The Midnight Tour

“So why won’t she fire him?”

“His job performance is excellent. If she fired him, she’d be setting herself up for a lawsuit. You can’t just go around firing people unless their job performance sucks or they commit a crime or something. Even then, they’ll sue you.”

“It’s a wonderful world.”

“Well, Clyde’s gonna screw up, one of these days. When he does, I’ll be there and make sure he goes down for it.” She took a drink of wine, then lowered her glass until its base seemed to rest on the bubbly white water. Smiling, she said, “Maybe you should go out with him. Maybe we’ll get lucky and he’ll assault you.”

“Oh, thanks for the suggestion. Real nice.”

Then you can file criminal charges against him, and...”

“Give me a break,” Dana said. “I don’t care what kind of an asshole he is, I’m not going to set him up. I want nothing to do with him.”

“Yeah, well...” Tuck shrugged and grinned. “I knew you wouldn’t go for it. You’re too much of a Girl Scout.”

“Dam right.”

“A goody-two-shoes.”

“Let’s not push it, babe.”

“Anyway,” Tuck said, “I wouldn’t let you do something like that. I was just kidding around. The best thing you can do is stay out of his way.Don’t even talk to him if you can help it.”

“I didn’t want to talk to him before I knew all this. He just rubbed me the wrong way.”

“He’ll rub you any way he can.”

“He won’t get the opportunity.”

“Let’s hope not.”

They both sat in silence for a while and sipped their wine.

Though the water’ no longer seemed terribly hot, Dana felt awfully warm inside and out. With her free hand, she wiped sweat off her face.

When her glass was empty, she reached around and set it on the concrete.

“Refill?” Tuck asked.

“Maybe later,” she said. Then she stood up.

“You aren’t leaving yet, are you?”

“Just need some fresh air.” She stepped onto the tile seat, then turned around and sat on the edge of the spa, her legs dangling into the hot water. The chill night air wrapped her wet body. It felt good after so much heat. Drops of water and sweat turned cold as they dribbled down her skin. She took a deep breath. “That’s better,” she said.

Tuck twisted sideways to look up at her. Then she spoke in a loud voice to be heard over the burbling and hissing sounds of the spa. “If you really want to be a glutton for punishment, hop into the pool.”

From up here, Dana had a fine view of the swimming pool.

Unlike the spa, it didn’t steam. The sparkling water trembled under the mild breeze and looked frigid.

“This is fine,” Dana said. “For now. So, tell me about Warren.”

“Ah. Okay.” Tuck climbed up and sat beside her. “What do you want to know?”

“What should I know?”

“Well...” Tuck drank the last of the wine from her glass. “I don’t know about you,” she said, “but I’m having a refill.”

“What is it, a long story?”

Tuck shrugged. “We’ve got to polish off the bottle. Red’s no good the next day.”

“If you say so.”

Their glasses full again, they each took a few sips. Then Tuck lowered her glass. Resting it on her thigh, she gazed out across the pool. “Well,” she said. “For starters, Warren...”

Her voice stopped.

“What?”

She whispered, “Shit.”

“What?” Dana asked.

Smiling at her, Tuck said, “Just act natural. Pretend nothing’s going on.”

“What is going on?”

“Someone’s over there.”

“Hub?”

“Across the pool. In the bushes.”

Chapter Twenty

THE LURKER

Trying not to show her alarm, Dana smiled and nodded. She kept her eyes on Tuck. “Where exactly?” she asked.

Tuck took a drink of wine. Then she lifted her eyes, slid them to the right, and looked.

And looked.

“What’s going on?”

“I don’t see him now.”

Turning her head, Dana studied the area along the far side of the pool. All she saw was a broken wall of trees and bushes. The foliage crowding the edge of the concrete was brushed with light, but there were gaps here and there along the whole length of the pool. Deep, empty spaces filled with darkness.

Dana didn’t see anyone.

But she suddenly realized how alone they were.

All by themselves in the spa. Tuck’s house deserted. Wooded hills all around them.

Nowhere to run for help.

Nobody to hear them scream.

“I don’t see him,” Dana said.

“Me neither. Not anymore.

“Maybe he left.”

“I don’t know. He could be anywhere.”

“Well...not anywhere.”

“Damn near,” Tuck said.

“Where was he?”

“Okay. Look straight across at the corner of the pool, then go to the right about fifteen feet.”

Dana followed the instructions.

“See what looks like a Christmas tree?”

“Yeah.”

“He was in that dark place just to the right of it.”

Dana found the dark place. She nodded. “Guess he isn’t there now.”

“Why don’t you go over and take a good look around?” Tuck suggested.

“Very funny. Maybe we’d better go inside.”

“Shit. Yeah. We’d better.”

“Let’s just put down our glasses and leave everything right here.”

They both set down their glasses.

“Now what?” Tuck asked.

“Run like hell for the back door.”

“Think so? Maybe we should just act like nothing’s wrong.”

“Why kid around?” Dana asked. “My second now, he might come after us. He might be sneaking closer even while we’re discussing this.”

Tuck grimaced slightly. Her eyes flicked toward Dana.

Dana saw fear in them.

It hurt to find fear in Tuck’s eyes, which usually showed wry humor and mischief and moxie. It made her want to hurt the person who had put it there.

“Don’t worry,” she said, and gave Tuck’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I’ll be right beside you. Nothing’s going to happen.”

“Okay,” Tuck said. She nodded briskly. She still had the fear in her eyes.

“Ready?” Dana asked.

“You bet.”

“Let’s hit it.”

They scurried to their feet, whirled around and ran, water flying off their legs, their bare feet smacking the concrete. Dana dashed around one side of the table, Tuck around the other. They converged beyond it and raced for the sliding door.

Realizing they might both reach it at the same moment, Dana slowed down. Tuck rushed ahead of her, jerked open the door and lunged out of the way to let Dana enter first.

Dana ran in.

Tuck lurched in behind her, pulling the door. It rolled shut with a heavy thud that seemed to shake the house. Tuck snapped down the locking lever.

Side by side, gasping for breath, they both stared out.

Except for the steam and the shifting, rippling surface of the pool, nothing moved.

“Well,” Tuck said. “Guess he’s not coming.”

“Doesn’t look like it. Are you okay?”

“Sure. Fine.”

“Did you see who it was?”

“Nah.”

“What’d he look like?”

“Just...I don’t know. I’m not sure what I saw. Part of an arm, maybe. I just caught a glimpse of it.”

“Are you sure it belonged to a person?”

Tuck turned her head and frowned at Dana. “No, it was Bigfoot.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

Suddenly tossing a smile at Dana, she said, “Nah, couldn’t have been Bigfoot. Wasn’t hairy. Might’ve been a beast, though.”

“Sure.”

“The skin looked awfully white.”

“It was a bare arm?”

“Yeah,” Tuck said. “Whoever he was, I don’t think he had a shirt on. I think his shoulder was bare. Hmm. Maybe he was naked.” She reached for the door handle. “I’ll ask him in.”

“Sure you will.”

Tuck let go of the handle.

For a while, they didn’t talk. They stood side by side, staring out.

Then Dana said, “Do you have any idea who it might’ve been?”

“Not a clue.”

“I guess we can’t go back out there.”

“You know what? Keep an eye on things. I’m calling the cops.”

Dana felt a sudden dropping sensation in her stomach.

Calling the cops.

Legs dripping, Tuck walked over to the lamp table at the far end of the couch.

She picked up the phone.

“You think it’s that serious?” Dana asked.

“Don’t you?”

“I guess so.”

Tuck tapped in three numbers.

“9-1-1?” Dana asked.

“You bet.”

“Jeez.”

This was like calling for an ambulance: an admission that the situation might be drastic.

Dana turned away to keep an eye on the pool area.

She saw nobody.

If he’s out there, he’s sure keeping out of sight.

“Hello?” Tuck said. After a brief pause, she said, “Yes, I guess it’s an emergency. We have a prowler behind the house. My friend and I were out by the pool, and I caught him spying on us from the bushes.” Pause. “Tucker. Lynn Tucker...Oh, hi, George. Didn’t recognize your voice...Yeah, we’re fine. We ran into the house and locked the door, but we’re afraid he might still be out there...No, he doesn’t seem to be coming after us. Not yet, anyway.” She listened for a moment, then gave the house address. After another pause, she said, “I don’t have any idea who it is. I didn’t see the face... White. And I think it’s a male, but I really didn’t get that good of a look...I don’t know. I guess I’d say he’s probably young. Not a kid, but not an old man...I only saw his arm and shoulder, George... Well, average size, I guess. No, cancel that. I don’t know. I guess he seemed to be fairly large. But like I said, I couldn’t see much. He might’ve seemed bigger than he really is...I don’t know, maybe six feet something...How should I know? Based on a glimpse of his arm?..Well, how about a hundred and eighty, two hundred? Do you have to put something down? I really haven’t got a clue. Can’t you just send someone over?...Wearing? Nothing that I could see...Well, I can’t say he was naked. All I saw was his arm, George. And it was bare, so I’m pretty sure he wasn’t wearing any shirt...Nothing more I can think of...I don’t know. At the moment, he isn’t trying to kick the door in...Isn’t...Okay, thanks. That’s great.... You, too, George. So long.”

She hung up.

Dana turned around. Tuck shook her head. “That was my old pal, George. He’s sending someone over.”

“Did he say how long it’d be?”

“Nope. He didn’t say who he’s sending, either. Wish I’d asked. I know everyone on the force. Their shifts change, though, so...” She shook her head. “Hope it doesn’t turn out to be Cochran. He’s such an asshole. Anyway, I don’t know about you, but I’m getting dressed. In case it is Cochran.”

“Why don’t you go first?” Dana suggested. “I’ll keep watch on things down here.”

“Okay. Yell if anything happens.”

With that, Tuck whirled around and ran for the stairway. She rushed up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

Dana turned to the glass door.

The pool area still appeared to be deserted. But someone might easily be hiding in the bushes and trees.

Watching me.

Anyone spying from the other side of the pool would have a bright, clear view of Dana standing at the glass door.

She suddenly felt exposed, as if she were on display in her thin, clinging swimsuit. It was clammy against her skin. Chilly water trickled down her legs. She realized that she was shivering slightly. Without looking down at herself, she knew her skin was rumpled with goosebumps, her nipples rigid and jutting out.

She was tempted to shut the drapes.

If I do that, I won’t be able to see out. He might sneak up to the door.

Let him look at me all be wants. So what?

At the sound of Tuck thumping down the stairs, she turned around. Tuck now wore a bulky gray sweatshirt and white shorts that reached down almost to her knees. She was barefoot. In her right hand, swinging low by her side, was a very large revolver.

“A gun?” Dana asked.

