The Beast House

Then he climbed off her. The sleeve of his jacket was sheathed with blood. He wiped his hand on the seat of her jeans.

Patting his pockets, he made sure he hadn’t lost his wallet or cassette recorder during the struggles.

The recorder. He took it out. Good God, it had been running throughout the killings. He would have to destroy the tape.

He would also have to get rid of his clothes. Every stitch. But that could wait.

Down the slope, he picked up Brian’s pants. The underwear fluttered out. He dug into the pocket and removed the car keys. Wandering along the hillside, he found the camera. Finally, he knelt over Marty’s body. The contract was in a pocket of the shirt. He took it out. Though he wasn’t precisely sure why, at that moment, he also took Marty’s keys.

Then he rushed down to the fence. With a final glance at Brian’s impaled body, he ran.

CHAPTER TWELVE

The air felt chilly on Tyler’s face, but the rest of her body was snug under the covers. Rolling over, she pushed her face into the soft warmth of the pillow.

The chirp and warble of birds sounded peaceful, stirred memories of distant summer mornings when she lay in bed, so comfortable she didn’t want to get up, but eager to get outside. Adventures beckoned: today the comic book stand (she’d make a fortune!), today the careers tournament with Sally and Huss and Loretta, today a picnic at the lake, today exploring.

Exploring was maybe the best—taking off, on bike or foot, to follow that road, that forest path, those train tracks, farther than she’d ever gone before.

Later came the mornings, almost painful with excitement, when she couldn’t wait to get up and take the bus to the public pool where Skip Robinson would be practicing his backstroke and this time he might notice her. Finally, he did. And he was so shy. And he always smelled like Coppertone.

Abe smells like Brut. She squirmed against the bed, remembering the feel of his body as he embraced her last night. There on the stoop like a couple of teenagers while Nora led Jack into her room. If she’d asked Abe to come in, he would be next to her now. Instead, they’d gone alone to their rooms. Tyler had regretted it even then, feeling the loss like an empty ache.

I hardly know the man, she thought.

But Dan had been in her mind. She’d come here to find Dan, and it would’ve been some kind of vague betrayal to make love with Abe.

She wished she had.

She owed nothing to Dan. They’d made their choices five years ago and even if she found him today (in Beast House?) it was probably over for good. She shouldn’t have let thoughts of Dan stop her.

More than that had stopped her. It was also wanting Abe so badly and knowing she might never see him again after today. He and Jack would head north; she and Nora would head south. And if she’d made love with Abe, the parting would be worse.

Thinking about it now, she felt the loss as if he were already gone.

We have today, she told herself.

They had agreed, last night, to meet for breakfast. And after that? The Beast House tour? Nora seemed determined to try it, and if Abe and Jack would go along…at least they’d be together that much longer.

Abe, I want you to meet my old friend, Dan Jenson. Dan, Abe Clanton.

Tyler? I can’t believe it’s really you. My God, let me look at you. You’re beautiful! Lost a few pounds have you?

Jealous sparks from Abe’s eyes as Dan sweeps her into his arms. Abe starts walking away. No, wait!

Too upset now to enjoy the luxury of the bed, Tyler got up. She parted the curtains slightly and looked outside. Her heart jumped. Seated on the stoop directly across the courtyard, elbows resting on his knees, eyes down, was Abe. The morning breeze stirred his hair. He was frowning as if deep in thought. Thinking about me? she wondered.

Sure thing. You flatter yourself.

But he might be.

God, he looks so lonely and troubled.

Astonished by her boldness, Tyler stepped away from the window. She put on a robe over her nightgown and went to the door. As she opened it, Abe looked up. His frown melted into a smile. “Morning,” Tyler called.

“Good morning.”

“Been up long?”

“Not long.”

“How about a cup of coffee?”

“How can I refuse?” He stood and brushed off the seat of his blue jeans. The jeans were old, worn pale at the knees, frayed a little at the cuffs. He wore newlooking boots. His white T-shirt hugged his torso, taking on the curves of his muscles.

Tyler was suddenly very aware that she was naked under her robe and nightgown.

That’s hardly naked, she thought.

But she could feel the cool breeze curling up her legs, sliding between them. Her nipples pushed into the slick fabric of her nightgown. She was slightly breathless as she stepped back from the doorway to let Abe enter.

“So,” she said, trying to sound calm, “did you sleep well? No nightmares about Bobo, I hope.”

He studied her face. “I slept fine. How about you?”

“Like a log.” She broke from his gaze and turned away. Her knees were shaky as she crossed the room. She took the coffee pot down from the mounted hotplate, and carried it into the bathroom. She filled it and brought it back. As she plugged in the dangling cord, Abe walked up behind her. She turned to face him. “It’ll probably take a few…” Her voice fell away. She stared into his eyes.

His open hand caressed the side of her face. “I missed you,” he whispered.

Tyler tried to speak but her throat was tight. She stepped into his arms, and kissed him.

Abe held her tightly, more tightly than last night, as if they’d been away from each other a very long time and he needed the feel of her body to know she was with him again. After a moment, his embrace loosened. His hands slid up and down her back.

Tyler wished he would hike up her robe and nightgown so she could feel his hands on her bare skin. But he patted her rump, and eased away.

Tyler untied her cloth belt. She parted her robe. She took him by the wrists and lifted his hands to her breasts. His hands were warm through the filmy nightgown. Her breath trembled as he caressed and gently squeezed. Then he shut the robe. Gripping its lapels, he pulled her forward and kissed her lightly on the mouth. He smiled. “You trying to seduce me?” he asked.

“It crossed my mind.”

“Shameless hussy,” he said.

“That’s me.”

“What about your friend, Dan?”

Her stomach tightened. “What about him?”

“You came all this way to find him.”

“I know, but…”

“If I’m going to lose you to this guy, I’d rather not…get in any deeper. I want you too much already. Don’t make it any tougher on me.”

“Oh, Abe,” she whispered. His face blurred as tears filled her eyes. She stepped against him and held him tightly.

“There you go again,” he said, stroking her hair. “Now why don’t you get dressed, and I’ll fix the coffee. You invited me in for coffee, remember?”

Tyler nodded. She wiped her eyes.

“Don’t try undressing in front of me, either.”

She managed a smile. “Darn, that was my plan.”

“I must be psychic.”

“Don’t you want to see what you’re missing?”

“That’s it, rub my face in it.”

“You must be psychic. That would’ve been phase two.”

Abe laughed softly and shook his head.

Tyler stepped past him. He watched as she bent over the spare bed to search her suitcase. “I thought you were going to fix the coffee.”

“Do you take anything in it?”

“Just black.”

But he didn’t turn away. Tyler took out her corduroys, her yellow blouse, the filmy bra she’d worn last night, and a fresh pair of panties. She held up the garments for Abe to see. “Do these meet with your approval?”

“Very nice.”

She gave him a coy smile. “Dan never cared much for these,” she said, and let the bra flutter to the bed.

“You have a definite cruel streak,” Abe said.

“Do I?” She took the rest of the clothes into the bathroom. “Ta ta,” she said, and shut the door. She leaned against it. Shutting her eyes, she could still feel his arms around her, the firm pressure of his body, his eager lips, the way he’d touched her breasts. I want you too much already. My God, had he really said that? He had, he had! She found herself smiling and weeping. If I’m going to lose you to this guy…

No need to worry about that, Mr. Abraham Clanton.

Tyler Clanton.

She whispered the words.

Good Christ, don’t get crazy.

But she felt crazy: joyous and guilty and confused. He wants me, but how much? What’s next?

Breakfast is next. Take it one step at a time. Breakfast, then the tour of Beast House and confronting Dan (Jesus, what’ll I say to him?), then what? Lunch, maybe. What happens when it’s time to leave? Don’t think about that. Not yet. Cross the bridges as you come to them. Maybe we can all stay one more night. Or two. Or…

“The coffee’s ready,” Abe called through the door.

“I’ll be right out,” she said. Quickly, she shed her robe and nightgown. She used the toilet, washed, brushed her teeth, rolled deodorant under her arms, and dressed. It made her feel daring and sexy to wear the gauzy blouse without a bra. Luckily, there was a pocket over each breast. She tucked it in, leaned close to the mirror, and studied herself. “Lookin’ good,” she whispered. She unfastened another button to allow a glimpse of cleavage.

Nora would open still another.

She considered it for a moment, then shook her head.

Abe smiled when she stepped out. “Lovely,” he said.

She glanced down at her blouse. “Dan always liked me in yellow.”

Abe gave her a strange look. He must suspect. Wasn’t her teasing a dead giveaway? Well, she would just let him wonder. At least for a while.

He gave her a plastic cup. Steam was still rolling off the coffee. “Nora knocked while you were changing. They’re just about ready to go.”

Tyler sipped the coffee, and wrinkled her nose.

“What can I say? It’s instant.”

“At least it’s hot.” She took her cup to the dressing table, sat down, and drank as she brushed her hair. Abe stood behind her, watching. “Was Jack there?” she asked, and saw him nod in the mirror.

“Lucky Jack,” he said.

“Lucky Nora.”

Abe put down his cup. He rubbed her shoulders, and she moaned.

Then came a quiet knocking. He let go of her, crossed the room, and opened the connecting door.

“All set and rarin’ to go?” Nora asked. She entered, followed by Jack. “We thought it’d be fun to go in town for breakfast. That sound good to everyone?”

“Sure,” Tyler said, getting up.

Nora was wearing a tube-top that left her bare to the tops of her breasts. A faint red line marked her shoulder where the man, yesterday, had struck her with the radio antenna. Her skin had a rosy glow, and her hair looked damp. She must’ve recently taken a shower, Tyler thought. Jack, too, was slightly flushed. Had they showered together? Made love under the hot spray?

Abe and I could’ve…

“Got your room key?” Abe asked her.

Nodding, she picked up her purse.

They went outside into the cool morning shadows, and Tyler slipped a hand around Abe’s back.

“I think,” Nora said, “I could go for pigs in a blanket.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Gorman dreamed they were after him. He was running down a sunlit slope, laughing at first and waving the paper—the contract—overhead to taunt them. “You can’t catch me,” he sang. He knew they couldn’t. He was fleet of foot while Marty and Claire were staggering after him like sleepwalkers. No, like zombies. It suddenly struck Gorman that they were, indeed, zombies. That notion took away some of the fun: what if they should catch him? Zombies would likely treat him to a horror or two.

Though he knew they were after him, they were somewhat preoccupied. Marty was busy ripping to shreds a pair of pink panties while Claire was digging out one of her eyes with a blunt stick.

I never did that, he thought. You’re doing that to yourself, sweetheart.

Looking forward, he saw Brian wave at him from on top of the fence. Janice was up there, too, straddling the spikes—one of them in her—writhing passionately on it while she sucked Brian’s cock. She saw Gorman and sat up. “Hey,” she shouted, “that’s my contract!”

“Finders keepers, losers weepers!” he yelled back, flapping it at her.

“Forget it,” Brian told her. “You’ve got me.”

With a shrug, she leaned down again and took him into her mouth.

Gorman turned away and raced alongside the fence. Looking back, he saw Marty and Claire. They were close behind him, which didn’t make much sense because he was running and they were shambling along slowly. Marty was stuffing bits of the shredded panties into his mouth. Claire, beside him, had one eyeball dangling over her cheek and was working on the other, trying to pry it out with her stick. Let her get that one, Gorman thought, and she won’t be able to see worth shit.

Then he tripped over the end of a bathtub. He fell toward the water. The water was red. A naked woman, reclining in the tub, stretched out her arms to catch him. Her wrists were crossed-hatched with slashes. Martha! He fell toward her, and fell, and fell. “Leave me alone!” he shrieked, and lurched awake.

The room was bright with daylight. Gasping for breath, he stared at the ceiling. He used the pillow to mop the sweat off his face.

Good Christ, he thought. What a nightmare.

He glanced at his travel clock. Nine twenty. He’d been in bed no more than three hours. But he’d had some sleep before Marty and Claire came knocking.

God, if only that had been nothing but a dream.

He crawled to the edge of the bed and sat up. The bruise on his stomach where Marty had punched him (he started it) looked like a smudge of dirt. There were a few minor scratches on the backs of his hands, but his knuckles weren’t even skinned from rapping Claire’s face. He walked to the mirror above the dressing table, and peered at his own face. Except for the bloodshot eyes, it looked fine.

He went into the bathroom. Kneeling beside the tub, he looked closely for traces of blood on the enamel, especially around the drain. The tub looked fine. It should—he’d bathed in the ocean before returning to the room and showering.

He turned on the shower, adjusted the temperature, and stepped beneath its hot spray. As he washed himself, his mind went over every detail. Had he overlooked anything?

The contracts. He had burned them both and flushed the ashes down the toilet.

The tape. He’d pried open the plastic cassette, stripped out the tape, and held it dangling over the toilet while it burned, making greasy black smoke.

The recorder. Since he’d touched its casing with his bloody hand, it had to go. It went into the ocean.

The camera. Same problem. Same solution.

His clothes. After tearing off the tags, he’d weighted each garment with a rock and hurled each into the surf. The shoes hadn’t required rocks.

The cars. In Gorman’s estimation, his solution to that problem had been brilliant and daring. At the time he’d taken Marty’s keys, he hadn’t known why he wanted them. But the scheme must, even then, have been brewing in his subconscious. Not until he reached the cars did the plan come fullblown to his mind.

Since he couldn’t risk leaving even a minute trace of Claire’s blood in the Mercedes, he left it untouched and drove Marty’s car to the beach. He’d been very lucky finding the beach; the very first road leading west had taken him within a couple of hundred yards. He’d simply followed a moonlit path along a hillside and voilà—the ocean.

Farewell to the cassette player, the camera, and his clothes. The worst part was washing his body in the ocean. No, perhaps the worst part was the trek back to Marty’s car, naked and wet and freezing, and frightened half to death that someone might see him. The area was desolate, though, and the only building with a view of the parking area appeared to have no windows.

He’d found a rag under the car’s front seat. He’d used it to wipe the seat and steering wheel before climbing in, just in case some blood remained on them. Later, after parking behind the Mercedes, he’d used the same rag to wipe the car for fingerprints. When he’d finished, he wiped its outside handles and flung the keys far up the wooded slope. Then he had simply climbed into the Mercedes and driven it back to the motel. Stark naked. Right through the center of town. But he hadn’t seen a living soul, thank God, and all the bungalows of the Welcome Inn were dark when he arrived.

Looking back on it now, he was amazed that he’d succeeded in carrying it off—amazed, indeed, that he hadn’t allowed the panic of the situation to overwhelm and destroy him. For he would have been destroyed if he’d simply fled without taking elaborate precautions.

As matters now stood, even if suspicion should fall on Gorman, he was confident that he’d left no evidence connecting him to the crimes. And he had a marvelous bonus in his favor: investigators would naturally assume that the same perpetrator had dispatched Brian, Marty and Claire. It would be obvious to anyone that Gorman was physically incapable of impaling Brian on a seven-foot fence.

Only one possibility worried him—that he may have been seen. Janice was unaccounted for. If she’d been alive on the hillside and witnessed the murders…Possible, but highly unlikely since she neither appeared nor called out during the search. More than likely, she was dead. But Gorman had committed the murders within view of Beast House. Someone watching from a window could have watched it all. If that had been the case, however, and his crimes reported, certainly the police would have intercepted him at the cars. Since the police didn’t show up, he could assume that either he wasn’t seen or the witness had crimes of his own to hide—such as the murders of Brian and Janice.

The thought that he might have been watched by their killers sent a chill through Gorman. He suddenly felt squirmy. His scrotum tightened and his penis drew in as if to hide.

Who could have done such a thing to Brian? The strength it must’ve taken!

Perhaps, he thought, there is a beast.

He was no longer enjoying the hot spray of the shower. He finished rinsing the soap from his body, and climbed out. To perk himself up, he concentrated on his good fortune as he dried and got dressed.

The killer, whether man or beast, had done him a splendid service. Gorman may or may not be able to use the incident in his book, depending on the outcome of the investigation. Regardless, all the proceeds would now come to him. Every last cent. Even if Janice should miraculously reappear, the contracts were destroyed. The initial correspondence implied no commitment (perhaps he could find those letters and destroy them…awfully risky…why had he thrown away Marty’s keys?) but basically Janice wouldn’t have a leg to stand on without the contract itself.

Besides, she’s dead.

Please, let her be dead.

As he finished buttoning his sport shirt, he heard a knocking on the door—a light, tentative rapping but it made his stomach lurch. It came from Brian’s room. He took a deep breath, cautioned himself to remain calm, and stepped through the connecting doors. Both of Brian’s beds were intact. He rushed silently to the closer bed, raked back its cover and sheet, and mashed the pillow. Then he opened the door.

“Good morning, Mr. Hardy,” the woman said in a cheerful voice.

She was young and attractive, rather tall and nicely put together, looking fresh and altogether sexy in yellow shorts and a green tube-top that left her shoulders bare and hugged her sizable breasts. Gorman knew that he had met her before. Then he remembered where. The cocktail lounge. Yesterday evening. One of those librarians.

“Oh,” he said, smiling. “Nina, is it?”

“Nora.”

“How are you this fine morning, Nora?”

“Just terrific. How about you?”

“Couldn’t be better.” He took a deep breath. The warm air had a pine aroma. “A gorgeous day to be alive,” he said.

“Every day’s good for that,” Nora said. “Anyway, the reason I dropped by, you mentioned you might be going on that tour today. Beast House?”

‘Yes, I intend to.”

“Well, my friends and I are also going over there in a while. They’ve got a ten-thirty tour. We were wondering if you and Mr. Blake might want to come along with us.”

Gorman glanced at his digital wristwatch. Nine fifty-two. It would be comforting, he thought, to take the tour with acquaintances. Far better than entering that awful house with a group of strangers. “I would be delighted,” he answered, “though I’m not certain about Brian. He seems to have wandered off, and I have no idea when he might be back.”

Nora glanced at the Mercedes. “You think he went for a walk?”

“Apparently.” Gorman shrugged. “Too bad for him. I’d be glad to…” He snicked his tongue. “Oh, I do have an errand to run first. Suppose I meet you and your friends at the ticket booth?”

“Fine. Great.”

“At ten thirty, correct? I’d best get moving.”

Nora nodded, smiling. “Okay, we’ll see you there.”

She turned and started away. Gorman watched for a moment, enjoying the way her buttocks moved in the tight shorts.

Back in his own room, he uncapped his gin bottle and took a swallow. He found a telephone directory in a drawer of the night stand. Nursing the bottle, he searched the yellow pages. Under the heading PHOTOGRAPHIC EQUIPMENT AND SUPPLIES—RETAIL were several listings. Most of the shops seemed to be located elsewhere; the book covered a county-wide area. Only Bob’s Camera and Sound Center was in Malcasa Point. On the three-hundred block of Front Street. “Marvelous,” Gorman muttered. He took a final swig of gin, and hurried out to the car.

Five minutes later, he drove past the store. He noted its location, and continued down Front Street, passing the dirt road he’d taken to the beach only a few hours earlier, then turning his eyes towards the grounds of Beast House. His gaze followed the rear fence until the building got in the way. On the other side, he picked it up again. He turned his head, watching the fence until the hillside rose up to block his view. From the two angles, he was almost certain he’d seen the entire length of the fence. Brian’s body was gone. He hadn’t noticed the other two, either, but of course their bodies wouldn’t be easy to spot at this distance.

He’d half expected to find a gathering of police, but the region back there looked deserted.

Perhaps they had already completed their on-scene investigation and departed. That seemed unlikely, though. Surely there would still be officers scouring the area for evidence.

He continued up the road. Marty’s old Plymouth, shrouded by morning shadows, was still parked on the shoulder where he’d left it. No police cars there. No coroner’s van.

He rounded a bend, then made a U-turn. Coming back down the road, he kept his gaze on the wooded slope. The instant the rear fence appeared, he raced his eyes along it. From this vantage point, he could see almost to its far corner.

