The nanny murders by Merry Bloch Jones

guided the children, one by one, over the horse. A compact little man, built of solid muscle, Gene radiated grins and tireless enthusiasm. He offered each child individual encouragement, motivating even the clumsiest to run, leap, bounce, swing, and flip. As a coach, he seemed ideal. But how would he seem as a romantic partner, as a man? Now that I thought about it, his perpetual smile was unnatural. Even creepy. What lay behind it? His eyes were flat, giving no information. Maybe there was more to Coach Gene than anyone imagined. Apparently, he’d been involved with two of the missing women. Was that mere coincidence? Could this squat, cheerful man know something about the disappearances? As I watched, Coach Gene’s smile distorted into sinister sneer, a clown’s face, a mask.
    Stop it, I told myself. You’re being ridiculous. Gene was ahealthy young man; it was only natural for him to be attracted to striking young women like Tamara and Claudia. Still, if Gene was fond of either or both, his peppy demeanor was unsettling. He didn’t seem the least bit bothered that the women were missing.
    Stumpy little Serena performed a cartwheel; Coach Gene beamed and gave her a high five. He must be hiding his feelings for the sake of the children. The children were Gene’s priority; he’d never let his personal problems touch them. Satisfied with that explanation, I left the window and rejoined the group, taking a seat beside Leslie.
    “It’s been a hell of a day,” Karen sighed. Darkness ringed her eyes. “We’re all upset. But even so, we’ve got to think of the kids. They love Tamara, and they’re going to wonder where she is. And they’re going to sense that we’re upset, so they’ll know something’s happened and worry.”
    “So what are you saying?” Gretchen asked. “That we should tell them what happened?”
    “No. I don’t think we should—”
    “So we should pretend nothing’s happened?”
    “I didn’t say that, either, Gretchen. All I’m saying is that we should do what’s best for the kids and keep—”
    “Leslie!” Susan burst in shouting, dragging Emily by the wrist. “I saw the paper this morning and called, but you didn’t pick up—and then I had to be in court—my God, are you okay?”
    Leslie gaped, not replying.
    “Listen, I talked to the precinct. It’s definitely the same MO as the others. Same guy who took Claudia and the others.” Emily was whining for Susan to let her go, but Susan seemed to have forgotten all about the wrist in her fist. “I tried to find out what the cops know, but nobody’s saying anything yet. Too soon.” Emily finally broke away, shed her coat, and took off for the gym. “I’ll let you know the minute I hear anything at all,” Susan went on. “Meantime, what are we going to do?”
    “What?” Leslie blinked at her, confused. “Do?” Davinder asked.
    “There isn’t much we can do, is there? It’s up to the cops.” Ileana sat up straight.
    “You’re kidding, right? We’re not going to just sit around waiting for our babysitters to disappear one by one—that’s crazy.”
    Leslie let out an audible sob. I took her hand; Karen hugged her.
    “Susan,” I whispered. “Everyone’s kind of upset here. Give it a break.”
    I knew she wouldn’t. She gaped at me, then the others. Susan didn’t understand breaks or inaction of any kind. To Susan, passivity was poison.
    “Well, as I was saying,” Karen said, “what I think we should do is stick to routine. Familiar structure might feel good right now.”
    “Routine and structure,” Leslie echoed. “Keeping our lives going. That won’t be easy.”
    “No, but it might be the best thing. For the kids and for us.”
    Davinder spoke. “I agree. Even if we feel miserable, we should keep the kids’ lives normal.”
    Susan was speechless, almost sputtering. I lowered my head, awaiting the inevitable explosion, counting down. Three, two...
    “Shit—I can’t believe what I’m hearing.”