by Naomi Niles
THE NANNY
By Naomi Niles
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 Naomi Niles
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Chapter One: Rachelle
"Hold the door!" I cried out frantically as the subway doors were sliding to a close. A passenger blocked them open with his hand, so I was able to squeeze into the crowded car with my large cardboard box held tightly in my arms.
"Thank you." I smiled at the stranger. He was an older gentleman, perhaps in his early fifties, and reminded me of my father, James Clare.
My father and I had always been close, right up to the day he died ten years ago when I was just fourteen. He had been walking out a store, having just purchased some ice-cream for me, when a drunk driver careened onto the sidewalk and hit him. After that, it had been just Mama and me taking care of each other as best we could.
That's why it had been particularly devastating when she was diagnosed with cancer just two years after his death. I wanted to use what was left of Daddy's life insurance money to pay for her treatments, but she wanted me to use it to pay for college.
In the end, I got a scholarship, so we were able to send her to a special treatment facility and I was still able to get my teaching degree. I always knew I'd gotten the scholarship because Daddy had been watching out for me from Heaven. I knew that as long as he was up there, everything would be alright.
Then, a couple of months ago, Mama got sick and wasn't recovering. I took her to the doctor, and he ran some tests. When he called us into his office with the results, I knew from the look on his face that it was bad.
The cancer had come back, and this time it was more aggressive than the last, spreading through her body quickly. She needed treatment right away, but I didn't see how that was possible.
All the money Daddy had left us was long gone, and we were barely making ends meet as it was on my meager salary. There was no way I'd be able to pay the huge cost for the treatments she needed, and without them, she would die.
I couldn't let that happen. Mama was all that I had left in the world. I'd already lost my father – there was no way I could lose her, too. I needed a miracle, but I didn't where to find one.
"That's quite the family you have there," the stranger on the subway said, startling me from my thoughts.
"What?" I was confused. I brushed my pale blonde hair back behind my left ear with one hand, while I held my cardboard box with the other. There was standing room only in the subway car for the 5:00 p.m. commute, and we were wedged together uncomfortably with the box between us.
"Your things." The stranger indicated my box with a friendly nod. It was filled with handmade cards, crayon drawings, and craft projects of colorful paper pasted together. "You must have a lot of kids."
Smiling at the misunderstanding, I said, "Yeah, thirty-two of them; but not anymore."
The kind stranger's expression turned to one of confusion, and I rushed to explain. "I'm a kindergarten teacher. At least, I used to be. Today was the last day of the school year. Now, I'm unemployed until the fall." I felt wistful as I thought about no longer hearing their sweet young voices calling me Miss Clare with their little hands raised high in the air.
"I thought you looked awfully young to have that many children," he joked.
I was twenty-four, but many people told me I looked younger. My fair complexion was free of any wrinkles or blemishes, and my bright green eyes sparkled with innocence. I often wore my hair loose to my shoulders in a flowing sheet and liked to dress in jeans and colorful tee-shirts, like a kid. I guess that's why I was so good with young children – because I was still so much like them.
Taking care of my sick mother completely alone all these years had been incredibly difficult and gave me a strength of character few girls my age possessed, but I didn't let it make me jaded or hard-hearted. I still believed in miracles – and right now I needed one.
"Oh, this is my stop." I smiled at the stranger who was kind enough to hold open the door for me once again as I exited.
I carried my box of goodbye gifts from my students for several blocks until I came to our battered apartment building. Bars covered the windows and graffiti marked the outside walls. I used my key to get inside the lobby door and took the stairs up the five flights to our floor. It was a long walk up the stairs, especially after an even longer day at work, but the elevator was too unreliable, and I would rather walk than be trapped in the elevator shaft for hours like I'd been last week.
"Rachelle? Is that you?" Mama's voice called from the bedroom.
"Yes, Mama. It's me," I cried out as I set my box down on the rickety card table that served as our kitchen table. Then I took off my sweater and laid it carefully over the back of the plastic kitchen chair and stepped out of my shoes to walk in my bare feet.
"How was your last day?" Mama asked when I entered her bedroom and greeted her with a hug. Patricia Clare was a sweet woman of fifty-two who had dedicated her life to working in the library before fate cruelly struck her with cancer. Once so full of energy, she now looked so tiny and frail sitting in her bed, propped up by a huge pile of pillows that only made her look smaller.
I sat on the edge of the bed beside her and smiled. "It was good. The kids all made me goodbye cards. I'm really going to miss them."
She heard the strain of emotion in my voice and clasped my hand with her frail one. "You'll get a whole batch of new ones next fall," she tried to comfort me.
"I don't know if I will," I confessed. It was time to talk about the hard subject we'd both been avoiding for some time now. "I don't know if I can keep teaching, Mama.
“The school doesn't pay me during the summer months, and even during the school year, it's still not enough. Ever since you had to quit your job, we've been falling deeper and deeper into debt. The medical bills are mounting, and I don't know how we can go on like this. I need to find a job that pays more."
