Dating Is Murder

“Have you ever not taken the time to listen when someone needed you to?”

Maizie’s eyes grew soft. “Every single day. I’m a mother. There’s never enough time. Maybe when you’re a grandmother…” She took a breath and went back to work.

“That’s the reason I came here, that first day,” I said. “Guilt. And her mother had called, and I felt sorry for her because I’ve been in that position.” I gazed at the turkey. I’d never seen one still wearing feathers, tiny ones all over its body. I said, “I have a brother who’s had some problems, he used to wander off, and trying to find him-you’re dependent on people’s goodwill, asking favors of total strangers. It can be awful. And people have been kind to me, too many times to count, and to him… So it started like an errand, the sort of thing anyone would do, except that I’m not anyone, I’m her friend, and even though in the back of my mind I thought I’d hand it off to someone, someone would say, ‘Okay, we’ll take it from here,’ that never happened. And now I can’t hand it off, it’s a mission. I have to see it through.”

“The curse of the volunteer.” The cat came through the open door, the fat yellow guy I’d seen the first day. Maizie looked up. “You sign on for table decorations and end up doing puff pastry for two hundred. Because you’re the only one who can do it right.”

I sneezed. “Believe me, anyone could do this better than I can.”

Maizie moved to the sink and washed her hands again. “You know what I think about? How young A

I shrugged. “I just keep doing the next thing that occurs to me. Until there’s nothing left to do.”

Maizie picked up the cat again and went outside. I followed.

“There’s always something left to do,” she said, and pointed to the house. “See the lights?” The wraparound porch was trimmed in tiny icicle lights, hundreds of them, giving the house a welcoming look. “I put them up that day you came for the photo. My husband thinks I’m crazy, but I can’t turn them off, night or day. It’s just a little thing, but it’s what I do. Gene says I’m leaving the porch lights on for Amelia Earhart.”

17 January. Dear Emma, Thanks for the present and the super photo. I am so surprise that you remember my birthday! And Mr. Snuggles must wear a birthday hat. I have only 1 week with you, but you are my family. Good night and sleep tight.

A

There were other letters like this, plus cards for holidays, the English improving as the year went on.

I’d parked just south of Ventura Boulevard, back near the newsstand, unable to wait until I got home. The au pair application was exhaustive, eighteen pages long. There were photos, a medical history, letters of recommendation in German and English. A

The photo collage didn’t display much artistic talent. The captions were sloppy, but the energy and joie de vivre were unmistakeable. There was A

There was an essay, eager, sincere. “I wish to be a gift in the life of children.”

One thing caught my attention. Although the application was in black and white, a page near the end had a date circled in red, and a question mark next to the circle. The page was in German, official and terse: Name, address, birth date, and place of birth translated easily enough, but not the word in the middle of the page: Führungszeugnis.

The date circled was February, two years earlier. I checked the date on the first page. Last October. I counted it out on my fingers. Twenty months between the time of the Führungszeugnis and the day A

My gazed drifted. What Maizie had said about Amelia Earhart rang a bell. Why?

A man stood at the newsstand, holding a newspaper but looking my way.

I remembered. A

It hadn’t reassured me then, but it reassured me now. Wherever she was, whatever trouble she was in, A

The discrepancy between the dates on the Führungszeugnis and the application-was there an equation to be made there?

The man at the newsstand was still looking, pointing me out to another man.

Except they weren’t pointing at me, but at something behind me. I turned and saw a sports car. Parked. Occupied.

The man in the driver’s seat was looking at me.

The car door opened and he started to get out. I locked my doors, turned the ignition key, and stepped on the gas, harder than my Integra liked. It made a groaning sound. A

16

“What’s he driving?” Joey asked, her voice scratchy over the cell phone.

“Some sports car.” I glanced in the rearview mirror. “I don’t know if he’s following me. All headlights look the same.”

“Okay, get off Ventura Boulevard-that’s a circus, you’ll never be able to spot a tail. Try one of the canyons. Coldwater-that shouldn’t be too bad on a Saturday night.”

“I passed it-no, there it is.” I zoomed into the right lane, an act of courage that would normally take me blocks to work up to, and swerved onto Coldwater Canyon. “Now what?”

“Now you coast awhile, give him a chance to follow, assuming he’s going to-”

“What do you mean? I thought I was losing him.”

“You probably did, but here’s how to find out. Harvard-Westlake is coming up on your left, it’s a high school. Pull in, signal first, and see if anyone follows. No, don’t signal. Too obvious. I wish I knew his skill level. Tailing is tougher than you’d think.”

“I’d think it’s plenty tough,” I said. “Joey, there was a guy on my street last night. Not this guy, someone shorter. Maybe one of the guys Fredreeq and I saw.”

“Doing what?”

“Standing. Lurking. Hovering.”

“They probably work together. Surveillance is a team sport. This guy tonight, he’s the one from Hot Aloo?”

“I think so.” Coldwater Canyon was nearly deserted, but I caught up to another southbound car, the red taillights like a friendly animal leading me down the mountain road. “He’s tall, anyway. I looked at him, he looked at me, I panicked. I’m still panicky.”

“No, you’re not, you’re fine. Your cell phone may cut out, but you’re in civilization, it’s Saturday night. Harvard-Westlake probably has some play or game going on, so you’ll feel safe.”