Nanny by Christina Skye

Tony.” Cara looked at the framed photo on the small antique table to her left. Two girls held up flaming marshmallows on crooked sticks. Their faces were streaked with dust, their hair tangled, their smiles incendiary.
    The photo was six months old. Sophy was an inch taller now, and Audra was more reserved and serious, but her daughters were still knockouts.
    Cara knew that they were both under stress. Despite all her reassurances, they were worrying about how the wedding would affect their future. Since the picture was taken, Sophy had lost a tooth, and Audra wanted to dye her hair blond. To top it off, the new nanny was coming tonight, and both girls were unhappy about that.
    If only there had been some other way.
    â€œCara, you still there?”
    â€œRight here.” She forced her thoughts back to work. “Go on, Tony.”
    â€œAndrews is hanging tough. He figures our case is too thin.”
    The assistant DA closed her file with a snap. “Not anymore, it isn’t. We just took testimony from the girlfriend in Vallejo. It seems our man Andrews bragged about the murder while he was drunk, then waved a wad of bills he’d received as payment. He even had a picture of the woman he was supposed to kill. His employer was very efficient.”
    â€œSo now we’ve got them both. Nice work. Tell me why you don’t sound happier.”
    â€œJust tired, I guess.” Cara sipped her cold coffee and grimaced.
    â€œOr distracted. I keep forgetting you’re getting married in a week.”
    â€œTen days, actually, but who’s counting?” Cara stretched, wincing at the sharp pain in her shoulders.
    â€œWho’s
counting
? Me and half the population of San Francisco, that’s who. You were in the style section of the
Chronicle
last week, and I hear you’re mentioned in an evening TV spot on Sunday. Everyone wants to know what kind of dress you’re wearing and what color flowers you’ll have. Even my wife was pestering me for details this morning.”
    â€œIt’s not about me
or
the dress.” The dress Cara still hadn’t picked out yet, she thought guiltily. “This is about Tate. He’s very popular.”
    â€œSenator Winslow’s not the
only
popular person, kid. Be careful or this wedding will turn into a three-ring circus. By the way, where are you two tying the big knot?”
    â€œSorry, Tony. I love you dearly, but that’s a state secret. If I talk, I’m toast, senator’s orders.” She laughed softly. “We agreed the ceremony would be strictly family, but we’re having a big reception in Carmel. You should have gotten an invitation weeks ago.”
    â€œRight here on my desk. I wouldn’t miss it for the world. If I tried, my wife would divorce me.” Her colleague hesitated. He had been protective of her ever since Cara had met him while working in the public defender’s office. “Are you sure this is right for you? Tate Winslow is a stand-up guy who’s been the best thing that’s happened to California since the Beach Boys and liposuction. Even a blind person could see that you’re crazy in love.” His chair creaked. “But . . .”
    â€œBut what, Tony?”
    â€œThe man’s got his eye on Pennsylvania Avenue. His press people can waffle all they want, but we both know he’s going to run. Then your life will be public, Cara. Every part of it, for you and the girls. You’ll be swallowed alive, badgered incessantly by press, campaign donors, media consultants, press, legal advisors, press. Oh, did I mention press?”
    Cara laughed. “I get the picture, Tony. Don’t think I haven’t seen it myself. Every smile recorded, every word dissected. Every hour accounted for.” She closed her eyes, suddenly very tired.
    And very afraid. For her daughters, more than for herself.
    â€œDamned right. Every detail in your past will be exhumed, inspected