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guilty.
HB:
 
Do you, in particular, have a specific reason to believe that Melisandre Dawes was not clinically insane the day her daughter died?
EM:
 
No, I didn’t mean that. I was just talking in a general way. Don’t put words in my mouth.
HB:
 
Okay, in your own words, describe the woman for whom you worked that year.
EM:
 
She was troubled. At first, she just seemed unhappy. I’ve worked as a nanny long enough to know that’s not unusual. She was tired and Isadora cried all the time. It was as if the household had split in two, with her and the baby on one side, Stephen and the girls on the other. Like there were two families. And the more isolated she became, the stranger she seemed. But if she was hearing voices or having delusions—I missed it. She was unhappy and angry. I mean, that’s what I thought. And she threw things when she got mad. I’d never seen anyone do that before, but I’m not sure it means you’re crazy. Insane, whatever we’re supposed to say. But she managed to hold it together around the girls, at least while I was there. I was let go in late June. I guess a lot can happen in six weeks. It must have. The woman I worked for—I can’t imagine her doing what she did. It would make more sense if it were just a complete accident, if she forgot, like some parents do, you know? I can see her forgetting. I can’t see her doing it on purpose. Or maybe I just don’t want to. Are we done? I have an appointment at four.
HB:
 
Sketch in your biography for me quickly. What you’re doing now, if you’re married or have kids?
EM:
 
I manage a gourmet store in Belvedere Square, a place that imports food and olive oil from Spain. So my Spanish finally came in handy. I got married, but it didn’t work out. I’m engaged to marry again, though, and I hope I can have kids of my own. I’d hate to think I’d missed out on that. I always thought I’d have kids. It was a real disappointment, you know, when things didn’t work out. With my first husband, I mean. But I guess that was for the best, right? That wasn’t the right situation for me, so it’s better that I waited, that it didn’t happen then. That’s why I need to go. I have a meeting with my wedding planner and, I swear, it’s like I work for her. I don’t dare be late. She’s really in demand and we’re meeting with the caterers today for a tasting. I know it’s silly, but my first marriage was such a rebound thing. I was young and I didn’t really think it out. So this is my first wedding. I want it to be perfect. I know—people make fun of women, call us Bridezillas. But if you know anything about marriage, you know the wedding is the only thing that has a shot at being perfect, so why not?
HB:
 
Camera off, end tape.

Tuesday

10:00 A.M.
    “Danish?” Tess asked. “We’re having a big platter of pastries and Danish ? And bagels? With a carton of fresh-brewed coffee from the Daily Grind?”
    “Nothing wrong with Danish,” Sandy said, helping himself.
    Tess continued to stare down Tyner Gray. Or try to. When it came to avoiding eye contact, Tyner’s wheelchair was a distinct advantage. If she wanted to force him to meet her gaze, she’d have to crouch the way she did with Carla Scout, who also had a genius for avoiding eye contact when it suited her.
    “I have been to, what, maybe three hundred meetings here over the years and you have never so much as offered someone a Luna bar and now you’ve put out a spread ? What is so damn special about this woman?”
    “She’s an old friend,” Tyner said.
    “An old friend or an old friend ?”
    “I don’t find those kinds of labels useful.”
    He was still avoiding her eyes, moving through the office and straightening up nonexistent messes. Even the converted Mount Vernon town house, remodeled years ago to be wheelchair friendly, looked a little shinier, a little spiffier than usual. And Tyner had a haircut so fresh that Tess could see the scissor marks.
    “I forget