“Not just any gun,” Tuck said. Striding toward her, she raised the weapon and pointed it toward the ceiling. “This-here is your basic Smith & Wesson .44 magnum with an eight-inch bamel.” Squinting and snarling like Clint Eastwood, she said, “Thee most powerful handgun in the world.”

“Jesus,” Dana muttered.

“Nope. Dirty Harry. It’s my dad’s. And it’s loaded with hollow points.” She twirled the barrel. “Just in case our visitor makes a try for us before the cavalry arrives.”

“Don’t let ‘the cavalry’ see it. They might shoot you.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m not a dope. You can go on upstairs and get dressed now, if...”

The doorbell rang.

They both jumped.

“Too late,” Tuck said. “Go get the door and I’ll hide the cannon.”

Leaving Tuck behind, Dana hurried out of the room and down the short hallway to the foyer. At the door, she called, “Who is it?”

“Police.”

She opened the main door. A few steps back from the screen door stood a woman in uniform. She held a long, black flashlight down by her side, but it wasn’t turned on.

“Hello, officer,” Dana said.

The woman peered at her. “Having some trouble here? A prowler?”

“Right.” Dana swung open the screen door. “Come on in.”

The cop entered. She appeared to be older than Dana—maybe in her late twenties or early thirties. She was Dana’s size, had a similar figure, and was extremely attractive. Though her eyes were a striking, pale blue color, they had a tough, ironic look. Her pale blond hair was cut very short.

A man-style haircut.

Dana suddenly felt self-conscious in her revealing swimsuit. She blushed as the cop looked her over.

A name plate pinned above the uniform’s right breast pocket read, CHANEY.

“You must be the lifeguard around here,” officer Chaney said. Coming up with a lopsided smile, she held out her hand.

“Right. I’m Dana Lake.” They shook hands.

“I’m Eve...”

“Of Destruction!” Tuck called, striding into the foyer without her revolver. “How’s it going, Eve?”

“Hey, Lynn.”

“You’ve met Dana?”

“Yep.”

“She’s my old friend from L.A.,” Tuck explained. “We’re holding down the fort while Dad and Janice are off on their cruise.” To Dana, she said, “This is Eve Chaney. We lucked out. She’s the best damn cop in Malcasa Point, maybe in the country.”

Eve smiled. “I’m not really the best,” she said. “Just the most dangerous.”

“That’s how come I call her Eve of Destruction,” Tuck explained. To Eve, she said, “If I’d known it was you, I wouldn’t have bothered hiding the forty-four. I was afraid it might be Cochran or some other jerk.”

“You lucked out. Cochran’s on the day watch. So, what’s going on? Trouble with a prowler?”

“Right. Out behind the pool.”

“Let’s go,” Eve said. She stepped between them and led the way.

Dana hurried after her, eyes on the officer’s back.

The pale blue blouse of Eve’s uniform had short sleeves. It was wrinkled, probably from being pressed against the seatback of the patrol car. The way the blouse lay against her back, Dana could see that she wasn’t wearing a protective vest.

Maybe cops don’t get shot in this neck of the woods.

Just occasionally get torn up by a monster.

A Kevlar vest seemed to be about the only equipment Eve lacked. Her black leather belt was loaded. As she walked through the house, hips shifting with each stride, leather creaked and squeaked, metal rattled. She sounded as if she were wearing a horse saddle.

“How long since you saw him?” she asked.

Tuck shrugged. “Ten minutes, maybe?”

“Something like that,” Dana agreed.

“And you don’t have any idea who it might’ve been?”

“All I saw was an arm.”

Stopping a few paces from the glass door, Eve asked, “Where was he?”

“Over there.” Tuck pointed. “The other side of the pool. In the trees. But I don’t think he’s there anymore.”

At the sliding door, Eve stopped and switched off the lock. “You two wait here. I’ll take a look around.” She rolled the door open. With a glance back, she said, “Go ahead and lock this after I’m out.”

“You’re going out there alone?” Dana asked.

“Sure.”

“Be careful, okay?”

“You bet.”

Frowning, Tuck said, “Maybe we oughta come with you. I can grab the forty-four, and...”

“No, that’s all right. Thanks anyway. Just stay put.”

Chapter Twenty-One

EVE

Eve Chaney stepped outside, slid the door shut, then walked toward the pool.

“That takes guts,” Dana said.

“Eve’s got ’em. I wasn’t kidding when I said she’s the best cop in town. Hell, she makes the others look like a bunch of sissies. She’ll do anything, You wouldn’t believe all the commendations she has. She’s actually shot five or six bad guys.”

“Look at that,” Diana said, watching Eve through the glass door. “She doesn’t even have her gun out.”

A few strides away from the pool, Eve stopped walking. Her head moved slowly from side to side. Then she swung to the right, broke into a jog and hurried toward the end of the pool.

She runs like a guy, Dana thought.

Off to the right, beyond the pool’s apron of well-lit concrete, Eve switched her flashlight on. With its strong beam slanting out ahead of her, she hunched over and ducked into the foliage.

“She isn’t wearing any vest,” Dana said.

“Never does,” Tuck said. “Which I think is stupid. I’ve told her so. I mean, plenty of other cops wear them all the time. She won’t have anything to do with the things. She says they get in the way. And they’re hot. And they hide her girlish figure.”

Dana chuckled. “She said that?”

“She’s sort of a wise-ass.”

“Like you. No wonder you think she’s so great.”

“She worries me, though. I mean, she’s always taking unnecessary risks. Like this thing about the Kevlar vests. Would it kill her to wear one?”

“Maybe she thinks she’s invincible.”

“Maybe. I don’t know what it is. She drives me up the wall. I mean, she’s very smart and dedicated and everything, but... What the hell is taking her so long?”

“It hasn’t been all that long,” Dana said.

“She thinks she’s so tough.”

“Apparently, she is tough. From what you said...”

“But someone might get her from behind, you know?” Tuck grabbed the door handle.

“She told us to stay here.”

“She might be in trouble. What if she yells for help? We won’t even be able to hear her.”

Tuck slid the door open. The night air came in, wrapping Dana with its chill.

Nobody was calling for help. Dana heard only the hissing, bubbling sounds of the spa and a few distant squeals that she supposed were coming from seagulls.

Tuck stepped out onto the patio.

“Get back in here!”

Not even glancing back, Tuck simply shook her head.

Dana stepped out and stood next to her. “She told us to stay inside.”

“Yep. So what’s she gonna do, arrest us?”

“Well, since we’re out here anyway...” Dana stopped talking and walked away from Tuck’s side.

“Where’re you going? You’d better get back here.”

Ignoring Tuck, she strolled over to the table. She lifted her robe off the back of a chair and put it on. The soft fabric felt cozy. She was glad to be warm again, and glad to have her body covered, hidden away from anyone who might be out there watching. After tying her belt, she picked up Tuck’s robe and both towels.

As she approached the door, Tuck gave her a peeved look.

“I was freezing,” Dana explained. “Anyway, you’re the one who wanted to come outside.”

“I didn’t mean we should go wandering around.”

“I didn’t wander far. Anyway, I’m back.”

After taking Tuck’s robe and towels into the house, she came back out and stood beside her.

“I’m just a little rattled by all this,” Tuck said.

“I know. Me, too.”

“Isn’t enough that somebody messes around with the Ethel exhibit. Isn’t enough that we end up with three missing players and have to go on a search. And we’ve still got somebody missing. I mean, that’d be a bad day all by itself. That’d be a shitty day. But now we’ve gotta have some kind of creep lurking around the house with God-only-knows-what on his sick, perverted mind.”

“Maybe it’s just a secret admirer,” Dana said.

“Like I just said, a sick, perverted creep. What the hell is taking Eve so long?”

“She’s probably just doing a thorough search.”

“She shouldn’t be taking this long.”

“I’m sure she’s fine. Do you think it might all be connected?”

“Connected?” Tuck asked. “What?”

“What you were just talking about. Maybe the guy who screwed around with Ethel had something to do with the missing tape player. And maybe he came over here.”

“I don’t know,” Tuck said. “I guess it’s possible.”

“Maybe we should tell Eve about that stuff.”

In a half-joking voice, Tuck said, “You mean, if she isn’t dead?”

“She’s not dead. Maybe she’ll have some ideas about...”

“Let’s just deal with one problem at a time, okay? Eve doesn’t have to know about our troubles at Beast House. She might want to start an investigation. Next thing you know, everybody’d find out. It’s nobody else’s business.”

“If a customer disappeared...”

“Nobody disappeared. Not necessarily. We’re just short one tape player, that’s all.”

“But...”

“Nobody was looking for anyone and there weren’t any leftover cars in the lot. That’s pretty strong proof that we don’t have a missing person. I know, maybe he went on the tour alone. Maybe he parked on the street somewhere, or walked over. For now, though, we don’t have any good reason to start a major fuss about the situation. I don’t want to go whining to the cops every time there’s a little glitch in things.”

“You called the cops tonight.”

“A prowler lurking by the pool is a big glitch. For God’s sake, where’s Eve?”

“She’s probably...”

“EVE!” Tuck shouted.

No answer came.

“Oh, God,” Tuck muttered. “Something’s happened to her.”

“Maybe she’s...”

“EVE! DAMN IT, WHERE ARE YOU?”

Over beyond the far, left-hand corner of the pool, Eve trudged out of the bushes. She was hunched over, her head down.

When she stepped onto the concrete, she straightened up. “What’s the trouble?” she called.

“Are you okay?” Tuck asked.

“Fine. What’s the trouble? Did you see him?”

“No.”

“What’re you doing outside?”

“We got worried about you.”

Eve smirked and shook her head. Then she shut off her flashlight and came walking around the pool. As she neared Dana and Tuck, she said, “Let’s go back into the house.”

They went in without waiting for Eve to arrive. She entered after them, slid the door shut and locked it. Not saying a word, she turned her back to them and started to shut the curtains.

“Uh-h,” Tuck said. “I’m not sure I like the way this is going.”

Eve faced her and said, “I know I don’t.”

“Yuck,” Tuck said.

“Somebody was back there, all right.”

The words came as no surprise to Dana. After all, Tuck had said she’d seen someone. But Dana felt stunned, anyway, to hear a police officer confirm it. She felt a cold heaviness in the pit of her stomach.

“Did you see him?” Tuck asked.

Eve shook her head. “Afraid not.”

“What did you find?”

“He’d tramped stuff down pretty well. In some places, the weeds were mashed flat against the ground. I think he must’ve spent quite a while back there.”

“Shit,” Tuck muttered.

“Anything else?” Dana asked.

“Not really. I can’t even say with absolute certainty that it was a person. Might’ve been some kind of large animal.”

“I saw an arm,” Tuck reminded her. “And shoulder.”

