Outstanding praise for the novels of Holly Chamberlin!
THE SEASON OF US
“A warm and witty tale. This heartfelt and emotional story will appeal to members of the Sandwich Generation or anyone who has had to set aside long-buried childhood resentments for the well-being of an aging parent. Fans of Elin Hilderbrand and Wendy Wax will adore this genuine exploration of family bonds, personal growth, and acceptance.”
—Booklist
“Chamberlin successfully portrays a family at their best and worst as they struggle through their first holiday without a beloved husband and father and have to redefine their relationships.”
—Library Journal
THE BEACH QUILT
“Particularly compelling.”—The Pilot
SUMMER FRIENDS
“A thoughtful novel.”—ShelfAwareness
“A great summer read.”—Fresh Fiction
“A novel rich in drama and insights into what factors bring people together and, just as fatefully, tear them apart.”
—The Portland Press Herald
THE FAMILY BEACH HOUSE
“Explores questions about the meaning of home, family dynamics and tolerance.”
—The Bangor Daily News
“An enjoyable summer read, but it’s more. It is a novel for all seasons that adds to the enduring excitement of Ogunquit.”
—The Maine Sunday Telegram
“It does the trick as a beach book and provides a touristy taste of Maine’s seasonal attractions.”
—Publishers Weekly
Books by Holly Chamberlin
LIVING SINGLE
THE SUMMER OF US
BABYLAND
BACK IN THE GAME
THE FRIENDS WE KEEP
TUSCAN HOLIDAY
ONE WEEK IN DECEMBER
THE FAMILY BEACH HOUSE
SUMMER FRIENDS
LAST SUMMER
THE SUMMER EVERYTHING CHANGED
THE BEACH QUILT
SUMMER WITH MY SISTERS
SEASHELL SEASON
THE SEASON OF US
HOME FOR THE SUMMER
HOME FOR CHRISTMAS
THE SUMMER NANNY
Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation
The Summer Nanny
Holly Chamberlin
KENSINGTON BOOKS
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Also by
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
Chapter 91
Chapter 92
Chapter 93
Chapter 94
Chapter 95
Chapter 96
Chapter 97
Chapter 98
Chapter 99
Chapter 100
Chapter 101
Chapter 102
Chapter 103
Chapter 104
Chapter 105
Chapter 106
Chapter 107
Chapter 108
Chapter 109
Chapter 110
Chapter 111
Chapter 112
Chapter 113
Chapter 114
Chapter 115
Chapter 116
Chapter 117
Chapter 118
Chapter 119
Chapter 120
Chapter 121
Chapter 122
Chapter 123
Chapter 124
Chapter 125
Chapter 126
Chapter 127
Chapter 128
Chapter 129
Chapter 130
Chapter 131
Chapter 132
Chapter 133
Chapter 135
Chapter 136
Chapter 137
DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2018 by Elise Smith
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
eISBN-13: 978-1-4967-0157-2
eISBN-10: 1-4967-0157-7
First Kensington Electronic Edition: July 2018
ISBN: 978-1-4967-0156-5
As always, for Stephen
And this time also for Kimberly and Colleen
Acknowledgments
My sincere thanks yet again to John Scognamiglio for his wise and unflagging support. And to all of the nurses at Brigham and Women’s, as well as at Maine Medical Center, my thanks for their kind and good care of Stephen and me.
Character cannot be developed in ease and quiet.
Only through experiences of trial and suffering
can the soul be strengthened, vision cleared,
ambition inspired and success achieved.
—Helen Keller
Chapter 1
Beautiful spring weather came late to southern Maine and now, when it had finally made its appearance in mid-April, Leda Latimer was taking full advantage by opening all the windows in her studio to let in fresh air for the first time since the windows had been shut tight the previous October. Just the week before, the vibrant yellow forsythia bushes had mellowed into lush green. The first and then the second robin had been sighted, and the ubiquitous muck of mud season had begun to dry out, leaving ruts in the driveway and along the path around the side of the house. Ruts Leda could handle. Wallowing in wet ground she could not.
