Dating Is Murder

19

“Sazheeq, this is Wollie,” Fredreeq said. “Auntie Freddie’s friend.”

I squinted through the window at the child in the car seat that took up half of Fredreeq’s Volvo. We were in front of Wee Willie Winkies Preschool, on a quiet block of Moorpark in Studio City, in time for Music with Miss Grusha. “Hello, Sazheeq,” I said.

Sazheeq said nothing. She was two and a half, younger than Emma Qui

“Come say hello to Aunt Wollie.” Fredreeq hauled her niece out of the car and deposited her in my arms. Sazheeq climbed out of my arms. “Remember: french fries afterward if you’re good. We’ll rendezvous at Mickey D’s.”

Miss Grusha’s was crowded. Two- and three-year-olds with attendant adults sat on the floor of the small room amid toys. A thin woman in red overalls and implausibly blond hair jumped up from the piano to greet us. “I am Grusha. You are Wollie? This is Sazheeq?” She was no spring chicken, but she looked like she could give toddlers a run for their money in the energy department. “Come,” she said, taking Sazheeq’s hand. “Tell us your favorite song so Miss Grusha may play it for you on the piano. If I sound fu

Sazheeq, finding this acceptable, walked off with Miss Grusha. I joined the group of moms and mom substitutes on the floor.

“Adorable girl,” one said. “Adopted?”

“Uh, no,” I said, then realized that this was the most reasonable explanation for a pale white adult with a very black-ski

This did not dispel curiosity; a black child with an Anglo-Saxon na

The woman introduced herself as Rachel. She pointed out her son, Brandon, and recited the names of the eight other children, all of which I immediately forgot. Rachel then rejoined her conversational pod, discussing someone’s pediatrician’s divorce. Two other women chatted in Spanish. An Asian girl stared out the door, clearly bored, the only adult young enough to be A

I’d crawled back to Rachel to ask her the same question when a musical triangle sounded. On cue, the children tossed toys into a wicker basket. Miss Grusha went to shut the door, just as Maizie Qui

Maizie sca

The next hour we danced with scarves, hopped like bu

Others seemed to enjoy themselves, and Maizie had particular success as a sugarplum fairy, suggesting ballet in her past. Class was still in progress when she and Emma took off. “Na

I told Rachel that A

I recounted to them the events of the past week.

“I’m shocked.” Georgine, in workout clothes and full makeup, looked less shocked than titillated. “She was the überna

“Yes. Very nice,” I said. “So A

“No,” Georgine and Rachel said together. The other mom, Michelle, was silent.

“Did she ever talk about a Marie-Thérèse? Richard Feynman?” I asked.

More head shaking.

“I’ll tell you one thing,” Georgine said. “Maizie, Emma’s mom? Not that she’s unattractive, but come on. She’s not twenty. I don’t care how good her cupcakes are, she’s nuts to have a girl as pretty as A

“Maybe she’s divorced,” Rachel said.

“No, there’s a husband,” I said. “I’ve never met him, but she talks about him.”

“I’ve met him,” Georgine said. “An HMO doc, so I bet she has to work. And those guys don’t keep super-long hours, not like real doctors, so there you go.”

“What are you saying, the husband had an affair with A

Georgine glanced at the picnic table. “Hallie, no more cupcakes, you’ll get carsick,” she called, then turned back to us. “It happens. Ever read Jane Eyre?”

Good God. This was something I’d never considered.

Michelle, an athletic brunette, smiled. “So why would you hire her, Georgine?”

“I was separated. Last summer, before Allen came crawling back. Now I’ve got Maria, two hundred pounds and gray hair. Hallie loves her, Allen doesn’t. Hallie! Two more minutes, then we have to go shoe shopping!”

Belatedly, I remembered my own charge. Sazheeq, now in the sandbox, was bathed in orange frosting. How many of those damn cupcakes had she eaten? Stricken, I went to collect her. The party broke up as bigger children and their keepers filtered in for the next class. I separated Sazheeq from the sandbox and Miss Grusha separated twenty-five dollars from me, saying she hoped to see us again.

Rachel wished me luck. “Georgine might be right, but I’ll tell you, I never saw a kid and a na

When we got out to the parking lot, Michelle was squatting in front of a Jeep Cherokee, brushing crumbs from her son’s overalls. She stood when she saw Sazheeq and me and flagged us down.

“I didn’t want to say anything in front of Georgine,” she said, “but two weeks ago-well, the last time I saw her-A

My heart was beating a little faster. “Disappear.”

Michelle looked down at her son and Sazheeq, staring at each other the way children do before ma

“Damn it,” the little boy repeated.