The Writing Retreat(69)

“Whoa, hold on.” Taylor raised her hands. “So, what do we think is happening here? Sure, Roza is fucking with us. But isn’t this good news? That Zoe’s actually alive?”

Keira scoffed. “Doesn’t mean I want to wait around and see what happens next.”

“What do you mean?” Taylor crossed her arms. “You think Roza is dangerous?”

“I don’t know what she is.” Keira shrugged. “But I’m done being a part of her game. I’m ready to go home.”

“Hi, girls.” Chitra entered the room, her expression grave, and I jumped guiltily.

“Hi.” Taylor put on a sad smile. “How are you holding up?”

“Best as can be expected, under the circumstances.” Chitra started filling up a teapot in the double sink. “Anyone fancy some tea? Maybe a snack?”

I studied her. If this was all a game, was Chitra in on it? She looked terrible: blotchy skin and reddened eyes. If she was acting, she was doing a damn good job.

“No, thanks,” Wren said. “I’m not hungry.”

“I’m going to heat up some chicken soup for you, love.” Chitra sighed. “Wasn’t good for you to be outside for so long yesterday—not with your cold.”

“Thanks.” Wren watched her, a hint of longing in her expression.

We trudged to the library, which Taylor thought was directly over the secret room. Keira wanted to check out the keypad downstairs but agreed to wait until Chitra had left the kitchen.

Post–faux radio, we had to assume that everyone who worked for Roza was in on it.

“Here.” Taylor stationed herself by the windows, then walked about twenty feet away from the glass. “I’d say this is where the false wall starts. Maybe a bit further. The basement—the whole house—is so huge, it’s hard to tell.”

“Did you read anything about a secret room when you were researching Daphne?” Keira asked me.

“No.” I would’ve remembered.

“Let’s pull up the rug here.” Taylor dragged a heavy chair away from the window. “Maybe there’s a trapdoor.”

Keira and I helped with the chairs and Wren started pulling back one of the heavy oriental rugs. She was unable to do much until Taylor assisted, peeling it back and then hauling it further away like it weighed nothing. We stared down at a large expanse of polished wood floor. Taylor walked across it, then crouched and rapped on it with her knuckles.

“You okay?” I asked Wren, who was still breathing hard.

“I’m fine.” Her cheeks were flushed.

“What about this?” Keira had walked to the left of the window about ten feet. She stood gazing up at three bookcases. They were pressed against a bulky pillar that jutted out from the wall.

“What if it’s a passageway?” Keira asked.

“A vertical one?” Taylor studied it, hands on hips.

“Could be a ladder or something,” I said.

“Maybe if you just pull out the right book, a door will swing open.” Wren had flopped down on the wooden floor.

“There’s hundreds of books on these shelves.” Taylor studied them. “Might take a while.”

“What’s above this?” Keira pointed to the ceiling. “What’s right over the library?”

“The west wing,” I supplied. “Roza’s room.”

Keira smiled grimly. “Of course.”



* * *



While Keira slipped down to the basement, the rest of us ate lunch quietly, lost in our own thoughts.

Keira quickly returned. As she sat down with a plate, I noticed that her energy was different: heightened, almost manic.

“Guys, I saw it.” She spoke in a low voice. “Poppy must be in there. We have to figure out how to get in. One of us needs to search Roza’s room.”

“What?” Wren gawped as if Keira had suggested a ritual sacrifice.

“There has to be a way down there.” She speared a tomato with gusto.

“But Roza’s always in her room.” Taylor looked intrigued. “Are you saying we stage an emergency or something so she comes out?”

“Well, we know that she’ll be out of there tonight,” Keira said. “For dinner.”

“If she comes to dinner,” I cautioned.

“She’ll come to dinner.” Keira rolled her eyes. “Roza likes her schedule. She’s all about control.”

“Speaking of which.” I dropped my sandwich; my stomach was churning with nerves. “Is she really expecting us to write today?”

“Maybe we should try,” Taylor said. “To keep up appearances.”

Wren broke into a coughing fit. She was even paler now, verging on gray.

“You should go rest,” I told her. “You don’t look good.”

“I’m fine.”

Taylor rubbed her shoulder. “You just relax, okay? We’ll be out of here soon enough.”

“I just want to know what’s happening.” Wren lowered her head onto the table.

Keira stared at the table, lost in thought.

I sighed. “We all do.”



* * *



“There must be more cameras,” Keira said.