Leda was a lifelong resident of Yorktide. She wore her dark hair in a ponytail or in a casual updo. At forty she didn’t yet need reading glasses, though she suspected she would need them before long. Doing the sort of work she did put a strain on the eyes, for Leda was a craftswoman, as her mother had been before her. In fact, Leda had learned all of the basic skills she knew from her mother, and while making a living by crafting was a bit laborious, Leda could imagine no other way of spending her time. She would have liked her daughter to express an interest in craftwork, too, but Amy had less than no interest. Many years before, Leda had tried to teach Amy how to sew a button on a blouse. Blood had been spilled. Leda’s blood.
Leda was proficient at a variety of skills, from rug hooking to embroidery, from beading to sewing. She made particular clothing items for Amy and made alterations to her own clothes, both of which cut down considerably the cost of maintaining their wardrobes. As for work that paid the bills, there were two main categories—what Leda called the custom and the commercial.
The custom work itself could be divided into two categories: work produced from Leda’s original designs and that skillfully copied from famous works of art. When a customer wanted a particular item and couldn’t find it in a brick-and-mortar or an online store, she came to Leda’s studio and browsed through her ready-made designs or worked along with Leda to get the vision in her head onto paper. This process could be anything from exhilarating to frustrating, but in the end the results were almost always gratifying for both Leda and her client.
The second part of Leda’s custom work was the reproduction of popular works of fiber art, from designs produced by William Morris in the nineteenth century, to works dating much further back in history. For example, people were mad for the famous Unicorn Tapestries. The originals, created between 1495 and 1505, were masterpieces of needle and thread, color and design, and Leda never tired of the challenge of re-creating the beautiful and poignant scenes depicted in the seven works. She and her clients were particularly interested in images pulled from The Unicorn Is Found, The Unicorn in Captivity, and the Lady and the Unicorn tapestries. Because of the time, effort, and artistry that went into each of these meticulous re-creations, Leda was able to charge a healthy price for each of them.
On occasion, interesting commission work led to more commercial enterprises. For a local woman who was proud to trace her ancestors to Scotland, Leda had copied several of the surviving bits of embroidery stitched by Mary, Queen of Scots, during her long incarceration in England. Once word had gotten around that Leda could produce such small masterpieces without the aid of a kit, orders came flooding in. The most popular of the images were without a doubt the ones that featured animals. The Catte, Jupiter (one of Mary’s pet dogs), Delphin (a dolphin), Frogge, and Eape were clear favorites.
Leda’s bread-and-butter work, however, was making originally designed rugs, pillows, chair pads, table linens, and accessories like eyeglass cases and change purses. These she sold locally at home-decorating shops such as Wainscoting and Windowseats, owned by her friend Phil Morse. Leda also sold her work at The Busy Bee quilt shop and a few of the tourist stores in the area. She did have a website—LatimerCreations.com—though it didn’t get significant traffic. Leda wasn’t exactly good at self-promotion. In fact, she had set up the website only at her daughter’s urging. “Everyone has an online presence these days, Mom,” Amy had argued. “You’ll be totally left behind if you don’t have a website.”
“Left behind what?” Leda had been tempted to ask, but she knew what her daughter meant. Only weeks earlier she had learned the meaning of FOMO; Vera, her closest friend, had explained it in context of an article she was reading about current trends in the food industry. “It means fear of missing out. It pertains to those people who need to be tuned in to media of all sorts 24/7.” Leda had laughed. “I live to miss out,” she exclaimed, to which reply Vera had given her a look Leda found disconcerting. Maybe keeping one’s head in the sand wasn’t always the smartest thing.
