Nanny (29 page)

chapter
36

A
manda Winslow closed the trunk of her old silver Mercedes and smiled at Cara gamely. “I told Tate to prepare to be supplanted.” She held up a dozen bags with bright bows and ribbons. “We have serious work to do, my love. Not that you aren't gorgeous, but a bride can always use a little extra glow for her big day.”

Cara put her arm around Sophy, who was staring wide-eyed at Tate's mother. “What a lovely idea. But you really shouldn't have gone to all this trouble, Amanda.”

The slim, white-haired woman laughed in delight. “The only trouble was negotiating that dirt road to get here. The day spa treatments become trouble is the day I draw my last breath. Do you know, Tate and his brother used to tease me that I should open my own spa since I was already an expert.” Her head tilted. “And I actually considered it. I even signed a contract on a lovely little property in Georgetown near Tate's old law office.” She winked at Sophy. “Thank God, I came to my senses in time.”

“What happened?” Sophy demanded, in awe of her future grandmother.

“I realized that I would have been appalling as a masseuse, my dear, and even worse as a business manager.” Shaking her head, Amanda juggled two bags and took her son's arm. “Are the reporters leaving you alone here?”

“So far we've managed to fly below their radar. I've promised Audra a fishing expedition today.” He grinned at his mother. “Don't suppose you'd want to give up exfoliation for standing waist-high in frigid water?”

“Blasphemy, my love.” Amanda handed one of her bags to Cara. “I think we should start with the algae rinse. After that comes the loofah scrub and the warm mud wrap. When I'm done, you'll look like a teenager—not that you aren't close to being thirteen already, my sweet.”

Sophy giggled. “What about me? Can you make me look older, Grandma?”

“Are you staying with us, Sophy? If so, I think you'll fall in love with my strawberry mousse face cream. I even brought a pair of little red spa slippers, just for you.”

Beaming, Sophy took a skipping step. “Audra will be
soooo
jealous.”

“Then we won't tell her, will we?” Amanda's voice was low and conspiratorial.

Sophy hesitated. “Grandma Amanda, what's blas—blasma—”

“Blasphemy. That, my love, is an act of irreverence toward something sacred.”

“Will I know a lot of big words like that when I grow up?”

“When you grow up, you will walk on Mars,” Amanda Winslow said gravely. “You will own a huge international corporation and rule it with an iron hand. Who knows, you might even decide to become president.” As they crossed the porch, she glanced across at Tate, who was walking beside Cara. “Forgive me for arriving unannounced, but when Bud mentioned you were coming, I couldn't resist. Now, is there anything I can do to help you two? Any calls to return, food to order, reporters to badger?”

“We're all set,” Cara said. “All you need to do while you're here is relax.”

“Relaxation always bored me. Let's see, I packed all kinds of good things for lunch.” Amanda frowned at Cara. “Audra was looking pale when I saw her last. Has she been sick?”

Cara swallowed. “She's been under some stress lately.”

“You should help her with that, darling. Let's both try.” Amanda turned to her son and waved airily. “Off with you, Tate. Go find your frigid stream and cast away. We women have
serious
work to do.”

 

“Anyone for lemonade? It's my special recipe, brought all the way from San Francisco, made with lemons, blood oranges, and all the pulp you can squeeze in.” Amanda Winslow poured three glasses and handed one to Cara, then placed the iced pitcher on a lacquer tray. “Sophy, be a love and bring me the little suitcase from the front seat of my car. I must have left all my brushes in there. You can have your lemonade when you return.”

“Okay.” The little girl stopped in the doorway and looked back. Sunlight was spilling through the big window in the upstairs bedroom, and her mother was sitting in a chair, her legs curled, looking very happy.

I want her to look like that all the time,
Sophy thought.
Maybe if I'm very good, I can make that happen.

Grandma Amanda was refilling her mother's glass as Sophy skipped down the stairs, thinking about red spa slippers and strawberry mousse. She dawdled crossing the front porch, enjoying the sun on her shoulders and the stillness all around her at the ranch.

