“Hi? Is this Millie?”
The voice sounds vaguely familiar. I squeeze the phone to my ear, my heart leaping. “Yes…”
“This is Nina Winchester. You interviewed with me last week?”
“Oh.” I bite down hard on my lower lip. Why is she calling back now? I assumed she had already hired somebody and decided not to inform me. “Yes, of course.”
“So if you’re interested, we would be delighted to offer you the job.”
I feel a rush of blood to my head that makes me almost dizzy. We would be delighted to offer you the job. Is she serious? It was conceivable that Munch Burgers might hire me, but it seemed outright impossible that a woman like Nina Winchester might invite me into her home. To live.
Is it possible she didn’t check my references? Didn’t do a simple background check? Maybe she’s just so busy, she never got around to it. Maybe she’s one of those women who prides herself on gut feelings.
“Millie? Are you there?”
I realize I’ve been completely silent on the other line. I’m that stunned. “Yes. I’m here.”
“So are you interested in the position?”
“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.”
“So when can you start?”
“Um, when would you like me to start?”
“As soon as possible!” I’m jealous of Nina’s easy laugh that sounds so different from my own. If only I could snap my fingers and trade places with her. “We have a ton of laundry that needs folding!”
I swallow. “How about tomorrow?”
“That would be wonderful! But don’t you need time to get your stuff packed?”
I don’t want to tell her that everything I own is already in the trunk of my car. “I’m a fast packer.”
She laughs again. “I love your spirit, Millie. I can’t wait for you to come work here.”
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.
THREE
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, I realize 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 iris. 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 ID, 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?”