When she continued to struggle, he put his palm on the cold metal and pushed. The hinges, which were as big as his damn forearm, squeaked and groaned, and all that was revealed as the thing broke away from its reinforced jambs was a whole lot of pitch black. Like she lived in outer space.
Glancing over his shoulder, some instinct made him note the details of the basement hall—not that there was much to memorize, just blank walls, a low ceiling, and a black-and-white linoleum floor. Serviceable fixtures mounted at regular intervals were stocked with the new kind of lightbulbs that threw dull, listless light.
The building they were in had been a surprise. It was mostly commercial space, with this cellar underground just a bunch of storage areas with corporate names in plastic plates next to each unit. And P.S., none of the other doors were like Mel’s Game of Thrones prop.
“At least I know you’re safe here,” he said dryly.
“It is my sanctuary.”
On that note, she walked into the interior, her body swallowed down by the darkness’s gullet. Just as he was getting worried about her, there was a flicking sound, and then light bathed an interior that had a totally open floor plan.
Mel motioned with her hand. “Come in, please.”
Butch stepped over the threshold. “Holy . . . shit.”
The door closed of its own volition with a banging sound, and he almost jumped—but that would have been a pussy move. And then he was distracted by the crib. The walls and floor of the three thousand or so square feet were painted black, and four concrete pylons kept the ceiling from caving in, making him feel like he’d shrunk and was standing under a coffee table. A sitting area was delineated by a large area rug, with a sofa, three chairs, and a coffee table—in all white leather— arranged on it like a glamorous Hollywood meeting was about to happen. There was also a king-sized bed over against one wall, with black satin sheets and a throw blanket of some fur-like persuasion slipping off one corner of the mattress. The bathroom was likewise fully in view, a Victorian claw-foot tub set next to a sink and a toilet, all of which were white. Oh, and the galley kitchen was directly across the way, the refrigerator, stove, and sink running down the wall and fronted by a barrier of white countertop.
But none of that was what stunned him.
Clothes took up at least half the square footage. There were tall racks with evening gowns. Medium ones with slacks. Shorter sets of blouses and skirts. Shelves with forward tilts displayed stilettos, wedges, boots, and flats. Birkin bags, and Chanel purses, and Judith Leiber minaudières sat on Lucite tables, their cloth storage bags folded under them, the boxes they’d come in like thrones for their glory. A modern era, floor-length, store-worthy mirror—the kind with the wings on the left and right that you could angle to inspect the rear of yourself—was set upon a white shag carpet.
“I have a shopping addiction,” Mel said sadly. “It started when I was a model.”
“This is epic.” He walked over and pulled out a blood-red crêpe de chine gown from its lineup of colleagues. “Dior?”
“Early eighties. I love vintage.”
“Me, too. Although I know more about men’s designers, of course.”
“So I don’t have to explain to you how someone from Southie ended up in love with fashion?”
“Not at all.” He wandered around, checking out Valentino skirts, and Chanel blouses, and Gaultier bustiers. “You have great taste.”
“Thank you.” She cleared her throat. “Do you mind if I take a bath? I’d like to get clean.”
“I should go.” He turned back to her. “And I still really think you should talk to the police.”
“I know.” Mel’s voice was that of a little girl who didn’t want to disappoint a parent. “Um, listen, can you stay while I wash up? I would feel better if someone was here while I get in and out of the tub. I’m a little woozy.”
Butch glanced over at the bathroom area. That tub on its riser seemed to be spotlit. On a stage. With a full orchestra.
“You won’t see anything, I promise,” Mel said with exhaustion. “I just don’t want to slip and fall and have no one around to know about it.”
Butch put his back to her and jacked up his leathers. All he wanted to do was leave. “Okay.”