It was good to feel safe.

When she walked back with her grandmother's little case, she kicked up dust with her sneakers, just for the fun of seeing the brown clouds dance around her. Then she heard her mother's voice carried through the open windows above the porch, and she smiled.

At the front door she saw something on the floor behind the big leather chair her Grandma Amanda liked best, and for a frightening moment Sophy thought it was her diary, the one she never showed anyone. How had it fallen out of her knapsack?

When she remembered she had left her diary at home, locked in her desk drawer, Sophy walked closer and saw a big blue envelope, the kind that came from foreign countries. Since she collected foreign stamps, Sophy knew this stamp was in Spanish and came from Mexico.

It must have fallen when they came in, Sophy thought. The letter from Mexico probably belonged to her Grandma Amanda, who got letters from all over the world for her international charities. Sophy bent down and picked up the colored envelope.

As her fingers touched the paper, she swallowed hard. She couldn't say why, but something about the envelope felt strange.

 

“Amanda, I don't understand.”

“No? I should think it was entirely clear.” Amanda Winslow put down her Prada purse on the big, rustic dresser and turned. “I can't allow you to destroy my son's future, even if you're too selfish to see that's exactly what you're doing.”

“Why are you saying this? What makes you think—” Cara blinked, rubbing her face. Suddenly she clutched her stomach.

“Exactly, my dear.” Tate's mother smiled faintly. “I know all about your sordid visit to that little clinic in Mexico. Los Reyes, wasn't it?”

“But when . . . how did you find out?”

Amanda lifted her shoulders in an elegant shrug. “Really, Cara, do you think I'd let him marry just anyone? I had you investigated, of course, just as I had his other women investigated. You were the best candidate for Tate, I have to admit, and after the first date I knew he was serious about you. He wanted marriage and a family, something he'd never considered with any of the others.” Her lips pursed. “I sent a man to do some research in California. When that was done, I sent a different man to your old law school and another to that apartment you had in college. Well, guess what? Your old landlady remembered that you'd been sick one term and had to drop out of school. She also said you'd made a trip to Mexico with your sister.” Amanda stared coldly at Cara. “The next part wasn't so easy. You covered yourself well, as any good lawyer would.” Tate's mother moved around the bed, watching Cara closely. “Then I had a bit of luck, and the last part of the puzzle fell right into my lap, so to speak.” She smiled. “Richard Costello.”

Cara couldn't speak. A terrible weight was squeezing her chest, driving all the air from her body. She looked at the lemonade glass, her head pounding. “No.”

“Yes, Cara. I worked out all the details about six months ago. It was Costello who gave me the idea.” She smiled very elegantly, the perfect smile that Washington reporters had seen for years. “And then those terrible threatening letters began to arrive at your office.”

Cara struggled to her feet. “A-Amanda, you didn't. Costello is a criminal. You can't know what you're saying.”

The old woman laughed tightly. “I know
exactly
what I'm saying. It's all your fault, after all. If you hadn't been so selfish, you'd have seen your duty sooner, and none of this would have been necessary. But you aren't feeling so well, are you? What a pity.”

 

Sophy gripped the envelope, shivering.

Trust your heart,
Summer had told her yesterday, while the surf rumbled in the distance. Sophy thought about her ballet class and about Summer's words, while she held the colored envelope, her body shaking.

Something was wrong. She felt the way she'd felt those other times, when bad things were about to happen. She'd never been wrong so far.

She looked around at the quiet house, filled with the sudden knowledge that her mother was in danger. Maybe they all were.

Trust your heart,
Summer had told her.

Sophy found her backpack and dug inside it.

Apple-cinnamon lip balm. Two Scrunchies. Half of a Snickers bar. Hello Kitty bag. Hello Kitty two-way radio.

Her heart began to pound louder. She took a deep breath.

Trust your heart.