“I’m not doubting you,” Eve said. “If you say it was a person, it probably was. I didn’t see anything to suggest it wasn’t. My guess is, you had a voyeur. He found himself a nice hiding place in the bushes to watch you two cavort in the swimming pool.”

“The spa,” Tuck said. “We were in the hot spa.”

A smile broke out on Eve’s face. “Glad to hear that. I’d hate to think of anyone in the swimming pool on a night like this. Either way, though, it looks as if you had an audience.”

“Terrific,” Tuck said. “At least we kept our suits on.”

“Even though it was optional,” Dana added.

“From the looks of things,” Eve said, “I don’t think he’s a regular visitor. It’s pretty thick and wild back there. Nothing was worn down. All the trampled places looked fresh. So this might’ve been his first night. That’s the good news.”

“And the bad?” Dana asked.

Eve let out a gruff laugh. “Where do I start?”

“Oh, that’s comforting,” Tuck said.

“I gave the area a pretty good search, and he seems to be gone. But he might not be gone. Like I said, it’s really thick back there. He might not’ve left at all. He might be in there right now, hiding.”

“That is comforting.”

Eve shrugged a shoulder. “I’m not here to comfort you, Lynn.”

“And why not”

Eve laughed. “Shut up and listen, okay?”

“Yes, Officer Chaney.”

“This is serious business.”

“I know.”

“Your prowler might not be gone. There’s no way to be sure, one way or another. That’s part of the bad news.”

“More to come,” Tuck said.

“Plenty. If he has left, he’s very likely to return tomorrow night, or the night after tomorrow...My time he gets the urge, he might just drop by in hopes of catching you in your swimsuits...or out of them.”

“Oh,” Tuck said, “this is getting more wonderful every moment.”

“It gets better.”

“I was afraid of that.”

“There comes a time when most voyeurs get the urge to do more than watch.”

“I was afraid you might say that,” Tuck said.

Grimacing, Dana said, “In other words, he might come for us?”

“No pun intended,” Tuck added.

Eve shook her head. “Whoever this guy is,” she said, “he probably has fantasies about raping you. One or the other of you, or both. The next step might be an attempt to carry out his fantasies.”

“Sounds reasonable,” Dana admitted. “What should we do?”

“Be very careful. Make sure you always keep the doors and windows secured. Keep all the curtains shut so he can’t see into the house. Don’t go outside alone. Be especially careful at night, but keep your guard up all the time. Daylight’s no guarantee of safety. I would certainly forget about using the pool or spa for a while. And Lynn, dig out your revolver and keep it handy.”

“So now we’ve got a peeping Tom running our lives,” Tuck muttered.

“I’m just suggesting you take precautions.”

“Yeah. Hide indoors. Don’t use the pool or spa. Man! This really sucks! What next, put bars on the windows?”

“I wouldn’t recommend that,” Eve said. “I’m just saying that you need to be especially careful for a while.”

“How long a while?” Tuck asked.

“We’ll have to play it by ear.” Eve shrugged. “The guy might not come back at all. I mean, he probably knows you’re onto him, so maybe he’ll move on to safer pastures. Or he might figure you’re worth a little extra risk. Two gals for the price of one. And you’re both a couple of babes.”

“Gee whiz, Eve...”

“You know it, I know it, he knows it. You’re very good-looking gals, and he has the hots for you. He’s already seen you in your swimsuits. That was probably a big treat, but what he really wants is to see you naked. So he’ll most likely keep coming back for a period of time. Don’t give him anything to see. Eventually, he’ll figure it’s useless. Then he’ll probably go away and look elsewhere for his kicks.”

“Probably?” Tuck asked.

“I’m just giving you educated guesses,” Eve explained. “The fact is, we don’t even know for sure he is a peeping Tom. Maybe he was out there for some other reason.”

“Such as?” Dana asked.

Eve shrugged. “Could be just about anything.”

“Such as?”

“A thief. Maybe he was back there casing the house, and you just happened to come out so he stuck around for the show.”

“We converted him to voyeurism,” Tuck said.

They all smiled at that one.

“Now he’ll keep coming back,” Tuck added.

Eve’s smile slipped away. “There’s another possibility about the guy. You might not like to hear this, but...”

“You mean this one won’t uplift our spirits?” Tuck asked.

“It’s a little more on the scary side.”

“More scary than a thief or a peeping Tom?”

“Chances are, he is a peeping Tom. I’d bet on it. But you really have to consider the possibility that the guy... well, he might be after one or the other of you. He might be a stalker.”

“Yeah, that’s what we want to hear.”

“You’ve both probably got guys falling for you all the time.”

“It happens,” Tuck said.

Dana nodded.

“Your prowler might be one of them,” Eve said. “You get a guy who develops a mad crush on you. For one reason or another, he figures he doesn’t stand a chance with you. So he goes nutty and forms an obsession.”

“Love it when that happens,” Tuck said.

“Pain in the butt,” Dana said.

“And it can be dangerous,” Eve explained. “I mean, a lot of guys’ll pester the hell out of you and make nuisances out of themselves, but if one actually goes to the extreme of following you around and spying on you, then you’ve got a major problem. He isn’t just longing for you, he’s coming for you. A guy like that can be extremely dangerous. He might even kill you.”

Nodding, Dana said, “If he can’t have us, nobody can.”

“Exactly.”

“Well, everyone,” Tuck said, “I’m cheered up now.”

“The thing is,” Eve said, “you might know who it is.” Glancing from Dana to Tuck, she asked, “Can you think of anyone who might be obsessed with you? Anyone who seems to be watching you all the time or following you around? Maybe a fellow worker? Or somebody taking the tour?”

Dana thought of Clyde. She thought of Dennis and Arnold. Even Warren crossed her mind. But none of them seemed likely.

She shook her head.

“I can’t think of anyone,” Tuck said.

“Is there someone you’ve noticed taking the tour more than once?”

“That happens all the time,” Tuck said. “People are always coming back for another visit. Hell, we’ve got regulars.”

“Might be one of those. You think he’s coming back to see the house over and over again, but he’s actually coming back so he can keep his eyes on you.”

“I guess that’s possible,” Tuck admitted. “But there’re so many of them, I wouldn’t know...Besides, you said this was probably the guy’s first visit here.”

“Looked that way.”

“Chances are, then, he didn’t come because of me. I mean, I’m always around. Why did he wait till tonight? He probably came because of Dana. This was her first day at Beast House.”

Eve looked at her. “Your first day, huh?”

“Yep.”

“Anybody seem to be taking special interest in you?”

“Not really. Clyde, I suppose. He tried to ask me out for dinner tonight, and I turned him down. I don’t want to get him into any trouble, though. I mean, this could’ve been anyone.”

“It doesn’t seem like Clyde’s style,” Tuck said.

“You never know,” Eve said. “I wouldn’t put much of anything past that guy.”

“You know him, huh?” Dana asked.

“You bet,” Eve said. “A real prince.”

Tuck, suddenly grinning, said, “Officer Chaney, here, is one of the precious few who hasn’t gotten nailed by Clyde.”

“He’s afraid of me,” Eve said. She showed her teeth. “I can’t imagine why. Anyway, aside from Clyde, was there anyone else today who seemed to be especially interested in you?”

“There was Warren. We talked for a while. He seemed really nice, but...”

“He is nice,” Eve said. “I can’t see him doing something like this.”

“Even if he had the urge,” Tuck said, “he wouldn’t have the guts.”

“He is pretty timid,” Eve agreed. “Anybody else? Maybe a guy hanging around you while you were on duty?”

“Not really. A lot of people sort of...you know, gave me a second look. But I didn’t notice anyone really watching me.”

“Well, keep an eye out for that sort of thing. Both of you. Tomorrow, pay close attention to anyone who seems too interested, maybe asks you a lot of questions, or just hangs around and stares at you. Anything at all suspicious. Okay? In the meantime, I’ll write up a report on the situation. You take the precautions I told you about, and everything’ll turn out fine.”

“Peachy,” Tuck said.

“I know it’s a pain in the ass.”

“It’s the way things go, nowdays,” Tuck said. “The good guys have to lock themselves up, and the bad guys rule the night. The American way.”

“I hate to think that’s how it works in this town,” Eve said. “Believe me, I don’t like it any better than you do. It’s an affront to me. But I can’t put down a bad guy till I know who he is. For now, you two should just be careful and lay low. I’ll do what I can to end the situation.”

“We’ll be careful,” Dana said.

“Sure,” Tuck said.

Eve unbuttoned a breast pocket, reached in and pulled out a business card. “I’ll give you my home phone number,” she said.

She took out a pen. Holding the card in her open hand, she wrote her number on the back. “You don’t want someone like Cochran coming over. If anything develops when I’m not on duty, try me at home.”

“Will do,” Tuck said. “Thanks.”

Eve handed the card to her. “Okay. I’d better get going. You two be careful. Keep me informed. And keep your Smith handy, Lynn.” She faced Dana. “Do you have a weapon?”

“Look at her size,” Tuck said.

Eve and Dana both gave her dirty looks.

Smiling at Dana, Eve said, “A firearm. Do you have one?”

“No.”

“You should, you know.”

“Well...I guess I could go to the store tomorrow...”

“No good. There’s a fifteen day waiting period.” To Tuck, she said, “You only have the one, don’t you?”

“Afraid so.”

“Well...” Dropping to a crouch, Eve raised the cuff of her right trouser leg. A black, fabric holster was strapped around her ankle. She ripped open a velcro strap, pulled out a small pistol, then stood up and held it out to Dana. “You can borrow this one for a while. It’s a Sig Sauer .380 semi-automatic.”

“I can’t take your gun,” Dana protested.

“It’s just my backup piece,” Eve said. “I’ve got plenty of others. A girl can never have too many guns. Now, do you know how to use a weapon like this?”

Chapter Twenty-Two

ICE

“Don’t be such a gloomy gus, Owie,” Monica said, and squeezed his hand.

“I’m just tired,” he said. “We’ve been on our feet for hours.”

“Aw, poor boy.”

“I think I’ve got blisters.”

“Well, we’re almost home.”

Don’t I wish, Owen thought. But it was nearly midnight and they weren’t almost home; after spending hours at Pier 39, they were walking along the Embarcadaro on their way back to the hotel. The hotel was not home. Home, back in Los Angeles, was a one-room apartment where Owen lived alone.

Without Monica.

It still hurt him inside to realize that he’d allowed her to ruin the Beast House tour.

I should’ve gone ahead and finished it and the hell with her.

Some sort of damn female power game she’d been playing.

She’d won, too. And Beast House had lost.

I lost, he thought. I caved in, and she wrecked it for me.