His doubts vanished.

The bodies had been removed.

But by the police? He didn’t think so.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Janice rolled in her sleep and tumbled. Shards of pain tortured her awake. She lay motionless on her side, gasping, eyes squeezed shut.

Oh God, she thought, it hurts.

She whimpered from a searing rush of pain inside, and curled up. Her knees pushed against something soft and yielding.

What happened to me? her mind screamed.

Clutching her belly, she felt tape. She explored it with shaky fingers. It seemed to be holding a pad in place. A bandage? It ended just below her ribs. Moving her hands higher, she touched strips of tape on the underside of her left breast. The bandage started just above her nipple, covered the top of her breast and wrapped over her shoulder. The flesh beneath it felt burning. Her other shoulder was bandaged, too. Her right breast was bare, but tender as if bruised. Another bandage ran along her side to the hip. There, she found an elastic belt. She traced it to her groin and fingered the thick pad of a sanitary napkin.

What happened to me?

Raped. She must’ve been raped. The awful hurt inside. What did he use, for Christsake, a tree?

She started to sob, and the jolting spasms sent blasts of pain through her.

Who did this to me? God, why?

Brian? Did Brian? She remembered being with him, but…had he gone nuts or something?

Where am I, a hospital?

It didn’t smell like a hospital, it smelled like a zoo. And she knew she wasn’t on a bed. She was on the floor, a soft nap of carpet against her bare skin.

She opened her eyes. In the dim blue light, she saw a heap of pillows beside her. She must have been lying on that until she rolled off.

Blue light. Pillows.

Where am I?

Gingerly, gritting her teeth as pain ripped through her, Janice got to her hands and knees. She forced herself to stand. She swayed, and raised her arms for balance. Then she turned slowly.

Nobody here. Just me.

The room was slightly smaller than her own bedroom. Looking up, she saw that the ceiling was covered by mirrors. Except for the carpet and pillows, the room was bare. No furniture, no windows…

No windows!

The Kutch house?

“Oh God,” she whispered.

Flinching with each step, she staggered to the single door. She reached out an arm, slapped the jamb, and tried to brace herself. The arm folded. She fell against the door. But she grabbed the knob and held on tightly until the worst of the pain subsided. Then she tried to twist the knob. It wouldn’t budge.

I’m locked in.

It came as no great surprise.

Still, she rattled the knob and yanked it, shaking the door in its frame.

Finally, she gave up.

She was out of breath, shuddering with pain.

She sank to her haunches. The bandage on her breast had pulled loose at the bottom. Blood was trickling from under it. She tried to press the tape down, but it wouldn’t stick. Her skin was too slippery. Raising the bandage like a thick blue flap, she blinked sweat and tears from her eyes and stared at the wounds.

Her shoulder was torn and raw as if she had been gnawed by a dog. Below that, her flesh was ripped by four long scratches. Smoothing the bandage gently into place, she looked at her other breast. The skin was unbroken, but dark with bruises like a crescent of half a dozen dots. She lifted it and found a similar half-circle under the nipple.

Teeth marks?

But not from the teeth of a man.

Some kind of wild animal? A coyote, maybe?

Who are you trying to kid? she thought.

It was the beast.

Elizabeth Thorn’s beast.

She couldn’t remember any of it, but she knew it had to be so.

Oh God, the thing had raped her.

Quavering, she hugged her belly and leaned forward. She pressed her forehead against the door.

It had raped her. But it hadn’t killed her. Someone had bandaged her wounds. And now she was a prisoner in the windowless house of Maggie Kutch.

It’ll be back, she thought.

It wants me again.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Hardy, a distance up the sidewalk, paused near the fence and took a photo of Beast House. As he lowered the camera, Nora waved. He nodded a greeting, and came forward. In spite of the mild breeze, Tyler thought he must be stifling inside his sport jacket. She was too warm, herself, and wished she’d worn shorts or a skirt instead of her corduroys.

“You remember Tyler,” Nora said.

“Of course. How could I forget such a lovely creature?”

Reluctantly, she shook his offered hand. “This is Abe Clanton,” she said.

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Hardy. I’ve read your books.”

Hardy looked surprised as he took Abe’s hand. “In the plural?”

“Sure. There were some thirty before Horror at Black River Falls?”

“Forty-eight, in fact. More than a few under pseudonyms. I’m delighted to find a man who knows I existed before Horror. Delighted and stunned.”

“I especially liked your Death Defiers series. Always kept an eye out for them in the PX.”

“Ah, you’re a military man. I should’ve guessed. That straight-shouldered bearing. A Marine, no doubt.”

Abe looked amused. “That’s right.”

“The author of Death Defiers is Matt Scott. May I ask how you saw through my nom de plume?”

“They had your name on the copyright page.”

“A singularly literate fellow,” he said, and turned to Jack. “Another leatherneck?”

“Used to be. Jack Wyatt.” They shook hands. “I saw your movie.”

“Ah.”

“I’m a singularly illiterate fellow.”

Nora laughed. “Hey, we met a guy last night you’ll want to interview. Captain Frank. He lives in a bus over there.” She pointed toward the woods along the far side of Beach Road.

“Interview?” Hardy asked.

“He claims his father found the beast on some island and brought it here.”

“The beast?”

She nodded toward the old house.

“That beast?” Hardy asked.

“Yeah. He’s full of all kinds of disgusting details.”

“Why should I be interested?”

“For your book.”

He stared at her, looking as if he might decide to smile. “I believe I explained, last evening, that I have no intention of writing about Beast House.”

“That’s right!” Nora snapped her fingers and looked very annoyed with herself for forgetting. “You did say that. I remember.” Suddenly grinning, she shook a finger at him. “You’d better interview Captain Frank for the book you’re not going to write.”

Hardy chuckled.

“Now don’t worry about us. We won’t breathe a word to a living soul that you’re not doing a book on Beast House. Mum’s the word, right, everyone? Your secret is safe with us.”

Tyler looked around and saw that the line was moving toward the ticket booth. A tight, sick feeling seized her stomach. Calm down, she told herself. It’s nothing to get crazy about. Maybe Dan won’t be here, after all.

But if he is?

She could wait outside, avoid him.

That wouldn’t be right.

She fumbled with the catch of her purse.

“I’ll get it,” Abe said.

“No, you’ve already…”

But he stepped ahead of her and purchased two tickets from the smiling blond girl at the window. They stepped aside to wait for the others.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Are you all right?”

“Not very.”

“I’m sure Dan’ll be glad to see you.”

“It’ll be easier if he’s not.”

Abe’s eyes looked solemn. He rubbed her shoulder lightly, and let his hand fall away as Nora and Jack approached.

Nora frowned with concern. “Are you sure you want to go ahead with this?” she asked.

“No. But I will.”

“Is there a problem?” Hardy asked.

“Tyler’s old boyfriend is supposed to be…”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Tyler said, annoyed with Nora for broadcasting her private business to the man. She turned away quickly and stepped through the turnstile.

Abe joined her on the other side, and took hold of her hand. Tyler looked up at him. “She’s got a real mouth, sometimes.”

“I take it you don’t care much for Gorman.”

“I think he’s a sleaze.”

“I’d be inclined to agree with you.”

“I thought you were a big fan.”

“I’ve enjoyed some of his books. That’s not the same as liking the guy who wrote them.”

They stopped behind the small group gathered in front of the porch. Nora and Jack came up next to them.

“What do we do, just walk in?” Nora asked.

“I’m sure there’s a guide,” Abe said.

A guide. Dan? Tyler’s heart gave a lurch. She squeezed Abe’s hand more tightly, and stared at the shadowed door. She flinched as it swung open.

The person in the entryway wasn’t Dan. She let out a deep, trembling breath as a gawky man stepped out. He looked about sixty, and walked with a stiffness as if he was in pain. Coming down the porch stairs, he held onto the railing. “Tickets,” he said in a voice that sounded remarkably strong for a man of such frail appearance.

A couple of kids near the front backed out of his way.

Tyler heard a quiet click. She glanced sideways at Hardy, and was surprised not to find the camera at his eye. One hand was inside a pocket of his jacket. He gave her a quick smile, and took his hand out.

He’s got a recorder in there, she thought. He’s going to tape the tour.

Without asking permission? Of course, or he wouldn’t be acting so sneaky. Illegal as hell, but that wouldn’t bother Gorman Hardy.

It confirmed her opinion of the man.

Sleazy bastard, she thought.

Finished gathering the tickets, the bony man made his way up the porch stairs. He turned around and wiped his mouth with the back of a hand. “Ladies and gents,” he proclaimed, “it’s now my honor to introduce you to the owner of Beast House, a gallant woman who passed through the purifyin’ fire of tragedy and came out the stronger for it—Maggie Kutch, your personal guide for today’s tour.” Like a tired ringmaster, he swept an arm toward the door and shuffled backwards to get out of the way.

An old woman waddled out of the house, bracing herself with an ebony cane. She looked old enough to be the man’s mother but, in spite of the cane, she seemed to radiate strength. She was a big woman, broad-hipped, with a massive bosom swaying the entire front of her faded print dress as she limped to the edge of the porch. To Tyler, she looked like a rather stern grandmother. She wore tan support hose, and clunky black shoes with laces. As if to perk up her drab appearance, a bright red silken scarf wrapped her neck. Her face looked sour until she smiled. The smile wasn’t particularly cheerful. It was almost a smirk.

“Welcome to Beast House,” she said. Her eyes roamed the group. Tyler felt a tingle of dread as the woman’s gaze fell upon her. “My name’s Maggie Kutch, just like Wick told you, and it’s my house.” She paused as if challenging someone to disagree with her. Not a sound came from the audience. Several people were scanning the house front or staring at their feet, apparently reluctant to look at her.

“I started showing my house to visitors all the way back in ‘31, not long after the beast took the lives of my husband and three children. Yes, the beast. Not a knife-toting maniac like some folks’d want you to believe. If you don’t think so, take a gander at this.” She plucked the scarf. As it slipped away from her neck, someone groaned. Maggie’s fingers traced the puffy seams of scar tissue streaking her throat. “No man did this to me. It was a beast with fangs and claws.” Her eyes gleamed as if she was proud of the marks. “It was the same beast as killed ten people in this house, including my own husband and children.

“Now, you might be wondering why a gal’d want to take folks through her home that was a scene of such personal tragedy. It’s an easy answer: M-O-N-E-Y.”

Tyler heard quiet laughter from Gorman.

The old woman swung up her cane and waved it toward a beam supporting the porch roof. “Right here’s where they lynched Gus Goucher. He was a lad of eighteen. He was passing through town, back in August of 1903, on his way to San Francisco where he aimed to work at the Sutro Baths, but he stopped here and asked to do some odd jobs in exchange for a meal. Lilly Thorn lived here back then with her two children. She was the widow of the famous bank robber, Lyle Thorn, and I always say she built this house with blood money. Blood comes of blood, I say. Anyway, Gus came along and she had him split up some firewood for her. He did his chore, took his meal for payment, and went on his way.

“That night, the beast came. It struck down Lilly’s sister, who was visiting, and her children. Only just Lilly survived the attack, and they found her running down the road jabbering like a lunatic.

“Right off the bat, the house was searched from attic to cellar. They found no living creature inside, but only the torn, chewed bodies of the victims. A posse was got up. Over in the hills yonder, it came on Gus Goucher where he’d bedded down for the night. Him being a stranger, he was doomed from the start.

“He was given a proper trial. Some town folks had seen him at the Thorn place the day of the killings, and there weren’t no witnesses to the slaughter with everyone dead but Lilly, and her raving. Quick as a flash, they judged him guilty. The night after the verdict came in, a mob busted him out of jail. They dragged the lad to this very spot, tossed the rope over this beam, and strung him up.

“Being amateurs, they done a poor job of it. Didn’t think to tie him, but just hoisted him up. They say he hung here, flapping and kicking like a spastic for quite a good spell while he strangled.”

“Lovely,” Nora whispered.

“Poor Gus Goucher never killed nobody. It was the beast done it all.” She thumped her cane twice on the porch floor. “Let’s go in.”

As she turned away, Tyler looked up at Abe. He shook his head as if he found the situation grimly amusing.

“Barbie Doll was right,” Nora whispered. “Tacky tacky.”

Climbing the porch stairs, Tyler released Abe’s hand long enough to rub her sweaty palm on her corduroys. She had a leaden, sickish feeling in her stomach.

The group halted in the foyer. After the sunlight outside, the house seemed dark and cool. Tyler scanned the gloom, half expecting to spot Dan, in uniform, standing guard.

“Yuck,” said a girl near the front.

Smiling, Maggie pointed her cane at a stuffed monkey. It stood beside a wall, mouth frozen wide, teeth bared. “Umbrella stand,” she said, and dropped her cane through the circle of its shaggy arms. “Lilly was partial to monkeys.” She snatched up her cane and thumped the creature’s head, bringing up a puff of dust.

“The first attack,” she said, “came in the parlor. Right this way.”

Gorman jostled Tyler. “Excuse me, dear,” he said, and made his way forward, pressing through the small group of people. He reached the door ahead of the rest, and followed Maggie through.

“A real go-getter,” Abe muttered.

“A creep,” Tyler said.

They entered the parlor. The group spread out along the length of a plush cordon. Just beyond the barrier bright red curtains hung from the ceiling to the floor, closed to conceal most of the room. Maggie, on the other side of the cordon, waited by a wall and caressed a fold of the velvety curtain. “These are new,” she said. “We just put ‘em in. Gives a touch of class, don’t you think?” She gripped a cord.

“Ethel Hughes, Lilly’s sister, was in this room the night of August second, 1903. She’d come down for Lilly’s wedding, which would’ve been the next week if tragedy hadn’t struck and put an end to it all. The beast come in through there.” She nodded toward the door behind Tyler. “It took Ethel unawares.”

She gave the cord a yank. The curtains skidded open. Tyler heard a few gasps. A girl in front of her backed up quickly, stepping on her toes. A red-haired woman turned her face away. A boy in a cowboy suit leaned over the cordon for a closer look. Gorman raised his camera. Maggie bounced her cane off the floor. “No pictures,” she warned. “Anybody wants a memento of the tour, he can pick up one of our souvenir guidebooks in the gift shop for six ninety-five.” Gorman lowered the camera and shook his head as if disgusted.

“Sure did a number on that babe,” whispered a man to Tyler’s left.

Reluctantly, Tyler lowered her eyes to the form of Ethel Hughes. The wax body was sprawled on the floor, one leg up and resting on the cushion of a couch. Its wide eyes gazed toward the ceiling. Its face was contorted with pain and horror. Its shredded gown, a white that had gone yellow like old paper, was blotched with rust-colored stains. The tatters covered little more than the breasts and pubic area. The exposed flesh, from neck to thighs, was punctured and striped with raw wounds. Bright crimson sheathed the body.

“The beast sprang over the back of the couch, taking Ethel by surprise while she was reading the Saturday Evening Post.” Maggie stepped past the body and pointed her cane at an open magazine spread out beyond the figure’s outstretched right arm. “This is the very issue she was reading when it got her.” She swept her cane around. “Everything you see here is just the same as it was that night. Except for the body, of course.” She smiled. “We couldn’t have that, now could we? But we’ve got us the next best thing. I had this exact replica done up in wax by Monsieur Claude Dubois of Nice, France, way back in ‘36. Every detail is guaranteed, right down to each wound. Got my hands on the morgue photos.

“Like I say, it’s all authentic. This is the very nightgown Ethel wore the night of the killing. Those brown spots are her actual blood.”

“Gross,” muttered the girl who’d stepped on Tyler’s foot.

Maggie ignored her. “When the beast finished with Ethel, it rampaged around the parlor. That bust of Caesar there on the mantel?” She indicated it with her cane. “See how the nose is off? That’s the work of the beast. It hurled that bust to the floor. It flung half a dozen porcelain figurines into the fireplace. It broke that chair. This beautiful rosewood table”—she tapped it with her cane—was thrown through this window. All the ruckus, of course, woke up everyone in the house. Lilly’s room was right up there.” She poked her cane toward the ceiling. “The beast must’ve heard her up and about. It went for the stairs.”

Maggie closed the curtains. She limped around the cordon, and led the group out of the parlor. Gorman stayed close to her. In a loud voice he said, “May I ask how you can be certain of the order of events? As you mentioned earlier, there were no witnesses.”

“Police reports and photos,” she explained, starting up the stairway. “Newspaper stories. It was pretty clear the way it all happened. The cops just followed the blood.”

“Had the beast been injured?”

She cast Gorman an amused glance. “Ethel’s blood,” she said. “It dripped off the beast all the way up here to Lilly’s room.” At the top of the stairs, she turned to the left.

Tyler, reaching the top, looked to the right. Red curtains surrounded an area in the center of the corridor near its far end, leaving only a narrow passageway on either side. Another exhibit. How many are there? she wondered. And how many could she stomach?

Abe gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, and they entered the bedroom of Lilly Thorn. Again, the group spread out facing a cordon and a wall of red curtains. Maggie, at the far end, tugged the pullcord. The curtains flew apart. A wax figure in a pink nightgown was sitting upright on the bed, a hand to its open mouth, frightened eyes gazing past the brass scrollwork at her feet.

“We’re right above the parlor, now,” Maggie said. “When all the commotion woke Lilly up, she dragged that dressing table over to the door for a barricade, and climbed out her window. She dropped to the roof of the bay window just a ways down, and jumped from there to the ground.”

Gorman made a disdainful snort.

Maggie glanced at him sharply. “Something wrong with you?”

“No, no.” He shook his head. “My mind just wandered there for…” His voice trailed off. “Please continue.”

“I’ve always found it curious,” she said, “that Lilly didn’t try to save her children.”

“Panic,” suggested a man beside the redhead.

“Maybe that’s it.” Maggie shut the curtains. The group followed her into the corridor. “When the beast couldn’t get into Lilly’s room, he went down the hall.”

He, Tyler thought. Suddenly the beast had become a he instead of an it.

They passed the top of the stairway. As they neared the curtained enclosure, the group formed a single file line. Tyler let go of Abe’s hand. He gestured her forward, and she walked ahead of him into the gap between the curtains and the wall. Her forearm brushed one of the folds. She flinched away from its touch, and felt goosebumps scurry up her skin. Then the corridor was clear, bright from a window at its end.

“The beast,” Maggie said, “found this door open.” She entered a room on the left. They followed her inside, and Tyler was careful not to stand behind the girl who’d stepped on her. “This is where the children slept, though I ‘spect they were awake when the beast came—maybe hiding under their covers, froze up with fear. Earl was ten, his brother Sam just eight.”

The curtains slid open.

The two wax bodies lay facedown between the brass beds. Their bloody nightshirts were ripped to shreds, and so was their skin. Tyler looked away. A rocking horse with faded paint rested beside a washstand. In one corner was an Indian tom-tom. A baseball bat was propped against the wall behind it. Suddenly, the boys seemed real to Tyler. She imagined them at play, laughing and chasing each other. She gnawed her lower lip and turned her gaze to the window. She heard Maggie’s voice, but didn’t listen. On the lawn below, she saw a weathered, lattice-work gazebo. Beyond it, the fence. Then the hillside, golden brown in the sunlight, with a few patches of green bush, clumps of rock here and there, a scattering of trees. It looked so peaceful. As she watched, a seagull swooped down, perched on the fence between a couple of the spikes, and pecked at something, apparently finding a snack. She wished she was outside, not trapped inside this mausoleum. Maybe Gorman felt the same way, for she saw that he, too, was staring out of the window.

Maggie finished, and they followed her into the corridor. This time, passing the curtained area, Tyler walked closer to the wall and kept her arms tight against her sides. As they approached the top of the stairs, Maggie said, “Sixteen nights we lived in this house before the beast came. My husband, Joseph, he couldn’t abide sleeping in one of the murder rooms, so we settled ourselves in the guest room. Our daughters, Cynthia and Diana, they weren’t so squeamish and took the boys’ room we just left.”

