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Chapter 3

I arrive at the Winchester home the next morning, after Nina has already dropped Cecelia off at school. I park outside the metal gate surrounding their property. I’ve never been in a house that was protected by a gate before, much less lived there. But this swanky Long Island neighborhood seems to be all gated houses. Considering how low the crime rate is around here, it seems like overkill, but who am I to judge? Everything else being equal, if I had a choice between a house with a gate and a house with no gate, I’d pick the gate too.

The gate was open when I arrived yesterday, but today it’s closed. Locked, apparently. I stand there a moment, my two duffel bags at my feet, trying to figure out how to get inside. There doesn’t seem to be any sort of doorbell or buzzer. But that landscaper is on the property again, crouched in the dirt, a shovel in his hand.

“Excuse me!” I call out.

The man glances over his shoulder at me, then goes back to digging. Real nice.

“Excuse me!” I say again, loud enough that he can’t ignore me.

This time, he slowly, slowly gets to his feet. He’s in absolutely no hurry as he ambles across the giant front lawn to the entrance to the gate. He pulls off his thick rubber gloves and raises his eyebrows at me.

“Hi!” I say, trying to hide my annoyance with him. “My name is Millie Calloway, and it’s my first day working here. I’m just trying to get inside because Mrs. Winchester is expecting me.”

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, Irealize he’s actually pretty hot. He looks to be in his mid-thirties with thick jet-black hair damp from exertion, olive skin, and rugged good looks. But his most striking feature is his eyes. His eyes are very black – so dark, I can’t distinguish the pupil from the iris¹¹. Something about his gaze makes me take a step back.

“So, um, can you help me?” I ask.

The man finally opens his mouth. I expect him to tell me to get lost or to show him some ID¹², but instead, he lets loose with a string of rapid Italian. At least, I think it’s Italian. I can’t say I know a word of the language, but I saw an Italian movie with subtitles once, and it sort of sounded like this.

“Oh,” I say when he finishes his monologue. “So, um… no English?”

“English?” he says in a voice so heavily accented, it’s clear what the answer is. “No. No English.”

Great. I clear my throat, trying to figure out the best way to express what I need to tell him. “So I…” Ipoint to my chest. “I am working. For Mrs.Winchester.” I point to the house. “And I need to get… inside.” Now I point to the lock on the gate. “Inside.”

He just frowns at me. Great.

I’m about ready to dig out my phone and call Nina when he goes off to the side, hits some sort of switch, and the gates swing open, almost in slow motion.

Once the gates are open, I take a moment to gaze up at the house that will be my home for the foreseeable future. The house is two stories plus the attic, sprawling over what looks like about the length of a city block in Brooklyn. It’s almost blindingly white – possibly freshly painted – and the architecture looks contemporary, but what do I know? I just know it looks like the people living here have more money than they know what to do with.

I start to pick up one of my bags, but before I can, the guy picks up both of them without even grunting and carries them to the front door for me. Those bags are very heavy – they contain literally everything I own aside from my car – so I’m grateful he volunteered to do the heavy lifting for me.

“Gracias¹³,” I say.

He gives me a funny look. Hmm, that might have been Spanish. Oh well.

I point to my chest. “Millie,” I say.

“Millie.” He nods in understanding, then points to his own chest. “I am Enzo.”

“Nice to meet you,” I say awkwardly, even though he won’t understand me. But God, if he lives here and has a job, he must have picked up a little English.

“Piacere di conoscerti¹⁴,” he says.

I nod wordlessly. So much for making friends with the landscaping guy.

“Millie,” he says again in his thick Italian accent. He looks like he has something to say, but he’s struggling with the language. “You…”

He hisses a word in Italian, but as soon as we hear the front door start to unlock, Enzo hurries back to where he had been crouched in the front yard and makes himself very busy. I could just barely make out the word he said. Pericolo. Whatever that means. Maybe it means he wants a soft drink. Peri cola – now with a twist of lime!

“Millie!” Nina looks delighted to see me. So delighted that she throws her arms around me and squashes me in a hug. “I’m so glad you decided to take the job. I just felt like you and I had a connection. You know?”

That’s what I thought. She got a “gut feeling” about me, so she didn’t bother to do the research. Now I just have to make sure she never has any reason not to trust me. I have to be the perfect employee. “Yes, I know what you mean. I feel the same way.”

“Well, come in!”

Nina grabs the crook of my elbow and leads me into the house, oblivious to the fact that I’m struggling with my two pieces of luggage. Not that I would have expected her to help me. It wouldn’t have even occurred to her.

I 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. There’s clothing and garbage strewn all over the living room and the dining table still has the remains of dinner last night.

“As you can see,” Nina says, “you haven’t arrived a moment too soon!”

