Read The nanny murders for Free Online

worn at the cuffs. His shoes were scuffed, his pants stained with paint and oily patches. A handyman’s uniform. For a while, he was silent. I watched his breath clouds swell and fade as he stared into the street. Finally, quietly, he said, “Miss, how many years now have we lived across the street from each other?”
    It was an unexpected question. How many years had it been? I remembered moving in, Michael carrying me over the threshold, my arms around his neck. I didn’t want to remember that, didn’t want to count the years. “I don’t know. Thirteen? Thirteen years, I guess.”
    “Thirteen years. That’s a pretty long time, right?”
    “I don’t know. You’ve lived around here a lot longer than I have, Charlie.”
    “Well, that’s true. I’ve lived here since before they came in and fixed up everything. Gentrified it. I was here way before your house was even built. This used to be a vacant lot with poor folks’ homes all around it. They’re all gone now, of course. Torn down. And the poor folks have mostly gone.”
    I nodded, wondering what visions Charlie saw when he looked up and down the street.
    He turned to face me. “Miss, who do you think you can trust?”
    “Trust?”
    “In the world, I mean.”
    The question was oddly personal, and Charlie’s stare made me uncomfortable. I looked up at the door, wondering if Angela would be in a hurry. Then I searched a pocket for my keys.
    “Seriously, think about it. Who do you trust? These days, anybody can be anybody, for all you know. Even a neighbor.”
    “True enough.” I might as well agree with him.
    “The police were here yesterday, miss. You called them?”Oh, so that was it. He was curious about the police. “Yes, Charlie, I called them.” “Why? What happened?”
    I didn’t want to tell him about the finger. Lord, if I did, we’d be out here for hours, discussing it. “I had a problem.” “There was trouble, so you called the police.” “Yep.”
    “Well, that’s natural. That’s what they’re there for, to help people. You trust them, don’t you? You trust the police, Miss Zoe?”
    I thought of Detective Stiles. His steady pale eyes. “Yes, Charlie. I trust them. Look, I really have to go in.”
    “But you didn’t tell me what the trouble was. Even though you’ve known me for thirteen years. Even though we share the same street.”
    “Charlie. It’s not that I don’t trust you. I just don’t want to discuss it.”
    “Miss, you trust the police, but not old Charlie. I understand that. You know me, but you don’t know if you can trust me. Right?”
    I started to get up. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, Charlie, but really, I’ve got to—”
    He put his hand up. “Don’t be in a hurry. Settle down and listen. Because you can trust me, Miss Zoe. I want you to know that. Even with your life. Or your child’s.”
    Trust him with my life? With Molly’s? Why would he say that? Did Charlie think we were in danger? Actually, I didn’t want to know. I wanted to end the conversation. “Thank you, Charlie. That’s nice to know. You can trust me, too.”
    He didn’t look at me; he scanned the street, the rooftops, the sky. I followed his glance. Alongside an empty house, Jake’s dump truck backed up, beeping, parking for the night. In Victor’s window, a curtain snapped shut. On Phillip Woods’s porch, Santa beamed red and green. I wanted to go inside.
    “But except for me, miss, don’t trust anybody. Not around here.” His tone had changed. It was suddenly blunt, gruff. Disturbing.
    “Charlie—”
    “I mean it. Keep an eye on your back all the time.”
    probably Charlie was worried because women were disappearing. He was concerned about the single mother and child who lived across the street. He was being protective, that was all. And, in his way, sweet.
    “You don’t have to worry about us, Charlie. We’re fine.”
    “No, listen. I tried to tell you before. There’s lots of depravity these days.