She led them through a doorway on the right, directly across the corridor from the entrance to Lilly’s room. A cordon was stretched from wall to wall, but the room beyond it was open. Except for one corner. There, a set of red curtains hung from a curved bar, enclosing a wedge of floor.

Maggie pointed her cane at a canopy bed. “On May seventh, 1931, Joseph and I were sleeping here. It was close to fifty years back, but I remember it all like it was last night. There’d been a good bit of rain that day, and it was still coming down when we retired. We had the windows open, and I laid there listening to the rainfall. The girls were tucked in down the hall and my baby, Theodore, was snug in the nursery. I fell asleep, feeling peaceful and safe.

“Long about midnight, there come a sound of breaking glass from downstairs. Joseph got up quiet out of bed, and tiptoed over here.” She limped to a bureau, pulled open a drawer, and lifted out a pistol. “He got this. It’s an army model Colt .45 automatic.”

“Neat,” said the kid in the cowboy suit.

“Joseph cocked it, and I can still hear the noise of it.” Cane clamped under one arm, she clutched the black hood of the weapon and jerked it back and forward with a metallic snick-snack.

“Hope that’s not loaded,” said the father of the girl.

“Couldn’t hurt if it was,” Maggie told him. “We plugged up the barrel with lead, this past year.” Aiming at the floor, she pulled the trigger. There was a clack. She returned the pistol to the drawer.

“Joseph took it with him,” she said, “and left me alone in the room. I waited till I heard him on the stairs, then I crept out to the hall. I had to get to my children, you see.”

Leaving the curtains untouched, she stepped around the cordon. The group followed her into the corridor. She stopped at the head of the stairway. “I was just here when I heard gunshots. Then come an awful scream from Joseph. I heard sounds of a scuffle, and I wanted to run, but I stood here frozen stiff, staring down through the darkness.”

She gazed down the stairs as if transfixed by the memory of it.

“Up the stairway come the beast,” she said in a low voice. “I couldn’t see too good, but his skin was white like a fish’s belly, so white it seemed to almost glow. He walked upright like a man, only hunched over some. I knew I had to run and get to the children, but I couldn’t stir a muscle. I could only just stare. Then he made a soft kind of laugh, and threw me to the floor. He tore at me with claws and teeth. I tried my best to fight him off but he was stronger than any ten men, and I was preparing to meet the Lord when Theodore started up crying way off in the nursery. Well, the beast heard it and climbed off me and went scampering down the hall.

“I was hurt bad, but I went chasing after him. I couldn’t let him get my baby.”

She started hobbling down the corridor. Once again, Tyler pressed herself close to the wall to avoid contact with the curtains. There must be bodies inside, she thought. Mutilated corpses of wax.

Just across from the boys’ room, Maggie stopped. She tapped her cane on a closed door to the right. “This stood open,” she said. “I peered inside. There, in the dark…”

“Aren’t we going in?” asked the redhead.

Maggie glared at her. “I never show the nursery.” Then she looked at the door as if she could see through it. “There, in the dark, I saw the pale beast lift my infant from his cradle and tear him asunder. I was watching, numb with horror, when something gave my nightdress a yank. I found Cynthia and Diana behind me. Well, I took a hand of each, and we rushed off. We went this way.”

They followed Maggie through the gap on the other side of the curtains. She stopped at a closed door across the stairway. The group formed a half-circle around her.

“We got this far,” she said, “before the beast leapt into the hall and came after us.” She pulled the door open. Peering into the dim recess, Tyler saw a staircase. The stairs led upward until the darkness consumed them. “We ducked inside here, and I pulled the door shut. It was dark as a pit. I threw open the attic door at the top, and bolted it after us. Then we huddled in the musty blackness.

“We knew the beast was coming. We heard the creaking stairs, and he made quiet hissing sounds like he was laughing. Then he was sniffing at the door. We waited. The girls were sobbing. I can still feel how they both trembled in my arms. Suddenly, the door burst open and the beast fell upon us.”

Maggie eased the door shut. She leaned a shoulder against it, and let out a deep sigh.

“The screams,” she said. “I’ll never forget the screams, the snarls of the beast, the wet ripping sounds as he tore up my two little girls. I fought him until the screams stopped and he had me down. I don’t know why he didn’t kill me, and there’s many a time I wished he had, but he just pinned me to the floor. I was too weak to fight him anymore, and I begged him to end it for me. After a minute, he scampered down the stairs leaving me alone up there with the bodies of my daughters. I never saw him again after that night. But others have.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Janice lay motionless, staring at the mirrored ceiling. Sprawled on top of the pillows, she looked blue and dead like a corpse discarded on a rubbish pile. She was thinking about ways to commit suicide.

So far, she’d come up with a couple of possibilities. The light fixture in the center of the ceiling was about three feet beyond her reach. By stacking pillows, she could get to it. Unscrew the blue bulb. Stick in a finger. Electrocute herself. That would probably work. An easier method, the one she thought she might prefer, was to remove all her bandages and let herself bleed to death. Exploring her wounds, however, she’d found most of them to be superficial, little more than scratches and bites. They weren’t bleeding much. She would have to work them open, or maybe take down that bulb and break it and use its glass like a knife to open her wrists or throat. She could do that.

There was one problem.

She didn’t want to die.

They couldn’t let her go, she was sure of that, but they had bandaged her wounds so they must want her to recover. Why? She could think of only one reason, and it sickened her: they wanted her alive as a plaything for the beast.

Last time, she must have been unconscious. But if it came to her now, she would see it, feel its teeth and claws ripping her, its penis battering into her.

No, don’t think about it. Maybe it won’t happen.

It’ll happen.

She pressed a hand tight against the pad between her legs.

I can’t let it happen, she thought.

I’ve got to escape.

Sure. No sweat. Just break down the door and run like hell.

Little Joni, last summer, had escaped easily enough from that maniac who had them prisoners in the cabin. And Joni’d been tied to a bed. At least I’m not tied up, Janice thought. But the cabin door hadn’t been locked from the outside, either.

They’ll open the door, she realized. They’ll have to. Someone, sooner or later, will come in to check on me, maybe to feed me, or—and the thought chilled her—to let in the beast.

When that door opened, she would get her chance.

But she had to be ready.

She rolled herself off the pillows, groaning as the movement awakened streaks and waves of pain. Crawling on her knees, she dragged several of the large pillows to the center of the room. She stacked them. As she pushed herself up to climb atop them, she realized that the bulb would be searing hot. She limped over to where she had been resting, and picked up another pillow. Its case felt like satin. She yanked, splitting one of the seams, and shook out the foam rubber stuffing. With her right hand wrapped in the slick fabric, she returned to the waist-high stack.

She stepped onto the top. Her foot sank in, mashing deep. Arms out for balance, she leaned in, brought up her other foot, and straightened herself. The pillows wobbled under her. She teetered for a moment, then was steady.

With her covered hand, she reached up and gripped the blue bulb. She felt its warmth through the layers of satin. She twisted it. The bulb turned easily, and went out.

Not a shred of light entered the room to relieve the total blackness. Janice kept unscrewing the bulb, but the dark disoriented her. Though she tried to stand motionless, the pillows seemed to be shifting slowly under her feet. She swayed. Only her gentle hold on the bulb kept her from losing all sense of direction and falling.

It came loose in her hand.

Quickly, she took a blind leap forward. She seemed to drop for a very long time as if plunging into an abyss. Finally, the floor pounded her feet. Windmilling, she fell backwards. The floor slammed her rump. The back of her head and shoulders toppled the pillows. She writhed against them as pain surged through her body.

Good one, she thought. You probably opened up everything with that stunt.

But she felt proud. There was a ripple of excitement under the pain. She’d done it! She pressed the bulb to her chest, and flinched at its fiery touch.

Smart move.

Smart, all right. Now you’ve got a weapon.

She waited until the pain subsided a little, then crawled on her knees through the dark. After a long while, she bumped a wall. The door, she thought, should be over that way—somewhere to the left.

She didn’t want broken glass where she would be waiting. Carefully, she unwrapped the bulb. It was still warm, but not too hot to handle. Gripping the base, she rapped its glass gently against the wall. Then harder. It burst with a pop that sounded very loud in the silence. Sliding her fingers up the neck, she felt a jagged rim.

She eased sideways. One hand on the wall, she made her way slowly through the darkness until she found the door. She sat down beside it. She leaned her back against the wall, drew up her knees, and waited.

From somewhere not far away came a sound like the cry of a baby. Maybe a cat, she thought. What does the beast sound like? No, it sounded too much like a human baby to be anything else. After a few moments, it stopped. The house returned to silence.

Janice frowned. A baby? Maggie Kutch was far too old to be its mother. Could it be, she wondered, that she was not the only prisoner in the house?

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“Twenty years went by,” Maggie said, “before the beast struck again.”

They were back inside the bedroom Maggie had shared with her husband. She was standing beside the red curtains that blocked one corner, a hand on the pullcord.

“This was 1951. Tom Bagley and Larry Maywood, a couple of youngsters twelve years old, broke into the house after dark. They should’ve known better, both of them. They’d come on the tour plenty of times, and heard me warn more than once that at night the beast prowls the house. I ‘spect curiosity got the best of them. Curiosity killed the cat.”

“Satisfaction brought it back,” mumbled the girl who’d stepped on Tyler’s foot.

Maggie heard the comment, and smirked. “Didn’t bring back Tom Bagley,” she said. The curtains slid apart.

The girl gasped and took a quick step away. Jack, behind her, protected himself with a raised forearm, gently nudging her to a stop.

The cowboy said, “Oh, wow.”

The wax body on the floor was mangled, its clothes torn open, a tatter of underpants draping its buttocks. The skin of its back was scored with scratches. Its neck was a pulpy stub. Its head lay nearby, eyes wide, mouth contorted in agony.

The other boy, about to raise the window, was peering over a shoulder at his dismembered friend. His face, oddly mashed and cracked, was somehow more unnerving to Tyler than the grisly remains on the floor.

“These two,” Maggie said, “were in the house for a long spell, nosing around. They’d tried to pry open the nursery door. They’d gone up to the attic. But they were snooping here in this room when the beast found them. He struck down Tom, and Larry ran for the window. While the beast was tearing up his friend, Larry got away by jumping. ‘Cept for me, Larry was the only soul ever to see the beast and live.”

Maggie smiled strangely. “Now there’s only just me. I hear Larry got himself killed in an accident last year.”

“What’s wrong with his face?” Nora asked.

“Took a spill,” Maggie said. “We tried as best we could to patch it up. Didn’t do too well, did we? We got us a whole new head on order, but it ain’t come in yet.”

She closed the curtains, and the group followed her out of the room. Hobbling past the top of the stairs, she stopped in front of the curtains that blocked the corridor. “Here’s our last exhibit of the tour,” she said. “We just got it in this past spring. It’s in a mighty inconvenient spot, but here’s where it happened so here’s where the display had to go or it just wouldn’t be right.

“It happened just last year, back in the spring of ‘78. We had us a family name of Ziegler on the tour—husband, wife, and their boy about ten. Well, the boy he got spooked on the tour. Started crying and carrying on, so his folks took him off before we finished up. From what the mother said later, the father was mighty annoyed with the boy. Thought he hadn’t acted manly. The last thing he wanted was a sissy for a son, so he dragged the youngster back here after dark.” A corner of Maggie’s mouth curled up. “Wanted to show him there weren’t nothing to be afraid of. Only he was wrong and the boy was right. They broke in the back door, and they got just to here before the beast got them both.”

She yanked the pullcord. The front section of curtains flew open.

The boy was facedown, shirt torn from his back, his neck mauled.

The man sprawled beyond him was torn up, his severed arm lying across one thigh.

On the floor between them was a man in the shredded tan uniform of a police officer. His throat was torn out. Tyler stared at the grimacing face. She blinked as the corridor darkened. A stark blue aura flashed around the body. Through the ringing in her ears, she heard Maggie. “A patrolman name of Dan Jenson, making his rounds…”

“Tyler? Tyler?” Abe’s voice.

She opened her eyes. She was sitting on the floor, someone holding her from behind, her head down between her knees. She felt dizzy and nauseated. People were whispering. Raising her head, she saw Nora crouched at her side. Nora squeezed her hand. It was numb as if shot with Novocaine.

“You’ll be okay,” Abe said from behind. That was him clutching her shoulders. “Come on,” he said, “let’s get you out of here.” His hands slid under her armpits, and he lifted her. She glimpsed Dan’s body again before Abe turned her away. No, not his body. A wax figure. But Dan.

Abe’s firm hands guided her toward the stairs. “I’m okay,” she muttered, shaking her head. He held her upright and loosened his grip, but stayed behind her as if prepared to stop another fall. “I’m okay,” she said again. He came around to her side, and took hold of her upper arm.

“I’m sorry,” he said. His eyes looked sad and worried.

“I…” She looked back. Nora and Jack stood next to Abe. Down the corridor, several in the group were staring at her.

“We shouldn’t have come,” Nora said. Her face was drawn with misery. “Tyler, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made you…Jesus, who would’ve thought…?” Her chin started trembling, and tears filled her eyes.

Tyler squeezed her hand. Then she rubbed her own forehead. The skin felt cool and damp. “I want to get out of here,” she mumbled.

She thought, I’m going to throw up.

She started down the stairs, Abe hanging onto her arm. “Hurry,” she said. Four steps from the bottom, she lunged free of his grip and raced down. She dashed across the foyer, past the rabid-looking stuffed monkey, and yanked open the door. Glaring sunlight blinded her. The porch reeked of decayed wood. She hurled herself against the railing, leaned far over it, and vomited onto the brown grass.

“Some folks can’t take it,” Maggie said. “We get them every so often. Most’ll just drop out of the tour along the way, but I’ve had maybe a score faint on me, one time or another. They ain’t always women, neither. I’ve seen big, burly fellows keel over like they’d been poleaxed.” She grinned. “Just figure you got a little extra excitement for your money.”

She closed the curtains. “That’ll conclude our tour for this morning, folks.” Gorman stepped aside to let her pass. He followed close behind her. Over her shoulder, she said, “Now don’t forget to visit our gift shop downstairs, where you can purchase your illustrated booklet on the history of Beast House and choose from our assortment of souvenirs.”

At the bottom of the stairs, she swung her cane to the left. “Just down the hall there.”

Glancing that way, Gorman saw a wooden sign a short distance up the corridor. It read Souvenirs, and pointed to an open door. He hesitated while Maggie limped outside and several of the tourists stepped around him. He intended to visit the gift shop, but he didn’t want to lose Tyler and the others.

An interview with Tyler would be marvelous. Beast House is not for the squeamish. This young lady from our tour group actually passed out…

He stepped to the threshold. Tyler, along with her three friends, was already out near the ticket booth, heading away. Maybe he could catch up with her at the motel.

He went to the gift shop, and was vaguely relieved to find others inside. Behind the counter stood the gawky, grim-looking fellow who’d taken the tickets and introduced Maggie. As the man rang up a sale, Gorman reached into his pocket and switched off the cassette recorder.

He certainly hoped it had picked up all of Maggie’s spiel. It should’ve worked fine, he assured himself. After all, it was brand new and identical to the one he’d discarded.

He should check the tape, however, as soon as possible. If, for some reason, it hadn’t operated properly, he would have to repeat the tour. He hoped to avoid that.

For the others, the displays must have seemed like grotesque curiosities—the work of a disturbed imagination, a sham to draw tourists. Gorman, however, knew better. For him, the mutilated mannequins seemed no less real than Brian’s body impaled on the fence.

Brian.

Pausing by a shelf of ashtrays and plates, he glanced around at the cashier.

That old geezer, certainly, would be incapable of sticking Brian up there. The same went double for Maggie. Only someone with extraordinary strength could have accomplished that feat, or taken him down again. These two might very well, however, be accomplices. According to the diary, the beast had lived with Elizabeth Thorn for a period of time before she allowed it to slaughter her family. Perhaps Maggie, now, was its mistress. Something to think about.

Wandering among the display tables and shelves, Gorman loaded his arms with souvenir items: a strip of six color slides showing the front of the house and several of the murder scenes; half a dozen picture postcards; the glossy eight-by-ten-inch booket rich with text and photos; a shotglass with a gilt sketch of the house; a coffee mug sporting a color rendition of the house and the legend beast house—malcasa point, calif; a plastic back-scratcher with the same legend along its shaft and a white hand with claws for raking the itch; finally, two bumper stickers—beware of the beast with a hand at each end, claws dripping red blood—and I LOVE BEAST HOUSE with an illustration of the building. Gorman had grinned when he picked up that one.

He browsed the shop for a while longer, but found no more items relating specifically to Beast House. He carried his load to the cashier. Without a word or smile, the man started ringing up the items. He looked frail and oddly prim with his gray workshirt buttoned to the throat, but he’d obviously neglected to shave that morning. His chin was spiky with gray stubble. Gorman cleared his throat to conceal the sound of switching on his recorder. “Have you worked here long?” he asked.

“Long enough.”

“Have you ever seen the beast?”

“Nope.”

“Do you believe it actually exists?”

“You took the tour,” the man said without looking up.

“Yes.”

“Them folks didn’t die of the whooping cough.”

You wouldn’t know, of course, what became of the three bodies I happened to notice behind the house last night? What, he wondered, might the fellow say to that?

“Comes to twenty-nine dollars sixty-eight cents.”

Gorman paid cash. He watched for a receipt, but the tape was still curling out of the cash register when the man crinkled up the top of the loaded bag. “May I have the receipt, please?”

“I got no use for it.” He tore it loose and slapped it down on the counter.

Gorman hurried out of the house. Squinting against the brightness, he looked for Tyler and her friends. They were nowhere in sight.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“Shall I take you back to the motel?” Abe asked.

Tyler, slumped in the passenger seat with her knees propped against the dash, shook her head and slowly unwrapped the stick of Doublemint Nora had given her. “I don’t think so,” she murmured. “I don’t think I want to be alone.”

Abe felt helpless, looking at her. He wished he could make her misery go away. He wanted to hold her gently and tell her it would be all right, but he knew that only time could blunt the shock and sorrow.

“Hey,” Nora said, “why don’t we head over to the beach? I always feel better at the beach when I’m low.”

Tyler folded the chewing gum and put it in her mouth. “I’d like that.”

“My trunks are at the motel,” Jack said.

“We’ll just walk on the sand.”

“I think I might like to swim,” Tyler said.

Her comment surprised Abe and pleased him. Many people in her place would want only to curl up alone with their loss. Her attitude seemed healthier than that. “Swim we shall,” he said.

“We didn’t even bring our suits,” Nora reminded her. “I didn’t, anyway, did you?”

“I want to buy a new one.”

“Sure. Okay. Me too.”

Abe pulled out and drove slowly up the road. “Why don’t we let you off at a store? You can buy your suits. Jack and I’ll go on back to the motel for ours, and we’ll pick you up in about fifteen minutes.”

“It may take longer,” Nora said.

On the next block, Abe spotted the sign for Will’s Sporting Goods. White lettering on the display window announced guns, tackle, swimming and camping accessories. “How about there?” he asked.

“We can give it a try,” Nora said.

He pulled to the curb. Tyler met his eyes. “Hurry back,” she told him.

“I will. We’ll meet you right here.”

She opened the door and climbed out. Nora pushed the seat-back forward. She looked at Abe as if about to say something, seemed to change her mind. She joined Tyler on the sidewalk. Abe waited for a car to pass, then swung onto the road.

“Christ,” Jack said. “The poor kid.”

“She’s holding up pretty well.”

“Gutsy.”

“Yeah.”

“Nora said she almost married the guy once. She finally figured she’d screwed up by turning him down, and came here to give him another shot.”

Abe nodded. He scanned the building fronts.