"But you love teaching." She looked sad for me, but then her expression brightened. "Why not become a nanny?"
"What?" The idea had never occurred to me.
"Sure," she said enthusiastically and even sat up a little in her sickbed. "In fancy places like Beverly Hills and Silicon Valley, they're always looking for highly-skilled young women to serve as nannies to their over-privileged children. With your education and experience, I'm sure you could ask for top-dollar, and they'd give it to you. Sometimes they even cover living expenses, supply a car, or pay to take you with them on fancy trips to Europe or the tropics."
"Do you really think I could?" The idea definitely had appeal and would probably provide better stability than teaching. I'd heard of nannies that worked for the same family from the time the kids were babies until they went to college. They became like a member of the family, but was it really the job for me?
"Of course you could." Mama sounded really excited now, and I was beginning to feel the same way. "As a nanny, you'd still be able to do what you love: taking care of children. Only, you wouldn't have to watch nearly so many. You could dedicate yourself to nurturing just one child or two, instead of a whole classroom full. It wouldn't be nearly as exhausting for you, and you'd be able to have that personal connection you used to love so much when you would babysit after school."
"Would it really pay more than teaching?"
"It sure will. There was a group o
f nannies from Beverly Hills that used to bring their children to the library for story hour on Wednesdays. I heard them talking one day about the salaries they made and the perks they got. It put what you and I make to shame, and they didn't even have the education you have. With your degree in child development, I'm sure you could ask for even more."
"Do you really think I should?"
"What does your heart tell you?" Mama asked. The answer was clear. This could be the miracle I was looking for and the answer to my prayers.
Hugging my mother, I said excitedly, "All right. I'll do it. Tomorrow, I'll start looking for a job as a professional nanny."
Chapter Two: Tate
"What do you mean I can't leave town?" I barked at the detective with barely-contained rage.
"Just calm down." My attorney, Thomas Tandy, held up his hand to me in a silencing gesture. His black hair was slicked back in its usual style, streaks of gray at the temples adding to his distinguished aura. He was the top criminal defense attorney in the state of New York, and I was paying him a hell of a lot of money, so I figured I'd better listen to his advice and clamped my mouth shut, despite the fact I wanted to tell the detective to go fuck himself.
Detective Mitch Miller was ten years younger than the fifty-six-year-old attorney, but looked ten years older with his heavily-lined face, rough jaw, and paunchy gut. His light brown hair was thinning at the top, and he had an ugly scar above his left brow that I was certain had a dark story behind it. He wore a cheap brown suit with worn out shoes, and I decided he could easily pass for a homeless person.
Miller looked at me with that hard cynicism that always clouded his brown eyes. "Just because we haven't filed any charges against you yet, Mr. Holland, doesn't mean we won't. At the very least, we might have more questions to ask you about things."
"I'm an open book. Ask me anything you want," I snapped at him.
I hated that accusatory lift of his chin, as if he already knew I was guilty. It's why I called Thomas Tandy to be at this meeting – so I wouldn't lose my cool and punch the son-of-a-bitch right in his slack jaw. Then he really would have cause to arrest me, and he didn't need any more incentive. He was already itching to put in me jail because the company I owned had laid off of his family members, but that didn't make me a murderer.
Finding a dead body in my house, however, looked highly suspicious – especially in the manner in which she had died. I was undoubtedly Miller's prime suspect, and I knew why. That didn't mean the asshole had the right to convict me without due process, though, and I'd be damned if I let him bully me in my own home. I squared off to him, chin to chin, not afraid to get right in his face.
Tandy stepped between me and Miller, separating the two of us with the smooth grace the lawyer always showed in the courtroom. "My client is happy to cooperate with your investigation, Detective,” he said to Miller. “Let me know when you would like him to come for an interview, and I'll clear my schedule for the day. I know you wouldn't want to question him without proper legal counsel."
"Of course not." Miller took Tandy's business card with his name embossed in gold letters and shoved into the front pocket of his cheap suit. Glaring back at me, he said, "I have a feeling we'll have a lot of questions as soon as the forensics come back from the lab and the coroner finishes the autopsy on the body."
"Until then, I see you don't have a warrant to further investigate the property, and my client is an extremely busy man," Tandy politely invited the unwelcome detective to leave my mansion office. Miller puffed up his chest as if he were about to object, but then thought better of it. My maid showed him through the sprawling house to the front door and made certain the nosy detective left the property without taking any detours to my private rooms or talking to any of my staff.
He was welcome to question anyone he wanted to, of course, and there was nothing I could do to stop him. After all, a member of my staff had been found murdered in my bedroom.
Still, I preferred that he didn't. I cherished my privacy and made all my employees sign a contract guaranteeing they would not discuss anything they saw or heard within the mansion. A suspicious person like Miller would twist such an agreement as an indication of guilt, but it was the furthest thing from that. All I wanted was to be able to live my life the way I wanted to without fear of someone talking to the media about my private activities.
