Chapter 2 - The Penniless Nanny
I gave Marisol twenty-four hours.
Not because I trusted her.
Because I intended to discover who had sent her.
Prescott followed me into the hallway.
“This is a mistake.”
“Search everything.”
“Already started.”
“Family, employment, bank accounts, phone records.”
“She doesn't have a phone.”
I stopped.
“What?”
“She sold it three days ago.”
“For?”
“Bus fare.”
That didn't make me trust her more.
It made her stranger.
Odette, my seventy-year-old housekeeper, met Marisol outside the twins' room.
“You'll wear a mask,” Odette said. “Wash your hands before entering. If either child becomes tired, you leave immediately.”
“I understand.”
“No outside food.”
“Understood.”
“And Mr. Mercer does not tolerate surprises.”
Marisol glanced at me.
“I've noticed.”
She entered.
I watched through the observation glass.
Blythe noticed her first.
“Who are you?”
“Marisol.”
“Are you a nurse?”
“No.”
“Doctor?”
“Definitely not.”
Jonah opened one eye.
“Then why are you wearing that stupid mask?”
Marisol looked offended.
“I thought it made me mysterious.”
“It makes you look like a dentist.”
“That's devastating.”
Blythe giggled.
One sound.
Barely anything.
But my entire body locked.
Marisol heard it too.
She didn't celebrate.
She simply sat on the floor.
Then she opened her bag.
“What's in there?” Jonah asked.
“My entire fortune.”
He looked interested.
She pulled out a battered deck of cards.
A paperback book.
Three markers.
A pink plastic crown.
And one karaoke microphone with cracked silver paint.
Blythe stared.
“That's your fortune?”
“Times are difficult.”
Jonah smiled.
Marisol placed the crown on her head.
“Unfortunately, I've been informed this mansion has no queen.”
“Daddy's the boss,” Jonah said.
Marisol looked through the glass at me.
Then back at Jonah.
“Your daddy looks grumpy.”
Both twins turned.
I crossed my arms.
Blythe whispered loudly, “He is.”
Marisol nodded.
“We'll fix him later.”
Ten minutes became thirty.
Thirty became an hour.
Marisol never mentioned hospitals.
Never mentioned cancer.
She asked Jonah about dinosaurs.
She asked Blythe what color she would paint the mansion if she owned it.
“Pink.”
Jonah groaned.
“Absolutely not.”
“Pink with glitter.”
“I'm moving out.”
“You're six.”
“I'll figure it out.”
Blythe laughed.
A real laugh.
I had forgotten what it sounded like.
Prescott appeared beside me.
“We found her.”
I didn't take my eyes off the room.
“Talk.”
“Marisol Vega. Twenty-eight. Born in Milwaukee. Mother died when she was nineteen. Father unknown. Younger sister, Lucia Vega.”
“What happened to Lucia?”
“Leukemia.”
I looked at him.
“She died at eleven.”
“When?”
“Seven years ago.”
Prescott handed me a tablet.
“Marisol spent nearly three years helping care for her. Afterward, she worked in pediatric hospice and private caregiving.”
“Why is she broke?”
“Her last employer died. Estate dispute. She wasn't paid for almost four months.”
“And how does she know about my children?”
“We don't know.”
That remained the problem.
That evening, Jonah ate half a bowl of soup.
Blythe ate four strawberries.
It was more than either had eaten in days.
At nine, I found Marisol leaving their room.
“You exceeded twenty-four hours.”
“It hasn't been twenty-four hours.”
“I'm extending it.”
She blinked.
“For how long?”
“I haven't decided.”
She nodded.
Then started walking away.
“Marisol.”
She turned.
“How did you know?”
Her expression changed.
“About their counts?”
“Yes.”
“I overheard Dr. Yates.”
“Where?”
“At Northwestern.”
My eyes narrowed.
She continued.
“I was there last week interviewing for a hospice position. I heard him speaking to another specialist. He didn't use your children's names, but he mentioned six-year-old twins being treated privately at a fortified estate.”
“That could have been anyone.”
“In Chicago?”
Fair point.
“Why come here?”
Her face softened.
“Because I remembered Lucia.”
I said nothing.
“She stopped talking near the end,” Marisol continued. “Everyone treated her like she was already gone.”
“And?”
“One nurse didn't.”
“What did she do?”
“She danced.”
I almost smiled.
Almost.
“She danced terribly,” Marisol added. “Lucia laughed so hard she threw a pillow at her.”
She looked back toward the twins.
“She died three days later.”
There it was.
The ending I didn't want.
“So your plan changes nothing.”
“No.”
Her answer surprised me.
“I can't promise you they'll live, Mr. Mercer.”
“Lawson.”
She hesitated.
“Lawson.”
“What can you promise?”
“That whatever time they have won't belong only to cancer.”
Before I could respond, an alarm sounded.
Not medical.
Security.
Prescott's voice exploded through my earpiece.
“South perimeter breach.”
I turned.
Marisol grabbed my arm.
“What about the children?”
“Stay here.”
“Lawson—”
“Lock the door.”
I ran.
Crosby Vane had finally decided my dying children made me weak enough to attack.
May you like
He was about to discover how wrong he was.
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