“Nora also said she was having second thoughts about it all. ‘Cause of you.”

Abe said nothing, but he felt his heart speed up.

“She thinks Tyler’s really fallen for you. No taste.”

Abe grinned. Then, down a sidestreet to the right, he spotted a pair of flag standards on the sidewalk. He turned. The gray stone building might be a post office, he realized, but it turned out to be the city hall.

“What are you doing?”

“You take the car. Get the trunks and some towels, and meet me back here. I want to do some checking.”

“On Jenson?”

“You got it.”

He eased in behind a pickup truck, left the keys in the ignition, and handed his room key to Jack. He left the car. He crossed the road at an angle away from the administrative offices’ entrance, heading for a blue, five-pointed star suspended above a set of double glass doors. The doors read, police department malcasa point. Pushing one open, he entered a deserted waiting area. A partition of frosted glass ran the length of the countertop. He stepped up to one of its three windows.

“We’ll want to impound it,” said the man. He was sitting on the corner of a nearby desk, his back to the window.

The female officer nodded. Her tan uniform was too tight across her broad chest and hips. She must be twenty-one, but she didn’t look it. She wore her hair short, in a cut similar to Tyler. Her eyes were on the other cop, and she didn’t notice Abe.

“Have Bix tow it in, but I want you supervising.”

“Oh, great. Bix is my favorite human.”

“Fortunes of war, Lucy. He’s a jerk, that’s why I want you out there. Give him half a chance, he’ll screw up the works just to spite us. Soon as it’s in the yard, let me know. I’ll want to go over it myself.”

“Right.”

“Bix puts a grope on you, you have my permission to deck him.”

She had a nice smile. “I’ll run him in for nauseating a police officer.” She started to turn away, and spotted Abe. With a nod, she signaled that they had a visitor.

The man looked over his shoulder, smiled, and scooted off the desktop as Lucy headed for a side door. He was taller than Abe, with a lean, creased face. His gray hair was long at the sides as if to make up for what he lacked on top. His eyes were the same gray as his hair. Sniper eyes, Abe thought. But cop eyes, too—wary and somewhat bemused.

“Yessir,” he said. “I’m Harry Purcell. What can I do for you?”

“I just finished a tour of Beast House.”

His smile slipped a bit. “Yes?”

“They’ve got Dan Jenson on display over there.”

The smile vanished completely. “I’m aware of that.”

“I was with a young lady who used to know him. Can you tell me what happened to him?”

Purcell’s face pinched up as if he’d stubbed a toe. He said, “Oooh. You mean she didn’t know he was deceased?”

“That’s what I mean. The first she knew was when she found his wax face staring up at her.”

“Oooh. That’s raw, mighty raw. How’s she bearing up?”

“She’s managing.”

“The damn shit house. Sometimes, I think I’d like to torch the place.”

“How was Jenson killed?”

“Went in without a backup. He was on routine patrol, noticed a light in one of the windows. Now, nobody goes in that place at night. Not even Kutch or Hapson. Claim they don’t, anyway. So Jenson suspected prowlers. He radioed for backup, but we haven’t got much personnel. Two-man shifts, and a watch commander on dispatch. Well, Sweeny’d picked that time to stop for a bite. Jenson said he’d wait for him, but then he went on in alone. And he didn’t come out. When Sweeny got there, he found Jenson’s radio car abandoned. He wouldn’t go in the house alone, and I can’t say I blame him. We rousted up the rest of the force, even got the volunteer fire department in on it, and went in. Found his body in the upstairs hallway. His, and the other two. Ziegler and his kid. Searched the place top to bottom, came up zilch.”

“What became of Jenson’s body?”

“He had a sister come for it. Had it sent south. To Sacramento, I believe. It was a real shame. Dan was a fine young man.”

“There was a coroner’s inquest?”

“Sure. Verdict was ‘death at the hands of another’ on all three of them. Trouble was, we couldn’t come up with ‘another.’ We carried out a full investigation, but it ran out of steam. Just wasn’t much to go on. Couldn’t even say for sure it was a man that did it. Might’ve been a wild animal, but we couldn’t think what. We’ve got some coyotes in the hills, but they’re too small. We considered maybe a dog—it’d have to be the size of a mastiff or Dane. We even had some talk of bobcats and bears, though I don’t know where one could’ve come from. But all that’s pretty much ruled out. Those are furry creatures, and the only hairs we picked up in the vacuum were human.”

“Could the wounds have been made by a human?” Abe asked.

The cop shrugged. “If he was mighty strong and had a good set of fingernails.”

“They looked like claw marks on the wax.”

“We had a theory he might’ve used some kind of device, like a spading-fork or maybe a glove fixed up with spikes of some sort. Sounds a bit farfetched, but the whole situation was pretty curious.”

“Think the beast did it?”

“That’s sure what Maggie wants the whole world to think. Her business picked up a hundred percent after the killings. Which gives her something of a motive, in my opinion. If I was to hazard a guess—and I haven’t got a speck of evidence to back it up—I’d say Maggie was in back of it. I think her boy, Axel, is physically capable of ripping a man’s arm out of its socket. Maybe Wick or Maggie were with him. They took care of Ziegler and his kid, killed Dan when he came up, then used something to claw them up to make it look like the work of their beast and hightailed before we got the house surrounded. That’d be my best guess, but like I say, you can’t take a guess into court.”

“What about the other killings?”

He leaned forward, elbows on the counter. “I’ll tell you what I think, and I’m not the only one in town who suspects the same. I say Maggie Kutch, maybe with Wick Hapson’s help, murdered her husband and kids back in ‘31, mutilated the bodies and started up this story about a mysterious creature to tie it in with the old Thorn killings and throw off suspicion. I was just a kid at the time, but I remember there was plenty of talk along those lines. Wick was in high school then and he used to do yard work at the Kutch place. There was talk about him and Maggie even before the killings. They came under plenty of suspicion, but it died down over the years. Started up again in the fifties, after the Bagley boy was murdered in there, but by then they’d been running the tour so long they half had people believing in that beast of theirs. And it didn’t help any that the kid who survived—Maywood—claimed it was some kind of monster that did in his friend. Of course, he was hysterical. It was dark in there. He probably expected to see some kind of hellish creature and his eyes played tricks on him. Then again, maybe it was Wick in some kind of outfit. Who’s to say?”

“You ever hear Captain Frank on the subject of the beast?”

“The old goat’s got himself quite a yarn. What’s he call it, Pogo?”

“Bobo.”

“If that guy told me I’ve got a nose on my face, I’d take a quick peek in the mirror before I’d believe him.”

Abe grinned. “He’s not too reliable?”

“Let’s say he likes to be the center of attention, and he’s figured out that just about everyone—but especially tourists—are as happy as pigs in shit to hear about the beast. He gives them what they want to hear, and he’s center stage for half an hour or so.”

“He said the thing killed his sister.”

“I’ve checked it out. We’ve got files going back to 1853 when the town was founded. According to the reports, his sister was killed by a coyote. His father had been on a trade ship to Australia, but there’s nothing to indicate he brought back an unusual animal. He could’ve, I suppose, but I think it’s more likely Captain Frank just used his father’s voyage to make the story sound good. If the old man had been a miner, he would’ve brought it up out of a shaft.”

“I see what you mean,” Abe said. “I’d better get moving, I’ve got some people waiting for me.” He offered his hand, and the man shook it. “I really appreciate your taking the time to tell me all this.”

“Sorry your friend had such a raw experience. You can tell her Dan died bravely in the line of duty, and we miss him around here.”

“I’ll do that. Thanks again,” Abe said, and started to turn away.

“Say. One thing before you leave. You must’ve been in town last night, out at the Last Chance, or I don’t suppose you would’ve heard the Bobo story.”

“That’s right.”

“Stayed at the Welcome Inn?”

“From what I hear, it’s the only motel in town.”

“Notice anything peculiar out there?”

“Peculiar? In what way?”

“Seems, the Crogans, the family that runs the place, weren’t anywhere around this morning. The cook phoned in around six to report it. The office was all locked up. We sent a man in, and it looks like nobody slept there last night. Just found their car abandoned down the road. No sign of them anywhere.”

“Odd.” Abe shook his head. “No, I don’t recall anything unusual.”

“We didn’t think much of it till we found the car. That was about an hour ago. Seems like there might’ve been trouble.”

“I’ll ask my friends if they noticed anything.”

“I’d appreciate it. We’ve got a man out at the Inn now to interview guests, but it seems most everyone’s already taken off. Pay in advance, leave first thing in the morning. Folks on vacation, they always want an early start.”

“Well, I’ll check.”

“Bring your friends around, if they saw or heard something. ‘Course, all we’ve got now is a missing family. If it turns worse, we’ll be in touch for sure.”

“Right. Well, I hope they show up.”

“You and me both.” He tipped a finger to his eyebrow. “Have a good one.”

Outside, Abe scanned the roadside. The Mustang wasn’t in sight so he walked to the corner. Looking down Front Street, he tried to spot Tyler and Nora. Apparently they were still shopping. After a car passed, he crossed and stood near the curb to wait for Jack.

Up the road a block, a blue-and-white patrol car swung out of the service station. That would be Lucy at the wheel, he thought, with Bix in the tow truck tailing her. As she drew near, she smiled at Abe and raised a hand. He returned her wave. Bix drove by with a finger deep in his mouth. The patrol car and tow truck moved slowly down the road, waited at a traffic light halfway through town, and moved on. They passed the ticket shack in front of Beast House, and soon disappeared where the road curved away into the wooded hills.

Abe turned his gaze to the sidewalk. A block down, a woman pushed a baby stroller into a shop. When they were out of the way, he could see down to the sporting goods store. Still no sign of Tyler or Nora.

The Mustang pulled up beside him. Its passenger seat was piled with towels, his blue swimming trunks on top. He lifted the stack and sat down.

“Took me a while,” Jack said. “I got waylaid by a cop.”

“The disappearing family?”

“You know about that. I’ll tell you something you don’t know.” He checked the side mirror, and eased into the deserted lane. “They aren’t the only ones missing. I was talking to the cop when up comes that Hardy fellow and says his friend, that Blake character, hasn’t turned up all morning. Hardy hasn’t seen him since last night.”

“The plot thickens,” Abe said.

“Yep. The cop was so intrigued by that little development he lost his interest in me, or I’d still be there.”

“Well, I don’t think the ladies are finished shopping yet, anyway.”

Jack parked in front of Will’s Sporting Goods. “We’ll probably have a long wait,” he said. “You get a couple of gals trying to make up their minds on swimwear, it could take all day. So, what did you find out about Jenson?”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

“Turn here,” Nora said.

Tyler, in the backseat, kept her eyes down as Jack swung the car onto Beach Lane. She didn’t want to see the road she’d driven yesterday, but her mind dwelled on it: the windowless brick house across the field to the left, the woods to the right, the row of mailboxes, Dan’s mailbox. She saw herself and Nora walking Seaside’s shadowy ruts, the strange man staring out at them through the screen. She remembered the desolate, abandoned look of Dan’s cabin with its empty porch, and how she’d felt anxious to get away from it. Without knowing, she’d somehow known her search for Dan would end badly. Dead more than a year. God, it was hard to believe. He lives in Beast House? I wouldn’t say that, not exactly. That crazy old man, Captain Frank, had known all along. He’d toyed with her. Even last night, he’d kept it to himself. Maybe he just didn’t have the guts to come out with it. Maybe he’d wanted to, but couldn’t force himself to be the bearer of such news. Probably holds himself responsible, figures it was his father’s Bobo that did it.

She wished he had told her. Nothing could’ve dragged her into that awful place, if she’d known. Dan’s body—no, not his body, just a wax dummy…

And she’d fainted. God, she’d fainted! Right in front of everyone. The memory made her skin go hot with embarrassment, just as it had every time she’d thought of it, even in the shop while trying to pick out a swimsuit.

Fainted. Barfed.

It would’ve been awful enough without all that, and she felt ashamed for letting the humiliation of it stand in the way of the grief she should feel over Dan’s death. She should be mourning him, not blushing over the spectacle she’d made of herself.

But deep inside, where there should have been anguish, was only a hollow feeling that seemed distant from sorrow.

The car stopped.

“All out that’s getting out,” Nora announced.

“You go on without me,” Abe said. “I’ll change in here.”

Tyler followed Nora out the driver’s door.

“Too bad,” Nora said. “I guess we won’t have the beach to ourselves.”

Two other cars and a van were parked nearby, but Tyler saw no people about. They were probably already down at the ocean. “I’ll wait for Abe,” she said.

“No hurry,” Nora told her. “We can all…”

Jack swatted her rump. “Let’s go,” he said.

The two of them started down a path along the low hillside, holding hands, Nora nodding as he spoke to her.

Tyler stepped to the front of the Mustang. She leaned against its hood, staring at the brown weeds and dusty path, very aware of Abe just behind her, probably watching her through the windshield as he changed into his trunks. She wondered why he hadn’t put them on at the motel, as Jack must’ve done. She heard the quiet clink of his belt buckle. The car moved slightly against her rump, probably in response to Abe rising and settling in the seat as he took down his pants. Thinking about that, she felt a quick stir of excitement that made her guilt worse.

I’m not betraying Dan, she told herself. It was decided before I knew. I can’t help how I feel. I can’t. I’m sorry.

Her hands went quickly down the front of her blouse, flicking open its buttons. She slipped the sleeves down her arms, and draped the blouse across the hood. The sun’s heat and the caressing breeze felt wonderful on her skin, and she could almost feel Abe gazing at her. She wondered if his trunks were on yet. Did the sight of her back, bare except for two thin cords, arouse him? She and Nora, after paying for their bikinis, had used the changing rooms to put them on. She almost wished, now, that she had left hers in its bag. She could’ve stripped naked here in the sunshine and the ocean breeze, with Abe watching in astonishment from the car. It seemed outlandish, but at the moment she felt capable of such actions. Giddy, maybe a little desperate. She could reach back, right now, and pluck the cords and let the top fall away and turn to face him.

He would think she’d gone mad.

Maybe I have gone mad.

Troubled by the urge to remove her top, she went ahead and opened her corduroys. She slid them down her legs, stepped out of them, placed them neatly on the hood without turning far enough to see Abe through the windshield. Then she leaned back again.

Abe was taking a very long time.

Maybe enjoying the show.

I ought to give him a real show.

My God, what’s the matter with me?

Staring down at herself, she even wondered what had possessed her in the store. At home, she had a similar string bikini. She never wore it in public, only in the privacy of her enclosed sundeck. So why had she bought one just like it this morning? And why, even though it covered so little, did she have such a strong desire to pull it off and stand naked in front of Abe and…?

I must be crazy, she thought.

And it must have something to do with finding Dan that way. Something to do with fear and loneliness. Maybe more to do with the feel of the sun and the sea air and the slick fabric on her nipples and the taut press of it on her groin and knowing she was so very much alive like an insult to death.

The sound of the door opening interrupted her thoughts. She turned around and watched Abe step out of the car. He looked sleek and tanned. His boxer trunks were pale blue. He had a bundle of towels clamped under one arm. “That’s quite an outfit,” he said.

“Thanks. I like yours, too.”

He laughed. “Want to leave your clothes here?” He held out a hand. She gave him the blouse and pants. He put them in the car and locked up. He approached without looking at her. A troubled frown had replaced his smile.

“What is it?” Tyler asked.

He shifted the bundle to his right arm, took hold of her hand, and led her toward the path. “I didn’t go back to the motel,” he said. “I stopped in at the police department.”

“The police?”

“I wanted to get the story on Dan. I thought there were…things we should know.”

The tight sick feeling seemed to swell inside Tyler. “And?” she murmured.

“I didn’t find out much. He was murdered there in the house. They don’t know who did it. A sister from Sacramento claimed his body.”

“Roberta. She’s an accountant. She had dinner with us once at Ben Jonson’s. A very nice person.”

Abe let go of her hand. He put an arm around her and eased her close to his side. “I’m awfully sorry about all this.”

“At least…his parents aren’t alive. It would’ve been terrible for them. He wasn’t married?”

“I didn’t ask. I assume he wasn’t, since his sister…”

“Probably not. God, it’s funny. Yesterday, my biggest worry was that he might be married. Then, today, I was so worried that he wouldn’t be. And all the time, he was dead in that house for everyone to gawk at.”

“It’s not him, Tyler.”

“Yeah, I know. I keep telling myself. God, you wouldn’t think they’d be allowed to put someone on display like that.”

“Madame Tussaud’s been doing it for two hundred years.”

“Doesn’t make it right.”

“No,” Abe said, “it doesn’t.”

“It’d probably take a court order to get it out of there.”

The path curved around the slope, and Tyler saw Nora and Jack down at the water’s edge. Combers were rolling in. Off to the side, a woman stood in the surf holding the hand of a toddler. A man was jogging along the shoreline, a black retriever prancing ahead of him. Stretched out on a blanket near the foot of the slope was a young couple embracing. Tyler felt Abe’s hand caressing her side. She took a deep breath of the fresh, tangy air.

“When are you leaving?” she asked.

“There’s no rush.”

“Today? Are you leaving today?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“On you.”

She stopped walking. Turning to her, Abe let the towels fall. He looked into her eyes as his hands slid up her arms, cupped her shoulders. “I’ll stay another night,” she said, “if you will.”

He smiled slightly. “Do you think Nora would object?”

“Surely you jest?”

He eased Tyler against him. Gently. One hand stroking her hair, the other light on her back. She hugged him tightly. He was warm and smooth and solid, and she remembered embracing him that morning and the way his hands had felt on her breasts. It seemed like a very long time ago. Dan had been there in the room with them like a chaperon. If I’m going to lose you to this guy, Abe had said, I’d rather not get in any deeper. I want you too much already. The memory of his words made Tyler’s heart pound fast. Guilt swept through her, and she hugged Abe more tightly to ward it off. Though he stroked her hair and back gently, as if intent only upon consoling her, Tyler felt his rising hardness.

Abe stepped back. His smile trembled. “I guess I can stay one more night.”

Tyler nodded. She was a little breathless. “I would like that,” she said.

He looked toward the water, and Tyler’s eyes strayed down to his trunks. The bulge slanted upward, forcing the elastic band slightly away from his waist. “There might be a problem,” he said, and crouched to pick up the towels.

“A problem?”

They walked down the path.

“The owners of the motel seem to be missing. Their car was found abandoned this morning. Nobody seems to know what happened to them.”

“Do you think the motel might close?”

“Maybe there’s someone to keep it running, I don’t know.”

“Oh, great. It’s the only place in town, isn’t it?”

“Far as I know. Brian Blake also appears to be among the missing.”

“What the hell’s going on?”

“I don’t know.”

“Oh, man. This town. I knew when we got here it was a creepy place. I wanted to get out of here last night. And I might’ve, too, except for you.”

“Except for me?”

“It’s all your fault,” Tyler said, and squeezed his hand.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Besides, I don’t think I could’ve pried Nora away.”

In the sand at the bottom of the hill, Tyler kicked off her sandals. She picked them up and hooked her arm through Abe’s. The sand felt hot, almost burning. Nora and Jack were a distance up the beach, wading through the wash, but they’d left their clothes behind in a heap. Tyler dropped her sandals next to the pile. Abe put down the towels.

“Shall we go in?” Tyler asked.

“We both need to cool off.”

With a laugh, she dashed across the sand. Abe ran along easily beside her. Cold water splashed up her legs. She kicked through a knee-high wave, charged into one that chilled her to the hips, then dived. She went rigid with the cold blast, but moments later it no longer felt so bad. She swam out, the swells lifting her, easing her down. When something seized her foot, she thought shark! And then she thought, Abe.

