As any member of the paparazzi knew, Don and Deb lived in a large, Tudor-style mansion in Beverly Hills, a far cry from the modest suburban digs they’d inhabited when the show first started.
I had to admit, I’d had some sympathy for the couple when they’d first gone on the air with their brood. With a dozen kids, it was hard to make ends meet for the couple. Deb had been a night shift nurse and Don a computer programmer—not exactly the kind of jobs that could support twelve college funds, let alone a hundred and fifty diapers a day. In their position I totally would have jumped at the idea of TV documentary paying to follow me around for a while.
Only “for a while” turned into an entire season’s worth of episodes, which turned into seasons two and three, which had turned into a media phenomenon, sparking debates over everything from the morality of selective reduction of multiples pregnancies (something, clearly, Deb and Don did not believe in) to the morality of parading little girls in skimpy bathing suits with fake tans across a stage for a panel of adult judges (something they clearly did believe in). The family had become overnight household names, going from John and Jane Everyman thrown into mega-parenting to celebrity status. During their separation, Deb’s face had graced the cover of People no less than five times. And I was pretty sure Don had his own TMZ cameraman assigned to him 24/7.
Besides fame, the other thing the show had brought Don and Deb was cash. Lots of it, I decided as I pulled up to the heavy iron gates surrounding the dozen’s compound. Beyond the gates a lush, manicured lawn yawned up to the large brick house, bordering on castle in both size and shape. To the right was a grove of trees, where twelve little play houses sat. It looked eerily like a scene from the seven dwarfs. If all the dwarves had a thing for purple and unicorns.
I pulled over to the curb at the bottom of the road and made a quick wardrobe decision. I grabbed my faux Christian Diors again, popping them up on my head, and added an extra layer of lipstick, going ruby red. I puckered in the mirror, wishing I’d put a little more eyeshadow on this morning. I smudged what I had as high into my eyebrows as I could. Not perfect, but it would do. I drove my Bug up to the security talk box installed at the gate and hit the button to speak, waiting a moment before a voice came on the other end.
“May I help you?” it asked in a prim British accent. I instantly recognize it from the show—Nellie McGregor, the dozen’s nanny.
“Allie Quick,” I said, looking down at my fingernails in a bored manner for the benefit of the security camera mounted at the corner of the gate.
There was a pause on the other end. Then Nanny McGregor came back. “I’m sorry. I don’t have an Allie Quick on my schedule,” she said, annunciating the word shed-duel in British fashion.
I pulled my glasses down, rolled my eyes, did some more looking bored. “I’m the new pageant coach? For Donna, Deirdre and Daria?” I said, quoting the names of the oldest triplets who were, as of last season, slipping in their ranking as they grew from chubby little toddlers to awkward little preteens.
Again, I waited while Nanny McGregor checked her schedule. I mentally crossed my fingers that a household with a dozen little girls in tiaras was as disorganized as I’d hoped.
Luck must have been with me today, as Nanny McGregor came back on the line a moment later. “Fine. Come up. I’ll meet you at the front.”
Yes!
A second later the system buzzed and the big iron gates parted, leaving me a clear path to the diva castle. I wound my car up the road, following the big circular driveway and parking just to the left of the front door. True to her word, Nanny McGregor was waiting for me out front.
I made a big show of grabbing everything I could from the back of my Bug and shoving it a tote bag (Honestly I had no idea what a pageant coach would do with a pair of gym shoes, a roadside kit and a handful of used Starbucks cards, but I figured they’d have a bunch of “stuff,” right?). Then I wrapped a silk scarf around my neck, slid my sunglasses up onto my head and “floated” the way I’d seen Miss America do up the front steps to meet Nanny.
While the words “British Nanny” conjured up images of sensible shoes, starched informs and white hair worn in a no-nonsense bun, Nanny McGregor was about as far as away from that as possible. For one thing, she was young—at least a couple of years younger than I was. For another, she was hot. Like, scorching. She had long, thick brown hair that hung loose over her shoulders, slim legs a petite girl like myself instantly coveted, and curves that while not the waif look currently in vogue among runway models, spelled voluptuous and sexy to any man. I figured it was a good thing the dozen were all girls.
