The Intern(24)

“Where would I sleep?”

“There’s an au pair suite upstairs that’s just darling, with a clawfoot tub and a brass bed with a down comforter. I just need to turn on the heat up there, and you’ll be very comfortable. I’ll give you my Instacart login. You can order from Whole Foods, Eataly, whatever you like, and just work all weekend, like a retreat. Doesn’t that sound good?”

Should she really be staying here? What with the drug case, Danny, the blank spot on that employment form?

“I—um, unfortunately, I have obligations, so—”

“I’m sure you do, Madison, and I know it’s last minute. But you’d be very well-compensated. How does a thousand dollars for the weekend sound?”

It sounded fantastic, but still.

The judge checked her watch, then placed a hand urgently on Madison’s arm.

“Please. Say yes. Really, I’d be in your debt.”

That decided it.

“Yes,” she said.

More than the money, or the beautiful house, or the Instacart from fancy food purveyors, Madison wanted Judge Conroy to owe her a favor. That was the way out of her predicament. She’d be the perfect pet sitter, and Judge Conroy would be grateful. Then, when Madison told her about Danny, she’d be less likely to fire her. Or inform the dean. Or refer her for prosecution.

Hopefully.





10


Judge Conroy slipped out the back door and melted into the darkness. The cat had gone into hiding. Madison refreshed her food and water bowls, scooped out the litter box, and called her name repeatedly, to no avail.

A headache hammered behind her eyes like an icepick. In search of Tylenol, she rummaged through the pantry cabinet. Just a dusty box of crackers, a jar of cornichons, some expired olive oil, and several cans of tuna fish. Was there any real food in this house? She peeked inside the refrigerator. The vast, gleaming expanse was empty except for a container of almond milk, some sriracha, and an open bottle of Perrier, which had gone flat. As she spilled it into the sink, she heard a thump and froze.

Lucy?

But the cat was nowhere in sight. A gust of wind, maybe? The house settling? It was enough to remind her that she was alone here and ought to arm the security system. The judge said to do that. On her way out the door, she had numerous security instructions, way more than she did about the cat. Keep the blinds drawn. Don’t answer the door or the landline. Keep the security system armed at all times. Madison took frantic notes as the judge spouted off the alarm codes. There was a code for the doors, another for windows, a third to bypass the interior motion sensors. They had to be inputted in a precise sequence. If you screwed up, something as simple as the cat walking around the house could trigger the alarm. That would result in a call to the judge’s phone and an alert to the police. Things had to go well this weekend. She couldn’t let that happen.

Squinting at the notes on her phone, she tapped a long series of numbers into the keypad in the back hall. As the word “Armed” flashed in red letters, she breathed out. Crisis avoided.

Next, she texted her mother, apologizing that she couldn’t make it to the jail tomorrow.

I got the court documents like we discussed and will be following up leads tomorrow. I’m sorry I doubted Danny. I realize now that he’s telling the truth. Call after the visit and tell me how it went. Love you!

Now, where was that cat?

She stood at the bottom of the grand staircase. A glow of light from the judge’s bedroom spilled onto the landing.

“Luuucy? Are you up there?”

Clutching her phone, she ascended, unnerved by every creak of the treads, looking up at the darkness above. Where were the light switches? And what was that noise? There it was again, a knocking sound, coming from the judge’s bedroom. The door stood ajar.

“Lucy? Is that you, kitty?”

Her voice came out high and thin. Her heart was palpitating. She hesitated to go in. That was the judge’s private space. It was like a luxury hotel in there. Thick drapes, plush carpets, soft lighting, a bed piled high with silk pillows. But she had to find Lucy, and make sure the noise was nothing bad.

She stepped into the room. A black streak shot past her, out the door.

Jesus.

Faint and dizzy, she bent over to catch her breath. She needed to lie down. Her head throbbed, and she was starting to shiver. Her work clothes had never dried completely from when she ran through the rain to the restaurant. The judge said to borrow something to wear—pajamas, jeans, whatever she needed for the weekend. Even with permission, that seemed too familiar, almost like trespassing. She felt weird even being in this room. But she couldn’t sleep in these clothes.

In the dressing room, she found a drawerful of pajamas. A silky black pair with white piping fit perfectly. She normally slept in old T-shirts and sweats. Imagine dressing so glamorously every hour of every day. It would change you, at least in other people’s eyes. She grabbed a bottle of Tylenol from the medicine chest and hurried out, pulling the door closed behind her. Her phone’s flashlight cast weird shadows as she went upstairs. The fourth-floor landing was narrow and bare of furniture—servants’ quarters, with a ceiling so low that she could jump up and touch the skylight if she tried. In the attic bedroom, she turned on the light, startled by the sight of a haggard, dark-haired woman. But it was herself, reflected in a mirror over a chest of drawers. The room had been shut up for a long time. It smelled musty. Judge Conroy had forgotten to turn on the heat. It was freezing in there. She found the thermostat and cranked up the heat. After a couple of minutes, the ancient radiator began to hiss. The room had an old-fashioned charm, with sloping ceilings, a braided rug on the scuffed wood floor, and a brass bed tucked under the eaves. A door at the far end led to a little bathroom with a pedestal sink and clawfoot tub. She washed her face, took two Tylenol, and went to sit on the edge of the bed. The down comforter felt thick and cozy. She lay down and pulled it up to her chin, resting her eyes while the room warmed up.