She tugged free, came up for air, and whirled around. A moment later, Abe’s head popped to the surface, hair matted down, face shiny and dripping. She swatted water at him. He ducked under the surface. She watched him glide forward, saw his arms reach out, felt his hands on her hips. He pulled her down. His body slid against her as if it were oiled. He nuzzled the side of her neck, kissed her mouth. They rolled under the water, embracing. One of his thighs pressed between her spread legs and she quivered and scissored her legs shut, trapping it there. She shoved a hand down the back of his trunks, fingered the crease of his rump, clenched a firm buttock and writhed against him. But her lungs started to hurt. She pushed herself away from Abe, clawed to the surface, and gasped for air. Abe came up in front of her. Treading water, they panted for a while.

“Trying to drown me?” Tyler finally asked.

“You trying to drown me?”

“What a way to go,” she said. The words reminded her of Dan on the corridor floor, his throat torn out.

“What?” Abe asked.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“I keep…forgetting about Dan. Then I keep remembering.”

“Yeah.”

“Would you mind if we get out now?”

“Not if that’s what you want.”

“We’d better.” She forced a smile. “Before we lose our suits.”

“As good a reason as any.”

Side by side, they swam closer to shore. Then they waded out, the waves nudging their backs as if to hurry them along. “Let’s just walk,” Tyler said.

“Towel?”

“The sun will dry us.” She took Abe’s hand, and they walked on the hard-packed sand, the wash of the ocean sometimes swirling over their feet. The sun felt hot and good. Gulls wheeled overhead, squealing. Jack and Nora, a distance up the beach, were strolling slowly toward them.

“There’s something I want you to know,” Tyler said.

“Uh-oh.”

“Not really. It’s just that…I don’t want you to think…God, how can I say this? I felt the way I do about you before all this about Dan happened. You remember this morning in my room?”

“How could I forget?”

“That was before…the tour. I’d already made up my mind not to…get involved with him.”

Abe nodded as if he’d known that.

“I just don’t want you to think the way I…I mean, I’m not on some kind of bizarre rebound. It has nothing to do with him. Hell, I wanted you last night. But he was in the way, even though…oh, God, doesn’t that sound wonderful? He was in the way and now he’s not.”

“I think I understand, Tyler.”

“You guys went in!” Nora said as she and Jack came near. “Didn’t you freeze your buns?”

“It wasn’t too bad,” Tyler said. “Give it a try.”

“No way. I’m gonna spread out one of those towels and catch some rays. We’re gonna stay awhile, aren’t we?”

“Sure,” Abe said. “One thing, though. Is anyone opposed to staying over again tonight?”

“All right!” Nora wiggled her eyebrows at Jack. “How about you, Tiger? Think you’re up to it?”

“There might be a problem with the Inn,” he said to Abe.

“Weird, huh?” Nora asked. “What do you suppose happened to those people?”

“I promised the cop I’d check about that,” Abe said. “None of you noticed anything strange last night, did you?”

Nora said, “Not a thing.” Jack shook his head.

“If the motel’s going to close up,” Tyler said, “we’d better find out.” Her heart started racing. “Why don’t Abe and I go on ahead and check it out? We can register, if everything’s okay, and meet you back here.”

“Terrif.”

“That okay with you, Abe?” Tyler asked.

“Let’s go.”

They left Nora and Jack spreading towels on the sand, and trudged up the slope. Tyler was eager and nervous. The parking area seemed very far away, as if the path had stretched itself simply to frustrate her. At last, they reached the car. Abe opened the passenger door. He rolled down its window, and tossed the towels into the backseat.

“Whoa,” Tyler said. “I’d better put something on.”

“You look fine,” he said.

With a shrug, she climbed in. She jumped at the burning touch of the seat cover, then settled down and watched Abe wince as he sat behind the wheel. “Hurt?” she asked.

“I can take it.”

“We should’ve put clothes on.”

“I like you this way.” Reaching over, he slid a hand up her leg. He patted her thigh, met her eyes for a moment, then started the car.

Tyler slumped down in her seat as they passed through the middle of town. Abe kept glancing at her, looking a bit amused. He drove in silence.

Nervous? she wondered.

“We’ll check the office later,” he said finally.

Except for Gorman Hardy’s Mercedes, the courtyard of the Welcome Inn was deserted.

“My room’ll be fine,” Tyler whispered.

He parked in front of it. Tyler stepped out into the shade. A mild breeze chilled the sweat on her skin. Leaning over the backseat, she gathered her handbag and all her clothes.

Her hands were trembling. She dropped the room key on the stoop. Abe picked it up and unlocked the door.

The room was dusky, the curtains drifting out from the open windows. The bed Tyler had slept in last night was still unmade. She stepped over to the dressing table, and emptied her arms.

In the mirror, she saw Abe come up behind her. Parting her hair, he kissed the nape of her neck. He caressed her sides, her belly. She watched his hands glide upward, and moaned as they cupped her breasts through the filmy bikini.

“Tyler,” he whispered.

“Huh?”

“It’s a nice name.”

“It’s a weird name.”

“I like it. I like everything about you.”

“Flatterer.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you like my sweat?”

“I like how it makes you slippery,” he said, sliding his hands down her belly.

“Soap will do that, too.”

“Mmm.”

“Let’s take a shower.”

He fingered the ties at her hip. She lifted his hand away. “Patience. We’ve got to rinse the salt water off our suits.”

He laughed softly and followed her into the bathroom. Leaning over the tub, Tyler turned on the hot water faucet. She kept a hand under the spout. The water, cold at first, slowly became warm. She flinched with surprise when Abe touched her rump. His hand was big and warm. It moved slowly lower. She gasped and felt her legs go weak when it stole between them. She gripped the edge of the tub to hold herself steady. Steam rose from the splashing water, hot against her face. She looked around. Abe gave her an innocent smile, and his hand went away.

Tyler turned on the cold water. She adjusted the faucet and touched the water. Still too hot. She reached again to the faucet, and felt Abe’s fingers on her hip. Looking back, she saw him pluck open the knotted cords. He let the ends fall. The white triangle at her groin swung away like a hinged flap. She twisted the faucet. Abe untied the other side. She turned the faucet slightly more and felt a tingling brush of fabric as Abe drew the garment away. He tossed it over her head. It dropped into the tub.

“You’re very helpful,” Tyler said.

“I try to be.”

She touched the water. It felt right. “What about your trunks?” she asked as she twisted the shower handle.

“That’s your job.”

The spray came down. Straightening up quickly, Tyler yanked the shower curtain almost shut. She reached through the gap to test the temperature. Abe, standing beside her, moved a hand down her back and rump. “It’s ready,” she said.

“Ladies first.”

Tyler climbed into the tub. She passed through the spray and backed up against a tile wall. Abe stepped in. He closed the curtain and turned to face her, one eye squeezed shut against the pelting shower, a rather silly smile on his face.

Tyler eased into his arms. The water rained down on their faces as they kissed. His body was slick against her. His hands roamed down her back, caressed and plied her buttocks as if he was fascinated by the firm mounds. Then they slid up. They opened the ties behind her back, behind her neck. Holding onto the neck cords, he stepped away and peeled the bikini down. He let it fall to their feet. He gazed at her streaming breasts. He explored them with his hands, stroking and holding and squeezing, clasping the nipples between his thumb and forefingers, pinching them gently in a way that made Tyler catch her breath and squirm.

Crouching, he rubbed his face on them. She felt his nose, the tickle of an eyelash, the rasp of whiskers, kisses, the soft circling tip of his tongue, the firm pressure of his lips, the edges of his teeth. Tyler clenched his hair as he sucked. His mouth felt huge and powerful, drawing her in until it almost hurt, then going to her other breast and doing the same. As the mouth released her, she pulled his hair to make him stand. She latched her mouth against his, and writhed in his embrace.

Turning so the spray was on her back, she wiped the water from her eyes. She rubbed Abe’s slippery shoulders and chest. She looked down at his bulging trunks. The narrow gap was there between the waist band and his belly, as she’d seen it on the path to the beach. Now she slipped her fingertips into the gap and drew the band toward her. Forehead resting on his chest, she stared down at him. His hands were motionless on her shoulders. She reached into the trunks, curled a hand around his thickness, and explored its hard length. Crouching, she pulled the trunks down his legs. He stepped out of them. Tyler’s hands moved up his thighs. She gently squeezed the furry sac of his scrotum. She wrapped her fingers around his shaft, slid them lightly up and down, then kissed the slitted head. Her tongue swirled around the silken skin. Holding his buttocks, she licked down the underside, feeling the solid heat of him against her cheek. Then she took him in, lips stretching around his smooth flesh, tongue stroking. She drew him in deeply until her mouth could accept no more. He squirmed, clutching her hair, his rump flexed taut under her hands as she sucked.

“Better stop,” he warned in a husky voice.

She slid her mouth back, kissed the swollen knob, then sheathed him again.

“Tyler.” He pulled gently at her hair. She sucked hard as he eased her away. Then her mouth was empty and she rose and embraced him, feeling the hardness against her belly.

“I want you now,” she gasped into his mouth.

“Here?”

“Yes.” She lay down in the tub, pressing her knees to its walls, and Abe lowered himself onto her. The hot shower smacked her face. Then Abe’s head blocked the spray. He was light on her, braced by his elbows and knees. As he kissed her, she felt a touch between her legs. He moved slowly, the head of his penis stroking her cleft. She flinched as it nudged her clitoris, squirmed and moaned as it stayed there, rubbing. Then it moved lower and very slowly slid in. She wanted it thrusting deep, but Abe held back as if to torture her. He withdrew completely, and she groaned. She dug her fingers into his rump. He pushed her opening. He entered. He suddenly shoved in fast and deep, spreading her, driving in farther and farther until she thought it impossible for there to be more—but there was more and it filled her.

They lay locked together, Abe deep in her body as if part of her. Neither of them moved. Tyler understood—and maybe so did Abe—how close they were to orgasms that would mean an ending, at least for now, to the terrible aching need for so deep a joining. She wanted to prolong the moment, to savor it.

The water was spraying down. It dripped off Abe’s face onto Tyler’s face as he kissed her lips, her nose, her eyes.

“Oh, Abe,” she whispered.

Behind the registration desk stood a portly, red-faced man in a white shirt and bow tie. Strands of hair crossed his head like streaks sketched on with a black pen. He made a lopsided smile. “What can I do for you, folks?”

“We were guests last night,” Abe said. “We’d like to extend our stay, if you’ll be open.”

“Names?”

“Ours are under Branson,” Tyler said.

“Branson and Clanton,” Abe told him.

The man fingered through cards in a metal box. “I’ll be running the place for now,” he said as he searched.

“Have the police found out anything about the Crogans?” Abe asked.

“Looks bad. Blood in Marty’s car. I’m his brother-in-law, you know. We’ve got a piece of this place, so I’ll be seeing to matters. Hope my wife doesn’t let the pharmacy go to hell.” He pulled out two cards. “Here we go. How many nights will you be wanting to stay on?”

“One more,” Abe said. He tried to pay for all the rooms, but Tyler insisted on picking up the tab for hers and Nora’s.

“Will the restaurant be open, too?” she asked.

The man nodded. “We’ll keep it running.”

“I hope everything turns out all right,” Abe said.

“I do, too, but I don’t suppose it’ll be that way. We’ve had folks disappear before in this town. It’s not likely they’ll show up again.”

“Take care, now,” Abe told him.

“I’ll see your rooms are made up before long. I’ll take care of it myself if I can’t round up Lois. I think she knew I’d need her. That’s why she hightailed it. Probably off at the beach with Haywood.”

“We’re on our way to the beach,” Tyler said.

His eyebrows lifted. “If you see Lois, you want to let her know her father needs her over here? I’d appreciate it. She’s sixteen, long brown hair, wears this polkadot binkini she ought to be ashamed of.”

“If we see her,” Tyler said, “we’ll tell her to come by.”

He thanked her, and they left.

“She wasn’t the one we saw,” Abe said as they stepped down the porch stairs.

“No, but she might be there now. It’s been a couple of hours.”

“Doesn’t seem that long.”

She grinned, and Abe patted her rump. He opened the passenger door. She climbed in. “I hope Nora and Jack aren’t burnt to a crisp,” she said.

“If they are, it was for a good cause.” Abe shut the door and walked around to his side of the car. As he sat down behind the wheel, Tyler leaned over. She kissed him.

She rode with her elbow out the window, the breeze tossing her hair and fluttering the front of her blouse. The two top buttons were open.

“Eyes on the road, buster.”

“It’s not easy.”

She smiled and threw back her head. Abe glanced at her throat, the smooth tanned vee of skin below it, the pale slope of a breast as the breeze lifted a side of her blouse.

He turned away and watched the road. He felt very strange—pleasantly tired, happier than he could remember ever being before, yet troubled.

It couldn’t be going better, he told himself.

Maybe that’s the problem.

Some problem.

It’s gone too well, too fast. It started less then twenty-four hours ago when he first saw her face—spattered by that lunatic’s blood. When he first looked into her eyes, and felt as if he’d known her before. No, as if he should have known her before. As if she had always been out there, and he’d known it but not who she was or where to look. It was like finding a part of himself that had been lost.

From that time on, she’d been a constant presence in his mind. He’d wondered about her, worried and hoped. Yesterday afternoon had been very bad, especially when she went looking for Dan. During dinner and later the threat from Dan had faded, but not completely, and he’d spent the night in a restless half-sleep, eager for the morning to come but dreading its arrival, afraid of losing her.

He nodded, realizing he’d discovered the source of his worry: he was still afraid of losing her.

The worry seemed unfounded. She’d apparently made up her mind in favor of Abe even before finding out about Dan’s death. She wanted him—maybe as much as he wanted her. But their lovemaking had brought such a closeness, such a joining that he now had much more to lose than he’d ever thought possible.

It was amazing.

But frightening, too.

“You’re looking mighty glum,” she said.

“Post-coital depression.”

She laughed. “How long do you expect it to last?”

“Probably till we coit again.”

“Can it wait till after lunch?”

“If it must,” he said. He turned onto Beach Lane.

At the end of the dirt road, parked next to a pickup truck, was a long, gray Mercedes.

“That looks like Hardy’s,” Tyler said. “I wonder what Mr. Wonderful’s doing at the beach.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

“My father, he’d been living with the guilt more than thirty years, and he told me he couldn’t abide it any longer.” Captain Frank raised the can of Bud to his mouth. He shut his eyes against the sun as he gulped.

Gorman took another can from the six-pack he’d brought along to lubricate the old man’s tongue, and popped open its top. Captain Frank mashed his empty and tossed it. Gorman watched it drop a long way to the ground.

“It was then he told me, for the first time, all about Bobo and how Bobo must still be alive and murdering.”

“Have another,” Gorman said.

Captain Frank accepted the fresh can. “Much obliged.” He settled back in his lawn chair and took a long drink. “Well, I begged my father to let me go with him, but he’d have none of that. Wanted me to stay behind and look after Mother. It was as if he knew he’d never come back, and he didn’t. He was a mighty fine shot with that Winchester of his. I ‘spect Bobo must’ve snuck up on him, caught him from behind.” With his free hand, the old man savagely clawed the air. “Just like that.”

“Was your father’s body ever found?” Gorman asked.

“No, sir. I ‘spect it’s buried over yonder, more than likely in the cellar.”

“The cellar of Beast House?”

“That’s what I figure.”

“If the beast actually killed him, as you believe, wouldn’t the Kutch woman have put a replica of your father on display for the tour.”

“Could’ve, but she didn’t. You ask me, the old bat’s mighty careful who she exhibits. You look at who’s in there. Take the Bagley kid, for instance. His friend, Maywood, got out alive and went running to the cops. Now how’s she gonna deny the killing? She doesn’t. She turned it to the good by having dummies made up. Same goes for the three last year. One’s Danny Jenson, the cop. How’s she gonna pretend it never happened? But let me tell you.” He squinted an eye at Gorman. “There’s plenty of folks just up and disappear. I figure Bobo got most of them. But old Maggie, she’s not gonna put them on display when she’s got a way to cover up. She’d have a whole house full, and how’d that look?” He took a long drink of beer.

“Four people disappeared last night,” Gorman said. “The Crogans, who run the Welcome Inn…”

“Oh, dear Lord.”

“And a friend of mine.”

Captain Frank scowled at the top of his beer can.

“The Crogans’ car was found abandoned this morning on the road to the highway.”

“Well, it got them. I was you, I wouldn’t count on seeing my friend again. Or the Crogans, either. Their girl, she gone too?”

“Yes.”

He let out a long sigh. “She was such a cute thing. Used to see her down at the beach. Always had a kind word. Goddamn, they should’ve known better. You just don’t go near that house, not after dark, not unless you’re looking to get yourself killed. They should’ve known that.”

“Does the beast actually leave the house?”

“Sure does. Unless Wick or Maggie are grabbing folks. One look at that pair, you know they’d be hard put to get away with it. Bobo’s gotta be prowling around. In the hills back of the house. Down on the beach. Some twelve years back, we even had a gal disappear from the cabin next door.” He nodded to the right. “Ry, that’s her husband, he come home late from the Last Chance and she was gone. Folks all said she’d run off ‘cause he was always whumping on her. But I knew different and told him so. He called me a screwy old fart and said to stay out of his business.”

He peered at Gorman and raised a thick white eyebrow. “You think I’m a screwy old fart?”

“Not at all,” Gorman assured him.

“Well, lots of folks do. They’ll change their tune one of these days when I hand over Bobo’s body.”

“You plan to kill it?”

“I’ll get Bobo, or it’ll get me.”

“Have you ever gone after it?”

“Why, sure. I’ve gone and laid ambush for it—oh, more times than I can count. But it’s never showed up.”

“You’ve never seen it?”

“Not a once.”

“Have you ever gone into the house after it?”

“Now, that’d be trespassing.”

Gorman controlled his urge to smile. Obviously, the old man was afraid to enter Beast House. “It seems,” he said, “as if the house would be the best place to hunt it.”

Captain Frank squeezed his beer can and hurled it from the bus top. It hit a low-hanging tree branch and fell to the ground. “Say, young man, how’d you like to take a look at my book?”

“What book?”

“I been keeping track. Yes, indeed. You’d be surprised.”

“I’d like very much to see it.”

The old man winked. “Thought you might. You’re a lot curiouser than most.” He pushed himself out of the lawn chair, and walked unsteadily along the top of the bus. “Bring the beer along,” he said.

Gorman got to his knees and watched Captain Frank descend the wooden ladder. The moment the man was out of sight, he pulled out his pocket recorder. The tape was still running, but it must be near its end. The old geezer had talked for the better part of an hour—and what a story he’d told! Gorman couldn’t have been more delighted. Everything was going his way. Everything! His fingers trembled with excitement as he ejected the tape’s tiny cartridge, flipped it over, and slid it back into place. He returned the recorder to his jacket pocket. He grabbed an empty plastic ring of the six-pack. The two remaining cans clanked together at his side as he walked carefully toward the ladder.

He approached it with growing alarm. The ascent had been bad enough, but he suspected the descent would prove worse. The ladder was simply propped against the end of the bus, its highest rung level with his waist. What if it should tip over as he attempted to clamber on?

Gorman Hardy, noted author of Horror at Black River Falls, fell to his death…

Captain Frank was down below, gazing up at him.

“Would you mind holding the ladder for me?”

The old man shook his head as if he pitied Gorman, then stepped under the ladder and clutched its uprights.

If you’re such a stalwart fellow, Gorman thought, why are you terrified of going after the beast? A screwy old fart, all right. And a coward. But his story was gold, and Gorman’s fear subsided as he wondered about the man’s book. Carefully, he mounted the ladder. It wobbled slightly. The rungs creaked under his weight. His legs felt weak and shaky, but finally he planted a foot on the solid ground.

“And you’re still in one piece,” said Captain Frank.

Gorman forced a smile. He followed the man through a litter of beer cans alongside the painted bus. “Did you paint this mural?”

“That I did.”

“I’ve never seen anything quite like it. Would you mind if I took a picture?”

“Help yourself. I’ll just step inside and…”

“Stay here. I’d like you in the picture, too. The canvas and the artist.”