“Miss McGregor,” Nanny said by way of introduction as I approached, offering her hand.
I gave it a firm shake. “Allie Quick.”
“The girls are in the rehearsal room. I’ll lead you to them,” she said, turning crisply on her ballet flats and leading the way into the dozen’s castle.
I stifled an impressed whistle as I walked through the doors. The castle theme continued here as rich oriental rungs covered marble floors, a large crystal chandelier hung from the coffered ceiling, and the walls were covered in wainscoting below flocked wallpaper. It felt more like a museum than a home full of rambunctious little girls (And if you didn’t think beauty queen girls were rambunctious, I dared you to watch episode twenty seven where Dori pulled out a chunk of Dolly’s hair over a pink sparkly tutu. These girls were serious about their bling.).
“Are the girls’ parents available?” I asked, following Nanny McGregor down a long hallway flanked by display cases. Each was filled with trophies, sparkling crowns and satin sashes—the fruits of their pageant wins.
“I’m sorry, did you need them present for the rehearsal?” Nanny asked.
“Uh, well, it would be helpful to speak with them about what they expect from the girls.”
“I can tell you everything you need to know.”
“Hmm. You know, I’d really rather speak with their parents. I, uh, may need them to fill out some liability forms,” I lied.
“I’m sorry,” Nanny said, shaking her head. “Neither Don nor Deb is available.”
“They’re not here?” I asked, my hopes sinking.
“Don is meeting with their publicist downtown, and Deb is just finishing up her book tour.”
I nodded. Deb had written a how-to book on juggling parenting and pageants, which had quickly catapulted her to bestseller status. I heard her signing in Alabama had a line of housewives around the block.
Which was good for her, but not so hot for my interviewing plans. On the other hand…
I looked at Nanny McGregor. Sometimes the help knew more about what went on in a household than the owners. I had a feeling if anyone knew Don and Deb’s secrets, she did.
I followed her down a flight of stairs to what might have been a basement at one time, but had been converted into something akin to a dance studio. One tall mirror covered the back wall, the floors were covered in polished hardwood, and an iPod dock sat in the corner, featuring speakers half the size of my entire apartment. Along the back wall were all manner of wooden props— including a giant yellow sunflower, a mini convertible car, and a pair of lollipops twice the size of my head.
Three of the girls stood in the middle of the floor, practicing posing in the mirror. All were identical, save for a pair of pink ribbons tied in Girl Number Three’s blond bob. They did kissy faces, “queen” waves and booty shakes at their reflections. In front of them a line of dolls had been set up, each one with a paper nametag pinned to its shirt. A Bratz doll was “Jax”, a Cabbage Patch with a lopsided haircut “Eden” and a Barbie missing one shoe “Kristen.”
Pink Ribbons Girl must have seen me staring at them as she explained, “They’re the judges in the Pretty Little Miss pageant next weekend. We’re practicing impressing them.”
“Ah.” I nodded.
“Kristen is from the south, so she likes lots of glam,” she explained, pointing to Barbie. “Eden is t
ough on talent and Jax…” She rolled her little blue eyes. “She’s the wild card. If she’s in a good mood, she can be your best friend. But when she’s PMSing, honey, look out.” She did another exaggerated eye roll.
I stifled a grin. The little girl had to be all of five.
“Girls,” Nanny McGregor said, clapping her hands to rally attention. “This is Miss Quick. She’s Donna, Deirdre and Daisy’s new coach.”
Pink Ribbons pouted. “I wanna new coach too.”
“You’re fine with Miss Jamie.”
“But I wanna new one!” She stamped her foot, pursing her lips up so her cheeks pooched out like a chipmunk’s.
“If you run and get your sisters, you can stay and watch,” Nanny told her.
