Genuine Lies

CeeCee. I work for Miss Benedict. I’m here to look after your son while you have dinner.”
    Julia lifted a brow. “That’s very kind of you, but I phoned my regrets to the main house earlier.”
    “Miss Benedict said that the little boy—Brandon, right?— was tired out. I’ll baby-sit while you have dinner at the main house.”
    Julia opened her mouth to decline, but CeeCee was already breezing through the door. She was in jeans and a T-shirt, her California-blond hair sweeping her shoulders, her arms full of magazines.
    “Isn’t this a great place?” she went on in her bubbly champagne voice. “I love cleaning it, and I’ll be doing it for you while you’re here. You just let me know if you want anything special.”
    “Everything’s perfect.” Julia had to smile. The woman vibrated with energy and enthusiasm. “But I really don’t think I should leave Brandon on his first night with someone he doesn’t know.”
    “You don’t have to worry. I have two little brothers, and I’ve been baby-sitting since I was twelve. Dustin, the youngest, was a late baby. He’s just ten—and a real mega monster.” She gave Julia another flashing smile—her even white teeththose of a toothpaste commercial. “He’ll be okay with me, Ms. Summers. If he wakes up and wants you, we’ll call the house. You’re only two minutes away.”
    Julia hesitated. She knew Brandon would sleep through the night. And the perky blond was exactly the kind of sitter she herself would have chosen. She was being overcautious and overprotective—two things she struggled not to be.
    “All right, CeeCee. I’ll change and be down in a couple of minutes.”
    When Julia returned five minutes later, CeeCee was sitting on the couch leafing through a fashion magazine. The television was tuned to one of the bright Saturday-night sitcoms. She glanced up and studied Julia.
    “That’s a great color on you, Ms. Summers. I want to be a designer, so I pay attention to, you know, tones and lines and material. Not everybody can wear a strong color like that tomato red.”
    Julia smoothed the jacket she’d paired with black evening pants. She’d chosen it because it gave her confidence. “Thanks. Miss Benedict said informal.”
    “It’s perfect. Armani?”
    “You’ve got a good eye.”
    CeeCee flipped back her long, straight hair. “Maybe one day you’ll wear a McKenna. That’s my last name. Except maybe I’ll just go by my first. You know, like Cher and Madonna.”
    Julia found herself smiling, until she glanced back upstairs. “If Brandon wakes up—”
    “We’ll get along fine,” CeeCee assured her. “And if he’s nervous, I’ll call right away.”
    Julia nodded, even as she turned the black evening bag over and over in her hands. “I won’t be late.”
    “Enjoy yourself. Miss Benedict gives great dinner parties.”
    Julia lectured herself during the short walk from house to house. Brandon wasn’t a shy or a clinging child. If he did wake up, he would not only accept the baby-sitter, he’d enjoy her. And, she reminded herself, she had a job to do. Part of thatjob—the hardest part for her—was to socialize. The sooner she began, the better.
    The light was softening, and she could smell roses, jasmine, and the damp green smell of leaves freshly watered. The pool was a curving half moon of pale blue fed by an arching fountain at one corner. She hoped pool privileges went along with the guest house, or Brandon would be hell to live with.
    She hesitated on the terrace, then decided it would be more correct to go around to the front. She passed yet another gurgling fountain, a hedge of gloriously perfumed Russian olives, then spotted two cars in the drive. One was a late model Porsche in flaming red, the other an old, beautifully reconditioned Studebaker in classic cream. Both meant money.
    The antacid pill had dissolved on her tongue by the time she rang the bell at the front door. Travers answered, gave a frigid nod, then led Julia to the salon.
    The cocktail hour was in progress. Debussy was playing softly, and the evening garden scent had been captured indoors by a huge bouquet of scarlet roses. The lighting was subtle, flattering. The stage set.
    From the doorway Julia quickly surveyed the people in the room. There was a busty redhead in a tiny, glittery black dress who looked miserably bored. Beside her was a tanned Adonis with sunstreaked blond hair—the Porsche.
    He was wearing a very correct, very expensive