The Housemaid Is Watching (The Housemaid, #3)

by Freida McFadden

There’s blood everywhere. I’ve never seen so much blood.

Somebody is watching us. But there’s nothing ominous about that. The people in that house are our new neighbors, and I’m sure they are curious about who we are.

Janice’s words still haunt me. It must be something on the inside. There’s something wrong with this house. Inside this house. Something that scared off every other person who came to see it. I can’t stop thinking about it. It’s driving me out of my mind.

Why would my husband be out in the backyard with another woman? He doesn’t touch her. He certainly doesn’t kiss her or anything like that. They seem to just be talking. But there’s still something about it that makes me uneasy. I can’t shake the feeling that Enzo is hiding something from me.

Why was Martha going through my drawers? What was she looking for? Has the woman been digging into my past? I can’t shake the feeling that I don’t trust this woman who Suzette sent to work for us.

Ada is still crying, gulping to try to get it under control. But here’s the weird part: When we came into the room, her eyes looked red and swollen. Like she’d already been crying when we busted into the room. But why would Ada have been crying?

I’ve always known my husband is an excellent liar. It just never bothered me until I suspected he was hiding something from me.

I lower my eyes and that’s when I see it, around the corner of the stairwell. A foot sticking out, attached to a lifeless body on the ground. A pair of dead eyes stare up at the ceiling, and a pool of blood spreads slowly across the living room floor. I recognize what I’m looking at immediately, and it takes everything I have not to collapse onto the floor. It’s Jonathan Lowell. And someone’s slit his throat.

I don’t know what to say. I want to believe him. I really, really do. Because when I think about Jonathan Lowell lying on the floor of the living room with his throat slashed open, I don’t want to think about the fact that my husband could be responsible for doing something like that. If he did that, he is a very different person than I thought he was.

“Please, Millie.” His voice breaks. “I need you to believe me. Is important. I did not do this.” “Okay,” I say. “I believe you.” “You swear?” “I swear,” I say softly. See? I can lie just as well as he can.

What if my husband really was having an affair with Suzette Lowell? What if Enzo really killed Jonathan Lowell? What if they lock him up? What the hell am I going to do? What will I tell our children?

“I think,” I say, “that a person can do bad things and still be a good person. As long as they were doing the bad thing for the right reason.”

He stands up straight and takes a shaky breath. “I’m so sorry, Millie,” he says. “I was not honest with you. I am the one who killed Jonathan.”

I am the one who killed Jonathan. I will hear my husband saying those words in my head until the day I die.

“I am so sorry. I did it for us… for the insurance money. We were so broke and…”

“Enzo Accardi,” he says. “You are under arrest for the murder of Jonathan Lowell.”

“He didn’t though!” she cries. “I know he didn’t!” I try to put my hand on her shoulder, but she shrugs me away. “How do you know?” “Because,” my daughter says, “I was the one who killed him.”

My name is Ada Accardi, and I am eleven years old. I have black hair and eyes that are actually brown except some people say they look black as well. I have one brother named Nicolas, and he is nine years old. I speak two languages fluently: English and Italian. My favorite food is macaroni and cheese, especially the way my mom makes it. My favorite book is Daughters of Eve by Lois Duncan. My favorite flavor of ice cream is cookie dough. Also, I killed my next-door neighbor, Jonathan Lowell. One more thing: I’m not sorry.

“Don’t even think… telling anyone,” Mrs. Lowell is saying to Nico. “Don’t you dare… Do you know how much trouble you’ll be in?” And then Nico says in a tiny voice, “I won’t. I promise.” Was she… threatening him? I don’t know what they were talking about, but I didn’t like the tone of her voice. She was threatening him. I’m sure of it.

I don’t know why I do what I do next. I’m just so mad. So the next thing I know, I’m grabbing one of Mrs. Lowell’s skinny legs and pulling as hard as I can, yanking her down into the water. She doesn’t see it coming at all.

My daughter killed a man. My eleven-year-old daughter stabbed a man, and now he’s dead. And after I hear the whole story, I wish she hadn’t killed him, so I could do it with my bare hands. Because I would have really made him suffer.

Enzo knew. He figured out Ada must have been the one who stabbed Jonathan after he discovered that the knife he gave her was the murder weapon. That’s why he was so quick to take the blame. I hate him for doing that. But also, I love him more than I have ever loved him before.

“You’re the accessory to the murder of a little boy, Suzette,” I hiss at her. “You’re going to jail for the rest of your life. And you deserve it.” A lump forms in my throat. “You knew that your husband murdered a child, and you didn’t tell a soul. You let your husband walk free. You still let my kid into your home! How could you? What is wrong with you?”