The Housemaid (The Housemaid, #1)

by Freida McFadden

It’s a copy of the playbill from Showdown. I pick it up, confused. Why is the playbill on my nightstand? I put it in my purse after the show, and I’ve been keeping it in there as a reminder of that magical night. My purse is on the floor, leaning against the dresser. So how did the playbill get on the nightstand? I definitely didn’t take it out. I’m sure of it. Someone else must’ve put it there. I locked the door to the room, but I’m not the only one here who has the key. I get a sinking feeling in my stomach. I finally understand why Nina blurted out that I had been in prison. She knows that I saw the show with Andrew. She knows we were in Manhattan together, all alone. I’m not sure if she knows we spent the night at The Plaza, but she knows we weren’t home at eleven o’clock at night. And I’m sure if she’s smart enough, she could find out whether or not we checked into the hotel. Nina knows everything. I have just made a dangerous enemy.