Captain Frank nodded. He moved to the open door of the bus as Gorman set down the beers and stepped away. In the viewfinder, the old man looked like a crazed tourist: Huckleberry Finn straw hat, red aloha shirt flapping in the breeze, plaid Bermuda shorts, spindly legs with drooping green socks and tattered blue tennis shoes. He held an arm out, a finger pointing at the mural.

Gorman took a few more backward steps to fit in the entire length of the bus, and triggered the shutter release. “Marvelous! Now step over that way.” He waved the old man to the left. “There. Right there. The ancient mariner and the albatross.”

“You know the poem?”

“Certainly. It’s one of my favorites.” He moved in close and snapped the shot. “Wonderful. Thank you.”

“Hope they turn out.”

“Shall we have a look at this book you mentioned?”

“Right this way.”

When the old man turned away to mount the steps, Gorman switched on his recorder. He retrieved the beers, and followed. He found Captain Frank in the driver’s seat.

“Look here, matey.” With a sly wink, he whacked the sun visor. It flipped down. Secured to its back with duct tape was a sheathed knife. He tapped a fingernail against the staghorn handle. “I’m ready for it, see? Just let old Bobo make a try for me.” He pushed up the visor, hunched over so his chin rested on the steering wheel, and reached under the seat. He came up with a western style revolver. “My hogleg,” he announced. Thumbing back the hammer, he stared at the weapon as if it were a stunning woman. “This darling’s an Iver Johnson .44 magnum. She’ll knock Bobo ass over tea kettle.”

“Is it loaded?” Gorman asked.

“Wouldn’t do me much good empty.”

Gorman held his breath as Captain Frank lowered the hammer. When the revolver was safely stored away, the old man stood up. He stepped through the gap in the faded, split blanket draping the aisle. Gorman followed.

The rows of windows along both sides of the carriage had been painted over, tinting the dim light with hues of red, blue, green and yellow. A few, fortunately, were open to admit untarnished daylight and the fresh breeze. The original seats had been removed to make room for a strange assortment of furnishings: a cot with a rumpled quilt, a straight-backed wicker chair, a single lamp and several steamer trunks of various sizes, some standing on end, all cluttered with the odds and ends of Captain Frank’s reclusive life. On the trunk nearest the cot, Gorman saw a copy of Peter Freuchen’s Book of the Seven Seas, a Coleman lantern, a crushed beer can, and a revolver. He spotted three more weapons as the old man lowered himself onto the cot: a double-barreled shotgun suspended from an overhead luggage rack by a pair of misshapen wire hangers, a saber propped against a metal partition near the side exit doors, and the butt of a pistol protruding from the open face port of a deep-sea diving helmet atop one of the trunks.

“You’ve got quite an arsenal,” he said.

“Yessir. Just let Bobo come. I don’t care where I’m at. Here?” He snatched the revolver off the trunk and jabbed the air with its barrel as if taking hasty aim at a host of intruders. “In my galley?” He swept the gun toward the rear of the bus, where a second blanket draped the aisle just beyond the side exit. “I’ve got a .38 Smith and Wesson by my stove. I’ve got a Luger in the head. I don’t care where I am, I’m ready. Just let Bobo make a try.”

He put down the revolver on the floor by his feet. “Have a seat, here, matey,” he said, and patted the cot.

Gorman peeled the plastic rings off the remaining beers. He gave one of the cans to Captain Frank, and sat down beside him. He popped open his can while the captain cleared off the trunk. The beer had lost its chill. He took a few swallows and wished he’d had the foresight to bring along a bottle of gin for himself.

The old man opened the trunk and lifted out a battered, leatherbound volume that looked like a family photo album. He closed the trunk, and set the book on its lid midway between himself and Gorman. Leaning forward, he flipped open the cover.

“Fabulous,” Gorman said.

“My father, he did that. He wasn’t the artist I am, but he done the best he could.”

The pencil sketch, creased and smudged as if it had spent a lot of time folded in someone’s pocket, showed a snarling, snouted head.

“That’s Bobo,” Captain Frank said. “My father, he drew it aboard the Mary Jane on the return voyage.”

Gorman stared at the head. It was a frontal view, not much more than an oval with slanted eyes, a half circle to indicate the snout, and an open mouth revealing rows of pointed teeth.

“Not a hair on it,” the captain said. “Not even an eyebrow or a lash. And skin as white as the belly of a fish. Like an albino. Just no color at all, except for its eyes. My father, he told me its eyes were as blue as the sky.”

He turned the page. The next sketch, a side view, showed the creature’s blunt snout. Except for the snout, the head looked almost human. Where the ear should be, there was a circle the size of a dime. “Where is its ear?” Gorman asked.

“That’s it. Nothing to it but a hole with a little flap of skin over it. That’s to keep stuff from getting in. My father, he said Bobo could open up that flap like an eyelid and hear as good as a dog.”

“Incredible.”

Taped to the next page was a sketch of the beast standing upright. From waist to knees, its form had been obliterated by pencil marks as if someone had scratched over it in a fit of temper. The lead pencil point had even torn through the paper, rucking up an accordion wedge that had subsequently been smoothed down flat.

“What happened here?”

Captain Frank shook his head. He sighed. “My mother did that. She was an awful prude, God rest her bones. I never got a chance, myself, to see the drawing before she ruined it.”

“That’s a shame,” Gorman said. He studied what remained of the creature. Except for the claws on its fingers and toes, it appeared remarkably human. The shoulders and chest were broad, the limbs thick as if heavily muscled. One arm was longer than the other, but Gorman assumed that to be a fault of the artist. “Do you know the size of it?”

Captain Frank took a drink of beer and rubbed his mouth. “About three feet tall. That’s what it was when my father got rid of it. ‘Course, now, it wasn’t much more than a year old, then. He said the full-grown ones they killed on the island were better than six feet.”

Gorman nodded, and Captain Frank turned the page. He expected another sketch, perhaps a rear view of the creature, but found instead a newspaper clipping. The handwritten scrawl at the top of the page read, “Clarion, July 21, 1902, Loreen.” The article’s heading was printed in bold type.

MALCASA CHILD SLAIN BY COYOTELoreen Newton, three-year-old daughter of Frank and Mary, was savagely attacked and slain in the yard of her parents’ Front Street home. Alarmed by the child’s screams…

Gorman shook his head as if dismayed, and turned to the next page without finishing the story. Taped to its center was the child’s funeral notice. He didn’t bother reading it. He flipped the leaf over, and unfolded the full front page of the Clarion’s August 3, 1903 edition. He stared at the stark headline:

THREE MURDERED AT THORN HOUSE!

“This is wonderful,” Gorman said.

“My father, he’s the one saved these early articles. I’m the one added on, after he was gone, and put them all together here.”

After glancing at the four columns of small print, Gorman refolded the page. Subsequent articles described the capture, trial, and lynching of Gus Goucher. Then Gorman found another folded front page of the Clarion, this one recounting the slaughter, nearly thirty years later, of Maggie Kutch’s husband and children. After a few follow-up stories, Gorman came upon a clipping about the disappearance of Captain Frank’s father.

“Here’s where I started keeping them,” the old man said.

Gorman scanned a story about the opening of Beast House for tours. Then he flipped through page after page of articles detailing the disappearances of towns-people and visitors, two or three for each year. “That’s a lot of missing people,” he said.

“It’s just the ones that got reported. I figure there’s plenty more, folks nobody missed.”

“And you suspect the beast was responsible for all this?”

“Maybe not all,” Captain Frank admitted. “Some of those folks maybe just run off, or got themselves lost in the hills, or drowned. There’s no telling how many, but I’ll wager Bobo got his share of them.”

“Why was nothing done about it? This must be fifty or sixty missing persons over a twenty-year period.”

“Well, sir, the police, they didn’t see anything so strange about it. Lord knows, I told them time after time it was the beast making off with those folks. Did they listen? No, indeed. They seemed to think it was normal, losing a couple folks a year.”

“Acceptable losses,” Gorman muttered.

“And they made up their minds, way back, that I’m just a loony. I can’t even get them to listen to me anymore.”

“Have you showed this to them?” he asked, tapping the scrapbook.

“Sure. Like I say, they think I’m loony.”

Gorman came upon another full front page of the newspaper. This one dealt with the attack in 1951 on Tom Bagley and Larry Maywood. After follow-up stories came more pages with clippings about disappearances. Finally, near the back of the book, he found articles about last year’s slayings of the Ziegler father and son, and patrolman Dan Jenson.

He reached a blank page.

Captain Frank took a swig of beer. “That’s all, till tomorrow’s Clarion. I’ll be adding whatever they print on this business you told me about—the Crogans and your friend. They’ll go in, sure enough.”

“You’re pretty confident Bobo got them?”

“I’d wager on it, matey.”

Gorman nodded. He gently closed the book, and stared at it. “This is a very impressive document, Frank.”

“I always felt it’s been my duty to keep a record of all these goings-on.”

“How would you feel about making it public?”

“Public?” The old man raised a bushy white eyebrow.

“I’d like to write up your story. Are you familiar with People magazine?”

“Aye.”

“I’m a staff writer for People. Maybe you saw my piece on Jerry Brown?” There must’ve been a piece on Brown recently, he thought.

“No, I…”

“Well, that’s all right. The point is: I find myself shocked and amazed by what you’ve told me this afternoon, by the information in your scrapbook, by the very existence of a monstrosity such as Beast House, by the seeming indifference of the local authorities to what appears to be a seventy-five-year string of disappearances and grisly murders. With your cooperation, I’d be willing to do a feature article that exposes the truth of the situation. With enough public awareness, the authorities will be forced to take action. The story, of course, will focus on you.”

Captain Frank frowned as if thinking it over.

“What do you say?”

He sighed. “I’ve always planned to take care of Bobo myself.”

“So much the better. If you can do that before the story’s printed, we’ll include your account of the hunt and photos of you with the body.”

“I don’t know, Mr…”

“Wilcox. Harold Wilcox.”

“I don’t know, Mr. Wilcox. It does sound like a fine idea. Mighty fine. What’ll I have to do?”

“Nothing, really. Just leave it to me. You’ve already given me sufficient information. Of course, I would need to borrow your scrapbook, at least long enough to have its contents photocopied. I’d be more than glad to give you a receipt for it. There must be a copying machine somewhere in town…”

“Over at Lincoln’s Stationery.”

“Fine. I could have it done this afternoon and get it back to you…” He paused. “Would tomorrow morning be convenient for you?”

“I do hate to let it out of my hands.”

“You’re welcome to come along, if you don’t trust me.”

“Oh, it’s not that I don’t trust you, Mr. Wilcox.”

“I could probably get it back to you this evening, if that’s preferable.”

Captain Frank chewed his lower lip.

“I tell you what. Suppose I leave a deposit with you? Say a hundred dollars. You keep my money until I return the book to you.”

“Well, that sounds fair enough.”

Gorman removed a pair of fifty-dollar bills from his wallet. “Do you have some spare paper so we can write out the receipts?”

“I don’t guess we need to,” Captain Frank said, and picked up the money. “You just take good care of this book for me, and I’ll take good care of your money.”

They shook hands.

With the scrapbook clamped under one arm, Gorman left the bus.

On his way through town, he spotted Lincoln’s Stationery. He grinned, and kept on driving.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Tyler, sitting on the edge of the bed, rolled a stocking up her leg. As she clipped it to the straps of her black garter belt, someone knocked on the door. “Who is it?” she called.

“Me,” came Abe’s voice.

“Just a minute,” she said, and quickly started to put on the other stocking. “Are you alone?”

“Very.”

“Poor man.”

“That’s me.”

She finished with the stocking, and rushed to the door. Staying out of view behind it, she pulled it open. Abe stepped into the room. “That was quick,” she said as she shut the door.

In the ten minutes since he left he had changed into navy slacks and a powder blue polo shirt. Tyler had managed to blow-dry her hair and begin dressing.

“I just couldn’t stand being away from you,” he said.

She stepped into his arms and kissed him. His hands roamed down her back, curled over her bare buttocks, pulled her closer against him. “Nice outfit,” he said after a while. He fingered a strap of her garter belt.

“Glad you like it,” Tyler said, and hugged him hard as Dan forced his way into her mind. Dan, who had given her the first one, gift-wrapped, during cocktails at the White Whale restaurant on Fisherman’s Wharf. It was red and frilly with lace. He’d added a pair of nylons to the box. Without his asking, she’d excused herself and put them on in the restroom. And now he was dead, his savaged body on display—not his body, she reminded herself. Just a wax dummy.

“What’s wrong?” Abe whispered.

She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

He took hold of her shoulders and eased her away. He stared into her eyes. “I know what’s bothering me,” he said.

“What?”

“Tomorrow.”

She moaned.

“I don’t want to leave you.”

“We could stay another day.”

“I’d like to, but that would only be putting it off.”

“Let’s keep putting it off,” Tyler said through a tight throat. Her eyes felt hot. Then they filled with tears. She lowered her head as the tears started sliding down her cheeks.

“When do you have to get back for your job?”

She shrugged.

“Do you have to get back for your job?”

She looked up at him. “Do you want me to starve?”

“No. I want you to come with me.”

“You do?”

“Of course. I…I think you and I…I guess the thing of it is, I love you.”

“Oh, Abe.” Sobbing, she threw her arms around him. “I love you so much.”

For a long time, they held each other. When Tyler finished crying, she wiped her eyes on the shoulder of his shirt and kissed him.

“Well, now that’s settled…” he said.

“What’ll we do?”

“Join Jack and Nora at the Happy Hour.”

“About tomorrow.”

“Whatever we decide, we’ll do it together.”

“I do have to get back to LA. Some time.”

“Can you postpone it a few days?”

“Sure. I guess so.”

“Why don’t we check with Nora, then? If everybody agrees, we’ll head on over to my place.”

“Your place? What place?”

“The Pine Cone Lodge. It’s a resort hotel up at Shasta.”

“It’s yours?” Tyler couldn’t keep the astonishment out of her voice.

“Dad’s and mine. He’s been after me to take over running the place so he can work in some more fishing. I won’t start right away, though. Hell, he’s waited this long. We can spend a while just fooling around. It’s pretty nice up there. You can see how you like it, see if it’s the sort of place where you might like to settle down, raise some kids…”

“Kids?”

“You know, those tiny little human things.”

“My God, Abe.”

“If all that fresh air is too much for you, or you want to hang onto your job, I’ve had an offer from an old buddy with the LA Sheriff’s Department. He was pretty miffed when I turned him down. I’m sure he’d be more than happy, though, to…”

“No way,” Tyler said. “I’ve never had anything against fresh air, and my job…” she shook her head, “I can live without it. Besides.” She stared into his eyes. “LA’s no place to bring up kids.”

Grinning, he said, “Well.”

“Well,” Tyler echoed. She kissed him again. “I guess I’d better put some clothes on.”

“Don’t do it on my account.”

Abe watched while she stepped into her pleated skirt and pulled her white cashmere sweater over her head. Sitting at the dressing table, she fastened a thin gold chain around her throat. Abe stood behind her, looking at her reflection as she brushed her hair and applied lipstick. Turning her head slightly, she studied a faint red blotch on the side of her neck. She wondered if she should try to cover it with makeup.

“How’d you get that?” Abe asked.

“You should know.”

He looked perplexed. “Did I do that?”

“With your very own mouth, darling. I could show you five or six more, but since I’m already dressed…”

“It can wait till after dinner, I guess. It’ll give me something to look forward to.”

She decided to leave it alone. After all, nobody would notice the blemish except perhaps Nora and Jack, and they were probably well aware that she and Abe had spent the afternoon making love. They had likely been busy with a similar pastime themselves.

She got up from the dressing table, slipped into her sandals, and picked up her purse.

“You’ve got your key?” Abe asked.

She nodded. He opened the door for her, and took her hand as they walked into the courtyard. In spite of the breeze, the late afternoon sun felt hot on Tyler’s back. The air smelled sweet, an aroma of pine mixed with the fresh ocean scent. “Is your Pine Cone Lodge like this?” she asked.

“It’s a bit larger. You can see it for yourself tomorrow. Do you think Nora will mind the side trip?”

“I doubt that. She’s always on the lookout for an adventure. Especially where there’s a man involved. As long as Jack’s going to be with us, I don’t think she’ll squawk.”

“We should change the driving arrangement so they can travel together.”

“So they can travel together?”

Abe squeezed her hand. “Well, I wouldn’t mind a new passenger. You’re prettier than Jack.”

“Flatterer.”

They walked past the rear of Gorman Hardy’s Mercedes, a reminder that Brian Blake had disappeared. Blake, the motel owners and their daughter. Though there’d been some speculation during lunch about the missing four, Tyler hadn’t given them a thought all afternoon. She suddenly felt a little guilty about that, as if she’d selfishly ignored their plight, as if she’d neglected her duty to worry about them.

Whatever happened to them, she told herself, they won’t be any better off with me worrying.

Besides, she didn’t know the girl at all, had only spoken briefly with the father when they checked in, had seen the mother just for a few moments last evening at the restaurant, and disliked Brian Blake.

That shouldn’t matter, she thought. If something awful happened to them, you should be concerned.

Okay, I’m concerned. Right now, I’m dwelling on them instead of thinking about myself and Abe. That’s concern. I hope they’re all right. There.

What could’ve happened to them?

Her mind suddenly filled with a picture of Maggie Kutch grinning, opening a red curtain to expose a display of Blake and the others, their mutilated bodies sprawled on the bloody floor of a room, Blake’s head torn from his neck, his open eyes staring at her.

“God,” she muttered.

Abe looked at her.

“I got thinking about Blake and the others,” she explained. “I hardly even know them.”

“‘Every man’s death diminishes me because I am a member of mankind,’” Abe quoted.

“Do you think they’re dead?”

“I have no idea, really. But I’d guess it’s a strong possibility.”

“Do you think the beast…?”

“If you asked Captain Frank, I’m sure he’d say Bobo’s behind it. I don’t know about that. But it’s pretty obvious that a lot of people get themselves murdered in this town.”

“I can’t believe there’s actually some kind of monster.”

“It’s been my experience that most monsters are human.” He opened one of the double wooden doors of the Carriage House, and followed Tyler inside.

They stepped toward the deserted hostess station. The gooseneck lamp over its reservations book was dark.

“Dinner?” called a teenaged girl rushing toward them from the dining area. Her brown hair was gathered into a ponytail. She wore a black skirt. Her white blouse was primly buttoned at the throat. “I’m Lois,” she said before Abe could respond. “I’ll be your hostess for tonight.”

“The missing Lois,” Abe said.

“No, I’m not the one who’s missing. It’s my cousin, Janice, and…”

“Your father was looking for you earlier,” Abe told her. “I see he found you.”

She rolled her eyes upward. “Oh, that. He found me, all right. Boy. Now I know how the slaves felt. Too bad Lincoln didn’t free me while he was at it. Anyway, you want a table for two?”

“We’ll get back to you, Lois, after we’ve put away a couple of cocktails.”

“Oh, you’re here for the Happy Hour.”

“Then dinner.”

“I could put you down now, if you’d like, and save you a nice table by a window.”

Tyler smiled. In spite of Lois’s enslavement, she seemed eager to do the job well.

“Okay,” Abe said. “How about two tables for two? We’re with some friends.”

“I’d be glad to seat you together.”

Tyler said, “Separate tables will be fine.”

Abe gave the girl his name, and she entered it in the reservations book. It was the only name on the page. “Fine, Mr. Clanton. Shall I call you in about an hour?”

“Perfect,” he said. “You’re very good at this. I thought your father planned to have you cleaning rooms?”

“He made me do some this afternoon. What a drag. This is much better. This is kind of fun, I guess.”

“Okay. Well, we’ll see you later.”

They stepped around the partition and entered the cocktail lounge. Tyler looked immediately toward the corner booth they’d occupied yesterday. Nora and Jack were there.