So Nina Winchester is a slob – that’s her secret. It’s going to take me hours to get this place in any decent condition. Maybe days. But that’s fine – I’ve been itching to do some good honest hard work. And I like that she needs me. If I can make myself invaluable to her, she’s less likely to fire me if – or when – she finds out the truth.

“Let me just put my bags away,” I tell her. “And then I’ll get the entire place tidied up.”

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.”

I hesitantly wrap my fingers around the brand-new iPhone. “Wow. This is really generous of you, but I can’t afford a plan—”

She waves a hand. “I added you to our family plan. It cost almost nothing.”

Almost nothing? I have a feeling her definition of those two words is very different from mine.

Before I can protest further, the sound of footsteps echoes on the stairs behind me. I turn around, and a man in a gray business suit is making his way down the stairwell. When he sees me standing in the living room, he stops short at the base of the stairs, as if shocked by my presence. His eyes widen further when he notices my luggage.

“Andy!” Nina calls out. “Come meet Millie!”

This must be Andrew Winchester. When I was googling the Winchester family, my eyes popped out a bit when I saw this man’s net worth. After seeing all those dollar signs, the home theater and the gate surrounding the property made a bit more sense. He’s a businessman, who took over his father’s thriving company, and has doubled the profits since. But it’s obvious from his surprised expression that he allows his wife to handle most of the household matters, and it’s apparently flat out slipped her mind to tell him she’s hired a live-in housekeeper.

“Hello…” Mr. Winchester steps into the living room, his brow furrowed. “Millie, is it? I’m sorry, I didn’t realize…”

“Andy, I told you about her!” She tilts her head to the side. “I said we needed to hire somebody to help with cleaning and cooking and Cecelia. I’m sure I told you!”

“Yes, well.” His face finally relaxes. “Welcome, Millie. We could certainly use the help.”

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 rich¹⁵, after all. He could have any woman he wants. I respect him for not choosing a twenty year-old supermodel to be his life Part ner.

I thrust my new phone into my jeans pocket and reach out to take his hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Winchester.”

“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. I’m not exactly sure why though. She herself offered to let me call her by her first name. And it’s not like Andrew Winchester is checking me out. His eyes are staying respectfully on mine and not dropping below the neck. Not that there’s much to see – even though I didn’t bother with the fake tortoiseshell glasses today, I’m wearing a modest blouse and comfortable blue jeans for my first day of work.

“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.”

Andrew gives Nina a lingering kiss on the lips and squeezes her shoulder. As far as I can see, they are quite happily married. And Andrew seems pretty down-to-earth¹⁶ for a man whose net worth has eight figures after the dollar sign. It’s sweet how he blows her a kiss from the front door – this is a man who loves his wife.

“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?”

“Oh.” I squirm, reluctant to admit that the eyeglasses were fake – my attempt to look more intelligent and serious, and yes, less attractive and threatening. “I… uh, I’m wearing my contacts.”

“Are you?”

I don’t know why I lied. I should’ve just said that I don’t need the glasses that badly. Instead, I have now doubled down and invented contacts that I’m not actually wearing. I can feel Nina scrutinizing my pupils, searching for the lenses.

“Is… is that a problem?” I finally ask.

A muscle twitches under her right eye. For a moment, I’m scared she’s going to tell me that I should get out. But then her face relaxes. “Of course not! Ijust thought those glasses were so cute on you. Very striking – you should wear them more often.”

“Yes, well…” I grab the handle of one of my duffel bags with my shaking hand. “Maybe I should get my stuff upstairs so I can get started.”

Nina claps her hands together. “Excellent idea!”

Once again, Nina doesn’t offer to take either of my bags as we climb up the two flights of stairs to get to the attic. By halfway through the second flight, my arms feel like they’re about ready to fall off, but Nina doesn’t seem interested in pausing to give me a moment to readjust the straps. I gasp with relief when I’m able to drop the bags on the floor of my new room. Nina yanks on the cord to turn on the two lightbulbs that illuminate my tiny living space.

“I hope it’s okay,” Nina says. “I figure you’d rather have the privacy of being up here, as well as your own bathroom.”

Maybe she feels guilty about the fact that their ginormous guestroom is lying empty while I am living in a room slightly larger than a broom closet. But that’s fine. Anything larger than the backseat of my car is like a palace. I can’t wait to sleep here tonight. I’m obscenely grateful.

“It’s perfect,” I say honestly.

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.

“Good hydration is very important,” Nina says earnestly.

“Yes…”

When she sees the perplexed expression on my face, she smiles. “Obviously, it’s your fridge and you can put whatever you want in it. I thought I would give you a head start¹⁷.”