Still, Leda did all right. It didn’t hurt that her mortgage was small, as her parents, Anne and Paul Gleeson, had paid off most of it before they died; when Amy was seven, the little house on Hawthorne Lane came to Leda in their will. The house suited Leda’s and Amy’s needs perfectly. There were three bedrooms and a full bathroom on the second floor. Amy had the largest of the bedrooms, Leda the second largest, and the smallest was kept as a guest room. The first floor comprised a cozy kitchen, big enough for a table at which to eat meals; a living room; and Leda’s studio. Three of the studio’s walls were mostly windows, allowing for plenty of light.
An ear-piercing scream of the feline sort caused Leda to jump. The noise had come from Winston Churchill, though it might equally have come from Harry, aka Henry 8th. Both were large and grumpy and demanded constant attention. They were suspicious of visitors, even ones they knew, which was probably why Winston had let out a warning.
Indeed, a moment later Leda heard the back door, the one that led from the small hall off the studio into the yard, open and shut with a bang. Vera Cecil had a way with doors. A moment later Leda’s assumption was confirmed when Vera appeared in the doorway of the studio. Her short, dark hair was sticking up like a rooster’s coxcomb, and she was wearing an old plaid shirt Leda knew for a fact she often wore to bed.
“Well,” Vera announced, throwing her hands in the air. “It’s over. Another relationship bites the dust.”
“What happened?” Leda asked, putting down her embroidery hoop. “I thought things were going really well for you two.”
“So did I,” Vera admitted. She strode into the room and flopped into the armchair on which one of Leda’s hand-stitched quilts was draped. She was no sooner seated than Harry was on her lap. “You’ll read about it in the paper tomorrow, but I might as well tell you now. The charming Kitty Doyle is a bank robber. Well, she was a bank robber, back when she was known as Katie Dunn.”
“Wait,” Leda said. “What?”
“You heard me. The police turned up at the door first thing this morning with an arrest warrant. You can imagine my surprise. I hadn’t even had my first cup of coffee. It wasn’t until after ten o’clock, three hours after the cops dragged my girlfriend off to the slammer, that it sunk in. I’d been harboring a criminal without knowing it.”
“A bank robber? Really?” Leda shook her head. “Where do you find these people? Wait. Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. I hope the police believe that you had no knowledge of Kitty’s past.”
Vera rubbed her eyes with the palms of her hands. “They seemed to,” she said, “but my lawyer will press the point.”
“It’s kind of too bad really,” Leda said thoughtfully. “I liked Kitty. True, she had that slightly freaky way of watching people out of the corner of her eye, but now that habit is explained.”
Vera sighed and gave Harry a stroke. “She made a mean beef stroganoff. I’m going to miss that beef stroganoff.”
“You’ll meet someone else,” Leda said soothingly. “You always do.”
“Nope,” Vera said. “After this latest debacle, I’m res
igning myself to being an old maid. I have spectacularly bad taste in women, and I can’t see that changing no matter how many self-help books I read.”
“You’ve been reading self-help books?” Leda asked.
“For years,” Vera admitted. “It’s been my dirty little secret, but I’m dumping them all now. Fat lot of good they did me.”
“Maybe you should let a friend set you up,” Leda suggested. “That way at least you’ll know the person is halfway sane. Well, assuming you trust the friend.”
“Nope. I’m done.” Vera suddenly got up from the armchair, sending Harry flying. He landed on his feet. “I don’t know why I’m so bad at meeting normal people. I had a perfectly fine childhood. My parents loved me. They even spoiled me, and maybe that somehow made my judgment go bad, assuming my judgment was ever good. It’s a mystery for the ages.”
“A mystery I wish I could solve for you.”
“If wishes were horses . . . Well, I’m off. Just wanted to give you the big news.” Vera came to a sudden stop and turned around. “It just dawned on me. What am I going to do with Kitty’s stuff? Even if she gets out on bail, she ain’t living with me.”
“Send it to her family?” Leda suggested.
“That would be a great idea if I knew anything about her family, and I don’t. What a mess!”