Confessions on the 7:45(42)

It was really hard to believe. It just didn’t jibe with the woman she thought she knew. It meant that Geneva, the girl who was always ready with extra wipes, or a spare bag of Goldfish in the park, was also an extortionist. Then again, Selena had seen the video of Geneva and her husband, and she had trouble reconciling that, too. The lovely person with the ready smile, the one who was an efficient and competent worker, a loving but firm caregiver, a respectful employee, was also someone who was sleeping with the husbands of hardworking moms.

Geneva, it seemed, was a shape-shifter, an actress. Selena wasn’t the only one who had been fooled.

“Are the Tuckers suspects in Geneva’s disappearance?” Selena asked.

Suspects. Disappearance. These were not words she wanted coming out of her mouth.

But Crowe didn’t answer. Just went on.

“So, nothing like that going on at your place?”

“No,” she lied. “No, she’s a fantastic nanny. Reliable, great with the kids, above and beyond with housework, errands—everything.”

Her throat felt dry. Didn’t cops know when you were lying? Wasn’t there some kind of training they received? She caught herself tapping her foot, something she did when she was nervous. She forced herself to stop by crossing her legs. Had he noticed?

“But your husband was home all day, right? Why did you even need a nanny?”

She laughed a little.

“Good question,” she said with a light eye roll, looking for a connection. But he remained neutral, watching her. She cleared her throat. “Graham was looking for another job. We didn’t plan for him to be home long. And he needed the freedom to interview.”

It sounded like bullshit. Because it was, essentially, bullshit. Graham hadn’t been caring for the kids, or working, or actively looking for another job, had he?

“He lost his last job. Is that right?”

It sounded really shady, the way he said it.

“He was laid off,” said Selena. “His division folded.”

“That’s rough.”

She didn’t like the note of pity in his voice.

“It happens,” she said stiffly.

He scribbled something, even though he told her the conversation was being recorded.

“You weren’t concerned about your husband and the nanny being alone together all day?”

“No,” she said. “I wasn’t.”

“How’s your marriage in general?”

“Good,” she said, her whole body rigid. A good wind and she’d snap in two. “As good as any long marriage. We’re—happy.”

She looked around his office for something personal—a photograph, a child-made piece of pottery, a team pennant. But there was nothing—just stacks of files, a laptop, his phone, an old mug filled with pens. There was a wilting plant on top of the file cabinet.

“No infidelity?” he pressed.

“Is this relevant?”

It felt personal, like he was prodding at her, and maybe he was. Will went in with Graham, but he told her before they separated to give the detective nothing. He offered to call a colleague for Graham and stay with her. But she’d waved him off. She had nothing to hide, she told him. Denial. Stupidity. Desperation. All three maybe.

“I think it’s relevant, given the situation,” he said, watching her.

“No,” she said finally. “No infidelity.”

Should she keep track? Of the lies, how many? Yes, a notebook of all the lies she was telling to others and to herself. It could come in handy.

“Isn’t it possible,” she said, “that Geneva just took off? Maybe she met someone? Got tired of the childcare gig? I mean, there’s no indication that anything happened to her, per se.”

“At this point,” said the detective, “anything is possible. The car is worrisome, though. Why would she leave her car?”

She supposed there were a hundred reasons people did things, reasons that might never occur to people who were grounded in their lives. People who locked their doors and protected their identities, who worked to pay bills, who saved for their children’s educations—who didn’t sleep with other people’s husbands, then blackmailed those men into buying them cars.

Seems like the police should be more interested in the Tucker family than they were in the Murphy family, but she wasn’t going to say that. She wasn’t going to throw another family under the bus to deflect attention from her own. Or would she? If it came to that.

  “From what I’m getting,” said Will now, bringing Selena back to the present, “they really don’t have anything to go on. Geneva is missing, but there’s no evidence of foul play. At this point, she might just be your run-of-the-mill con artist. Working her way into families, taking what she can get from them and moving on. Maybe the Tucker woman found out about the car, confronted her. Maybe Geneva figured she might not get much from Graham. It was time to move on.”

The three of them sat there—Graham staring off into space, Will and Selena locking eyes.

“Is anything missing from your place? Jewelry? Cash? Pills?”

Selena shrugged. “I don’t think so. I’ll check.”

Will shifted in his seat, tapped his finger on the wood surface of the table.

“My guess is that if no further evidence of foul play falls into their laps, her body doesn’t turn up, they’ll have to move on.”