Page 64 of Lord of Pain
We drive alongside a beach that quickly transitions into a granite quarry; huge blocks of black and gray stone still settled on the sides and piles of rusting equipment, a crane, giant hooks meant to lift enormous crates of stone, and three or four cable lines meant to transport the rock to a boat.
As we pass by, I turn to stare at it in the rear window. "Is the quarry where they throw the bodies of unwilling wives?" Iris whispers.
Stroking her hair, I lean in to whisper, "Not us. We're getting the hell out of here."
"Got it," she gives me a tremulous smile and my heart twists painfully.
Two more turns, and a beautiful Dutch colonial style mansion looms up in front of us. The house is enormous, with two wings stretching from the main building. It's surrounded by a heavy iron gate that opens reluctantly for us, slamming shut again eagerly. I barely hold in a snicker when we pass a Pickleball court.
"Sucha Chad thing," I whisper, pulling little, nervous smiles from the girls.
The Range Rover pulls up to the front door, painted a brilliant cherry red. It's opened immediately by a blonde in khaki pants and a tidy polo shirt, looking like the director who sets up backgammon and card games on a cruise ship. She has mean little eyes and I suspect she gave up her personality and any sense of humanity for Lent decades ago. Her gaze travels over the bedraggled three of us and she is Not Impressed.
"We've been expecting you," she says. For a moment, I think she's talking to us, then I realize she's addressing Roy. It's clear she knows what's happening here and her dismissiveness is because we're about to become another part of the decor in this monstrous place.
"Come with me," she says, heading up a huge staircase curving around the circular entry of the house as Roy lurks behind us, moving us along. The hallways stretch in both directions, she turns left.
I'm looking for other exits as we go, and thus far the prospects aren't great. The house is backed up to the jagged granite cliffs with a sheer drop to the ocean. So that's out.
Our disagreeable guide finally opens a door, stepping back and impatiently jerking her head.
"There are dresses for you hanging in the closet," she says sharply. "Along with the accessories and shoes, we've had them tailored to your exact measurements." She pauses, as if she's expecting us to applaud her for her attention to detail. "You've taken their phones, Apple watches, anything else that could be used for communication?" she asks Roy and he snorts.
"Don't insult me, Evelyn."
"We're not playing dress up for you." I fold my arms. "Who's the big man in charge? I'm guessing Colin?"
Her nostrils flare with disgust. "Mr. Ashford and the Misses. Monroes' fiancés will be meeting you tonight. It is imperative that you are suitably dressed, as this reflects upon your husband's-to-be."
Well, she's a big blonde bag of crazy, isn't she?
"If you are not ready, hair, and makeup done within two hours," she says, "Roy will help you get dressed."
"By all means, please," he says eagerly. "I'm looking forward to it."
The door shuts with the conspicuous click of the lock, but I try it anyway, after I hear their footsteps fade away. "Unfortunately, I can't pick this lock," I say, stooping to look at the old-fashioned brass lock.
That is a skill Roman didn't teach me, I was always getting locked out at the shelter, so I taught myself how to use a lockpick from a YouTube video. The locks on the front door were terrible. "This is a good heavy door. There's a bunch of these mansions scattered along the coastline here in Maine."
"Why here?" Rose is rubbing her arms, prowling from one end of the room to the other like a caged cat.
"All the millionaires in the early 1900s built them for their families. The wives and kids would summer here while the men stayed behind in New York and worked. This fucker is solidly built." I kick at the corner of the door and my foot bounces off it.
"What do we do?" Iris says, her chin beginning to tremble again.
Pointing a finger at her, I say, "You go right, check the closet and bathroom for anything we can use as a weapon. See if you can find a window that looks like we can get it open. Rose, you go left."
There's the roar of an approaching helicopter, landing on the other side of the house, making the glass shake a bit in the window panes. A helicopter would be an excellent means of escape.
If I knew how to fly one.
The suite is enormous; this sitting room branches off to two doors on either side that I assume lead to bedrooms or bathrooms. I'm grateful they kept us together, at least. I fight the surge of tears in my eyes as Rose and Iris take off, grateful to have something to do.
Going through the beautiful maple cabinet and the little side tables in the main room, I find nothing useful. No letter holder I can sharpen or a lighter to see a fire to distract our captors. Nothing but a giant TV. Maybe I could drop it on Roy's head. Each bedroom is done up in gentle shades of green and blue, which does nothing to soothe our agitation.
The late afternoon sun is sending its first rays of red and purple through the windows when I slump down on the couch. "We're going to have to play their game," I say. "So, we'll get dressed up like little dolls and we watch and listen. Don't discount any scrap of information that might help us. Look for house staff that might look sympathetic or scared. I'm going to find a way to contact Roman."
Again, my heart thuds painfully. Will Roman care?