The little girl thought about this for a moment then seemed to come to the conclusion that it was the best offer she was going to get. “Okay,” she finally said, turning and running up the stairs, ribbons flying behind her.
I grinned again. “She’s adorable.”
“Thanks,” Nanny said, beaming like a proud mama. “She’s been rather difficult lately. Though I can hardly blame her.”
A little frown creased her smooth forehead, and I took the opportunity to pounce on it. “Why is that?” I asked.
“The show. The press. It’s hardly provided a stable home life for the girls lately.”
I nodded sympathetically. “I can only image how difficult it must be for them, living in the public eye like that.”
“Yes!” she agreed. “The paparazzi are relentless. Just last week a woman from a tabloid actually followed the girls into the bathroom with a camera. Can you imagine?”
“Horrible.” I cringed, hoping that woman wasn’t Cam. “I suppose Barker’s death must be upsetting to the girls as well.”
Nanny McGregor shrugged. “We’ve tried to keep the bulk of it from them.”
“Probably for the best,” I agreed. “Do the police have any leads?”
Nanny McGregor shook her head. “Not that they’re sharing.”
“What about you?” I asked, feeling her out. “You must have gotten to know Barker during filming. Any idea who might have wanted him dead?”
She shook her head again. “No.”
“I heard he was a bit hard to get along with.”
She thought about this for a moment before answering. “He was all business. Not very touchy-feely, if you know what I mean. But I suppose that’s what made him so good at his job.”
“Did Deb and Don think he was good at his job?”
At the mention of her employers her demeanor shifted, her back going just that much straighter, her eyes emptying of emotion. “I wouldn’t know what they thought of him.”
Ah, but she definitely had thoughts about them. “How long have you worked for Don and Deb?” I asked.
“Since the last set of triplets were born. I’ve been with the girls since the beginning, really.”
“It must be quite a challenge, keeping up with twelve little girls.”
Her features softened, a smile playing at the corners of her eyes. “I enjoy every minute of it. The girls are darlings.”
I looked over at the matching darlings. They’d abandoned the mirror and were now arguing over who got to wear the gold tiara.
“Don and Deb are very lucky to have you.”
And just like that the softness disappeared again, a curt nod all the response I got. Clearly the couple was a sore spot for Nanny. I mentally rubbed my hands together.
“I suppose you’ve gotten to know Don and Deb pretty well since you’ve been working for them,” I pressed.
She nodded. “I suppose.”
“How are they taking Barker’s death?”
She shrugged. “Business as usual. The show must go on.”
“Right. Just curious…” I hedged, “Did Don and Deb get along with Barker?”
“They fought with everyone,” she said. “That’s what kept the show on the air.”
Good point. “Did they have any particular issues with Barker that you know of?”
She narrowed her eyes at me. “Why do you ask?”
Uh-oh. Too far.
“Oh, no reason. I just want to know what I’m getting into—working for the family, you know.”
She nodded, seeming to understand that concept. “I’ll be honest, between Deb’s book tour and Don booking their next public appearance, they hardly even have time to see their children, let alone me. I can’t tell you what their personal feelings toward Barker were, but I do know the show was eating this family alive. This last season was crazy. Paparazzi, the media hype, the separation. And the children are the ones who suffered for it. Poor Demetra wet her bed for a week.”
I nodded sympathetically. “Change can be hard for the little ones.”
“You have children?” she asked
“A cat.”
She gave me a funny look.
“But Don and Deb patched things up, right?” I asked. “I mean, she forgave him for the affairs, didn’t she?”
Nanny McGregor nodded. Then slowly and carefully said, “Yes, they tabled their differences.”
Hmm. Interesting word choice. One that led me to believe she knew more about those “differences” than she let on.
I leaned in a little. “I’m not trying to be nosey…” Total lie. That was exactly what I was trying to be. “But I have to ask. Are the rumors true? Did Don really cheat on Deb?”
She paused, her eyes assessing me, before the British nanny code of “speak no evil” kicked in. “I’m sorry, but I wouldn’t know.”
