Kristin Gabriel - Night After Night...

He’d built a moat around his sprawling mansion, along with a rustic suspension bridge leading to the research center. A rowboat peopled with two rubber blow-up dolls floated on the stagnant water. One of the dolls even held a fishing pole. Chickens roamed freely on the grounds and roosted in an old yellow school bus that still had the words Paddington Middle School printed on the side.

By the time she reached the solid steel door of the Longo Research Center, she had no doubt old Harlan was crazy. Now she was beginning to wonder about her own sanity for volunteering to sleep in this madhouse every night for the next three weeks.

A rusty horseshoe hung on the door, right under the words LONGO RESEARCH CENTER spelled out in bright red letters. After searching in vain for a doorbell, she lifted the horseshoe and rapped it three times against the door. When she heard the heavy footsteps on the other side, she braced herself for a humpbacked Igor to greet her.

But the man who opened the door stood straight and tall, a mane of smooth white hair brushing the shoulders of his white lab coat. “Greetings!”

“I’m…Carleen Wimmer,” she said, slightly unnerved by the two security cameras trained on her. “Mr. Longo is expecting me.”

The man grinned. “Indeed, I am! Please come in, Carleen Wimmer. Welcome to my laboratory.”

She stepped through the door, surprised to find it actually looked like a laboratory on the inside. The sleek, modern decor impressed her. Black and white ceramic tiles formed a wheel shape on the floor, leading to a center hub that contained a round stainless steel desk that was the focal point of the large room. Each one of the tile spokes of the wheel led to a door, about twelve in all, which she assumed were entrances to the individual sleeping suites.

The doors were all closed and the hub, filled with gleaming chrome fixtures, was curiously empty of people. Uneasiness filled her. “Am I the only one here?”

“So far,” Harlan replied. “I staggered the appointed arrival times so I could meet with each of my research subjects individually.”

She glanced at her watch. “I hope I’m not late.”

“You’re right on time,” he assured her, taking the overnight bag out of her hand. “Did you bring a pillow?”

“It’s in my bag.”

“Very good.” He reached out to pluck a small feather off the sleeve of her jacket. “I’m sorry about the long walk. Cars scare my chickens,” he said over his shoulder as he led her to one of the closed doors.

“That’s all right,” she said, following him. “All that fresh air will probably help me sleep better.”

He opened the door to the suite, an excited twinkle in his eye. “I hope you like what I’ve done with the room.”

The first thing she noticed was the jukebox. It stood in the far corner, close to the queen-sized bed. The soft strains of “Are You Lonesome Tonight?” filled the air. The song went well with the framed head shot of Elvis above the headboard and the gold lamé comforter that was embroidered with tiny guitars and musical notes. But she found the floor-to-ceiling mural of Graceland covering one wall to be the most impressive part of the room.

“Well?” Harlan asked, visibly proud of his decorating efforts. “What do you think?”

“I’m speechless,” she answered honestly.

Carleen had told her that she’d listed Elvis songs as her “comfort music” on the personality profile. Harlan had obviously taken that little tidbit and run with it.

“Look at this,” he said, leading her over to the jukebox. “It doubles as a biomonitor to record your vital signs. It even has retractable cables to hook you up to the machine.”

He pulled one out, demonstrating how the lead reached the bed. Then he let it go and it sprang back into the jukebox with a loud pop.

“Wow,” she said, wondering what other surprises awaited her.

He walked over to the bed and pressed a button on the headboard. “Feel free to ring anytime you need assistance. Myself or one of my assistants will be right outside in the control center. This facility is completely secure. The door to your suite automatically locks.”

That thought made her a little uneasy. “So I’ll be locked in?”

“Not at all,” he assured her. “If you wish to exit the room, all you have to do is press the button next to the door. That signals one of my assistants to press the corresponding button on the control panel and the door will unlock.”

“Got it,” Mia replied.

“You’ll be perfectly safe here,” he assured her. “You probably noticed the security cameras when you entered the lab. I have cameras positioned around the entire estate. No one can enter my property without my knowledge.”

A knock sounded on the door, then a petite young Asian woman wearing a pink polka-dot lab coat entered the room. “Did you need something, Dr. Longo?”

“Yes, Hannah, I’d like to introduce you to Carleen Wimmer. She’ll be sleeping in the Elvis suite for the next three weeks.”

“Nice to meet you, Ms. Wimmer,” Hannah said, holding out her hand.

Mia shook it, surprised by her firm grip. “Please call me Carleen.”

“If you wish.”

Longo set Mia’s bag on the end of the bed. “Hannah is assigned to work this half of the sleep lab. She’ll get you all hooked up for tonight, then I’ll be in to answer any questions you might have and to tuck you in.”

“All right,” Mia said with a smile. No one had tucked her into bed since she was ten years old—not that her Italian mother hadn’t tried. But Mia’s independent streak had kicked in at an early age.

She still remembered the time she’d informed her grandmother that she never intended to marry because husbands were too bossy, though she did plan to have six children. The poor woman had almost keeled over from that pronouncement.

Shocking her family had turned into a fairly routine occurrence, though she rarely did it intentionally. They just didn’t understand that she wanted more than the life they had mapped out for her.

Like taking karate lessons instead of ballet. Or skipping out on catechism class so she could rehearse with her heavy metal band. Her cousins had lovingly dubbed her the black sheep of the family, though Mia hardly deserved the title. She wasn’t rebellious, just unconventional by Maldonado standards.

When her parents had balked at her decision to enroll in design school instead of choosing a more traditional career like teaching or nursing, Mia had chosen to pay her own way through college.

Then she’d moved to Philadelphia, choosing the city by spreading a map of the United States in front of her, closing her eyes and letting fate guide her finger. When she’d first arrived, Mia had found a job designing display cases for a furniture outlet store until she’d saved enough money to strike out on her own.

Judging by her current financial predicament, she hadn’t saved enough. But the last thing she wanted to do was return to Chicago a failure, fulfilling her family’s dire predictions. Mia wanted to prove to them and to herself that she could make it on her own.

If the radio advertisements brought in enough new clients, Mia’s Makeovers could survive. Her only obstacles were succeeding in impersonating her best friend and sleeping in an Elvis suite.

At least she’d passed the first test. Harlan left the suite without a backward glance, apparently convinced that she really was Carleen Wimmer.

“You can change in Graceland,” Hannah said as she fiddled with the dials on the jukebox.

Mia’s gaze went to the elaborate mural on the wall. “I don’t understand.”

“There’s a pocket door that slides open,” she replied, pointing to the door of the mansion. “It leads to a small bathroom.”