Chapter Two
"Mr. Sheffield, what is this sick obsession you have with one-upping that Webber guy? Just let it go already!" Fran admonished her boss as she toted two of the four grocery bags into the kitchen. Maxwell had been moaning and groaning about his rival for a solid hour now. In the supermarket, the producer had overheard two theatre patrons raving about Andrew Lloyd Webber's latest production, and that had set him off like a firecracker.
"That's easy for you to say, Miss Fine," Maxwell sneered, closing the door with the heel of his shoe. "You're not the shlemiel who passed on Cats!"
"Oy," kvetched the nanny. "You're like a broken record. You know, maybe you should try getting your head shrunk. Therapy is very in vogue this year."
"Miss Fine, do you know what would happen if word got out that I, Maxwell Sheffield, was in therapy . . . again? I would be shunned by the entire Broadway community!"
Her interest peaked and her ears perked, Fran queried, "You were in therapy? You never told me that."
"Exactly. Because it's none of your business."
"But-"
"Miss Fine," Maxwell cautioned the busybody brunette.
Placing the heavy bags onto the counter, the nanny began unloading their contents. "All right, all right," Fran relented. "Besides, I like a little mystery." Strutting over to the refrigerator, she deposited the milk and announced, "I'm gonna go check on Niles. I'll be right back."
While Miss Fine looked in on the butler, Maxwell remained in the kitchen and attempted to put away the groceries. Picking up a box of Cap'n Crunch cereal, he examined the colorful cardboard carton, scratching his scalp thoughtfully. Despite having resided in the Sheffield mansion for well over a decade, the producer was still unable to navigate his way around his own kitchen. After some deliberation, Maxwell decided that it would be best to consult Fran on the matter of what belonged where.
When he reached the second floor of his home, the handsome Brit was none too pleased with the sight that greeted him. Outside Niles's room was Nanny Fine, down on her knees and peering through the aperture in the entryway. She had been spying for at least five minutes and, miraculously, her presence had yet to be detected. Granted, Fran could not see much, but the little that she could see was enough to sustain her attention.
The ill butler lay in bed. At his side stood Miss Babcock, leaning over him, her back to the door. The nosy nanny could only guess what they were doing, but from the scent of menthol and the sounds of pleasure emanating from Niles, she had a pretty good idea.
"Miss Fine!"
"Get a load of this," Fran urged, motioning for her boss to join her.
"Miss Fine, I do not condone spying. Now, get up."
"Doors were made for spying, Mr. Sheffield. They don't call it the peephole for nothing," the nanny reasoned.
"That's keyhole, Miss Fine."
"Well, if you're gonna get technical about it . . ."
Fran attempted to rise to her feet. But she had been on her knees for so long that her balance was wobbly. Much to her delight, she fell right into Mr. Sheffield's arms. Fran emitted a coy giggle and flashed her dazzling smile. "Good catch."
"Mmmmmmm!"
The sound came not from her boss but from her best butler friend. The dark-haired pair exchanged glances. "What in God's name is that?" Maxwell demanded in a hushed voice.
"Sounds like Niles is feeling much better."
Mr. Sheffield dismissed the comment, fearing that something was terribly wrong with the servant. Releasing his employee, he barged into Niles's room. Had Miss Fine not grabbed onto the doorframe, she would've tumbled to the floor.
"C.C.!" Maxwell cried in utter disbelief. There before him stood his cold-hearted business partner, tending to the needs of a man she repeatedly claimed to loathe more than anything and anyone, including Nanny Fine.
Miss Babcock's eyes enlarged in diameter. A strangled gasp escaped her. Then, she froze, as though a magic spell had just been cast.
"Oh, thank heavens!" Niles exclaimed, sitting up in bed. "Another minute and I would have been a goner!"
His remark snapped C.C. out of her trance. "What!"
"Well, first, she makes me soup - poisoned, I'm sure of it. I wouldn't touch it. Next, she tries to force-feed me the poisoned soup and nearly gags me with the spoon. And then, she attempts to asphyxiate me with this." Niles plucked a white linen napkin from the bedside table and held it up for inspection. "I put up quite a fight, but the Abominable Snowman overpowered me."
Miss Babcock gaped at the man. How dare he make such accusations! She had not even been able to defend herself, the butler had read off the list of unfounded charges so quickly.
"And then what happened?" Fran jumped in, enthralled.
"Miss Fine!" her boss chastised.
"What? I wanna hear the rest of the story!"
"Well, then, she-" Niles halted abruptly and glanced down. The butler's pajama top was partially unbuttoned, and a white, sticky substance coated his upper body. Feigning embarrassment, Niles pulled the shirt closed, clutching the collar to hold it in place. "I'm sorry you had to see that," he apologized to the intruders.
"Not nearly as sorry as I am!"
The trio turned to Miss Babcock, whose pupils were propelling machetes at her accuser. Fran gasped in shock as she discerned tears forming in the corners of C.C.'s eyes.
The butler noticed this as well. His heart wrenched, sinking into his stomach. Inwardly, he admonished his ignominious behavior: Bloody idiot. You're such a shmendrik.