So was Gorman Hardy.

“Damn,” she muttered.

“And you without panties.”

Tyler laughed. She felt herself blush, slightly embarrassed in spite of her pleasure that Abe was so aware of the fact. “He’ll never know,” she said. “Besides, I don’t think he’d be interested.”

Abe patted her rump. “Any man would be interested.”

Nora spotted them and waved. Hardy, after a glance over his shoulder, slid his pair of drinks to the end of the table and scooted off the seat. He remained standing while they approached.

“Good evening, Tyler, Abe,” he said.

Tyler nodded but made no effort to smile. Abe shook the man’s offered hand.

She sat down and pushed herself sideways. The leatherette upholstery felt cool through her skirt, then warm when she passed over the place, near the center, where Hardy had been sitting. She moved over until the seat was cool again. While Abe slid in beside her, Hardy took a chair from a nearby table and planted himself at the end.

“We were just talking about you,” Nora said.

Wonderful, Tyler thought.

“Yes,” Hardy told her. “It must have been a terrible shock for you, coming upon your former lover that way.”

She narrowed her eyes at Nora, then turned to meet Hardy’s eager gaze. “It was not one of my better moments,” she said.

“Let me extend my sympathy to you.”

“Thanks.” With a feeling of relief, she saw the barmaid advancing toward their table.

“What would you like to drink?” Abe asked.

“A margarita, I think.”

Abe ordered margaritas for both of them.

“Be kind enough,” Hardy added, “to refresh the drinks of my other friends. And my own, of course.”

A trifle premature, Tyler thought.

Nora was only halfway through her first Mai-Tai, with her free second drink untouched. Jack had just started working on his second stein of beer. Hardy, lifting a stemmed glass, polished off his first martini. He left the olive, and reached for the second glass. His eyes settled on Tyler.

“I am, as you’ve already surmised, writing a book about Beast House. I realize it would be painful to you, but if you’re willing to discuss your relationship with Mr. Jenson and your reactions to viewing his mannequin…”

“I would not,” Tyler said.

“If we could get together later for an interview…”

His persistence made her seeth. “How’s your hearing, Mr. Hardy?”

Nora drew back her head and stared at Tyler wideeyed as if amazed by the retort. Jack looked at his beer and seemed to be struggling against a laugh. Abe studied his folded hands.

“I would be more than willing,” Hardy said, “to pay you for the trouble.”

Abe spoke without looking up from his hands. “The lady said no.”

“Would five hundred dollars change the lady’s mind?”

“Five hundred dollars,” Tyler said, “would not.” She turned sideways, an elbow on the table, and stared at him. “In my opinion, any book you write about Beast House would be just as exploitive as Maggie Kutch and her goddamn dummies. I’ll have no part of it. In fact, since I’m not a public figure, my right to privacy is protected by law and if my name appears in your miserable book I’ll sue your ass.”

Hardy smiled at the outburst. “All right, Tyler. You drive a hard bargain. I’m willing to go as high as eight hundred.”

“No, thank you.”

“A thousand.”

Nora, looking distressed, said, “That’s your rent for three months.”

“I don’t need it that badly.”

“How about throwing some of that money my way,” Jack said.

“I was coming to that,” Hardy told him.

“Well, all right.”

He shook his head at Tyler as if she were a stubborn child more to be pitied than condemned. “Are you certain I can’t persuade you to change your mind?”

“Positive,” she said.

The barmaid arrived with the drinks. Hardy took a bill from his wallet.

“I’ll take care of ours,” Abe told him.

“There’s really no…” Hardy started.

“I’ll take care of ours,” Abe repeated in the same even tone.

They each paid. The barmaid cleared off the empty glasses and left.

Tyler’s hand trembled as she picked up her margarita. Abe turned to her. His face was solemn, but he winked and clinked his glass against hers. A few crumbs of grainy salt fell from the rim, sprinkling the backs of her fingers.

“As I was saying,” Hardy’s voice intruded, “I have indeed been considering a proposition for you.”

“Fire away.”

Looking into Abe’s eyes, Tyler sipped her frothy drink.

“As you know, my associate, Brian Blake, seems to have disappeared.”

Frowning, Abe turned away. “Along with three other people,” he said.

“That’s correct. And the police seem to have no clue as to their whereabouts. In fact, I was speaking to an officer only a short time ago. They’ve been conducting a search of the woods in the vicinity of the abandoned car, but so far they’ve come up with nothing at all. They suspect foul play, though I prefer to think that Brian and the girl simply ran off together and the parents went in pursuit.”

“Your theory doesn’t hold much water,” Abe said. “You’ve written enough mysteries to see it’s full of holes.”

Hardy shrugged elaborately. “Very true. If this were a plot, however, I’m certain I could devise a sequence of events to explain the apparent inconsistencies, to plug the ‘holes’ as you put it. Let me put it before you, instead, that I’ve been a close acquaintance of Brian Blake for several years. To say that he is a womanizer would be a gross understatement. I have no idea what might have befallen Janice’s parents, but the girl herself is probably, at this very moment, in a motel somewhere along the highway with Brian betwixt her thighs.”

“Betwixt?” Jack mumbled.

“Let’s hope so,” Abe said.

“I suspect they’ll return eventually, but Brian once vanished for three weeks after meeting a young lady at the MGM in Vegas. I’ve told all this to the police, of course. They’re checking with motels along the coast. Unfortunately, I’m in no position to wait. I have commitments that require me to leave here first thing in the morning.”

He nodded at Jack. “This is where you come in. Or you, Abe. Either of you men, I’m sure, would be more than capable of doing this little assignment. Brian’s responsibility, you see, was to photograph the interior of Beast House. He’d planned to do it tonight, but since he’s not here…”

“You want one of us to do it,” Jack finished for him.

“I’m prepared to pay a thousand dollars.”

“Cash?” Jack asked,

“Two hundred cash, the balance by check.”

“Since you’re offering that kind of money,” Abe said, “I assume you don’t have permission from the owner.”

“The Kutch woman won’t allow photos of the displays.”

“So we’re talking about an illegal entry,” Jack said.

“I shouldn’t think that would present a problem to a man of your background.”

“A piece of cake.”

Abe looked at Hardy. “This was supposed to be Blake’s job. Was he trying to break in and get those photos last night.”

“No, no. In fact, he left the camera in his room. His disappearance, I’m sure, had nothing to do with our project.”

“If you want the pictures so badly,” Tyler said, “why don’t you break in and take them yourself?”

“I’ve considered that option, of course. The truth of the matter, quite simply, is that I would prefer not to. I admit the venture involves a certain amount of risk. I’m not as young as these men. For me, it would hardly be a “piece of cake.” That’s why I’m willing to pay such an exorbitant amount to have it done by one of them.”

In other words, Tyler thought, you’re chicken.

He took a sip of his martini. Then, smiling as if quite pleased with himself, he reached into his back pocket and took out his wallet. He removed two bills. Tyler saw that they were hundreds. “Do I have a volunteer?” he asked.

Jack and Abe looked at each other.

While they hesitated, Nora blurted, “Shit, I’ll do it.”

Hardy chuckled.

“You think I’m kidding? I can always use some extra…”

“I’ll do it,” Jack said calmly. “No sweat.” He reached out and Hardy placed the two hundred dollars in his hand.

“Are you sure you want to do that?” Abe asked him.

“Hey, a thousand bucks is a thousand bucks.” He grinned at Hardy. “You’ve got the camera, film, flash equipment?”

“They’re back in my room. I’ll give you a check for the balance when you pick them up.”

“What is it you want, exactly? Just pictures of the dummies?”

“That’s basically it. I’ll require good coverage of each display, perhaps one long shot for the overview, and two or three from a closer range for details. I would also like the attic stairway and the attic itself, if possible. The nursery, if you’re able to unlock its door. And the cellar. The cellar is extremely important. According to my sources, you should find a hole in its floor. A fairly large hole, perhaps two or three feet in diameter. I would like both a long shot and a close-up of that hole, if it exists.”

“Okay,” Jack said. “You got it.”

“I’ll go with you,” Nora said.

“No way, babe.”

“Oh, come on. You’ll need a lookout, won’t you?”

“I’ll look out for myself,” he assured her.

“Please. I won’t be in your way. I’d like to see what that place is like at night. Bet it’s creepy as hell.”

“You just stay with Tyler and Abe.”

“Whether it’s dangerous or not,” Abe told her, “it is illegal. Better that you stay out of it.”

She frowned at her Mai-Tai, then at Jack. “I don’t think I like the idea of you going in there alone.”

“He won’t be going in alone,” Abe said.

A chill crawled through the pit of Tyler’s stomach. She stared at Abe. He put a hand on her thigh. “Don’t worry,” he said. “We’ll be back before you know it.”

“I can take care of it myself,” Jack told him.

“Sure you can. But you won’t let your buddy miss out on the fun, will you?”

Tyler cut into her lamb chop. She forked a bite-sized piece and and stared at it. Her mouth was dry. She didn’t want to eat the lamb, or anything else.

“I’m sorry,” Abe said.

“I know. I’m sorry, too. That bastard.”

“Jack?”

“No, of course not. It’s not his fault. It’s that goddamn Gorman Hardy.”

“I can’t let Jack go in alone.”

“I know you can’t. I wouldn’t ask you to. But don’t you think there’s any way you can talk him out of it?”

“A thousand dollars is a good piece of money. Besides, I’ve known Jack for a lot of years. He’s a guy who likes to take chances. He gets a kick out of it. Don’t let on to Hardy, but he could’ve got Jack to go in there for a six-pack of Dos Equiis.”

“What if I give him a thousand dollars not to? I’ll let Hardy have his goddamn interview, and turn the money over to Jack.”

“You’d do that,” Abe asked, “to stop him from going in?”

“To stop you.”

He looked down at his plate as if no longer able to bear her tormented eyes. “I’ll see if I can talk him out of it. I know he won’t take your money, though, so forget about giving that interview.”

“Do you think he’ll listen?”

“I could stop him, if I had to. But he’s my friend. I know how eager he must be to get in there. Right now, he’s probably hoping there is a beast just to make things more interesting.”

Tyler peered across the dimly lighted dining room at the corner table where Jack and Nora sat. Jack looked like an overgrown kid, grinning as he shoveled steak into his mouth.

“You think he really wants to do it that badly?”

“I know he does.”

“What about you?”

Abe raised his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“Are you hoping there is a beast just to make things more interesting?”

He stared at her with solemn eyes. “A lot of killing’s gone on in that house. Whoever’s behind it—or whatever—murdered Dan Jenson. I take that personally.”

“You didn’t even know Dan.”

“You loved him once. If his killer’s in that house and happens to come after me and Jack—well, it’ll even things up a little. I don’t expect that to happen, but if it does I’d be pretty damn happy about it.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Janice’s wait in the black room seemed endless. She regretted breaking the lightbulb. She was glad to have a weapon, but the total darkness was bad. Some comfort came from the feel of the carpet under her rump and feet, the wall against her back. She even welcomed the pain of her wounds and the gurgling hunger growls of her stomach, for they helped confirm the reality of her body—a body she couldn’t see and sometimes doubted.

Her hands roamed constantly over invisible, bare skin. Sometimes she stretched out flat to feel the carpet and the solid floor on the length of her. In that position the floating, disembodied sensations faded.

Her mind wandered restlessly.

What if nobody should come? What if they left her here to starve? She would die of thirst before starving. God, her mouth was dry. Her teeth felt like granite blocks.

She hadn’t eaten since dinner last night. Breaded pork chops, white rice dripping with teriyaki sauce, iced tea. She wished she had a gallon of iced tea now. She would drink it straight from the pitcher, spilling some, letting it stream down her neck and chest.

They’ll come, she told herself. Sooner or later. They wouldn’t have brought me here and bandaged me just to let me die. They’ll keep me alive for the beast.

Oh God, the beast.

But I’ll fool them. They’ll open that door and I’ll be out like a flash and cut them up if I have to, they won’t get me, they won’t take me alive.

Or maybe the door will open and it’ll be Dad or maybe the cops. They must be looking for me. But they wouldn’t know where to look.

If only she had stayed home last night. It’s a punishment. She’d had the hots for Brian and now she has to pay. What happened to Brian? He’s probably dead. Maybe he’s alive, though. Maybe in the house. A prisoner.

Somebody is. Somebody with a baby.

Maybe the house is full of prisoners.

That’s why Kutch built it without windows. Not to keep out the beast, the way she sometimes claimed on the tours, but to keep her prisoners in.

Janice was sprawled flat on the floor, arms and legs stretched out, face pressing the carpet, her mind drifting from thought to thought when she suddenly heard footsteps. Her heart gave a lurch. She thrust herself up and crawled to the left, one hand raking the darkness in search of the wall. Her fingernails scraped against it. She slid her right hand sideways and felt the doorframe.

The footsteps sounded very close.

Patting the carpet, she tried to find the bulb. She’d left it near the door’s edge, its jagged glass down so she wouldn’t cut her fingers groping for it.

She heard the metallic scrape and snick of a key pushing into the lock.

Where is it?

Then the side of her right hand swept against the bulb. She clenched the grooved base, and started to rise as the door swung inward. The figure of a girl was silhouetted against the blue light from the corridor. She had a bag clamped under her chin, a can in one hand, a key in the other. Gasping, she took a quick step back as Janice lunged at her. The bag dropped to her feet.

Janice, surprised by the stranger’s smaller size and apparent youth, couldn’t bring herself to slash out. Instead, she grabbed a handful of the girl’s T-shirt and yanked her forward. She hooked an arm around the girl’s back, twisted, and slammed her against the doorframe. The girl grunted, but her left hand swung up, hammering the can against Janice’s face. The blow stunned her. She staggered backwards, hanging onto the squirming body, and they both fell.

Janice was on the bottom. She rolled. She caught hold of the flailing arms, forced them to the carpet. As the girl bucked and writhed under her, she crawled up the body. She straddled the chest, used her knees to pin down the arms.

“Get off me,” the girl demanded. “Get off!” Her legs flew up. A knee smashed against Janice’s back. “Bitch!”

Janice raised a fist. The girl’s face, dim in the blue light from the corridor, looked fierce. But very young. She was probably thirteen or fourteen. She was part of this, though. She had to be taken care of. Janice shot her fist down. As it descended, the body jerked under her. The light swept away. A moment after her fist smashed the sneering face, the door banged shut.

She was in blackness again.

She punched blindly in a rage, each blow hurting her knuckles sending pain up her wrists and forearms.

The girl was sobbing. “No. Stop. Please!”

“Shut up. Don’t move or I’ll kill you. I swear I’ll kill you.” To prove her point, she clutched the girl’s throat.

“I promise.”

“Okay.” She relaxed the pressure, but kept her fingers around the throat. “How do I get out of here?”

“You can’t.”

“Just watch me.”

“You can’t,” the girl sobbed. “The door’s locked.”

“You unlocked it.”

“Just to…get in. When I kicked it shut, it locked again. Try it…if you don’t believe me.”

“Where’s the key?”

“In the hall. I dropped it in the hall.”

“You mean we’re both locked in?”

“Yeah, and you’d better not hurt me or you’ll be sorry.”

Janice slapped her face. “Who else is in the house?”

“You’ll find out.”

She slapped her again. “No more wise answers, you little shit. Who’s here?”

The girl sniffled. “Maggie,” she muttered. “And Wick. And Agnes. And my mom and brother.”

“I heard a baby.”

“That’s my brother, Jud. He’s six months.”

“And the beast?”

She hesitated.

“Do they keep it here?”

“They don’t keep it. This is its home.”

“It just wanders around loose?”

“Sure.”

“Great.”

“They’ll come looking for me. When I don’t come back…”

“That’s just fine. I’ll be ready.”

“You can’t get out of here. It’s impossible. You think my mom’d still be around if there was a way out? She’s tried over and over but we always catch her.”

“We? You mean your own mother’s a prisoner and you help the others?”

“We can’t let her get away. She’d ruin everything.”

“What kind of a kid are you?”

She didn’t answer.

“What’s your name?”

“Sandy. Sandy Hayes.”

“Well, Sandy Hayes, I’m going to get out of here and ruin everything and you can fucking well count on it.”

“Fat chance.”

Janice squeezed her throat. “Okay, lie still. Don’t even think about moving.” She climbed off Sandy’s body. Kneeling beside her in the darkness, she felt along the T-shirt to the waist of the pants. She fingered a belt. She opened its buckle and tugged it free. Draping it around her neck so she wouldn’t lose it, she patted the pants’ pockets. They seemed to be empty. She unfastened the waist button, slid the zipper down, and yanked the pants down Sandy’s legs. The girl wore shoes. She pulled them off, set them nearby, and finished removing the pants.

She tried to put them on. They were much too small. After a short struggle, she gave up.

She slid her hands up Sandy’s legs and hooked her fingers under the elastic of her panties.

“Hey!”

“Shut up.” She drew the panties down. She tried them on. The filmy material had enough stretch to allow a snug fit. She clutched Sandy’s thigh. “Okay, sit up and take off your T-shirt.”

She waited for it.

“Here.”

She swept out a hand and took the garment. Spreading it against herself, she could feel that it was far too small. A tight fit would hurt her wounds. She stretched its neck, yanked until it tore, then split the fabric all the way down. She put the shirt on easily, like a smock, the opening at her back.

Using the belt, she bound Sandy’s feet together.

The hands were still free. A bra might be useful for binding them. She moved her hand up the girl’s belly and paused at the feel of tape. “You’re bandaged?”

“I hurt myself.”

Her fingers glided over Sandy’s skin, touching two more bandages: one on the side, one on a breast. The girl wore no bra.

“How’d you get hurt?” Janice asked.

“The same as you.”

“What?”

“You know.”

“The beast?”

“Yeah, the beast. He gets rough sometimes when we’re getting it on.”

“You let him?”

Janice’s wrists were suddenly clenched in the dark.

“You’ll let him, too. Just wait and see if you don’t. You’ll get so you can’t wait for him to come to you.”

Janice jerked free of the girl’s grip. “You’re nuts,” she said.

“You’ll see. Even Mom loves it. She won’t admit it but she loves it.”

“That’s why she tries to escape.”

“She just does that ‘cause of the baby. She’s afraid they might kill it, but they won’t. See, they think she’d try to kill herself if they hurt Jud, and they don’t want that. They want her alive.”

“What for?”

“Same reason they want you alive. They want you. He wants you. To make babies.”

Janice felt a cold tightness inside. “Babies?” she murmured. “Whose babies? Wick’s?”

“Don’t be silly. Wick isn’t allowed to touch us. He tried to screw me once, and Maggie beat the crap out of him. Nobody touches us but Seth or Jason.”

“Who are they?”

“Sons of Maggie and Xanadu.”

“Xanadu?” A chill scurried up Janice’s back as she recognized the name from Lily Thorn’s diary.

“He was murdered last year. Mom’s boyfriend killed him and Zarth and Achilles, but he paid for it. Maggie nailed him.”

“My God,” Janice muttered. “Those were all…beasts?”

“Zarth was Maggie’s, and Achilles was Agnes’s. Xanadu was the father of both. Rucker killed all three, but Maggie nailed him before he got Seth or Jason.”

“So…there are two beasts in the house? You said before there was just one.”

“You said there’s one.”

“You didn’t correct me.”

“Why should I?”

“You little shit.”

“Look, why don’t you get off me? We can be friends. You’re gonna be here a long time, and it’ll be nicer for you if I like you. I can bring you up special stuff.”

“How do I get out of here?”

“I already told you, it’s impossible.”

“Why?”

“They’ll get you.”

“We’re upstairs?”

“Yeah, but…”

“Which way’s the staircase?”

“That’s for me to know, you to find out.”

Janice straddled the girl again, and pinned her arms down. “You said they’ll be up here soon. They’re gonna find you dead if you don’t give me answers. Now which way are the stairs?”

“It doesn’t matter. You can’t get out anyway.”

