One night, p.1
One Night, page 1
PRAISE FOR
NANNY NEEDED
“Wild, unpredictable, and utterly absorbing, Nanny Needed is a gasp-out-loud thriller that will make your head spin.”
—Samantha M. Bailey, #1 bestselling author of Woman on the Edge
“This creepy and suspenseful tale takes hold of you from the first page and doesn’t let go. When innocent Sarah is hired by the wealthy Bird family, she imagines the nanny position will be a piece of cake, a pastel pink one at that. The reality of the job is much more sinister. I loved every twisty, haunting moment. This is a fast, fun read.”
—Kaira Rouda, USA Today bestselling author of The Next Wife
“Nanny Needed has everything I look for in psychological suspense: unforgettable characters, palpable tension, and pages filled with mind-bending secrets. Clever and cunning, Georgina Cross has created a dark, twisty world that I stepped from shaken and out of breath. It grabbed me by the throat and still hasn’t let go.”
—Heather Gudenkauf, New York Times bestselling author of This Is How I Lied
“Deliciously creepy and absolutely riveting…a gripping thriller about what happens when one woman’s dream job turns into her waking nightmare. Full of dark secrets and surprising twists, nothing is as it seems amid these pages. Watch out…this one will take you for a massively entertaining ride!”
—Christina McDonald, USA Today bestselling author of The Night Olivia Fell
“Nanny Needed is the gothic version of Nanny Diaries you never knew you needed. Devil Wears Prada via Hell. Fun, fast, and totally outrageous.”
—Eliza Jane Brazier, author of If I Disappear
“Nanny Needed is one of those stories that slowly slithers up your spine, wraps itself around your neck, and squeezes. Oh, it’s quite gentle at first, but it suddenly gets tighter and tighter until you’re left gasping for air. Twisty, eerie, and completely bingeworthy, this book makes you feel claustrophobic and tense, yet you’re unable to stop reading. Things escalate. Bad stuff is coming. But you can’t look away until you reach the truly surprising ending. I worked as an au pair many years ago. Thankfully the family was nothing like the Birds!”
—Hannah Mary McKinnon, bestselling author of Sister Dear
“An inventive tale perfect for fans of Riley Sager and Sara Gran, Nanny Needed is a sly exploration of madness as it escalates to consume an entire family—and the nanny who must keep their secrets from the world. With intensely gothic vibes, this story is creepy, sinister, and unmissable.”
—J. T. Ellison, New York Times bestselling author of Her Dark Lies
“Gripping and suspenseful, with a delicious dose of Manhattan glamour and a shocker of an ending, Nanny Needed will keep you up way past your bedtime.”
—Michele Campbell, internationally bestselling author of The Wife Who Knew Too Much
“A deliciously twisted read…In Nanny Needed, nothing is as it seems. Not the idyllic apartment on the Upper West Side. Not the put together Mrs. Bird. Not the seemingly simple job description for a nanny. As the secrets and horrors of this wealthy family unfold, readers will question everyone and never guess the final, harrowing twist…. The next Riley Sager of suspense.”
—Rea Frey, author of Not Her Daughter
One Night is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2023 by Georgina Cross
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Bantam Books, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.
Bantam Books is a registered trademark and the B colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Cross, Georgina, author.
Title: One night: a novel / Georgina Cross.
Description: New York: Bantam Dell, [2023]
Identifiers: LCCN 2022053191 (print) | LCCN 2022053192 (ebook) | ISBN 9780593496893 (trade paperback) | ISBN 9780593496909 (ebook)
Classification: LCC PS3603.R6738 O64 2023 (print) | LCC PS3603.R6738 (ebook) | DDC 813/.6—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022053191
LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022053192
Ebook ISBN 9780593496909
randomhousebooks.com
Book design by Ralph Fowler, adapted for ebook
Cover design: Ella Laytham
Cover photographs: DEEPOL by plainpicture/Dmitry Ageev (woman), Samantha Landreth/Stocksy (landscape)
ep_prh_6.1_144442723_c0_r0
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Prologue: Meghan
Chapter 1: Maureen
Chapter 2: Sam
Chapter 3: Rebecca
Cal
Chapter 4: Sam
Cal
Chapter 5: Maureen
Chapter 6: Sam
Chapter 7: Sam
Chapter 8: Rebecca
Chapter 9: Maureen
Chapter 10: Maureen
Chapter 11: Rebecca
Chapter 12: Rebecca
Chapter 13: Sam
Chapter 14: Sam
Chapter 15: Sam
Chapter 16: Sam
Cal
Chapter 17: Rebecca
Chapter 18: Maureen
Chapter 19: Sam
Chapter 20: Maureen
Chapter 21: Rebecca
Chapter 22: Sam
Chapter 23: Sam
Chapter 24: Rebecca
Chapter 25: Maureen
Chapter 26: Maureen
Cal
Chapter 27: Sam
Chapter 28: Sam
Chapter 29: Maureen
Chapter 30: Rebecca
Chapter 31: Sam
Chapter 32: Maureen
Cal
Chapter 33: Maureen
Chapter 34: Rebecca
Chapter 35: Rebecca
Chapter 36: Maureen
Chapter 37: Maureen
Chapter 38: Sam
Chapter 39: Sam
Chapter 40: Sam
Chapter 41: Alice
Chapter 42: Meghan
Chapter 43: Sam
Dedication
Acknowledgments
By Georgina Cross
About the Author
_144442723_
PROLOGUE
Meghan
Ten years ago
It was stupid to walk away. You can’t trust anyone in the dark. But Meghan didn’t listen, not to the warning that told her all night not to wander off, not to stand alone by the creek.