After quitting the tour that morning, Owen had tried to remain pleasant in spite of his frustration and disappointment. He couldn’t quite bring himself to be the life of the party, but at least he managed to smile and speak to Monica and pretend he still liked her.

At a restaurant on Front Street, he indulged himself in a Bloody Mary. Monica, between sips of white wine, tried to patch up the damage. “I honestly didn’t mean for you to leave,” she explained.

He knew she was lying. People always lied after such preliminaries as “honestly,” or “to tell you the absolute truth.”

She’d meant for him to quit the tour, all right. And she was no doubt secretly overjoyed that she’d wielded such power over him.

“I don’t see why you didn’t finish it,” she said. “That was silly. I was perfectly willing to wait for you outside.”

“Yeah, well.”

“Why don’t we go back after lunch?”

He shook his head.

“You definitely should. I mean it, Owie. It would be perfectly all right with me. I’ll just wait outside for you.”

“I honestly don’t care if I see the rest of it,” he said. “I saw enough. It wasn’t that great, anyway.”

“I’ll say. What a ripoff! But I think you should go back, anyway. I don’t want to be the one stopping you. I don’t want you blaming me that you missed the rest of the tour.”

And who else would I blame?

“It’s not your fault,” he said.

“I tell you what,” Monica said, widening her violet eyes. “If you’re sure you don’t want to finish the house tour, we’ll go to the museum after lunch. How about that? I mean, I’d sort of counted on going to the beach, but we can go to the museum instead. Would you like that?”

“Let’s just go to the beach.”

“You really should see the museum. We came all the way out here.”

“No, that’s okay.”

“Welllll...it’s up to you.”

“The beach’ll be fine.”

He meant it, too. He didn’t want to visit the Beast House museum. Not with Monica. She would be standing by his side, probably holding his hand, ruining it.

After lunch, they headed for the beach. On the way there, they followed a sandy, unpaved road that led them past the windowless Kutch house. Owen gave the house a few glances through the chain link fence, but he didn’t even try to appreciate it.

How could he appreciate anything with Monica at his side?

As it drew closer to departure time, they headed back to Front Street and boarded the bus. Monica took a window seat. Owen sat beside her.

He didn’t try to look out the windows for a final glimpse of Beast House or the Kutch House. As the bus pulled away and drove slowly through town, he stared at the back of the seat in front of him. He didn’t even turn his head for a look at the Welcome Inn, which had also been made famous by the Horror books and movies.

She ruined it for me. All of it.

Owen had a tightness in his throat.

When’ll I ever make it back again?

Maybe the place won’t even be here by the time I ever get back. Things happen. It might get shut down for some reason. It might burn to the ground...

I might keel over dead or get bit by a car.

You never know.

This might’ve been my one and only chance in my whole life to really experience this place.

Thanks a bunch, Monica.

Somewhere past the Welcome Inn, the bus turned around.

“We’ll be making one more pass through town,” Patty announced into her microphone. “It’ll give you a final opportunity to see the sights and snap a quick photo or two before we head over to the Highway One.”

Final opportunity.

On the way back through town, Owen kept his eyes forward.

Monica kept her nose to the window. As they left Malcasa Point behind, she smiled at him. Patting his thigh, she said, “Maybe we’ll have to come back again sometime and really do the place up right.”

“Good idea,” Owen said.

Soon, Monica scooted down in her seat, folded her hands in her lap, and shut her eyes.

That’s a very good idea, Owen thought. Take a nap. That’s when you’re at your best.

He leaned out into the aisle for a look at Patty. She was standing up front, her back to Owen, bent over slightly and peering out the windshield.

I bet she isn’t a bitch like Monica, he thought. She seems so nice.

How about the other one?

Dana.

I wonder if Patty knows her. She must.

Why not go up and ask her?

Oh, sure.

He imagined himself saying, “Hey, Patty? I was just wondering. I met a guide named Dana today. Do you know her?”

And Patty answers, “Oh, sure, she’s my best friend.” And Owen says... what?

What do I say then? he wondered.

Doesn’t matter, he thought. I’m not about to go up and talk to her. And I’m never going to see Dana again. Even if I do get back to Malcasa some day, she’ll probably be long gone.

I’ll never see her again.

He remembered how Dana had looked in the sunlight when he was handing over his tape player. Her golden hair blowing softly in the breeze, her skin tawny and smooth, her eyes deep and blue and full of gentleness and understanding. He remembered her friendly voice.

There are gals like Dana in this world, and I’m stuck with Monica. It isn’t fair.

It hurt, thinking about the unfairness.

Stop thinking about it. And don’t think about Monica. Forget her. Just think about Dana. Picture Dana. Forget everything else.

Settling down in the seat, he closed his eyes and let his mind linger on Dana. The images calmed him. She was so beautiful and sweet, and she seemed to like him, too. Soon, he pictured himself unfastening a button in the middle of her uniform blouse, slipping his hand inside and discovering that she wasn’t wearing a bra. He filled his hand with the smooth bare skin of her breast.

When he woke up, the bus was nearing the toll booths of the Golden Gate Bridge. He felt very fine—well rested and somewhat aroused—but then he saw Monica slouched beside him and his good feelings ended.

Luckily, she was still asleep.

But she was wide awake and perky by the time the bus stopped at their hotel.

Owen led the way up the aisle.

As they neared the front, Patty smiled and said, “Hope you enjoyed your visit to Beast House. Come and see it again sometime.”

“I will,” Owen said. “Thank you.” Then he handed her a folded five-dollar bill and added, “I really enjoyed your part of the tour.”

“Well, thank you very much. Have a good evening, now, both of you.”

Monica, behind him, said nothing.

After the bus pulled away, Monica said, “What did you give her?”

“A little tip.”

“How generous.”

“She was really good. You know, her talk on the way out.”

“That’s what she gets paid for. You didn’t have to tip her. My God, you’d think you were made of money.”

It’s my money.

He thought it, but knew better than to say it.

To change the subject, he asked, “Should we go up to the room for a while, or...?”

“And waste more time? We haven’t done anything yet. Let’s go look in some stores.”

For the next two hours, they roamed through shops along Fisherman’s Wharf, in the Cannery and Ghiradelli Square.

Finally, Owen asked, “Are you getting hungry yet?”

“Oh, I could eat any time.”

“Maybe we should start looking for a nice restaurant.”

She nodded. “Anyplace would be fine with me.”

“Well...” He shrugged.

“How about Alioto’s?” Monica asked.

“Okay, sure.”

They walked to the restaurant. After a brief wait, they were seated at a window table where they had a fine view of San Francisco Bay. Monica seemed delighted by it. Owen didn’t care, but he agreed that it was beautiful.

He started with a Mai Tai. He munched on sour dough bread. Then he drank a second Mai Tai with his meal of crab legs. Monica sipped white wine and ate rare prime rib.

She chatted happily, apparently enjoying herself.

Good for her, Owen thought.

And he wondered what it might be like to have dinner at a place like this with someone like Dana. Or even Patty. Or even...damn near anyone but Monica.

What the hell am I doing with her?

“What would you like to do now?” he asked when they were done with dinner.

“What do you want to do?” Monica asked.

Go back to Malcasa Point, he thought.

But he said, “Well, there’s a Ripley’s Believe It or Not place we walked by last night. How about paying it a visit?”

“Oh, it’s probably full of gross stuff. I’ve had enough of that for one day, thank you very much. Let’s go back to Pier 39.”

“Okay.”

“We missed a lot of things last night,” Monica pointed out.

“Well, we can go back. That’ll be fine.”

So back they went to Pier 39.

There, Owen stayed by Monica’s side while she explored every shop. In each place, she seemed to look at every item. At the Christmas store, she bought a golden ornament depicting the San Francisco skyline. At the magnet store, she bought a Golden Gate Bridge refrigerator magnet. At the shell store, she bought a little seashell man driving a little seashell car. “Isn’t it just adorable?” she asked.

“Very nice,” Owen said.

Later, they stood around and waited ten minutes for a stage show to start. The performer, however, turned out to be Wilma the Wonder Girl—the same juggler/comic they’d watched last night. “Oh, God,” Owen said. “I don’t think I can watch her again.”

Monica cast him a pouty look. “Aren’t we in a fine mood?”

“Well, she was a smart-ass, abrasive, and not funny. And we’ve already seen her act. It’ll probably be exactly the same, except for whatever poor stooge she drags out of the audience to humiliate this time.”

“If you don’t want to stay for the show, just say so.”

“I’d rather not. I’m really getting tired. Can’t we just go back to the hotel?”

“We can’t go yet. You don’t want to miss the seals, do you?”

“They’re probably the same seals we saw last night.”

“Aren’t they darling? Let’s go watch them. Just for a little while, okay?”

“Sure. Okay.”

“They’re just so cute.”

So Owen walked with Monica to the far end of the pier. There, they turned and followed the noise of barks and roars to the viewing area.

Out in the water a short distance away were hundreds of sea lions. Though they weren’t directly illuminated, plenty of light reached them from the pier. Quite a few people stood at the wooden rail to watch them. Owen and Monica found an empty space at the rail.

“Aren’t they just wonderful?” Monica said.

“Yeah, they’re great.”

She squeezed his hand.

They stood there watching.

Owen’s feet hurt, but he didn’t complain. He just stood there and watched the sea lions.

And watched them.

And watched them.

This is what Monica wants to do, so we’ll do it till she’s done. I’m not going to ruin it for her the way she ruins everything for me.

Not many of the sea lions were swimming around. Most seemed to be piled on the numerous platforms, snuggling against each other—and on top of each other—resting or sleeping. Once in a while, one would slide off into the water. Sometimes, a sea lion would get tired of swimming, climb aboard a platform and nudge its way into the crowd. Every so often, a quarrel would seem to take place—two of the creatures darting their snouts at each other and barking. Mostly, though, nothing much happened.

This is such a thrill, Owen thought.

I can stand here with Monica for an hour and stare at a bunch of boring seals, but she won’t even stick it out with me to the end of the Beast House tour. How is that fair?

“I guess I’m about ready to go,” Monica finally said. “How about you?”

“I guess so.”

She squeezed his hand. As they started walking away, she said, “We’ll have to come back and see what they do in the daytime.”

“That’s a good idea,” he said.

“I could watch them for hours, couldn’t you?”

“I think we just did.”

Monica tossed back her head, barked out a laugh, then said, “Oh, you’re such a silly.”

Owen tried not to grimace as he trudged along the Embarcadaro with Monica. He probably wasn’t the only person with sore feet. The walkway was crowded with other couples and families heading back toward the main area of Fisherman’s Wharf—probably going to hotels or parked cars—now that most of Pier 39 had closed for the night.