“Thank you.” It’s not that strange. Some people leave mints on a pillow. Nina leaves three tiny bottles of water.

“Anyway…” Nina wipes her hands on her thighs, even though her hands are spotless. “I’ll let you get unpacked and then get started cleaning the house. I’ll be preparing for my PTA meeting tomorrow.”

“PTA?”

“Parent Teacher Association.” She beams at me. “I’m the vice president.”

“That’s wonderful,” I say, because it’s what she wants to hear. Nina is very easy to please. “I’ll just unpack everything quickly and get right to work.”

“Thank you so much.” Her fingers briefly touch my bare arm – hers are warm and dry. “You’re a lifesaver, Millie. I’m so glad you’re here.”

I 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?”

Nina peers down at the doorknob, as if noticing it for the first time. “Oh! I’m so sorry about that. We used to use this room as a closet, so obviously we wanted it to lock from the outside. But then I converted it to a bedroom for the hired help, and I guess we never switched the lock.”

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.”

Her light blue eyes narrow at me. “Why? What do you expect to be keeping in your room that you don’t want us to know about?”

My mouth falls open. “I…. Nothing, but…”

Nina throws her head back and laughs. “I’m just kidding. It’s your room, Millie! If you want a key, I’ll get you one. I promise.”

Sometimes it feels like Nina has a split personality. She flips from hot to cold so rapidly. She claims she was joking, but I’m not so sure. It doesn’t matter, though. I have no other prospects and this job is a blessing. I’m going to make it work. No matter what. I’m going to make Nina Winchester love me.

After Nina leaves my room, I close the door behind her. I’d like to lock it, but I can’t. Obviously.

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.

No, that’s ridiculous. I’m being paranoid. Sometimes old wood gets scratched up. It doesn’t mean anything ominous.

The room suddenly feels unbearably hot and stuffy. There’s a small furnace in the corner of the room, which I’m sure keeps it comfortable in the winter, but there’s nothing to cool it down in the warmer months. I’ll have to buy a fan to prop up in front of the window. Even though it’s way larger than my car, it’s still a very small space – I’m not surprised they used it as a storage closet. I look around, opening the drawers to check their size. There’s a little closet within the room, with just barely enough space to hang up my few dresses. The closet is empty except for a couple of hangers and a small blue bucket in the corner.

I attempt to wrench open the small window to get a bit of air. But it doesn’t budge. I squint my eyes to investigate more closely. I run my finger along the frame of the window. It looks like it’s been painted into place.

Even though I have a window, it doesn’t open.

I could ask Nina about it, but I don’t want it to seem like I’m complaining when I just started working here today. Maybe next week I could mention it. I don’t think it’s too much to hope for, to have one working window.

The landscaping guy, Enzo, is in the backyard now. He’s running the lawnmower back there. He pauses for a moment to wipe sweat from his forehead with his muscular forearm, and then he looks up. He sees my face through the small window, and he shakes his head, just like he did the first time I met him. I remember the word he hissed at me in Italian before I went into the house. Pericolo.

I dig my brand-new cell phone out of my pocket. The screen jumps alive at my touch, filling with little icons for text messaging, calls, and the weather. These sorts of phones were not ubiquitous back at the start of my incarceration, and I haven’t been able to afford one since I got out. But a couple of the girls had one at the halfway houses where I went when I first got out, so I sort of know how to use them. I know which icon brings up a browser.

I 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.

Chapter 4

I spend the next seven hours cleaning.

Nina could not have made this house dirtier if she tried. Every room of the house is filthy. The pizza box on the coffee table still has two slices of pizza in it, and there is something sticky and foul-smelling spilled in the bottom of the box. It has leaked through and the box is fused to the coffee table. It takes an hour of soaking and thirty minutes of intense scrubbing to get it all clean.

The kitchen is the worst of it. In addition to whatever is in the garbage bin itself, there are two garbage bags in the kitchen, spilling over with their contents. One of the two bags has a rip in the bottom, and when I lift it to take it outside, all the garbage goes everywhere. And it smells beyond terrible. I gag but don’t lose my lunch.

Dishes are piled high in the sink, and I wonder why Nina didn’t just put them in their state-of-the-art dishwasher¹⁸, until I open the dishwasher and notice that it is also packed to the brim with filthy dishes. That woman does not believe in scraping plates before putting them in the dishwasher. Or, apparently, running the dishwasher. Before I am done, I run three loads of dishes. I wash all the pans separately, most of which have food caked on them from days earlier.

By mid-afternoon, I’ve gotten the kitchen at least somewhat habitable again. I’m proud of myself. It’s the first hard day’s work I’ve done since I got fired from the bar (completely unfairly, but that’s my life these days), and I feel great about it. All I want is to keep working here. And maybe to have a window in my room that opens.