Someone had found a way to break into my home and murder my daughter's nanny. It was a waste of time for the detective to question my staff, prying into my private life when there was a killer to be found. No doubt their grief would cause them to say things they'd regret later. We were all highly emotional these past few days, acting out in ways we normally wouldn't. Rose's death was a loss to us all, most especially to me and Halle.
Rose Landon had come into my home just six months ago, but in that short time, she had become a special part of our lives. She was just twenty-three at the time of her death, blonde, pretty, friendly, and very sweet. She was the perfect caregiver for my three-year-old daughter, Halle. My daughter loved Rose, and it was easy to see that the nanny adored my little girl, too.
Rose had come to mean something to me, too. I missed the taste of her lips, the fullness of her firm round breasts, and the feel of her warm, wet pussy pulsating around me. It was a real shame what had happened to her. She was going to be very difficult to replace – in many ways.
"Call me the moment you hear from him," Tandy said of Miller, breaking me from my thoughts.
"What?" My headache was throbbing, and it was hard to concentrate on anything since Rose's death. I couldn't eat. I hadn't slept. I was stuck in a nightmare from which I couldn't wake.
"The detective," Tandy said. "Call me the moment he contacts you about anything. I don't expect him to share the results of the autopsy with us, but if forensics turns up any evidence, he'll be sure to question you on the results."
"So, you think I'm guilty, too." My voice was hard.
Thomas Tandy didn't flinch. He just snapped shut his briefcase and said with an easy smile, "I never ask my clients if they’re innocent or guilty. I just give them the best defense money can buy, and I hardly ever lose. You're getting your money's worth with me. I'm building a great defense for you."
"Yeah, and I'm the one signing the checks." I scrawled my signature on another one and handed it to Tandy.
"Thank you. And, don't forget to call me the moment you hear from Detective Miller." He folded the check carefully and placed it in the breast pocket of his suit. Then he scooped up his briefcase and headed for the door, talking on his cell phone about some legal matter before he even walked through it.
I didn't bother calling the maid to show him the way out. Tandy knew this place well. He'd counseled me on every problem I'd ever faced, although none had been as serious as this one. I could hear him talking on his cell the entire time he walked through the house and knew he was gone when I heard the front door close. I looked out my office window and watched as his BMW pulled out of the driveway and then collapsed into my chair.
Finally, I was alone. I leaned my head back against my leather chair and sighed with exhaustion. Ever since Rose's body had been found, the place had been a madhouse of police officers, investigators, reporters, and sympathizers. I hadn't had a moment of peace, and now that I was finally alone, there still wasn't time to mourn her. I missed the scent of her skin, the warmth of her body, and her moans of pleasure. I was finding it difficult to make it through the days, and especially the nights, without her. Shaking my head to clear it, I picked up my phone and got to work.
First off, I had to call my top employees and explain I wouldn't be a work for a while. I delegated my priorities to them, counting on them to make sure my business ran smoothly.
Next, I had to meet with my publicist to make sure news of this scandal didn't hurt my company image, and then I had to schedule a therapist to ensure Halle didn't suffer unduly from the abrupt absence of her beloved caregiver. The loss of Rose would lea
ve a void that would be difficult to fill. Rose had been one of a kind.
Last of all, I had to find a new nanny, and the quicker, the better. Halle couldn't take much more time without the sweet care only a nanny could provide, and neither could I.
Chapter Three: Rachelle
I gently closed the door to my mother's bedroom and tip-toed silently to the kitchen. Mama was taking her afternoon nap, and I finally had the time to do something for myself.
I loved Mama, but taking care of her was a full-time job. She was so frail, she could no longer cook for herself, bathe alone, or even walk safely from her bed to the toilet without the risk of falling and hurting herself. She had medications to take, a special diet to follow, and of course, there was the time-consuming labor of cleaning up her vomit and keeping her bathed and clean.
Mama needed around-the-clock care, and it was obvious that when I went back to work, I would need to hire a full-time nurse for her. The problem is, how will I ever find a job that pays well enough to do that? I wondered to myself.
Feeling defeated before I even began, I sat down at the rickety kitchen table and opened the newspaper to the want ads. I circled the ones that sounded possible for me to apply to, but they were few and far between. Then, suddenly, my eyes fell on one that sounded too good to be true: a position for a nanny in Beverly Hills, for the only child of a single father. The benefits were great, and the salary was unbelievable. It must be a mistake, but what if it isn't?
Immediately, I used my cell phone to dial the number.
"Tate Holland," a deep male voice identified himself as he answered on the first ring. I tried to figure out why his name seemed so familiar. I knew I had seen it in the news, but couldn't remember why. It didn't really matter, and I brushed the thought from my mind.
"Hello. My name is Rachelle Clare," I stammered into the phone. His voice had an urgency that made me uncharacteristically nervous, as if I were interrupting him in the middle of something important.