Harlan Coben - Fool Me Once

There was instead a steady spreading across her chest that made it hard to breathe. There was a chilling in her veins. There was a small quiver in her lips.

There, on the computer monitor, Maya watched Lily crawl onto the lap of her dead husband.

The video didn’t last long.

Lily was barely on “Joe’s” lap when he stood with her and carried her out of camera range. The recording stopped thirty seconds later when the motion detector turned the nanny cam off.

That was it.

The next time the cam was activated, Isabella and Lily entered from the kitchen and started to play, just as they had many times before. Maya fast-forwarded it ahead, but the rest of the day was pretty much the same as every other. Isabella and Lily. No dead husbands or anyone else.

She rewound and played the video a second time, then a third.

“Book!”

It was Lily, who was growing impatient. Maya turned to her daughter and wondered how to ask this. “Honey,” she said slowly, “did you see Daddy?”

“Daddy?”

“Yes, Lily. Did you see Daddy?”

Lily looked suddenly sad. “Where Daddy?”

Maya didn’t want to upset her daughter, but then again, this was a pretty huge turn of events. How to play this? Maya saw no way around it. She put the video on one more time and showed it to Lily. Lily watched, entranced. When Joe came on, she squealed with delight: “Daddy!”

“Yes,” Maya said, pushing the pang away at her child’s enthusiasm. “Did you see Daddy?”

She pointed to the screen. “Daddy!”

“Yes, that’s Daddy. Was he here yesterday?”

Lily just stared at her.

“Yesterday,” Maya said. She got up and moved to the couch. She sat in the exact same spot “Joe” — she could only think of his name with air quotes — had. “Was Daddy here yesterday?”

Lily wasn’t getting it. Maya tried to stay upbeat, tried to make it more like a game or something happy rather than desperate, but either her body language was wrong or her little girl was more intuitive than Maya imagined.

“Mommy, stop.”

You’re upsetting her.

Maya plastered a big phony smile on her face and swooped up her daughter. She brought Lily upstairs, giggling and dancing the whole way, until Lily’s face seemed to clear of the downstairs’ unpleasantness. She placed her on the bed and flipped on the television. Nick Jr. was playing Bubble Guppies , one of Lily’s favorites, and yes, Maya had sworn not to use the television as a babysitter — all parents swear this and fail — but maybe it would be okay as a baby distractor for a few minutes.

Maya hurried over to Joe’s closet and hesitated at the door. She had not so much as opened it since his death. It was too soon. But now, of course, there was no time for that kind of thing. With Lily’s eyes glued to the screen, Maya opened the closet door and turned on the light.

Joe loved clothes, and he took good care of them the same way that, well, Maya took care of her guns. His suits were hung neatly with each hanger exactly three inches from the next. His dress shirts were laid out by their colors. The pants always had those hangers that pinched the cuffs and hung straight down, never the kind that would fold over and maybe cause a crease.

Joe liked to shop for himself. He almost always detested whatever Maya tried to gift him in terms of clothing. There had been one exception — a forest green “brush twill” button-down shirt she’d ordered from a company called Moods of Norway. That shirt, unless her eyes were lying to her, which seemed a pretty strong possibility, was the one “Joe” had been wearing in that video. She knew exactly where he kept it.

And it wasn’t there.

Again no scream, no gasp. But now she knew for certain.

Someone had been in the house. Someone had gone through Joe’s closet.

Ten minutes later, Maya watched the one person who could provide immediate answers arrive.

Isabella.

Isabella had been here yesterday, purportedly watching Lily, and so, at least in theory, she should have noticed anything unusual like, say, Maya’s dead husband rummaging through his closet or playing with her daughter.

From the bedroom window, Maya watched Isabella heading up the walk. She tried to assess the approaching nanny as she might any enemy. She didn’t appear armed with anything other than her handbag, though that could certainly contain a weapon. She held on to the handbag tightly, as though she feared someone might try to snatch it, but that was how Isabella always held it. Isabella was not a particularly warm person, except, of course, where it mattered most. With Lily. She had loved Joe, the way loyal employees love a benefactor, and only tolerated Maya as an interloper. You see this sometimes in loyal employees. They are more protective and snootier toward outsiders than their wealthy employers.

Did Isabella look a little warier than usual today?

Hard to say. Isabella always looked wary, what with the shifting eyes, the fixed expression, the closed body language. But was there more of it today, or was that Maya’s imagination, already on overdrive, clouding her judgment?

Isabella used her key to open the back door. Maya stayed upstairs and waited.

“Mrs. Burkett?”

Silence.

“Mrs. Burkett?”

“We’ll be down in a second.”

Maya picked up the remote control and snapped off the television. She expected Lily to protest, but that didn’t happen. Lily had heard Isabella’s voice and was eager now to go down. Maya scooped Lily in her arms and started down the stairs.

Isabella was at the sink washing out a coffee cup. She turned when she heard the footsteps. Her eyes found Lily’s, only Lily’s, and the fixed, wary expression broke into a smile. It was a nice smile, Maya thought, but did it perhaps lack some of its customary luster?

Enough.

Lily started to stretch her arms toward Isabella. Isabella turned off the water, dried her hands on a towel, and started toward them. Isabella too stretched out her arms, made a cooing noise, and wiggled her fingers in a “give me, give me” gesture.

“How are you, Isabella?” Maya asked.

“Fine, Mrs. Burkett, thank you.”

Isabella again reached for Lily, and for a moment Maya almost pulled the child away. Eileen had asked her if she trusted this woman. As much as she could trust anyone with her child, she’d replied. But now, after what she had just seen on the nanny cam...

Isabella snatched Lily from her hands. Maya let her. Without another word, Isabella moved into the den with Lily. They sat together on the couch.

“Isabella?”

Isabella looked up as though startled. A smile was frozen on her face. “Yes, Mrs. Burkett?”

“May I have a word with you?”

Lily was on her lap.

“Now?”

“Yes, please,” Maya said. Her own voice suddenly sounded funny to her. “I would like to show you something.”

Isabella gently placed Lily on the couch cushion next to her. She handed Lily a cardboard book, rose, and smoothed down her skirt. She moved slowly toward Maya, almost as if she were expecting a blow.

“Yes, Mrs. Burkett?”

“Was anyone here yesterday?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“I mean,” Maya said, keeping her tone even, “was there anybody inside this house yesterday besides you and Lily?”

“No, Mrs. Burkett.” The fixed expression was back. “Who do you mean?”

“I mean, anyone. Did Hector come inside, for example?”

“No, Mrs. Burkett.”

“So no one was here?”

“No one.”

Maya glanced toward the computer, then back at Isabella. “Did you leave at all?”

“Leave the house?”

“Yes.”