5
Caroline told Bobby that the five-minute warning she had given him on his after-school “screen time” had passed. He snuck in a few additional moves on the cart-racing game he was playing, but otherwise complied with the unspoken request of her outstretched hand.
He handed her the tablet and then joined his sister, who was content to sit on the sofa and work on a puzzle she had successfully put together dozens of times before. They had always been so different. Even as a toddler, Mindy seemed to live inside her own thoughts, while her brother Bobby was always seeking outside entertainment.
As she passed the front bay window, Caroline spotted a handful of tourists clustered on the sidewalk below, appearing to examine the unoccupied driveway intensely. Their tour guide was lanky and had his long hair pulled into a “man bun” on top of his head. He wore his usual uniform of baggy black clothing and bright orange tennis shoes. He’d been coming around twice a week for almost four months now. He called the excursion the “Big Apple Crime Tour.”
Caroline had tried to reason with him once, reminding him that a seven-year-old girl and nine-year-old boy called this place home. The site did not belong on a list of infamous scenes such as mafia hangouts, the spot where a woman had fallen to her death from the Empire State Building, or the hotel where a punk rock star had murdered his girlfriend.
The tour guide had responded by reminding the tourists that Caroline was the nanny who called 911 after Martin Bell’s murder, at which point they began asking her for autographs and selfies.
Now Caroline drew the curtains whenever she spotted the tour. She allowed herself a tiny bit of pleasure that the size of his groups seemed to be dwindling. Once, she had even gone online to a popular tourist website to post a devastating review.
I am nothing if not loyal to you children, she thought to herself as she looked at Bobby and Mindy disassembling the puzzle, only to start it over.
She was slicing an apple to pair with string cheese for their afternoon snack when the phone rang.
Her throat felt hot when the caller identified herself. Caroline had known that she hadn’t heard the last of Laurie Moran.
“Is this Kendra?” the producer asked.
“No. Mrs. Bell is at work right now.”
“I see. I don’t suppose this is Caroline Radcliffe?”
“It is.”
“You may not remember me, but we met briefly about four months ago. I came over to the house to meet with Kendra.”
How could I forget? Caroline thought. Her heart had been racing as she stood at the top of the stairs, eavesdropping when she was supposed to be monitoring Bobby and Mindy as they completed their homework.
Don’t do it, don’t do it. She had repeated that mantra over and over, her fingers crossed, as if she could send a telepathic message to Kendra in the living room. She had felt such a wave of relief when Kendra gave all her reasons for declining to participate.
“Of course. Yes, I remember. Is there something I can help you with?” Caroline asked.
“I’m afraid not. Do you know how I can reach her?”
“Mrs. Bell can’t be disturbed while she’s working. Even I don’t call unless it’s an emergency.”
“When do you expect her home then?”
“She works until five today. But then she’ll want to have supper with the children and spend time with them before bed. She’s very busy. Why don’t you tell me what you need, and I can see if I can help.”
“No. It’s important that I speak to Kendra directly.”
The Bells were never going to let this go. Of course they wouldn’t: their son had been murdered. For months, she had heard Kendra fend off their questions. Are they doing the show or not? What’s taking them so long to decide? Buying time over the holidays had been easy enough, but they’d grown increasingly insistent over the past two months. Finally, last week, Kendra had told them—falsely—that the producers had decided the case wasn’t a good fit for their show.
Now the actual producer was calling again. This wasn’t good.
“I can take your number and let her know that you called,” Caroline offered.
When Caroline hung up the phone, she peered out the front window. The tourists were gone. Even so, she kept the curtains drawn, terrified in her heart that she couldn’t keep the outside world from creeping into this house forever.
Kendra was in such a bad state back then. Pray God, please tell me she didn’t do it.