The crowd walked a gauntlet of beggars/performers: a man who stood motionless on top of a box, apparently doing his impression of a statue; a lone saxophone player; a legless guy with a cardboard sign announcing he was a disabled Vietnam veteran; a trio of bongo players; the traditional blind man with dog; the crippled woman with baby; a fat woman in dirty white leotards who danced like a ballerina and appeared to be quite mad.

Owen glanced furtively at these people. He wished they would go away and leave everyone alone.

Hoping to escape from them, he and Monica crossed the road. They ran into a few beggars, anyway. And a stumbling drunk. And someone passed out in the entryway of a closed swimsuit boutique. But there didn’t seem to be so many on this side of the road.

No matter where you go, Owen thought, you can’t get away from them.

At last, he and Monica arrived at their hotel.

And finally they reached their room.

Owen pulled off his shoes and flopped onto the bed.

“Not so fast,” Monica said. “We need ice.”

Ice. For their cream sodas. Monica absolutely had to drink a cream soda every night before bedtime.

Yesterday, after checking into the hotel, they’d immediately gone in search of a six-pack. The quest had taken them more than an hour.

She’ll spend the whole afternoon hunting for cream soda, but can’t hang on fifteen more minutes in Beast House...

And can’t go after her own damn ice, even though my feet are killing me and she knows it.

Owen groaned, sat up, struggled into his shoes, and got to his feet. Then he limped over to the dresser and picked up the ice bucket.

“Do you want me to go with?” Monica asked.

“No, that’s all right. You can just stay here and relax.”

“Do you have your key?”

He nodded and left the room. And limped down the hallway toward the distant ice machine.

Nobody else was around.

Owen felt as if somebody had spent hours whacking the bottoms of his feet. The carpet helped, but not much.

It certainly silenced his footsteps.

Voices came softly from behind some of the doors he passed.

He heard laughter, too.

Nice to know someone’s having a good time.

At last, he staggered to a halt in front of the ice machine.

He set the bucket onto the rack underneath the spout, then pressed a button. The machine groaned and rumbled. Gobs of ice started dropping into his bucket.

When the bucket was full, he released the button.

The machine went silent.

He heard the quiet ding announcing the arrival of an elevator.

Ice bucket in his hands, he started back toward the room.

And glanced to his left at the bank of elevators.

The doors of the nearest elevator stood wide open.

He saw no one.

He stepped toward the elevator.

Empty.

Why did it even stop here? he wondered.

For me.

Step right in, he thought. And leave. And never come back.

He smiled wistfully.

It’d sure fix Monica. She wouldn’t know whether to shit or lay eggs.

But where would I go? he wondered. I’ve gotta get off my feet. Can’t just go out and wander the streets. I’d need someplace to spend the night.

Check into a different room here?

Might be possible...

As if losing patience with Owen, the elevator shut its doors and descended without him.

Chapter Twenty-Three

HEAT

Can’t she even open the door for me?

The job required two hands, so Owen set the ice bucket on the floor in front of his feet. Then he pulled his wallet out of his left rear pocket. He fingered open its bill compartment and plucked out the plastic key card. After glancing at the diagram near the door handle, he turned the card around and ran it through the lock slot. A tiny green light came on. He quickly pushed down on the handle lever and shoved the door open.

Holding it open with a knee, he put away his card and wallet, then crouched and picked up the ice bucket. He shouldered the door wide and entered the room.

“I’m back,” he announced.

Monica didn’t answer.

The bathroom door was shut. From the other side came the muffled hiss of spraying water.

She’s taking a shower?

“Great,” Owen muttered.

I can’t have half a minute off my feet without being sent for ice, and the moment I’m gone she heads for the shower. Very nice.

He carried the ice bucket over to the dresser and set it down. Then he sat on the end of the bed and pulled off his shoes.

And sighed.

It felt so good to have his shoes off.

He was tempted to massage his feet. That’d really feel good, but then his hands would smell like sweaty socks and he wouldn’t be able to wash them until Monica got out of the bathroom. Which might be half an hour.

Or longer.

The longer the better, he thought.

Stay in there forever, for all I care.

Feet dangling off the end of the bed, Owen eased down onto the mattress. The instant his head and back met the bed, his aches and soreness started to melt and flow away. He filled his lungs and sighed.

Don’t get too comfortable, he warned himself. Still have to get up when Monica comes out.

Have a cream soda with her.

Change for bed, wash, brush my teeth...

He fell asleep, but not for long.

The clink of an ice clump dropping into a glass woke him up.

He raised his head off the mattress, then propped himself up on his elbows.

Monica, standing at the dresser, had her back to him as she popped open a can of cream soda. Her hair was wrapped in a tower of pink towel. She wore the black nightgown that she’d bought especially for this trip, that she’d modelled for him last night.

It left most of her back bare. It draped her buttocks and surrounded her legs like a veil of smoke. She wore nothing underneath it.

Owen felt a squirm in his pants.

As cream soda gurgled into Monica’s glass, he pushed himself up to his elbows.

“How was the shower?” he asked.

She swiveled toward him, smiling and giving him a side view of her right breast. Though covered by the nightie, it appeared to be cloaked in nothing but a shadow. “It was grand,” she said. “I feel so much better. You should try it.”

“I don’t think I can stand up.”

She eyed his groin. “Something is.”

He blushed, then sat up so his bulge wouldn’t show.

Smiling, Monica turned away long enough to set her can on the dresser. Glass in hand, she faced Owen. After a glance at his lap, she met his eyes. She raised her eyebrows high. Then she turned her face aside, raised her glass and tilted back her head. As she swallowed cream soda, she shifted her stance, thrusting her hips to the left and standing mostly on her left leg.

Posing.

Keeping her eyes away from Owen.

Keeping her arms out of the way so they wouldn’t obstruct his view.

From where Owen sat near the edge of the mattress, she was almost close enough to touch. Her breasts swelled out at him, looking as if they might burst through the frail material holding them in.

The gown drifted in front of her groin, caressed her thighs, concealed nothing.

As Owen gazed at her, she glided her right foot forward and sideways. Then she lifted her right knee. Bare toes pressing against the carpet, she swayed her leg lazily from side to side. The motion drew Owen’s eyes to where she obviously wanted them.

“What’re you looking at, Owie?” she asked, her voice a teasy sing-song.

Blushing again, he quickly raised his eyes. “Nothing,” he said.

“Nothing, huh?” Monica lowered her glass. It was empty now except for some small clumps of ice. Reaching behind her, she set it next to the soda can. Then she eased backward against the edge of the dresser. She sat on it, put her arms down straight by her sides to hold on, and stretched out her legs. Then she smiled languidly at Owen.

“I bet I know what you want,” she said.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she said. She spread her knees, opening herself wide to his view, then swung them back together.

Owen smiled. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“Nothing.” She opened and shut her legs again. “What makes you think something’s going own?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “You don’t usually ... act this way.”

“Don’t I?” Instead of spreading her legs, she swiveled her shoulders. Her breasts, confined only by her flimsy nightgown, lurched heavily from side to side.

“What’re you doing?” Owen asked.

“Nothing,” she said.

Her shoulders stopped, but her breasts didn’t. The rough lurching came to an end, but they continued to swing from side to side, gradually slowing to a gentle sway before Monica stopped them with her hands. Holding them, she looked into Owen’s eyes.

“How’s that?” she asked.

“Fine.”

“And how’s this?” she asked. Fingers hooked, she clawed the wispy fabric down, ripping it from her breasts, breaking both shoulder straps.

“Jesus!” Owen blurted.

As Monica’s hands returned to the edge of the dresser, the gown drifted into a pile below her waist.

Owen gaped at her.

She’s lost her mind!

“You gonna just sit there?” she asked.

Owen shook his head. He felt a little breathless. His mouth was dry, his heart pounding, his penis hard and achy. “Are you okay?” he asked.

She smirked at him. “Do I look okay?”

“You look great,” he said.

“Do I?”

“Yes.” And she did look great. Except for her eyes and smile. Something wrong there. Something mocking and haughty and a little frantic.

“Am I the fairest of them all?” she asked.

The question made something squirm in Owen’s bowels.

“Sure you are,” he said.

Monica pushed at the edge of the dresser, lifting herself. No longer trapped under her buttocks, the nightie slid all the way down her legs and pooled around her feet.

“Are you sure about that?” she asked, sitting down again.

“Huh?”

“Who’s the fairest?”

“You are.”

Her smiled died. “Fairer than Dana?” she asked.

The name slammed through Owen.

“Who?” he asked. He knew he must look shocked. He felt sick.

“Dana,” Monica said. “Your precious Beast House guide.”

“Huh? I don’t even...”

“Oh yes you do.”

“The guide on the bus?”

“Dana!”

“Huh? Do you mean the big one? The blonde?”

“Don’t play stupid with me, Owie. I know you way too well. I see right through you.”

“I don’t even know her.”

“But you lust for her, don’t you?”

Shaking his head, he tried to smile. “I lust only for you.”

“Sure. Like I believe that. I saw how you were looking at her.”

“This is ridiculous. She was just there. So what if I looked at her? If I hadn’t looked at her, I might’ve bumped into her.”

“Ha ha. Not very funny.”

“You’re making a big deal out of nothing. I don’t know her. I don’t care about her. I’ll probably never even see her again.”

“Probably?”

“There’s a pretty slim chance of it, don’t you think?”

“Do you want to see her again?”

“No. Why should I?”

Monica smirked and made a snorting sound. Then she pushed herself away from the dresser. Standing straight, she reached up with both hands and unwrapped the towel from around her head.

Eyes on Owen, she rubbed her hair with the towel. “Why would you want to see Dana again?”she asked. Her breasts jiggled and hopped with the motions of her arms.

“I wouldn’t,” Owen said. “Can we stop talking about her now?”

Monica lowered the towel. Her hair was a dark, wild tangle. Tossing aside the towel, she stepped toward Owen. She bumped against his knees, so he moved them farther apart. She halted between his knees and started to unfasten the buttons of his shirt.

He reached up for her breasts.

She clutched his wrists. “Not so fast, Owie.”

“hug?”

“You can’t touch me till I say you can.”

“Huh?”

“Huh?” she mimicked him. “It’s your punishment, dearie.”

“Punishment for what?”

“We don’t want to talk about her anymore, remember?”

“For God’s sake, Monica.”

“It’s my way or the highway, sweetheart.”

The highway, he thought. Screw this. She’s turned into some sort of raving, jealous lunatic. Over nothing. Nothing!

I’ve gotta get away from her.

But not now, not now.

He didn’t know why, it made no sense at all, but he wanted Monica more right now than he’d ever wanted her before. He acbed for her.

“Your way,” he gasped.

