The Housemaid (The Housemaid, #1)

by Freida McFadden

Or more likely, he’s thinking about the dead body in the attic upstairs.

“Connors,” the younger officer says. “You gotta come up here—now. You gotta see what’s up here.” Even from the bottom of the stairs, I can see his Adam’s apple bobbing. “You won’t believe it.”

I have gone the exact opposite direction with my appearance. I may be over ten years younger than the woman sitting across from me, but I don’t want her to feel at all threatened by me. So for my interview, I selected a long, chunky wool skirt that I bought at the thrift store and a polyester white blouse with puffy sleeves.

Her pale blue eyes light up. “That’s wonderful! Honestly, we almost never have a good home-cooked meal.” She titters. “Who has the time?” I bite back any kind of judgmental response. Nina Winchester doesn’t work, she only has one child who’s in school all day, and she’s hiring somebody to do all her cleaning for her. I even saw a man in her enormous front yard doing her gardening for her. How is it possible she doesn’t have time to cook a meal for her small family? I shouldn’t judge her. I don’t know anything about what her life is like. Just because she’s rich, it doesn’t mean she’s spoiled.

“Would this be my room?” I ask. “Sort of…” She turns the doorknob, which creaks loudly. I can’t help but notice the wood of this door is much thicker than any of the others. Behind the doorway, there’s a dark stairwell. “Your room is upstairs. We have a finished attic as well.”

But there’s something else about this room. Something that’s bothering me.

There’s something about this room that’s making a little ball of dread form in the pit of my stomach. Maybe it’s the window. It looks out on the back of the house. If I were in trouble and trying to get somebody’s attention, nobody would be able to see me back here. I could scream and yell all I wanted, and nobody would hear.

There was something about that room that was very scary, but if I somehow manage to get this job, I’ll get past it. Easily.

Do you know those movies about the scary cult of, like, creepy kids who can read minds and worship the devil and live in the cornfields or something? Well, if they were casting for one of those movies, this girl would get the part. They wouldn’t even have to audition her. They would take one look at her and be like, Yes, you are creepy girl number three. “Cece!” Mrs. Winchester exclaims. “Are you back already from your ballet lesson?”

Is there something wrong with me that I am scared this nine-year-old girl is going to murder me?

I’d say there’s at least a twenty-five percent chance she’s going to murder me in my sleep if I get this job. But I still want it.

raise my hand in greeting. “Hi,” I say. The man stares at me. He doesn’t say hello. He doesn’t say “quit trampling my posies.” He just stares at me. “Nice to meet you too,” I mutter under my breath.

and he is still watching me. There’s something in his expression that sends a chill down my spine. And then he shakes his head, almost imperceptibly. Almost like he’s trying to warn me. But he doesn’t say a word.

“Ms. Stanton,” I blurt out. “I’m just wondering if you might be able to hire me at any other location. I’m a really hard worker. I’m very reliable. I always…” I stop talking. She’s already hung

All I want is a fresh start. I’ll work my butt off if I have to. I’ll do whatever it takes.

“I am.” I’m trying not to sound too ridiculously eager. “I definitely am. I would love to work for you.” “Work with me,” Nina corrects me. I let out a strangled laugh. “Right. Of course.”

As Nina and I exchange details about tomorrow, I wonder if she would feel the same way about me if she knew I spent the last ten years of my life in prison.

He doesn’t say anything. From across the yard, I had only noticed how big he is—at least a head taller than me, with biceps the size of my thighs—but up close, I realize he’s actually pretty hot.

can’t help but notice when I walk inside that the house looks very different from the first time I was here. Very different. When I came for the interview, the Winchester house was immaculate—I could have eaten off any surface in the room. But now, the place looks like a pigsty. The coffee table in front of the sofa has six cups on it with varying amounts of different sticky liquids in them, about a dozen crumpled newspapers and magazines, and a dented pizza box.

So Nina Winchester is a slob—that’s her secret.

