Page 2 of Witness 8

Ruby took a moment to admire Lara’s dress. Sleek, black, cut to fit her slim frame while accentuating everything that could bear it.

‘How are the kids?’ asked Chad, as he took off his bow tie and popped open the top button on his dress shirt.

‘Sound asleep. They’re little angels. I just made you some coffee. You two are always bang on time,’ she said, handing Chad the cup. ‘Lara, can I get you a nightcap?’

‘Just water would be fine. I don’t know how the hell Chad can drink coffee at this hour and still sleep like a log.’

‘Good genes, I guess,’ said Chad.

Ruby got some ice from the dispenser and poured a ten-dollar bottle of Icelandic water into a glass for Lara.

‘Okilly dokilly, well, if that’s everything, I’ll just take off,’ said Ruby.

‘Our driver can take you home,’ said Lara.

‘No, it’s fine. Thank you, Lara. It’s a nice evening. I’m only ten blocks.’

‘Ruby, parts of your neighborhood . . .’ but Lara didn’t finish the sentence. She wanted to say that Ruby lived in a dangerous area. But it would’ve been an unkind reminder that Ruby no longer enjoyed West 74thStreet as her address. The Pullers, like everyone else on Ruby’s client list, knew she had once been a resident. Before something bad had happened.

Still, she was one of them. From money. Trustworthy. Reliable.

‘Don’t worry. I’m fine. I’m free tomorrow if you need anything. I do love spending time with those little perfect peach fairies upstairs. They’re sooooo adorable,’ Ruby said.

‘The kids are all good for tomorrow. Chad’s taking them to the park. Just text me and let me know how much for tonight and I’ll send it,’ said Lara.

‘Great, goodnight, you two. Don’t let the beddy bugs bite,’ she said.

As the thick mahogany front door closed behind Ruby, the bubbly expression slid from her face. She skipped down the steps to the street.

Chad wouldn’t be taking the kids anywhere tomorrow.

Ruby took out her phone, pulled up her photo files. She had shots of the diaries of all her clients. Most of them just put the calendars on their fridge, some had them in little notebooks onthe hall table, others synced their diaries to their Google Home Hubs or Amazon Echos, which made them easy to access.

Tomorrow, Lara had a nail appointment at eleven, then lunch with the girls.

Chad had racquetball with Jeff at eight thirty in the morning, then he was taking the kids out.

The slow-acting emetic that Ruby had added to his coffee would have Chad puking his guts out within a few hours. She expected to get a text from Lara around nine, saying Chad was ill in bed, and could she take the kids for the day?

Ruby charged extra on Saturdays, and she needed the money.

This little trick could only be pulled once or twice. Chad would blame the food at the gala. Last spring, Ruby had managed to work every Saturday for a month, dosing both parents of four different households. An outbreak of Norovirus in one of the kid’s schools provided great cover.

She stood on the sidewalk and gazed up at the houses lining the street. She knew these people. She had spent time in their homes, unobserved. She knew their bathroom medicine cabinets, their underwear drawers, their email passwords, their internet search history, their diaries and, in some cases, their text messages. She knew their innermost thoughts . . .

Their secrets.

To Ruby, knowledge was power. Something else she had learned from her grandmother. Yet, with all that she knew of the residents and their lives, that knowledge could not seem to help her solve the biggest problem of all.

Ruby was in trouble. She had spent months worrying, thinking, tearing her mind apart at three in the morning, trying desperately to think of a solution.

She’d had various ideas. None of them seemed to suit her purpose. And every night as she paced her little room, unable to sleep, she hated the residents of West 74thStreet even more. Yetwalking seemed to help. It always did when Ruby was worried. The small effort of physical movement at least gave her the illusion she was getting somewhere.

She inhaled, took in the smell of fresh spring rain on the midnight streets of Manhattan, and took off toward home, letting her mind wander with her feet. As she passed the houses, she glanced up at the bay windows of these old brownstones and counted off her clientele one by one.

Out of all the homes on the street, Ruby worked for almost half. The homes that had not yet sampled her services either had live-in nannies for the kids or used a commercial maid service. But they would come round, eventually. Neighbors talk. There was even a private neighborhood WhatsApp group that included most of the homes and people she worked for. She had been recommended so many times that a friendly client had added her to the chat.

Ruby had walked this street more times than she could remember. When she was young, she’d felt at home here. This washerstreet, withherpeople, even though back then she didn’t know all of them. But, still, shebelongedhere. Those were the early days. The good times.