Fool Me Once(86)

That sobered her up.

Some days, every song seems to be talking directly to you, don’t they?

And some days, a lyric may hit too close to home.

She drove down a narrow, quiet street. Thick woods lined both sides of it. The phone map showed that the address was at the end of a dead end. If that was the case, and she had no reason to doubt it, the residence was in a secluded spot. There was a guard booth at the top of the driveway. The gate was lowered. Maya pulled up to it as the guard approached her.

“May I help you?”

“I’m here to see Christopher Swain.”

The guard vanished back into his hut and picked up the phone. A moment later, he hung up and came back over to her. “Drive up to the guest lot. It’ll be on the right. Someone will meet you there.”

Guest lot?

As she drove up the driveway, she realized that this was not a residence. So what was it? There were security cameras on trees. Buildings of rain-gray stone started popping up. The overall feel, what with the seclusion and stone and layout, was very similar to Franklin Biddle Academy.

There were probably ten cars in the guest lot. When Maya parked, another security guard drove toward her in a golf cart. She quickly took out her gun—no doubt in her mind there would be some kind of wanding or metal detector here—and jammed it into her glove compartment.

The security driver took a cursory look at the car and invited her to get into the passenger seat of the golf cart. Maya did.

“May I see your ID, please?”

She handed him her driver’s license. He snapped a photograph of it with his camera phone and gave it back to her. “Mr. Swain is in Brocklehurst Hall. I’ll take you there.”

As they began to drive, Maya spotted various people—mostly in their twenties, men and women, all white—huddled oddly in groups or walking fast in pairs. Many, too many of them, were smoking. Most wore jeans, sneakers, and an assortment of sweatshirts or heavy sweaters. There was what looked like a college quad, except there was a fountain statue of what might have been the Virgin Mary dead center.

Maya asked out loud what she’d been asking herself. “What is this place?”

The security guard pointed at the Virgin Mary. “Until the late seventies, it was a convent, believe it or not.”

She believed it.

“Full of nuns back then.”

“No kidding,” Maya said, trying not to sound too sarcastic. Like what else would a convent be full of? “And what is it now?”

He frowned. “You don’t know?”

“No.”

“Who are you visiting?”

“Christopher Swain.”

“It isn’t my place to say anything.”

“Please.” She said it in a voice that made him suck in his gut. “I just need to know where I am.”

He sighed, just to give the impression of thinking it over, and said, “This is the Solemani Recovery Center.”

“Recovery.” A euphemism for a rehab center. That explained it. The irony—the rich taking over a beautiful secluded spot that used to house nuns who probably vowed to live a life of poverty. Then again, look at this place. Some vow of poverty. Maybe it wasn’t irony exactly, but it was something.

The golf cart pulled up to what looked like a dormitory.

“Here we are. Just go through the doors there.”

She was buzzed in by yet another security guard, and sure enough, she had to walk through a metal detector. A woman met her on the other side with a smile and a handshake.

“Hello, my name is Melissa Lee. I’m a facilitator here at the Solemani.”

“Facilitator.” Another all-purpose euphemism.

“Christopher asked me to take you to the solarium. I’ll show you the way.”

Melissa Lee’s heels clacked and echoed in the empty corridor. The place was convent silent except for those heels. If you knew that—and you had to if you worked here every day—why would you choose to disrupt the solace with your shoes? Was it part of a uniform? Was it intentional? Why not just wear sneakers or something?

And why was she thinking of something so banal anyway?

Christopher Swain stood to greet her like a nervous date. He wore a well-tailored black suit, white shirt, thin black tie. He had the kind of facial growth that took some planning to look unplanned. His hair was skater boy with blond highlights. He was good-looking, albeit trying too hard. Whatever had brought him to this place had etched lines on his face. He probably didn’t like that. He’d probably add Botox or fillers, but Maya thought it gave the otherwise privileged look some character.

“Can I get you anything?” Melissa Lee asked.

Maya shook her head.

Melissa gave half a smile and looked at Swain. With touching concern in her voice, she said, “Are you sure you want me to leave, Christopher?”

“Yes, please.” His tone was tentative. “I think this is an important step for me.”

Melissa nodded. “I do too.”

“So we will need some privacy.”

“I understand. I’ll be nearby just in case. Just holler.”

Melissa gave Maya another half smile and left. She closed the doors behind her.

“Wow,” Swain said when they were alone. “You’re really beautiful.”

Maya didn’t know what to say to that, so she kept her mouth closed.