Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 62262 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 311(@200wpm)___ 249(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62262 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 311(@200wpm)___ 249(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
“I get that.”
“But the other reason I left is because I felt stuck. I’d started that job when I was eighteen, fresh out of high school. I really liked it, but I felt like I’d never change or grow as long as I stayed put. The job at SPAM scared me because it was totally outside my comfort zone, and that was a big part of the appeal.”
We’d reached the car, and as I unlocked the door and stacked the books in the backseat, I said, “And now, a few weeks later, you’re so far outside your comfort zone that you can’t even see it from here. I’m sure that’s not what you had in mind when you went to work for SPAM.”
“I don’t regret a thing.”
I took his armload of books and put them in the car. “Really? Even after everything that’s happened?”
His voice was almost a whisper. “If I hadn’t taken the job, I never would have met you.”
When I turned to look at him, he shyly shifted his gaze to the sidewalk. I tilted his chin up and kissed him before saying, “You mean the world to me, Andy. I hope you know that.”
“Ditto.” He offered me a self-conscious smile before quickly climbing into the car.
Once we were back on the road, I pulled a piece of paper from my pocket and handed it to him. “We have a destination.”
“What’s this?”
“The address to the Harington mansion. It’s in northern Oregon, on the edge of the Mount Hood National Forest. I read an article about it. Apparently, it was built in the 1800s, and it’s quite the sight to behold.”
“Is it a museum or something?”
“No, it’s a private residence, and it’s still owned by the Harington family. Arden’s great, great grandpappy was a bigtime timber baron and made a fortune back in the day. I may be off by a great or two, but you get the idea.”
Andy glanced at me. “So, is the plan to drive up to the mansion, knock on the door, and ask if Arden is home?”
“Pretty much.”
It was close to sunset by the time we turned onto the narrow road leading to the Harington estate. A sign told us it was private property, and there was a huge wrought iron gate that should have been blocking our path, but for some reason it was wide open.
As we drove through the gate, I blurted, “Holy fuckballs, would you look at that?”
Ahead of us, the road curved up and around a cobblestone patio with a huge, stone fountain in the center. The fountain wasn’t running, and the cobblestones were being overtaken by moss and a carpet of tiny wildflowers.
Above that stood an architectural wonder, which was in a large clearing backed by a thick forest. It was so big that it could have been a hotel, and somehow, it seemed to be a mash-up of a grand Victorian mansion and a log cabin. The siding was dark wood and on the rustic side, but the design was elegant with a wide porch, numerous turrets, and lots of gorgeous period details. I’d seen pictures of it online, but they really hadn’t done it justice.
After we parked, we stood there staring up at the building for a long moment, and Andy murmured, “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Me neither.”
“It’s strange that the gate was open. You’d think they’d keep it shut to avoid getting inundated with sightseers looking for a photo op.”
Both of us jumped at a voice nearby. “Oh, I do. I’d opened it this morning to let in the maintenance crew. They’re here every other week to take care of the house and garden. I guess they forgot to close it when they left.”
We spun around and discovered a guy in his late twenties, with unruly dark hair, a slender build, and big, brown doe eyes. “There are wards on the property which deny access to anyone with bad intentions,” he continued, as he shifted a basket of cut wildflowers, “but you’re right, the gate’s handy for keeping out the looky-loos. They’re worst in summer at the height of tourist season, but a few trickle in year-round. I’ve had people knock on the door at all hours, asking for a tour.”
“That must get annoying.”
“It can.” He tilted his head and studied us carefully. “You two don’t look like tourists, though. And you’re obviously not here to rob me, or you would have bounced off the barrier like a rubber ball. So, what brings you to Pine Grove Manor?”
“You, I think. Are you Arden Harington?” He gave us a single nod, and I told him, “I’m Sam Miller, and this is Andy Chen. We work for SPAM, but we’re not here in an official capacity or anything. Can we please ask you a few questions? It won’t take long.”