"Ghosts, for god's sake!" She threw up her hands. For a moment there

was something very Old Testament about it. In Harmon's. A blond girl

in shorts. Praying.

There was a lot I had to tell them about the Crouch place, but I

waited.

My feeling was that telling them right away would only end in Casey's

finding some way around it. A few handy rationalizations here and

there and she'd have us going along with no trouble whatsoever.

It seemed my best chance would be to try throwing a scare into them at

the last minute and hope somebody balked. I wasn't crazy about The

Love Bug either, but it was preferable to something that could get me

arrested. None of them had ever been caught at anything. I had. I

knew it felt lousy. The old stories about Ben and Mary bothered me a

whole lot less than the off chance that some nosy local farmer would

drive by and realize there was somebody inside there and call the

police. I never really credited Rafferty's speculations about strange

disappearances, but I credited bad luck. I credited that, all right.

We met at my apartment.

Casey showed up in the same blue halter top and cream shorts, looking

like she was ready for a picnic. I told her that if the night turned

cold, she was going to freeze out there. She dipped into the green

book bag and pulled out the corner of an army shirt, looking at me as

if to say, no small objections, thanks. I made no more of them.

Kim wore overalls over a yellow cotton blouse. Both had seen some use.

It was a good choice, practical for the kind of thing we were doing.

Predictably Steven's shirt was bright with tropical colors -greens,

yellows and red-orange-worn over white linen slacks. The swathe of

bandage on his hand made him look like an injured tourist in a banana

republic. As usual he was last to arrive.

"You're gonna be a mess in that," I told him.

He shrugged. "I'll get clean again."

There were three flashlights between us. Kim had found out hers was

broken. I told her she could have mine. It wasn't chivalry.

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