A noise, a cracking sound among the trees, and her head whips toward the thud of something falling to the ground. Her mouth goes slack, a tingling sensation that runs to her fingertips.
But the creek is babbling, and the person barrels toward her so quickly it’s all she can do to stagger back. A cry from her lips that no one can hear, the dirt giving way beneath her feet until she’s sliding, her arms reaching out and finding nothing but air. A blow to her head and the pain is so vicious, she flies back, a steady jerk; then a splash, the water enveloping her. She’s in the creek and tipping under.
Meghan looks up—a single star peering down, the flash of someone’s hair—until the water rushes over her eyes and it’s getting dark, so dark and murky that everything will soon be black. She spots a ripple, the shadow of someone’s face, the person standing over her. It’s not who she would have guessed.
CHAPTER 1
Maureen
Red is supposed to be a cheerful color: bright, bold, attention-getting. It’s what you’d choose for an invitation to a party, not as a threat. Maureen looks at it again and the thought resurfaces: it’s the color of blood. It’s what she thought the first time she saw the envelope three days ago when it arrived in her mail. An invitation to this home on the Oregon coast, the same invitation that everyone in her family received.
Don’t tell anyone you’re coming.
In one night, you’ll find out what happened to Meg.
Meg. Her daughter only allowed certain people to call her that.
The letter is single-spaced and typed, with instructions to a remote house with an anonymous host. Surely most people wouldn’t travel somewhere on the invitation of a stranger, but the Chisholms aren’t your typical family and they have already been through so much. They’re intrigued by what they might learn, except for Maureen.
This invite is enough to push her over the edge.
And now she’s staring at one.
At the window, her eyes track to the cliff and the thousand-foot plunge that drops to jagged rocks and raging foam. Beyond that, the majestic Pacific Ocean spreads out before her in an undulating mass of whitecaps and indigo waves. The place where the ocean meets the sky is indistinguishable: at the horizon, th e lines blur, the dark water rising to blackening clouds. A storm is coming, and Maureen squeezes her hands, the electricity pulsing through her.
Her eyes lift to a single bird dipping in the wind. Its flight is so graceful, the bird seemingly unaware that it might be the only one out there, its friends taking cover somewhere else. She watches the gull’s outstretched wings, the bird so unencumbered and free that she longs to be it. She longs to be anywhere but here. Because in this house, the walls are closing in. Once the storm hits, they won’t be going anywhere.
Maureen’s heart lifts, then aches as she glances at Sam, who moves through the kitchen marveling at what she sees. She reminds herself she is here to protect her, that her youngest daughter begged them to follow through with the letter.
This is a trap, Maureen thinks. Or a con.
Cal brought them here—her oldest daughter’s high school boyfriend from ten years ago. He used to call her Meg too. Now that he’s out of prison, he has something new he wants to say.
She wants to seal his mouth shut. If she could, she would drop him at the bottom of the ocean.
When Sam saw the invitation, she insisted they make the trip. Maureen did her best to dissuade her, but Sam pushed back, and Maureen knew she had no choice. There was no way in hell she would let her youngest travel to this house alone. If her middle child, Alice, arrives, she will protect her too.
But there’s no telling when she will show up since Alice doesn’t answer their phone calls much anymore.
But Sam is different. She’s bolder, and despite everything that has happened, she’s far too hopeful. Maureen thinks her youngest, at twenty-four, would be frightened, that she would never want to see Cal again, especially after what she said in a courtroom helped send him to prison. But Sam is determined. She’s always been determined. And so is Maureen.
She jams the envelope inside her pocket and pushes the corner down with her thumb. She keeps the invitation hidden, wondering if her daughter brought her own copy.
Sam is opening kitchen cabinets and calling out about the contents: an inventory of soup and bread, flour and sugar, and a package of cookies, as if they’re on vacation. She holds up a bag of coffee and grins, but something creeps at the back of Maureen’s neck.