“Okay,” she said, and released her grip on his wrists. Owen lowered his hands. He rested them on his thighs and gazed at Monica’s naked body. He wanted to lick the sweat off her skin. He wanted to suck on her breasts. But he forced himself to sit still while she finished unbuttoning his shirt.

She pulled the shirt off his shoulders and down his arms.

As Owen freed his hands from the sleeves, she clutched his shoulders and pushed him backward. The mattress felt good under him.

Standing between his knees, Monica bent over him and unfastened his belt. She opened the waist button of his jeans, then slid the zipper down.

Owen sighed.

“You like?” Monica asked.

“It was feeling awfully tight in there.”

“Baby needs his freedom.”

“Yeah.”

The fingers of both her hands slipped beneath the elastic waistband of his underwear. They lifted, and he felt all the confinement go away.

“Ooo,” Monica said. “Look at you.”

He couldn’t look without lifting his head. And he didn’t care to look. Not at himself. His gaze was latched on Monica as she struggled to tug his jeans and underwear out from under him. Rolling slightly from one side to the other, he helped her.

No longer trapped under his buttocks, the pants raced down his legs as Monica scurried backward, pulling.

Then she lifted his feet, one at a time, and peeled off his socks.

Standing between his knees again, she bent over and glided her hands slowly up his thighs. Her thumbs rubbed against the sides of his groin.

Face looming over his penis, she said, “Ooo, you are so big and hard.”

Owen felt her fingers encircle him.

They squeezed gently, and he groaned.

“Hard as a rock. Oh, Owie, I’ve never felt it so hard.”

Her fingers glided slowly upward.

“You must be awfully turned on.”

Her fingers went away.

“Bet you just can’t wait to slip it into me,” she said. “Can you?”

“Huh-uh.”

“Into my hot, wet pussy.”

Her fingers returned, curled lightly around him, and slid downward.

Owen squirmed.

Monica let go, gently patted his thigh, and said, “Afraid you’ll just have to wait, honey.”

“Huh?” He lifted his head off the mattress.

Monica, smiling and shaking her head, backed away from the bed. “No fucky-wucky for you tonight, Owie. You’ve been a bad boy.”

“What?”

“Too bad Dana can’t be here for you.”

“What?”

Turning aside, she waved at him, said, “Ciao,” and walked out of sight. A moment later, Owen heard the bathroom door bump shut. Next came the click of its lock.

When he woke up, the gray light of morning showed through a gap in the curtains. He was still naked, but he no longer lay at the end of the bed with his legs hanging over the edge. Sometime during the night, he must’ve gotten up and crawled under the covers. He had no memory of it, though.

The last thing he remembered, Monica had locked herself in the bathroom and he’d stayed on his back, feeling cheated and angry.

At first, he’d been tempted to jump up and run to the bathroom door, break it open and grab Monica and slam her against a wall and shove it in.

Fix her good. Fuck her till she can’t see straight.

But he knew he could never do anything like that.

What he could do, he could walk over calmly to the door and talk to her. Apologize to her.

Apologize for what? She’s the one who went nuts!

Just say whatever it takes, he told himself. Take all the blame for everything. Beg her if you have to. Just get her to come out.

She didn’t take her nightie with her,

She’s naked in there,

Get her to come out, and we can pick up where we left off.

Except that Owen felt as if he’d been bludgeoned.

She had no right to treat me that way.

He had a heavy ache in the pit of his stomach and he was limp and he wanted to slap her a good one across her smirking face.

Thinking back on it now, Owen couldn’t recall getting up from the bed or moving his postion at all. Nor could he remember Monica coming out of the bathroom.

She must’ve come out after he’d fallen asleep.

She was in the bed now, near him under the covers. From the sound of her slow, easy breaths, Owen supposed she was probably asleep.

Not so much as glancing in Monica’s direction, he eased himself slowly, silently out of the bed. The room felt chilly.

Starting to shiver, he glanced at the clock. Ten till six.

He crept past the foot of the bed. Her nightgown was still on the floor.

Seeing it, memories rammed through him. His throat went tight. A knot formed in his stomach.

He looked over at Monica.

She seemed to be lying on her side. Her hip made a high bulge in the covers. Her left shoulder protruded above the edge of the blanket, bare. He couldn’t see her face at all, just her black hair spread over the pillow. The hair looked sleek and smooth. She must’ve brushed it while hiding in the bathroom last night.

Owen supposed she was probably naked under the covers.

He supposed he might pull them away and take a look. He might slip into the bed with her, wake her with gentle kisses and caresses.

You never know, I might get lucky.

Call that luck?

Even though he stood there naked, imagining how it could be, he felt no stir of arousal.

Instead, he felt slightly gleeful.

If I can get away with this...

Silently, he gathered clean clothes for himself. He took them into the bathroom, eased the door shut and locked it. He wanted to take a shower, but didn’t dare. He bad to pee, did so, but refrained from flushing. With water running slowly and quietly from the faucet, he washed his face and brushed his teeth. He didn’t bother shaving. But he did comb his hair.

Then he got dressed and silently eased open the bathroom door and stepped out.

Monica still lay on her side, her bare shoulder sticking out of the blanket.

Owen had never unpacked his suitcase. He’d simply left it open on a luggage rack inside the closet and removed items as he’d needed them.

It took him only a few minutes to gather his things and throw them in. He shut the suitcase. He carried it to the door, set it down, then silently made his way back through the room.

Monica remained on her side, apparently still asleep.

Owen picked up his overnight bag and his camera case, swung their straps over his shoulders, and walked silently back to the door. There, he hefted his suitcase. He slipped into the hallway and eased the door shut.

A smile tilted the corners of his mouth.

He walked away quickly.

Downstairs, the lobby was nearly deserted. Piped-in piano music played quietly. Owen recognized the melody as “I Left My Heart In San Francisco.” A couple of guests were busy pouring themselves free cups of coffee. The young, uniformed woman behind the registration desk was looking through a magazine and paid no attention to Owen as he walked by.

Just outside the entryway, he found a cab waiting.

He took the cab to San Francisco International Airport.

Where he headed straight for a car rental agency.

Chapter Twenty-Four

FRIDAY MORNING

Dana woke up. She was lying on her side, snug in bed.

Above her, a breeze lifted and swayed the curtains. The morning air felt chilly on her face.

Her alarm clock hadn’t gone off yet.

What day is this? she wondered.

Friday.

Wondering how much time she had, she rolled over and looked at the clock on the nearby nightstand.Twenty till eight.

The alarm was set for eight-thirty.

Plenty of time. Go back to sleep for a while?

The pillow didn’t feel quite right. She fluffed it, squeezed it, moved it this way and that under the side of her head until she found a more comfortable position. Then she shut her eyes and sighed.

This is nice, she thought.

Then she imagined how lunch might be today. Would Warren come over to her table?

Of course he will, she told herself.

She thought about how he would look in the sunlight. How he might smile. In her mind, he reached across the table and took hold of her hand.

So, how are things going today? she imagined him asking.

Just fine, thanks. Better all the time.

Same here, he told her. Things just got terrific.

Would that have anything to do with me?

It would have everything to do with you.

Dana felt herself smiling, blushing. She squirmed a little in the bed.

Still at the lunch table in her mind, she pictured herself saying to Warren, Why, thank you. Maybe we should get together later and...

Somewhere in the house, a sliding door squeaked on its runners and scattered Dana’s fantasy. The faraway sound seemed to come from downstairs, where all the rear doors were sliders. But it might’ve come from somewhere else. Upstairs, the bedrooms all had sliding doors to their balconies.

Must be Tuck, Dana thought.

She heard another squeak. This time, it was followed by a quiet thump.

What’s she doing? Going for an early morning swim?

Tuck hadn’t gone for a swim yesterday morning—not that Dana knew about, anyway.

Doesn’t mean she isn’t doing it now.

It’d be nice down there, she thought. Nothing beats going for a swim first thing in the morning when you have the pool all to yourself and...

Did Tuck forget about our creepy visitor last night?

No, she couldn’t have forgotten about him. She’d probably made up her mind to go for a swim, anyway.

Alone. Not such a great idea. Even if the jerk is long gone...

Maybe I should go down and keep her company.

Dana sighed again. She felt so cozy. But the pool would be great—clear and sparkling in the sunlight. She knew just how it would feel, too. After the cold shock of diving in, there’d be the sleek feel of the water rushing over her skin as she glided along beneath the surface.

Anyway, she thought, I shouldn’t let Tuck swim alone. Not after last night.

She flung the covers aside and the chilly air swarmed her, soaking through her thin cotton nightshirt. Shivering, she scampered to the adjoining bathroom.

As she used the toilet, she saw her red swimsuit from last night. It was draped over the shower rod where she’d left it. Probably still damp. She could get a fresh, dry suit out of a drawer and...

What the heck, it’ll get wet anyway in a couple of minutes.

After flushing the toilet, she pulled off her nightshirt. She hung it on the back of the door, then went to the tub and pulled down her swimsuit. She climbed into it. The clammy fabric clung to her skin, making her shudder and grimace.

Grabbing a towel, she rushed out of the bathroom. On her way through the bedroom, she draped the towel across her back and drew it around her chest like a cloak.

I’ll be okay once I’m outside in the sunlight.

She hoped Tuck wouldn’t mind having her solitude ruined.

But it’s never safe to swim alone, she thought—even if you don’t have some weirdo hanging around.

In the hall, striding past the open door of Tuck’s room, she glanced in.

Tuck, braced up on her elbows, looked back at her.

She lurched to a stop.

“Mornin’,” Tuck said, her voice husky as if she were barely awake. “Goin’ for a dip?”

Dana gaped at her.

Tuck’s hair was a mess. She wore a blue pajama shirt that was twisted crooked and half unbuttoned. The covers were down around her waist.

“Whassa matter?” she asked.

“Were you just up?”

“Huh? No.”

“You didn’t just come in from outside, or...?”

“Been right here.”

“You haven’t gotten out of bed at all this morning?”

“No.”

“Promise?”

Her frown deepening, Tuck sat up. “What’s going on?”

“I heard a door. It slid open for a second, and then it slid shut.”

“When?”

“Just now. I don’t know, four or five minutes ago.”

Tuck’s lips twisted and curled. “I’ve been right here,” she said.

“Did you hear anything?”

“A toilet flushed.”

“That was me.”

“Other than that...” Tuck shook her head slightly “I think I was asleep until the flush.”

“The sliding door was a couple of minutes before that. I figured you must’ve gone outside for a swim. I was just on my way to go down and join you.”

Tuck curled her upper lip. “I wouldn’t advise it,” she said.

They stared at each other.

“Are you sure what you heard was a sliding door?”

“What else makes a sound like that?”

Tuck was silent for a few seconds. Then she said, “I don’t know. Nothing. Not that I can think of.”