Nina lets out a happy sigh. “You are a miracle, Millie. Thank you so much. Also…” She grabs her purse off the kitchen counter and rifles around inside, finally pulling out the latest iPhone. “I got you this. I couldn’t help but notice you were using a very outdated phone. If I need to reach you, I’d like you to have a reliable means of communication.”

Andrew Winchester holds his hand out for me to shake. It’s hard not to notice he is an incredibly handsome man. Piercing brown eyes, a full head of hair the color of mahogany, and a sexy little cleft in his chin. It’s also hard not to notice that he is several levels more attractive than his wife, even with her impeccable grooming, which strikes me as a bit strange. The man is filthy rich, after all. He could have any woman he wants. I respect him for not choosing a twenty-year-old supermodel to be his life partner.

“Please.” He smiles warmly at me. “Call me Andrew.” As he says the words, something flickers over Nina Winchester’s face. Her lips twitch and her eyes narrow.

“Anyway,” Nina snips, “don’t you have to get to the office, Andy?” “Oh yes.” He straightens out his gray tie. “I’ve got a meeting at nine-thirty in the city. I better hurry.”

“Your husband seems nice,” I say to Nina as the door slams shut. The dark, suspicious look returns to her eyes. “Do you think so?” “Well, yes,” I stammer. “I mean, he seems like… how long have you been married?” Nina looks at me thoughtfully. But instead of answering my question, she says, “What happened to your glasses?” “What?” She lifts an eyebrow. “You were wearing a pair of glasses at your interview, weren’t you?”

In addition to the bed, dresser, and bookcase, I notice one other thing in the room that I didn’t see the first time around. A little mini-fridge, about a foot tall. It’s plugged into the wall and humming rhythmically. I crouch down and tug it open. The mini-fridge has two small shelves. And on the top shelf, there are three tiny bottles of water.

rest my hand on the doorknob as Nina starts to leave my room. And that’s when I notice it. What’s been bothering me about this room from the moment I first walked in here. A sick feeling washes over me. “Nina?” “Hmm?” “Why…” I clear my throat. “Why is the lock to this bedroom on the outside rather than the inside?”

If somebody wanted, they could easily lock me in here. And there’s only that one window, looking out at the back of the house. This room could be a death trap. But then again, why would anyone want to lock me in here? “Could I have the key to the room?” I ask. She shrugs. “I’m not even sure where it is.” “I’d like a copy.”

Sometimes it feels like Nina has a split personality. She flips from hot to cold so rapidly.

As I shut the door, I notice marks in the wood. Long thin lines running down the length of the door at about the level of my shoulder. I run my fingers over the indentations. They almost seem like… Scratches. Like somebody was scraping at the door. Trying to get out.

type into the browser window: Translate pericolo. The signal must be weak up here in the attic, because it takes a long time. Almost a minute has gone by when the translation of pericolo finally appears on the screen of my phone:

Danger.

“Who are you?” A little voice startles me in the middle of putting away the last load of dishes. I whirl around—Cecelia is standing behind me, her pale blue eyes boring into me, wearing a white frilly dress that makes her look like a little doll. And by doll, I’m of course talking about that creepy talking doll in The Twilight Zone that murders people.

“What would you like to eat?” “I don’t know.” “Well, what sorts of things do you like?” “I don’t know.” I grit my teeth. Cecelia has morphed from a creepy little girl to an annoying little girl.

“So what do you like to watch on television?” I ask, hoping she’ll take the hint. She frowns like I offended her. “I prefer to read.” “That’s great! What do you like to read?” “Books.” “What kind of books?” “The kind with words.”

“Mommy!” Cecelia shrieks as she runs toward the staircase. “The maid tried to hurt me with peanut butter! Help, Mommy!” Oh God. “Cecelia!” I hiss at her. “It was an accident! I didn’t know you were allergic and⁠—” But Nina is already racing down the stairs.