“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 Zone¹⁹ that murders people.

I didn’t even see her come inside. And Nina is nowhere to be seen. Where did she even come from? If this is the Part of the job where I find out Cecelia has actually been dead for ten years and is a ghost, I’m quitting.

Well, maybe not. But I might ask for a raise.

“Hi, Cecelia!” I say cheerfully. “I’m Millie. I’m going to be working around your house from now on – cleaning things up and watching you when your mom asks me to. I hope we can have fun together.”

Cecelia blinks her pale eyes at me. “I’m hungry.”

I have to remember that she is just a normal little girl who gets hungry and thirsty and cranky and uses the bathroom. “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. But we just met each other. I’m sure after a few weeks, we’ll be best friends. “Okay, I’ll just fix you a snack then.”

She nods and climbs up on one of the stools set up around the kitchen island. Her eyes still feel like they’re boring through me – like they can read all my secrets. I wish she would go in the living room and watch cartoons on her giant TV instead of just… watching me.

“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.”

Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be, Cecelia. Fine, if she doesn’t want to talk about books, I can change the subject. “Did you just come back from school?” I ask her.

She blinks at me. “Where else would I have come from?”

“But… how did you get home then?”

Cecelia lets out an exasperated huff. “Lucy’s mom picked me up from ballet and brought me home.”

I heard Nina upstairs about fifteen minutes ago, so I assume she’s in the house. I wonder if I should let her know that Cecelia is home. Then again, I don’t want to disturb her, and one of my jobs is to look after Cecelia.

Thank God, Cecelia seems to have lost interest in me and is now rifling around in her pale pink backpack. I find some Ritz crackers in the pantry as well as a jar of peanut butter. I spread the peanut butter over the crackers like my mother used to do. Repeating the same act that my mother used to do for me so many times makes me feel a little nostalgic. And sad. I never thought she would abandon me the way she did. This is it, Millie. The last straw.

After I’ve spread peanut butter on the crackers, I slice up a banana and put one slice on each. I love the combination of peanut butter and bananas.

“Ta-da!” I slide the plate onto the kitchen counter to present it to Cecelia. “Peanut butter and banana crackers!”

Her eyes widen. “Peanut butter and banana?”

“Trust me. It’s really good.”

“I’m allergic to peanut butter!” Cecelia’s cheeks turn bright pink. “Peanut butter could kill me! Are you trying to kill me?”

My heart sinks²⁰. Nina never said anything about a peanut butter allergy. And they have peanut butter right in their pantry! If her daughter has a deadly peanut allergy, why would she keep it in the house?

“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. Despite the disarray of her house, she looks flawless right now in another one of her gleaming white skirt-and-blouse combinations. White is her color. Cecelia’s too, apparently. They match the house.

“What’s going on?” Nina cries when she reaches the bottom of 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.”

She never told me. She never said a word about Cecelia being allergic to peanuts. I would bet my life on it. And even if she had, why would she leave a jar of peanut butter right in the pantry? It was right in front!

But she won’t believe any of my excuses. In her head, I nearly killed her daughter. I see this job slipping out from under my fingers.

“I’m truly sorry.” I speak around a lump in my throat. “I must’ve forgotten. I promise I’ll never let it happen again.”

Cecelia is sobbing now while Nina holds her close and gently strokes her blond hair. Eventually, the sobs subside, but Cecelia still clings to her mother. I feel a terrible stab of guilt. Deep down, I know you aren’t supposed to feed kids before checking with the parents. I’m in the wrong here, and if Cecelia hadn’t been so vigilant, something terrible could’ve happened.

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 want to throw up my hands. But it’s her decision if she wants to keep life-threatening peanut butter in her home. All I know is that I will definitely never use it again.

“Also,” Nina adds, “when will dinner be ready?”

Dinner? Was I supposed to be making dinner? Did Nina imagine another conversation between the two of us that we never had? But I’m not about to make excuses again after the debacle with the peanut butter. I’ll find something in the fridge to prepare.

“Seven o’clock?” I say. Three hours should give me more than enough time.

She nods. “And you won’t put any peanut butter in the dinner, right?”

“No, of course not.”

“Please don’t forget again, Millie.”

“I won’t. And does anybody have any other allergies or… intolerances²¹?”

Is she allergic to eggs? Bee stings? Too much homework? I need to know. I can’t risk being caught out again.

Nina shakes her head, just as Cecelia lifts her tear-streaked face off her mother’s chest long enough to glare at me. The two of us have not gotten off on the right foot. But I’ll find a way to fix it. I’ll make her brownies or something. Kids are easy. Adults are trickier, but I’m determined to win over Nina and Andrew²² as well.