“You don’t have a housekeeper, or...?”

Tuck shook her head. “Nobody is supposed to be here but us. Nobody else even has a key. Just Dad and Janice.”

“Maybe we’d better have a look around.”

“I’d say so.” Tuck kicked her legs free of the covers, scooted off the bed and got to her feet. She wore no pants. The loose pajama shirt draped her like a very short dress. She slipped her feet into a pair of flip-flops, then stepped over to the nightstand. There, she pulled open a drawer, reached inside, and hauled out her .44 magnum. “Here we go again,” she said. “Do you want to go back and get the gun Eve gave you, or...?”

“That’s all right,” Dana said. “I’ll rely on you to blast the bad guys. If any.”

“I can’t imagine what you heard.”

“If it wasn’t a door,” Dana said, “I don’t know what it could’ve been.” She stepped out of the way to let Tuck pass, then walked beside her down the hall.

“The doors were all locked last night,” Tuck said.

“I know.”

“This is nuts.”

They started slowly down the stairs.

“Ever since you got here,” Tuck said, “it’s been one thing after another.”

“Maybe I brought it with me.”

Tuck grinned at her. “Maybe you did.”

“Do you think we should call Eve?”

“Nah. At least not till we’ve had a good look around. We can’t be bugging her with every little thing. Especially when we don’t know what’s happening.”

“I can tell you what happened,” Dana said as they stepped off the bottom stair. “Somebody opened and shut a door. It wasn’t me and you say it wasn’t you.”

“Wasn’t me.”

“So somebody else must’ve done it.”

Tuck made a face at her.

“He or she,” Dana said, “was either leaving the house or coming in.”

“If he’s in here now,” Tuck said, “he’d better get ready to catch a bullet.”

Side by side, they searched the entire ground level of the house. Then they returned upstairs and searched every room.

They found no one. They found nothing to suggest that a stranger had been present earlier. All the windows and doors were intact, shut and locked.

As they went downstairs again, Tuck grinned at Dana and said, “At least nobody tampered with the dummies.”

Dana frowned at her, confused. “The dummies? Oh!” Laughing, she said, “Maybe, maybe not. Who knows what might’ve gone on while the dummies were sleeping?”

Tuck grimaced at her. “That’s a comforting thought.” At the bottom of the stairs, she said, “Anyway, I’ll brew up some coffee. It’s still pretty early. You have time for that swim, if you want.”

“You going in?”

“Not me,” Tuck said. “But help yourself.”

As they walked toward the kitchen, Dana said, “we’d better stick together. He might still be in the house.”

“Not likely,” Tuck said. “Nobody can hide from me. I would’ve found him.”

“You didn’t exactly find the guy in Beast House yesterday.”

Grinning, Tuck nudged Dana with her elbow. “We got two out of three. That ain’t bad.” In the kitchen, she set her revolver on the table. She walked over to a cupboard, reached up and swung open its door. “Besides,” she said, “who knows? Maybe there wasn’t anybody to find. Some jerk might’ve stolen that tape player.” As she reached high for the coffee filters, her pajama shirt glided up, baring the lower half of her buttocks. “In which case, there is no missing customer.” She took down a filter and turned around. “If there is someone missing, he isn’t in Beast House. We would’ve found him.”

“If you say so,” Dana said.

“I say so. And there’s nobody here, either. Not anymore.”

“You’re probably right.”

“I know I’m right.” Tuck went to the refrigerator, opened it, and took out a can of ground coffee. Swinging the door shut, she stepped over to the coffee maker.

“I bet he was on his way out when I heard the door,” Dana said. “He probably locked it, then slid it shut behind him.”

Tuck nodded and started scooping heaps of coffee into the filter. Glancing over her shoulder at Dana, she said, “Or maybe nobody was here, at all.”

“I guess that’s possible. I heard something, though. If it wasn’t anybody coming or going...God knows. I didn’t imagine it.”

“It might’ve been something else.”

“Such as?”

“I have no idea,” Tuck said. She shook her head. “I sure hate to think it really was someone leaving the house. I mean, if it was... Who was it? How long was he inside with us? What the hell did he do while he was in here? How did he get in? And how do we keep him out from now on?”

“I have no idea,” Dana said. “On all counts.”

As they drove up Front Street approaching Beast House, Dana pointed at an old blue Ford Granada parked at the curb.

“What about that?” she asked.

Tuck turned her head. The wind threw ribbons of blond hair across her face. “What about it?”

“It was parked there when we drove home yesterday.”

“Was it?”

“Yep. Sure was. I used to have a boyfriend with a car like that.”

“Ah.” Tuck grinned at her. “This boyfriend? Did he appear to have stalker tendencies?”

“No. Anyway, his car was green. But it’s about the same, otherwise. That’s why I noticed it so much yesterday.”

Slowing her Jeep, Tuck flicked the turn signal. “So you think exactly what?”

“Maybe it belongs to the missing tourist.”

“Might belong to anyone,” Tuck said. She eased her car to the right and rolled to a stop in front of the parking lot’s gate. “Back in a minute.” She took the keys, hopped out and trotted up to the gate.

Dana looked around.

The parking lot was empty.

Off to the left of the gate, however, several people were milling about on the sidewalk, apparently waiting for the ticket booth to open.

They hadn’t parked in the Beast House lot.

If they’d come by car, they’d parked elsewhere. Along Front Street, more than likely.

Maybe one of these people owned the Granada.

But it had been parked there yesterday—in exactly the same spot.

So what? Maybe it belongs to a repeat customer.

Eve Chaney, she remembered, had warned them to watch out for repeaters.

She scanned the group.

And caught a guy staring at her.

He began to turn his head away, then seemed to change his mind. Facing Dana, he smiled slightly and nodded. Then he turned away.

Do I know him?

He looked vaguely familiar—gawky and freckled, probably about her own age, with a shock of light brown hair that swept up from his scalp making him look like a human Woody Woodpecker.

His short-sleeved, Madras shirt was neatly tucked in. He wore tan trousers and brown leather hiking boots.

This isn’t how he was dressed yesterday, Dana thought.

The boots and trousers might be the same, but he’d been wearing a different shirt. Cream colored.

And he’d been with a snotty-looking brunette.

Dana scanned the group. The girl didn’t seem to be there.

Tuck dropped into the driver’s seat, pulled the door shut, and started the engine. “I wouldn’t get too excited about that Ford. You know? It might belong to anyone.” She drove into the parking lot.

“It might belong to the guy who vanished yesterday with the tape player.”

“But not necessarily.”

“You’re in a state of denial,” Dana said.

Grinning, Tuck asked, “Egypt?”

She steered diagonally across the lot and parked at the far corner. As she plucked out the ignition key, Dana took hold of of her wrist and said, “There’s something else. It might be nothing, but you know how Eve told us to keep our eyes open for repeaters?”

“Yeah. We get a lot of them, though.”

“Two days in a row?” she asked, and released Tuck’s wrist.

“It happens, but not very often. Unless you count people coming back for the Midnight Tour. They’ll sometimes take the regular tour Saturday, then come back that night.”

“But this guy was here yesterday and he’s back today. I just saw him out in front of the ticket booth.”

“Are you sure it’s the same guy?”

“Positive. He was giving me the eye yesterday. In a furtive sort of way. And I was out front by the time he left. I took his tape player...”

“So he’s not our vanishing mystery guest...”

“He might be our other mystery guest. That’s what I’m getting at.”

“Just because he gave you the eye?”

“He wasn’t alone yesterday. He had a gal with him. A girlfriend, maybe. The thing is, I don’t think they were getting along very well. She was really pretty, in a way. But she had this horrible smirky look. Anyway, she doesn’t seem to be with him this morning. It looks like maybe he came back without her.”

“That does seem slightly odd.”

“It just makes me wonder, you know? Maybe he’s got a thing about me. Or about you. Maybe he got rid of the gal and followed us home after we left here yesterday.”

“I don’t know. Sounds like you’re making a lot out of not very much. All he did was look at you.”

“He seemed pretty intense. And now he’s back without the girl. And I caught him staring at me.”

“Guys will stare. We don’t want to go jumping to a lot of wild conclusions.”

“I’m not. I’m just saying he might be...a possible suspect.”

“He’s over by the ticket booth?”

“He was. When we drove in. He’s probably still there.”

Tuck swung open her door. “Let’s go,” she said, and climbed out.

Dana met her behind the Jeep. Side by side, they started walking toward the open gate. A couple of other cars were already coming in.

“Take a look at him as we go by,” Dana said. “He’ll be the skinny guy with the weird hair. He’s in a Madras shirt.”

“I’ll check him out. And why don’t you stop and have a friendly little chat with him^?”

“You’re kidding.”

“Am not. Maybe you can find out what he’s up to. I’ll go ahead inside and start to open things up.”

“Alone?”

Tuck smiled and shook her head. “Me?”

“Yes, you.”

“I do it all the time.”

“But there’s been so much weird stuff,” Dana said. “I’d better go in with you. I can talk to this guy later.”

“Nothing’s going to happen.”

“But if it does, I’ll be with you.”

Tuck, grinning, shook her head. “My pal,” she said.

chapter Twenty-five

SANDY’S STORYJuly 1992

When Sandy came out of the cabin, she found Eric waiting in the passenger seat of her pickup truck Like a kid eager for the trip to begin, he grinned at her and bounced up and down.

Sandy felt a pang of regret.

Opening the driver’s door, she said, “I wish I could take you with me, honey.”

He tilted his head, gave her a sad look, and made a dog-like whimper. As if begging, Please?

Sandy climbed aboard. Leaning over, she put an arm around her son’s shoulders, pulled him toward her and kissed his cheek.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Tell you what, we can make a night trip sometime soon. Maybe later this week. How does that sound?”

Chuffing. he nodded.

Ever since her son’s infancy, Sandy had taken him on night trips into town once in a while as a special treat He seemed to just love the adventure of it. But she had never taken him during the day. And never would. Risky enough, driving him into town in the middle of the night. She would have to be nuts to do it in daylight.

“Hop on out, now,” she told him.

He whined.

“Go on,” she said, gently easing him away.

He reached for the door handle, then looked back at Sandy.

The ridges above his eyes lifted. They would’ve raised his eyebrows if he’d had any. But he had no brows, no hair anywhere on his body. Even puberty, which he’d apparently attained recently, hadn’t resulted in any hair. He was bald all over, the same as his father and the others.

“Go on, now,” Sandy told him again. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

He nodded, then swung open the door and jumped to the ground. He turned around and stared at Sandy.

“Could you shut the door for me?” she asked.

He reached out and whipped it shut. It slammed. Sandy cringed.

He didn’t slam it that hard on purpose, she told herself. -

He’s just too strong. And hasn’t learned to control it yet.