Like hell she wouldn’t. The mere fact that she was closing tighter than Fort Knox told me she knew more about the alleged affairs than she let on. I narrowed my eyes at her. She was young, pretty and awfully available. Was it possible Nanny McGregor was the unknown woman Don had been sleeping with?
I wondered. It was bad enough for Deb’s pride that the entire country knew her husband was sleeping with someone else. But if Nanny had been that someone, I’d bet my laptop it was only a matter of time before Barker found a way to exploit that into next season’s sweeps. I could think of a few people who might not have been thrilled with that, Deb’s name leading the list. Maybe Super Mom decided to head off the humiliation before Barker got the chance?
“What about the reunion episode?” I asked, switching gears. “Was it all for show, or did Deb really forgive Don’s indiscretions?”
She shrugged. “It’s hard to tell what’s real and not around here anymore. All I know is that Don and Deb both agreed to sign on for three more seasons.” She sighed. “As long as the girls are on the air, the money keeps coming in. Sad, really.”
It wasn’t until she said that that I realized something was missing. The camera crew. Usually every moment of the kids’ lives was being filmed, yet from the time I’d walked in the door, I hadn’t seen a single camera.
“I’m sorry—where are the cameras now?” I asked.
Nanny smiled. “Gone. Thank goodness. When Barker died, production on all of his shows halted.”
Which meant less exposure for the girls…but also for Deb. “So, Deb’s on a book tour, you said?” I asked.
Nanny nodded. “Yes, just finishing it up.”
“Was she out of town then when Barker was killed?”
Nanny squinted her eyes, as if trying to remember the day. Finally she shook her head. “Actually, no. There was a break between her Dallas signing and Denver signing. She came home for the weekend.”
Music to my ears. I tried not to grin as I asked, “I suppose the police have already looked into alibis for the family?”
She shot me a look.
“As a formality. I mean, they always do on Law & Order, right?”
“Yes, they did.” She paused. Then added, “Not that they needed to. Every movement this family has made in the last three years has been caught on film.”
Which might make for a screwed-up childhood for the dozen, but made my life a whole l
ot easier. I made a mental note to track down that footage and see just want kind of alibi Deb had on the night Barker was killed.
“So, shall we get started?” Nanny McGregor asked.
“Started?”
“With the lesson.” She clapped her hands, summoning the girls over to us. I noticed that while we’d been talking, Pink Ribbons had reappeared with three older girls in tow. Three very sour-faced preteens ambled my way. I had a feeling Nanny was right; the show really wasn’t doing their personalities any favors.
“Girls, this is your new coach. She’ll be working with you on runway presentation,” Nanny said, gesturing toward me.
I swallowed, nodded, did a little one-finger wave at the three of them.
They stared at me.
“Uh, okay, let’s get started.” I racked my brain, trying to remember some of the lingo from the Miss America pageants. “Uh, let’s start with…evening wear?”
The bigger of the three blinked at me. “You mean beauty?”
“Right. Sure. Beauty.”
“I’m wearing pink. And she’s wearing hot pink. And she’s wearing pale pink.”
Great choices. Maybe these girls weren’t so bad after all.
“Okay, let’s work on your walks, then.” I put a hand on my hip, swaying it to the left and right as I walked across the practice room. I thought I heard Pink Ribbons giggle at me.
I spun around. “You try now,” I said, nodding to the three older girls.
They looked at each other. Then at me. Finally the bigger one shrugged and put a hand on her hip, sashaying across the room.
This time I was sure I heard Ribbons giggle. And whisper to the Barbie judge, “I give her a three.”
Chapter Seven
Half an hour later I finally escaped Pageantland, hoping I hadn’t screwed up their girls’ chances at Pretty Little Miss too badly. I drove straight to the Informer, using my voice program to type up my notes on Don and Deb as I drove. Not that I had anything more than vague theories at the moment, but I figured a few pictures of Nanny McGregor’s legs, a couple of shots of Don looking smarmy at some club, and the public could put two and two together just as well as I could.
Hollywood Confessions Page 7