“What do you mean there’s food?”
“Come look.”
She finds cans of soup like her daughter said, at least six, along with a jar of pasta sauce. In the fridge, a gallon of milk, fat-free and unopened with the expiration set for a week from now. In the drawer, an assortment of cheeses and deli meat, everything in its original wrapping, waiting for them.
“What is this?” she asks.
Sam shrugs. “Maybe the owner left it for us? Or the person who stayed before didn’t eat everything?”
Maureen eyes the shelves, but nothing is open or half-used. All the seals are intact, the food is new, the refrigerator wiped clean. On the counter is a bowl of fruit topped with bananas, Sam’s favorite, along with shiny green Granny Smiths. Someone has peeled the labels off each one.
When the girls were young, Paul would carve apples for their daughters, the green ones they loved best, and the peels would come off in long continuous strips, the girls watching wide-eyed, convinced he possessed a magical gift. When Cal tried to impress Meg with the same trick, the knife slipped, and he sliced open his hand.
Maureen shuts the refrigerator door and the shelves rattle inside, condiments knocking against a jar of strawberry preserves.
Cal—is this his doing? Would he be this prepared and stock food for them?
She didn’t think to pack groceries but threw in two flasks of whiskey at the last minute, along with some clothes—one set, because as soon as it’s morning, they’re getting the hell out of here.
But maybe they should be grateful for the provisions. She’s not sure if she can stomach anything herself, and the idea roils in her stomach, but the rest of the group might want something later. The closest grocery store is miles away, and after turning off the main road, she doesn’t recall seeing any restaurants.
A gust of wind shudders the windows and Maureen cuts her eyes to the left, her shoulders rising.
The food, this beautiful house: it’s as if Cal wants them to enjoy their weekend. He’s taken care of every detail. But nothing about tonight will be pleasant, not with the memories that will be dredged up, and not with the secrets that Cal, for some God-unknown reason, has waited ten years to share. After all this time, he’s asking to see them face-to-face. And the very idea, the fact that they’ve complied, sets a fire inside her. When she sees him, she knows what she must do.
Her daughter, Meg, was seventeen when she died, her body found in a creek, her black hair tangled among the reeds. The gash to her head hurt her but didn’t kill her, and she drowned when she slipped beneath the water. A group of hungover teenagers said they didn’t see anything, didn’t know anything, except for one person who stepped forward later: Samantha.
Sam shouldn’t have been at that party. Only a high school freshman, she should have been home, but she crept out the window, a flashlight in hand. When Maureen asked if she went to the family cabin instead, only a few miles away from the bonfire, she said no, and Alice reminded her that none of the sisters had a key. Maureen checked the cabin weeks later, and the bed and chairs had been moved.
There’s a link to that place, Maureen knows. She can feel it. The truth scratching beneath the surface.
It was still morning when the police showed up, their bodies stiffening, broad shoulders spotted through the glass oval in their door, and Maureen knew. She just knew. The way a mother feels it in her bones that something isn’t right, that something happened to one of her children.
She fell to the ground and slammed into the doorsill, the metal cutting into her knees and splitting her skin. Her husband lifted her to her feet and they huddled together, the officers speaking, their words tumbling all over her, muffled and nonsensical, as if they’d been plunged underwater.
Underwater…like creek water against her ears.
Meghan’s friends said they woke when they heard someone screaming. By then, Sam had already snuck back home, Alice too. The girls thought their big sister was fast asleep.
She and Paul went to identify Meghan’s body, and the sight of their daughter’s pale blue lips and lifeless face pierced Maureen’s chest with a pain she didn’t know existed, that she didn’t know was possible—it shouldn’t have been possible. You’re not supposed to lose your child. Meghan lay motionless, a thin cotton sheet pulled to her shoulders. She was still beautiful with that one small freckle beside her nose.
She wanted to climb on that table and lie beside her daughter, crumple over her and protect her, as if that would be enough, wanting so badly for that to be enough, as if it weren’t too late already. She stroked Meghan’s hair and ran her hand across her brow, her daughter’s skin cold to the touch.
She hummed her a lullaby, something she hadn’t done since the girls were young, and yet here it was, the instinct to protect, so immediate, so primal, the vibrations of “Cradle Song” thick and guttural in her throat. She was simply a mom hushing her child to sleep.
She twisted her daughter’s hair around her finger and tugged once, ever so gently, the lock of black hair still damp in her hand. Within those strands, a whiff of bonfire smoke. Her daughter lay still and alone.
And then Sam told them what she had seen: Meghan standing by the creek and arguing with Cal. Sam left, not wanting to get into the middle of it, saying something about the way Cal towered over her sister didn’t feel right, and she cut back through the woods.