“Tell me, damn it.”

“The door locks on the inside. Even if you…”

“Where’s the key?”

“I’ll never tell.”

Janice slapped her hard. The girl yelped with pain and twisted under her.

“Go ahead,” Sandy sobbed. “Do whatever you want. I won’t tell.”

Janice wondered where she’d lost the broken lightbulb. Somewhere nearby probably. But she doubted she could force herself to cut up the girl anyway. She considered tearing off Sandy’s bandages and digging into her wounds. The thought of it repulsed her.

“The key you used to get in here,” she said. “Does it open the front door?”

“No,” Sandy murmured.

“Maggie must keep it with her.”

The girl sniffed, but didn’t answer. Janice knew she must have guessed right. In that case, she would need to subdue Maggie to get the key—maybe take on the entire household. It seemed hopeless. “The beasts,” she said. “They’re in the house?”

“Maybe.”

“If they’re not here, where are they?”

“Sometimes…” she sobbed, “sometimes they’re in Beast House.”

“What do they do, wander back and forth?”

Sandy didn’t answer.

“How do they get from here to there? They can’t just go walking across the street?”

“Yes, they do.” She said it too quickly.

And Janice suddenly knew.

It seemed crazy, but so did the rest of this, and it appeared to be the only possibility. The original beast, Xanadu, had burrowed from the hillside and come up in Lilly Thorn’s cellar. Why not another tunnel—one connecting the two houses? It would have to be a couple of hundred yards long, but why not? A tunnel leading from one cellar to the other. How else could the beasts move freely between the two houses? They certainly couldn’t travel out in the open, walk across Front Street and through the gate without someone spotting them sooner or later. There had to be a tunnel.

And she would find it.

She didn’t want Sandy to know what she had discovered.

“I guess I’ll have to get that key from Maggie,” she said.

“You haven’t got a chance.”

“We’ll see.”

She climbed off Sandy, rolled her over, and sat on her rump. She slipped the T-shirt off, and fingered the three strips of tape used to hold the gauze pad to her left breast and shoulder. The ends on her breast had come unstuck, and dangled like small flaps. Gripping them, she peeled the bandage away from her torn flesh. She tugged the clinging strips off her back. When she tore away the pad, she had three strands of tape, each nearly a foot in length. She tugged on them. They seemed sturdy enough.

She pressed Sandy’s wrists together and bound them tight with all three strips. She made sure the knots were secure. Then she rolled Sandy onto her back.

“Open your mouth.”

She felt the lips. They were pressed together. So she pinched Sandy’s nostrils shut. The girl squirmed and moaned, but finally opened her mouth. Janice stuffed the bandage pad inside. She tore the center strip of tape off the bandage on her belly, stretched it across Sandy’s open mouth, and pressed it firmly to her cheeks.

“No noise,” she warned. “If I hear anything out of you, I’ll come over and knock you senseless.”

The groaning stopped. The only sound was air hissing through Sandy’s nose.

Janice put the T-shirt on again. She draped the girl’s pants over her back, and crawled away slowly, one hand gliding over the carpet in search of the lightbulb. She found it. Its jagged edge pricked her palm. Carefully, she picked it up. Near the door she came upon the can Sandy had dropped.

She left the pants and bulb and can against the wall where she could find them easily, then tried the door knob. It didn’t move. The door had locked on shutting, just as Sandy had claimed. Though she was fairly sure the key had fallen in the corridor, she spent a long time searching for it.

Finally, she gave up. She sat beside the door, her back against the wall. She spread the pants across her lap and placed the bulb on them, base up. Then she picked up the can. It felt cold and heavy. It sloshed when she shook it.

Some kind of soda.

Her tongue rasped against the roof of her mouth, touched the dry blocks of her teeth.

Sandy had used the can as a weapon, bludgeoning her with it. Janice could use it that way, too, when the door opens.

But not if she drank its contents.

She licked the condensation off the can, and waited.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

“Suppose we go along,” Nora said, “and wait in the car?”

“Okay by me,” Jack said. He hitched up his sweatshirt and slid his Colt .45 semi-automatic under the waistband at the back of his jeans.

“I think it’d be better,” Abe said, “if you and Tyler stayed behind. I don’t know where we’ll be leaving the car, but if a cop goes by and sees you two waiting, he might get suspicious.”

“Yeah,” Tyler agreed. “That makes sense.”

“Why don’t you wait at the Carriage House?” Jack suggested. “Have a couple of drinks. We’ll be back before you know it.”

Abe finished folding the thick blue blanket from his bed.

Jack slung the strap of Hardy’s camera case over his shoulder.

“Go on out,” Abe told him. “I’ll be right with you.”

When they were alone, Tyler stepped into his arms. He held her gently against him. “Just try not to think about it too much,” he said.

“Oh, sure.”

“Go over and have a couple of cocktails with Nora. Tell her about our plans for tomorrow. If you don’t gulp your drinks, we’ll be on our way back by the time you finish your second.”

“You’d better be.”

“Count on it.” He kissed Tyler, and she pressed herself fiercely against him. Slipping his hands under her sweater, he caressed the warm smoothness of her back. “I love you so much,” he whispered.

“I love you, Abe.” She looked up at him. Her eyes were glossy with tears.

“Don’t let some guy pick you up while you’re waiting, or I’ll be really ticked.”

She almost smiled.

With a last, brief kiss, he eased out of her arms. He picked up the blanket and opened the door. Jack was standing by the Mustang, his hands on Nora’s hips.

“Let’s get,” Abe said. He opened the driver’s door, dropped the blanket onto the backseat and turned to Tyler. “See you in a while,” he said.

She nodded. With the back of one hand, she rubbed her nose. Nora went over to her. They stood side by side, silhouetted by the porch light behind them.

“If you’re not back in an hour,” Nora said, “we’ll call in the Marines.”

“Dipshit,” Jack called. “We are the Marines.”

She gave them a thumbs-up and Tyler waved as Abe backed the car away. He waved out the window, then turned on the headlights and steered up the center of the courtyard.

“This is gonna be good,” Jack said.

“I just wish we could’ve done it without the girls knowing.”

“No chance of that with Gory-babes popping the question in front of everyone.”

“He’s such an asshole.”

“Gutless, too. Shit, if I was gonna write a book about that joint, I’d want to get in there at night and see what it’s like. Catch the ambience, you know?”

“He’ll probably want to interview us about that,” Abe said, and turned left onto the road.

“If he does, let’s charge him for it. He throws around money like confetti.” Jack rolled down a window and stuck his elbow out. “His check better be good.”

“He wouldn’t dare stiff you.”

“I oughta hang onto him till I can get to a bank tomorrow.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“You’d better. It’s half yours, you know.”

“I’m just along for the ride.”

“Bullshit. It’s fifty-fifty.”

“Just buy me a drink when we get back to the inn, and we’ll call it even.”

“You’re an easy guy to please.”

He slowed down as they entered the business area. The coffee shop where they’d eaten lunch was still open. So was a liquor store across the road from it, and a bar on the next block. Otherwise, the town seemed closed up for the night. The road was deserted except for a few cars and pickup trucks parked along its curbs.

“By the way,” Abe said, “how do you feel about the girls coming along with us tomorrow?”

“To the lodge, you mean?”

“That’s what I mean.”

“Well, all right!”

“No objections?”

“You kidding me?”

“Tyler’ll check with Nora about it tonight.”

“Nora will come. She’s hot for my bod. Who can blame her? It’s magnificent. So’s hers, by the way.”

“I’ve noticed.”

He laughed. “Yeah? How’d you manage that? You haven’t taken your eyes off Tyler since we got here. You two are really in it deep. Man, I’ve seen the way you look at each other. When’s the wedding?”

“We haven’t quite gone that far yet.”

“Really? That’s a surprise.”

“I want to spend a few more days with her before…”

“That’s it. Let her stew. Don’t wait too long, though, or she’ll propose to you.”

“I might enjoy that. What about you and Nora?”

“That gal’s a real kick in the ass, but I’m not gonna even think about getting tied down. Shit, I been married to the Corps for twelve years. I need to hang loose, you know? But I sure don’t mind hanging loose with her for a while. I’ve never had it so good, I’ll tell you that right now.”

Abe slowed down and turned his head to the left as they passed Beast House. The ticket booth was shuttered, the lawn beyond the fence dark. No light came from any of the windows. “Looks deserted,” he said.

“Wonder if Bobo’s in there.”

“I wouldn’t get my hopes up.”

The road curved and slanted upward into the wooded hills. Abe eased off the gas pedal. He searched the roadsides for a place to pull off, soon found a wide shoulder and swung over. He killed the headlights and engine.

In the silence, Jack said, “Do you think there is such a thing?”

“As Bobo?”

“Yeah.”

“Doesn’t seem likely. But you never know.” He reached in front of Jack, opened the glove compartment, and took out his .44 caliber Ruger Blackhawk. He removed a box of cartridges and stuffed it into a pocket of his nylon windbreaker. On the floor under his seat, he found his flashlight.

They climbed from the car.

Abe lifted the blanket off the backseat and clamped it under one arm. He pushed the barrel of his revolver down the back of his jeans. He held onto the flashlight, but didn’t turn it on.

They walked straight across the road, stepped through undergrowth on the far side, and leaped over a ditch. They made their way up the slope until Abe could no longer see the road through the trees. Then they traversed the hillside, following it downward. The foliage and dead pine needles crunched loudly under their shoes.

In a hushed voice, Jack said. “You know me, I’m not your superstitious type.”

“Except you carried a rabbit’s foot through three tours in Nam.”

“Well, that’s different. What I’m saying is, I’m the last guy who’s gonna believe in shit like ghosts and monsters, right?”

“So you say.”

“But, you know, this Bobo’s supposed to come from that island near Australia. Look at Australia. They’ve got animals there that look like jokes: kangaroos, wallabies, wombats, platypuses. Who’s to say Captain Frank’s old man couldn’t have run into some weirdo species and brought one back with him?”

“He could’ve.”

“We oughta keep an eye out for it.”

“I intend to.”

“We oughta try and bag the fucker.”

“We oughta try and get in, take the pictures as fast as we can, and get back to the girls. I don’t know about Nora, but Tyler’s so worried she can hardly keep herself together.”

“Gory’s paying a thousand for a few snapshots of the place, figure what he’d pay for that thing’s carcass.” Jack laughed quietly. “He’d probably get the damn thing stuffed and take it on Johnny with him.”

“Why don’t we get it stuffed and stand it up in the lobby of the lodge?” Abe suggested.

“Yeah! We can say it’s Bigfoot.”

“On second thought, Tyler wouldn’t go for that.”

“See? She’s already got you by the short hairs, and you’re not even married yet.”

Abe elbowed him. Then, through the trees ahead, he saw the side fence of Beast House. He pointed to the right. They started across the hillside, well above the fence and parallel to it.

“We’ll just sell the thing to Gory,” Jack whispered. “For a bundle. We’ll buy a beauty of a Chriscraft for the lodge.”

“A deal,” Abe said. “If it exists and if it shows up.”

“Just our luck, it won’t.”

They followed the hillside in silence. Abe studied the house and its grounds as he walked. The yard looked deserted. The windows at the house’s side and rear were dark. He was certain that lights would be on if anyone was inside either cleaning the rooms or standing guard.

“If we find it occupied,” he said, “we’ll abort.”

“Right,” Jack agreed.

“As of last summer, at least, they apparently didn’t have an alarm system or guard…”

“Just the beast.”

“So unless they’ve tightened up security since then, we shouldn’t have any trouble along those lines.” The slope eased downward into a ravine. At its bottom, Abe trudged through the low brush to the rear corner of the fence. He followed the fence, watching the distant road until the house blocked it from his view. Glancing over his shoulder at Jack, he said, “Any cops show up, we ditch our weapons. If we can’t pull a disappearing act, let them take us for breaking and entering. That’s a minor charge next to resisting arrest or firearms possession.”

“We can always pick them up later,” Jack said.

Abe stopped near the center of the fence. He tossed his blanket over the spikes. It dropped silently to the grass on the other side.

“Watch out for those points,” Jack said. “You’ll be singing soprano.”

They both hit the fence at once, grabbing the crossbar, leaping, bracing themselves with stiff arms, planting a foot on the bar between the sharp uprights and springing down. Abe snatched the blanket from the ground and dashed across the yard, past a ghostly white gazebo, into the dark moon-shadow cast by the house. With Jack close behind him, he climbed the porch stairs.

The floor creaked under his weight as he stepped to the back door. He peered through one of its glass panes. Except for murky light from the windows, the interior looked dark. He moved aside. “This is your game,” he whispered. “You want to do the honors?”

Jack rammed an elbow through the lower right pane. A burst of shattering glass broke the stillness. Shards rained down on the other side of the door, clattering and tinkling as they smashed against the floor.

“Such finesse,” Abe said.

“Got the job done,” Jack told him, and started to reach through the opening.

“Wait. Let’s give it a couple of minutes, see if anyone shows up.”

Abe watched the door windows. He listened carefully. No lights appeared inside the house, and he heard only the night sounds of the breeze and crickets and a few distant birds. He also heard his own heartbeat. It was loud and fast. He licked his lips. His stomach felt knotted and there was a slight tremor in his leg muscles. He didn’t like waiting.

“Okay,” he said finally.

Jack put an arm through the broken pane. He felt around for a few seconds. Then Abe heard the dry snap of a clacking bolt. Jack withdrew his arm, turned the knob, and opened the door. Its lower edge pushed through fallen glass as it swung wide. Jack twisted his hand on the knob to smear his fingerprints, and let go.

Abe followed him into the room. Turning on his flashlight, he swept its beam over cupboards, a long counter and sink, an old wood-burning stove.

Jack whispered, “Should I get a shot of the kitchen?”

“Let’s start upstairs and work our way down. Grab one of here on the way out, if you feel like it.” Abe shut off the flashlight and led the way down a corridor between the staircase and wall. Stopping in the foyer, he glanced at the parlor, at the hall leading to the gift shop. Both were dark and silent.

Fighting an urge to hold the banister, he started up the stairs. No matter how softly he put his feet down, every riser creaked and groaned in the silence. If nobody heard the window break, he told himself, nobody will hear this. The thought stole into his mind that perhaps the smashing glass had been heard. Instead of coming to investigate, it had decided to lie in wait.

It.

This place is getting to you.

At the top of the stairs, he looked to the left. Moonlight from a casement window cast a pale glow into the corridor. He saw no movement. To the right, the hall was black. He remembered a window at its far end, but the curtains of the Jenson display blocked out any light from that direction.

“Let’s do the kids’ room first,” he said. “Work our way toward the front.”

With a nod, Jack walked quickly up the hall. Abe followed, watching his friend shove the curtains aside as he passed close to the wall. The motion of the fabric forced an image into Abe’s mind of something alive hidden within the enclosure. His skin prickled when the velvety folds swung against him. He rushed through the gap.

On the other side, he looked over his shoulder. The curtains still swayed as if stirred by a wind. He switched the flashlight to his left hand, reached behind his back, and drew out his revolver. The walnut grips were slippery with his sweat, but the weight of the weapon felt good. He held it at his side as he entered the bedroom.

With an elbow, he nudged the door. It swung almost shut. He pressed his rump against it until the latch snapped into place.

Jack found the drawcords and pulled. The curtains skidded apart.

“Make it quick,” Abe whispered. He shoved the flashlight into a pocket of his windbreaker and stuffed the barrel of the revolver into the front pocket of his jeans.

The room had two windows, one on the wall facing town, the other facing the backyard and hills. Stepping over the wax bodies of Lilly Thorn’s murdered sons, he hurried to the far window. He looked out at the rooftops of the businesses along Front Street, at the lighted road. A single car was heading north. He shook open the blanket and covered the window. “Okay,” he said, and shut his eyes to save his night vision.

Through his lids, he saw a quick blink of brightness. He heard the buzz of the automatic film advance.

Jack whispered, “Say cheese, fellas,” and snapped another picture. Then one more. “Done,” he said.

Abe swung the blanket over one shoulder. He pulled out his revolver and returned to the door as Jack closed the curtains. Faced with the prospect of opening the door, he wished he hadn’t shut it. His left hand hesitated on the knob.

Calm down, he warned himself.

He thumbed back the hammer of his .44 and yanked the door wide.

When nothing leapt at him, he let out a trembling breath. He kept his revolver cocked and stepped into the corridor.

“Fingerprints,” Jack said in a cheery voice that seemed too loud. “I’ll get ‘em.”

Abe heard the knob rattle. Then Jack moved past him and crossed the hall to the nursery door. He tried the knob. “How are you at picking locks?” he asked.

“Forget it,” Abe told him.

“I could kick it in.”

“Just grab a shot of the closed door. Hardy can run it with a mysterious caption. Hang on while I get the window.” He eased down the hammer and pushed the gun into his pocket as he rushed to the end of the corridor. Holding the blanket high to shield the window, he closed his eyes until Jack took the picture. Then he slung the blanket over his shoulder again, drew his revolver, and turned around.

Jack was gone.

The curtains surrounding the Jenson exhibit swayed a bit.

Abe’s stomach tightened. “Jack?” he asked.

No answer came.

He listened for sounds of a struggle, but heard only his own heartbeat.

He walked quickly toward the enclosure. Trying to keep the alarm out of his voice, he said, “Jack, hold it in there.”

The bottom of the curtain flew up. He jerked back the hammer. A dim, bulky shape rose from a crouch. “What’s wrong?” Jack asked.

“You trying to spook me?”

Jack laughed. “I didn’t know you were spookable.” He held up the curtain while Abe ducked underneath.

“Let’s just stay together, pal. I can’t cover your ass if I can’t see it.”

Jack let the curtain fall.

Abe took out his flashlight and turned it on. All around them, the red fabric hung from the ceiling to the floor. The air seemed heavy and warm, and he felt strangely vulnerable closed off from the rest of the corridor.

Jack stepped backwards, pushing out a side of the curtains, and raised the camera to his eye.

“Just a second.”

“What?”

Abe shone his beam on the wax figure of Dan Jenson. The body lay on its back near the forms of the Ziegler father and son, its throat torn open, its eyes glistening in the light. “He’s out of this,” Abe said.

Jack nodded. “Yeah. I should’ve thought of that.”

Crouching, Abe grabbed its right ankle and dragged the mannequin through the split in the curtains. He switched off his light, stood up straight, and peered down the dark corridor. He breathed deeply. The cool air tasted fresh.

A thread of light flicked across the floor from behind him. He heard the camera hum. A shuffle of feet as Jack changed position for another shot.

In his mind, he heard Tyler gasp, saw the color drain from her face, her eyes roll upward, her knees fold. He felt her weight against his chest as he caught her. He remembered the vacant look in her eyes afterward, and how she’d rushed out the door ahead of him and vomited.

He raised his foot. He shot it down hard on the dummy’s face, feeling the wax features mash and crumble under the sole of his shoe.

Jack came up behind him. “Jesus! What’re you…?”

“Taking care of business,” Abe said, and stomped the head again. “Let the goddamn sightseers gawk at someone else.”

When he finished, he shone his light on the floor. Nothing remained of the head but a mat of smashed wax and hair, and two shattered eyes of glass.

He turned off his light.

“Let’s get on with it,” he said. “The girls are waiting.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Janice had lost her battle of wills with the soda can. She had gulped down half the cola, then sipped the rest of it slowly; savoring its cold sweet taste. She felt guilty as she drank. The full can might’ve made a good weapon. But she’d found reasons to justify drinking: she was mad with thirst, she figured the soda would give her energy needed for her escape, and she only had two hands anyway. She wanted one hand for striking with the bulb, the other for thrusting Sandy’s pants into the face of whoever might open the door.

Or whatever.

Of course, she could use the full can instead of the pants. With the can, she might be able to stun the intruder with a good shot to the head. The pants seemed like more of a sure thing, though. They would give her momentary advantage by blinding and confusing her opponent.