She opened the screen door, then closed it gently with both hands, careful not to let the frame bang. Gripping the radio, the one she and Audra used to play with for hours before Audra started acting so grown-up, Sophy flipped on the power button.

“Audra, can you hear me? Please, Auddie, it's Sophy. You have to come
now.
”

 

“Right here looks good.” Tate pointed toward the stream, silver in the clear morning light.

“But I left my fishing stuff near the horses.”

“Don't worry, Bud will bring everything down.” Tate took Audra's arm. “Besides, we've got all morning. Let's go see what's biting.”

chapter
37

A
udra, can you hear me?” Sophy gripped the handset, running toward the stables. “Is anyone here?”

 Tears streaked her face as she ran past the empty stalls. “Auddie, please, please hear me. Mom and I
need
you.”

No one answered.

 

“Here are some pills to move things along,” Amanda said coldly. “Fifteen should do the job. Probably even six or seven would work.”

“Amanda, you can't mean what you're saying.”

“Shut up for once. You're not in a courtroom now.” Tate Winslow's elegant mother, dignified in a gray silk jacket and skirt, pulled a bottle from her pocket. “I've thought it all out.”

Dizzy, Cara stumbled back toward the door, only to find Amanda moving to cut her off. “Tate wouldn't want this,” Cara whispered. “He'll hate you.”

“His career means everything to him—and to me. I won't let one silly woman ruin all that he's worked for. I'm only glad I finally realized how dangerous you are.”

Cara closed her eyes, trying to focus. No, none of it made sense. Amanda wasn't rational.

She clutched her stomach as another wave of nausea hit. Something in the lemonade, she realized. The pain came again, bending her double.

Amanda pursed her lips as she unscrewed the top of the bottle. “The girls are absolutely wonderful, even if you do persist in coddling them beyond permission. But I'll see to it that they're given some spine. No more pampering. They'll go off to the best schools in the East, since Tate and I won't have much time for them. Once the news of your suicide from a drug overdose hits the papers, he's going to be terribly busy doing damage control. But I'll make certain he looks heroic. A sad man hoodwinked by an aggressive and unstable woman. His female demographics should skew right through the roof,” she added gravely. “All
you
have to do is swallow a few pills. As a matter of fact, you might be the final thing that puts him into the White House.”

“Keep your hands off my girls,” Cara said hoarsely. “You're s-sick, Amanda. You're twisted.”

“Actually,
you
are the one who is sick. The nausea can be quite awful, I understand.”

With trembling steps Cara wobbled toward the door. She had to get help, but the phone was downstairs. She'd never make it that far.

“Nasty, right to the end. A good prosecutor and a wretched choice for a wife.” In the sunlight, Amanda's manicured nails looked like perfect drops of blood as she poured a handful of pills into her palm. “I suppose I should call Patrick to help me with this part.”

Cara tried to focus. “Patrick Flanagan? Patrick, our chef?”

“Didn't you know? Patrick has been working for Richard Costello for a long time now. I'm afraid he hates you greatly, my love.”

 

Summer's lacerated wrists were on fire.

Dust flew up in angry brown sheets, and then the truck tilted sharply, slamming her back against the door frame.

Not
panda,
she realized.

Not a panda at all.

She knew now what name Underhill had tried to give them, but it was too late to help. Gabe threw his body over the seat—over Underhill and over her—to protect them, and there was a loud
BOOM!
like overhead thunder and she was tossed straight forward, glass clawing at her head.

Then there was only pain and a flat wall of darkness sweeping down around her.

 

“Auddie, where
are
you?”

The handset crackled against Sophy's ear. “I'm right here. Why are you shouting, Sophy? You're scaring all the fish.”

Sophy almost dropped the radio in her panic. “S-something's wrong, Auddie. You've got to come back to the house right away. Have them call the police.”

“What are you talking about? Sophy, if this is a joke—”

“It's not, Auddie. I saw something and it was horrible. Mommy's in danger, and you have to come here now. Hurry, and be sure to bring the others with you.”

