbuttoning my coat, noticing how unclutteredthe house was. There were no boots or bookbags to stumble over, no half-eaten snacks or scattered clothes. In her internal life, Susan rode a roller coaster, but somehow, in her external roles and relationships, she remained a rock.
    “I thought you thought they were guilty.”
    “Defendants aren’t guilty until the jury says they are. And my clients will be judged not guilty by juries of their peers, thank you very much.” She curtsied, grinning, and called, “Molly, you like spaghetti, don’t you?”
    “With meatballs?”
    She nodded. “Of course, with meatballs. And you and Emily can make the garlic bread. Come on, I’ll get you started.”
    I stared at Susan, wondering what drug she was on. Or should be on. “Judged not guilty?” I brought her back to our topic. “But how?”
    She took out butter, garlic, a garlic press. “What do you mean, how? They have a good lawyer. Criminal defense work isn’t about what clients have or have not done. It’s about their right to a zealous defense, a fair trial, and the presumption of innocence.”
    I knew better than to comment. Susan would argue legal ethics all night, would spin defensively in emotional somersaults. I thought it best to keep my mouth shut while she showed the girls how to make garlic bread. She fluttered from topic to topic, happily bantering about the joys of fresh garlic in the same breath as the art of jury selection and the luster-building capabilities of her new shampoo.
    “You really ought to use some—wash your hair with it before you go out with Stiles.” She opened a cupboard and pulled out a breadbasket.
    “Mom, what did Susan say? Who are you going out with?” Molly had an uncanny knack for selective hearing. “I told you. I have a meeting.” “Make yourself look good, Zoe. He’s a hunk.”
    “A hunk? Who, Mom?” Molly looked at Emily and they both began to giggle.
    “Does your mom have a boyfriend?”
    Molly’s eyes widened, “Mom, do you have a boyfriend?”
    “Come on, Molly. You’d know if I did.”
    Susan smiled. “Your mom’s got a business meeting tonight. Candlelight, soft music, wine, and business.” She took the melted garlic butter off the stove and put it on the table in front of the girls, along with brushes and bread. Immediately, they got to work.
    “Speaking of your business meeting,” Susan whispered, “what about the jogger?” “What jogger?”
    Susan turned away so the girls wouldn’t hear. “Some jogger found another finger in Washington Square. They think it’s one of the nannies’.”
    I went cold.
    “And you’ll appreciate this—according to the news, this is the first body part that’s been found.” “What about my finger?”
    “What