I wince as Cecelia propels herself at her mother, wrapping her arms around Nina’s bosom. “She tried to make me eat peanut butter, Mommy! I told her I was allergic, but she didn’t listen.” Nina’s pale skin flushes. “Millie, is this true?” “I…” My throat feels completely dry. “I didn’t know she was allergic. I swear.” Nina frowns. “I told you about her allergies, Millie. This is unacceptable.”

Nina takes a deep breath. She shuts her eyes for a moment and opens them again. “Fine. But please be sure you don’t forget anything so important ever again.” “I won’t. I swear.” I wring my fists together. “Do you want me to throw out the jar of peanut butter that was in the pantry?” She’s quiet for a moment. “No, better not. We might need it.”

I glance behind me. Nina is watching me at the stove with that dark expression in her blue eyes. She doesn’t like her husband complimenting me. I don’t know what the problem is though—he’s obviously nuts about her.

He raises his eyebrows. “Do you want to join us for dinner, Millie?” The sound of Nina inhaling sharply fills the kitchen. Before she can say anything, I shake my head vigorously. “No, I’m just going to go up to my room and relax. Thank you for the invitation though.” “Really? Are you sure?” Nina swats her husband in the arm. “Andy, she’s been working all day. She doesn’t want to have dinner with her employers. She just wants to go upstairs and text message her friends. Right, Millie?” “Right,” I say, even though I don’t have any friends. At least, not on the outside.

I get to the door of my room and I grab the knob and… It doesn’t turn. The panic that had drained from my body when I realized where I was now escalates once again. The door is locked.

But I’ve got my phone. I can call 911. I snatch up my phone from the dresser where I left it. I had a signal earlier today, but now there’s nothing. No bars. No signal.

The door was just stuck. But I can’t seem to shake that uneasy feeling. That I should get out of here while I still can.

“Nina?” Nina turns to look at her husband, her eyes brimming with tears. “Millie threw out my notes for the meeting tonight!” I open my mouth to protest, but it’s pointless.

Andrew lingers behind in the kitchen, shaking his head. Now that Nina has left, I feel like I should say something. “Listen,” I say, “I wasn’t the one who⁠—” “I know,” he says before I can get out my protest of innocence. “Nina is… high strung. But she has a good heart.” “Yeah…”

“Let me help you get this cleaned up.”

Nina sees me standing there and her eyebrows shoot up to her hairline. “Millie?” I force a smile. “Yes?” “I heard voices down here. Were you having company?” “No. Nothing like that.” “You may not invite strangers into our home.” She frowns at me. “If you want to have any guests over, I expect you to ask permission and give us at least two days’ notice. And I would ask you to keep them in your room.” “It was just that landscaper guy,” I explain. “He was helping me carry groceries into the house. That’s all.” I had expected the explanation would satisfy Nina, but instead, her eyes darken. A muscle twitches under her right eye. “The landscaper? Enzo? He was here?” “Um.” I rub the back of my neck. “Is that his name? I don’t know. He just carried the groceries in.”

“Do you understand me, Millie?” she presses me. “Yes,” I say quickly. “I understand.” Her eyes flick over me in a way that makes me very uncomfortable. I shift between my feet. “By the way, how come you never wear your glasses?”

She arches an eyebrow. “I was up in the bathroom in the attic and I didn’t see any contact lens solution. I didn’t mean to snoop, but if you’re going to be driving around with my child at some point, I expect you to have good vision.”

She licks her lips. “I see. So you lied to me.” “I wasn’t lying. It was a fashion statement.” “Yes.” Her blue eyes are like ice. “But then later I asked you about it and you said you had on contacts. Didn’t you?” “Oh.” I wring my hands together. “Well, I guess… Yes, I was lying that time. I guess I felt embarrassed about the glasses… I’m really sorry.” The corners of her lips tug down. “Please don’t lie to me ever again.” “I won’t. I’m so sorry.”