“What do you mean? Why—”

“I have go back now.
Hurry.
”

Sophy shoved the radio back in her pocket. She found what she'd been searching for, then raced back through the stables.

A strange car was parked at the back of the house now.

Sophy didn't question the instinct that made her zigzag through the trees and enter quietly from the small side porch, where no one would see her.

 

The phone was ringing downstairs, but Cara could barely hear it. She sank onto her knees, holding her stomach as more cramps hit. Amanda's hands blurred in front of her, shoving her onto the floor.

Downstairs the phone stopped ringing.

Cara thought of her girls. She refused to fail them. She wouldn't miss their driving tests and proms, their graduations and beautiful weddings.

Her vision was getting worse, and sharp nails dug at her mouth, trying to work the big capsules past her locked teeth. Cara shook her head, fighting hard, but she was losing strength fast.

She remembered there had been something bitter in the lemonade, something that didn't taste like pulp. Amanda's shadow fell over her.

Amanda.

As she wobbled back to her feet, Sophy ran into the room. Cara tried to protest, but her daughter dug in her pocket and pushed Amanda back against the wall.

There was something small and gray in Sophy's hands, Cara realized. Cats? But Amanda was desperately allergic to cats. They made her skin break out and her throat swell up. Sophy knew that.

Of course. Smart, brave Sophy was frightening Amanda with two of the stable cats, defending her mother. As she crawled across the floor, Cara heard Amanda cough, shouting at Sophy. Cara gripped Amanda's legs and held on tight, forcing the old woman to drop her hands.

One by one the pills scattered, hitting the floor.

Downstairs the phone began to ring again and there were loud footsteps on the porch, followed by a man's voice, tense and angry. Patrick, here in Wyoming?

The front door banged hard and Cara threw up in waves of torment that seemed to go on and on. Sophy pressed close, burrowing against her while the cats meowed between them.

Cara pitched forward, her body shaking. She didn't hear Sophy cry out or call her name. She didn't even feel Tate pick her up, cradle her head, and carry her carefully down the stairs.

 

The sirens were deafening.

The noise barely registered with Izzy. Considering the kind of work he did, he had seen all manner of deaths. He'd watched men gurgle away their lives from throat wounds, choking on their own blood. He'd seen men rub their eyes, only to find that their faces had been shot away. He'd even spent his own private stretch of time in hell, beginning on a perfect summer day in Thailand many years before. The scars he still carried served to remind him how men could stoop to acts of violence that no animal would commit.

He watched a team of men with stretchers carefully lift Summer's body off the front of the mangled truck, where the village women had found her. No one in authority was saying much, despite all his questions, and Izzy's training as a medic told him that Summer's condition would be touch and go.

Thank God, he'd been able to trace them through Gabe's backup cell phone.

He turned and looked at Gabe. The man was still recovering from a HALO jump that by all rights should have killed him, and since that hadn't done the job, the damn SEAL had to get himself thrown around inside a runaway truck.

And on top of everything else, Izzy couldn't reach Tate Winslow or Cara O'Connor at the ranch in Wyoming.

Izzy punched another number on his phone as two medical techs passed him carrying another stretcher to the crash site for Gabe, who had blocked Summer's impact with his own body. Flung across the dashboard, he had twisted hard, one shoulder pinned under the steering wheel while his knee punched right through the rusted front dashboard.

One of the medics whispered that he would never walk again. Seeing the unnatural angle of Gabe's knee and two inches of exposed bone, Izzy knew it was a grim possibility.

In the distance a chopper droned closer. About damned time, Izzy thought. He had pulled a whole lot of strings to arrange fast transport across the border to a U.S. facility where Gabe and Summer would receive expert care.

As the big bird thundered in, Izzy stood motionless, squinting into the dust and wishing like hell that he could do something more to help.

But he was fresh out of miracles, so he stabbed his cell phone and tried Tate Winslow in Wyoming one more time.