Page 43 of The Housemaid Is Watching

I follow the sound of his voice around the side of the stairwell. And there he is, painting glue on the wall below the stairwell. There’s a tarp beneath his boots as well as a roll of what looks like wallpaper on the floor.

“I called the Realtor,” he tells me. “I asked her where the old owners bought the wallpaper, and I got another roll.”

“Why?”

He lowers the paintbrush as he turns to look at me. “You said you want the room sealed up. So that is what I will do.”

I am astonished. I thought for sure we were going to have to have five or six more arguments about this room before he agreed to seal it up. And somehow, here he is, doing it of his own free will. I haven’t had to nag him once.

“I’m sorry I argued with you yesterday,” he says softly. “I understand how you feel. And the truth is…” He looks at the crack in the wall that is the only remaining sign of the fact that there is a door concealed within; even the hinge is on the inside. “It makes me nervous too.”

At his words, a shiver goes through me. That room is so tiny and stifling. I can’t imagine what it would be like to be trapped inside there. Well, actually, Icanimagine it. That’s the problem.

He reaches for my hand with the one that isn’t holding the glue. “Is better now?”

I take his hand and start to say yes, but then a terrible fear grips me. We haven’t looked inside this room since yesterday. What if one of the children went inside again? What if we sealed the room up with them trapped in there? It is, after all, soundproof.

“Can you open the door?” I ask him.

He frowns. “But… is covered with glue.”

He makes a good point. There is glue completely coating the wall, which would make it exceptionally hard to open. Yet I can’t stop thinking about the idea that somebody could be trapped in there. And next time I hear the scraping, it will be that person trying to escape.

“Millie?”

I swallow a lump in my throat. “I just… I’m worried that…”

“The kids are upstairs,” he says gently. “I asked them if they wanted to help before I got started.” He adds, “They did not.”

Okay, I’m being ridiculous. There’s no reason to wrench open this door and make a huge mess just because I’m paranoid. “I can help you.”

He beams at me. “I would love your help.”

So we get to work spreading the pieces of wallpaper over the hidden door. I can’t quite rest easy until the door is completelycovered. And even then, I can’t shake the feeling that this hidden room will come back to haunt me.

TWENTY-FIVE

I’m in my office at work when I get the call from the kids’ school.

There is nothing more frightening than being called by your child’s school. There is nothing they could possibly want to tell me at one o’clock in the afternoon that isgoodnews. The principal isn’t interrupting my workday to tell me that my kid has won a spelling bee.

They only call for bad news. Like two years ago, when Nico fell off the jungle gym and broke his arm. That was a call at one in the afternoon.

I’m in the middle of a phone call with an anxious family that I can’t seem to break away from, so I just stare at the cell phone screen, my panic mounting. By the time I manage to disentangle myself from the phone call, the call from the school has gone to voicemail. I listen to the message:

“Mrs. Accardi, this is Margaret Corkum, the principal of Frost Elementary School. Can you please give me a call back right away at…”

The principal’s voice is flat and unfriendly. This isnota call about winning a spelling bee. I quickly dial the number she gave me with a shaking hand.

“Margaret Corkum,” the voice on the other end of the line answers.

“Hi?” I say into the phone. “This is Millie Accardi… I got a call…”

“Thank you for calling me back, Mrs. Accardi,” she says in that same stiff tone as in the voice message. “I’m the school principal. I believe we met briefly when you took the tour of the school before your children started here.”

“Oh yes.” I vaguely remember Principal Corkum to be a pleasant, middle-aged woman with gray hair cropped short. “Is everything… What’s wrong?”

“I’m calling about your son, Nicolas.” She clears her throat. “He’s fine, but I’m going to need you to come down here right away.”