Smiling, she said, “Next time, take it easy on the door, okay?”

He shrugged.

“Jerk,” she said.

He grinned.

Sandy started the engine, then called out the window, “Try to stay out of trouble while I’m gone, okay? And don’t talk to any strangers.”

An old joke between them.

Grinning, Eric bobbed his head.

Sandy backed up the truck, turned it around, then slowly drove away. In the side mirror, she saw Eric standing in front of the cabin.

He looked so damn lonely and forlom.

Sandy felt her throat tighten up.

Poor kid, she thought.

It’s not like we have any choice. We’re doing the best we can.

Hell, we’re doing pretty damn good, considering. At least we’re alive and free and together. That’s all that really counts.

She drove around a curve. No longer able to see Eric, she felt an ache of loss.

She hated leaving him alone for these drives into town.

Nothing’s going to happen, she told herself. When I am home, he’s off all day roaming around in the woods. So what does it really matter if I’m in town instead of the cabin? .

It matters.

At a break in the trees, she turned her head and looked over at the burial place. She always had to look. Long ago, she’d given up fighting the urge.

She knew precisely where to look. But the grave was not to be seen. It lay hidden beneath a heavy cluster of bushes.

Glancing at the bushes, Sandy remembered when they hadn’t been there. She remembered the look, the feel, and the strong dirt scent of the mound as it had been in the beginning. That first night, after piling in the dirt on Lib and Harry and Slade, she’d sat down on the mound because she was too worn out to go anywhere else and because she wasn’t quite positive about Harry and Lib.

They were probably dead.

But maybe not.

One or the other of them might still be alive down there, badly hurt and shat of air, but not quite dead. And maybe somehow strong enough to fight his or her way up through the dirt.

Not if I’m sitting on it.

Sitting on the grave, she’d thought about the three of them down there. A sandwich of naked bodies, Lib in the middle like a slab of meatloaf.

No, no, no, not meatloaf. It’s a salami, sandwich.

And Lib’s in the middle, but she isn’t the meat.

Hope she’s happy. Should’ve kept her big mouth shut.

Driving on past the bushes where the grave lurked, Sandy remembered how angry she’d been, that night. Everything had seemed so fine between her and Ub until Harry had shown up.

He’d ruined it.

We could’ve been a family.

But Lib had gone nuts for the guy and turned into a slut.

A talkative slut, a traitorous slut. Didn’t have an ounce of loyalty in her whole damn body. Couldnt wait to start spilling the beans.

She didn’t even know the guy!

Sandy shook her head.

She felt like a different person from the girl sitting on top of the grave that night.

God, I was so young then. And so angry.

And Jealous

Ridiculous.

She wished she hadn’t killed Harry and Lib. She always wished she hadn’t done it.

Not that she felt very guilty about it. They both got what they deserved. They’d turned against her. Sooner or later, they would’ve turned against Eric, too. If she hadn’t killed them, there would’ve been hell to pay.

But she’d liked them.

Both.

If things had worked out differently. Lib might’ve been like a big sister to her. Harry might’ve been like a brother

Or lover.

Who knows?

Ever since that night twelve years ago, she couldn’t drive past the grave without remembering it all.

Couldn’t remember without wishing she hadn’t killed them.

Wishing they hadn’t made it necessary.

It all worked out for the best, she told herself.

Not for them.

Well, tough. They should have behaved.

Better that they didn’t behave, she thought. Otherwise, I might’ve been lulled into trusting them. Then it would’ve been me and Eric getting the shaft.

This way, I got in the first strike.

What’s that military term?

A preemptive strike.

Yeah.

I sure preempted the shit out of those two. Got them before they could get us.

Off through the trees, Pacific Coast Highway came into sight. Sandy drove ahead slowly, then stopped a few yards short of the heavy, iron gate barring her way. She hopped out and strode toward it. As she walked through shadows and brilliant sunlight, her boots crunched the fallen leaves, pine needles and twigs. Mixed in with the heavy scents of the woods was a fresh, strong smell of ocean. And a feel of the ocean’s breeze, cooler and fresher than the sweet warm air of the woods.

It always got her just about now, on her way to open the gate.

My gate.

. The dirt road hadn’t been gated in Harry’s days. Sandy, herself, had bought the barricade in town and hired a couple of guys to install it.

The gate did a fair job of keeping people out.

That, and the sign wired to its front:PRIVATE PROPERTY

KEEP OUT

VIOLATERS SUBJECT TO PROSECUTION

AND TARGET PRACTICE

The sign was her own creation. She thought the “target practice” bit, while threatening, showed a certain wit and style.

The sign and the gate itself seemed especially cool considering that the private property wasn’t hers.

The land belonged to Harry Matthews.

He owned it. He was buried in it.

After removing the padlock, Sandy walked backward, pulling the gate. When it was wide open, she stepped back, read her sign and grinned. then she hurried to the pickup. She rolled through, shut and locked the gate behind her, then drove slowly over the rough dirt tracks, bouncing and shaking until she reached the edge of the highway,

She waited until an enormous RV roared by. After that, the road was clear. She made a hard right turn onto the pavement and stepped on the gas.

The nearest town was Fort Platt, almost fifty miles up the coast. She turned on the radio. Reaching over in front of the passenger seat, she opened the glove compartment Half a dozen cassette tapes were piled inside. She found her favorite Warren Zevon tape—the one with “Roland the Headless Thompson Gunner.” Then she shut the compartment, slid the cassette into the slot in her radio, and pushed the start button.

“Now we’re cookin’,” she muttered.

As much as she regretted leaving Eric behind—and worried about his safety—she couldnt help but enjoy being alone on the road.

Free.

She settled back in the seat and smiled at the feel of the wind in her face.

Resting her left arm on the sill of the open window, she steered with one hand. She was wearing a sleeveless white blouse. Air ruhed in through the arm hole, slid over her breasts, fluttered the front of the blouse She unfastened a couple of buttons to let more air come in.

High above the ocean, she could see little more than the horizon when she looked straight to the left. Looking ahead, however, she could see down over the left side of the highway. A fabulous view stretched out ahead of her—miles of rough, rocky bluffs with patches of sandy beach down below, the ocean’s frothy rows of combers rolling in. The water was pale blue and glinting sunlight. Far off to the west, a bank of fog lay across the water like a mat of snow.

To the right, she could see densely wooded hillsides and cloudless sky.

This is the life, she thought.

If you don’t mind biding your life away in the bills with a monster.

She felt a quick flush of guilt.

He’s my kid, she told herself. He is my life.

He’s a monster.

But he’s mine and I love him. And what choice do I have, anyway ?

She knew the choices.

She’d thought about them many times.

Alone during her long drives into town, she rarely failed to think about the choices.

There were only two, really. Either continue hiding out with Eric, or leave him.

It’s not as if he really needs me anymore, she thought. He could get along just fine on his own.

Years ago, Eric had started chasing down and killing wild animals (and sometimes people) for his meals. He ate them where they fell, though he often brought back gifts of meat for Sandy to cook up for herself. Sure, he enjoyed special treats like pizza, popcorn, cake, chocolate chip cookies—but he didn’t need anything like that.

Didn’t need Sandy at all, really.

Sure, he’d miss me. He’d miss his mom. But he could get along just fine without me.

And I’d be free. I could have my own life.

Without him.

She felt hot and sick with guilt...and with a vast, overwhelming loneliness.

I couldn’t, she thought. I could never betray him like that. And God, I’d miss him. I just couldn’t.

But the alternative seemed almost as terrible.

To spend her whole life in that little cabin, all alone except for Eric. No lovers, no real children.

Real?

Again, guilt surged through her.

You know what I mean, she thought. I know he’s real. Do I ever! But my God, is it so awful to wish for a normal life? A husband and human kids?

It’s not that I don’t love Eric, but...

“Shit,” she said.

She hated thinking about these things.

Just then, the song came on. The song she liked best. The weird and spooky ballad about Roland, the headless Thompson gunner.

She sang along with it and tried not to think about such matters as Eric and freedom.

It was after ten o’clock by the time she drove over the bridge and entered town. At a public phone inside the Sea Breeze Cafe, she dropped in a quarter and tapped in a number that she knew by heart.

After two rings, a familiar voice asked, “May help you?”

“Hi, Blaze, it’s me.”

“Darrriing!”

“Could you use me today?”

“Could I? Of course! When could I not use you?”

Just thought I’d check. Make sure you’re not off on a cruise or something.”

“Oh, perish the thought! I may never go on a cruise again. I thought I’d die! Several people did! Ha!”

“Fun. Anyway, do you want me to come up to your place or should I meet you somewhere, or...?”

“Oh, come here first. If we decide on an outing, I’ll drive.”

“Okay. Great. See you in a white.”

“Where are you calling from?”

“The Sea Breeze.”

“Ah. Then I’ll see you in fifteen minutes.”

“So long, Blaze,” she said, and hung up.

She drove down the main street of Fort Platt. The town had a bay with a wharf and plenty of boats, but she knew of no military installation in the area. Maybe they should’ve called it Port Platt.

It always reminded her of Malcasa Point. Not that the two towns had much in common. Fort Platt sure didn’t have any tacky attractions like Beast House. It wasn’t very big on bait shops, liquor stores or cheap souvenir shops like Malcasa, either. No way. Fort Platt was a class act Or so it seemed to fancy itself,

Like many other communities along the California coast, it had long ago acquired the reputation of being an “artist’s colony.” By the time Sandy had first ventured there, late in 1980, it had already mutated into a trendy vacation area.

The main road was lined with picturesque restaurants, boutiques selling candles and tea and handicrafts, bookstores that smelled of incense and carried books by environmentalists and obscure poets, and galleries featuring the works of local artists.

Such as Blaze O’Glory.

Just beyond the north end of town, Sandy turned right onto Buena Vista Parkway and headed inland. She followed the broad curvy road into the hills, turned onto Emerald Drive, then onto the narrow, twisty Crestline Lane. It led to the entrance of Blaze’s driveway.

Stopping at the bottom of the steep driveway, she shifted to first gear. Then she started forward. The front of her pickup tilted toward the sky and she felt her weight shift against the seatback.

At the top, her hood lowered. She felt as if she were coming in for a landing—on a runway in front of a fabulous house made of glass and weathered wood.

She left her car in a parking area near the garage, then walked past the front of the house and climbed a dozen slate stairs to the porch.

She pressed the doorbell button.

Inside the house, chimes rang out a tune. The one about wanting a gal just like the gal who married dear old Dad.

She chuckled and shook her head.

Blaze opened the door. “My dear!” he cried out and flung his arms wide.

Sandy stepped over the threshold.

He wrapped his arms around her and hugged her.

She gave his back a couple of pats. He was wearing a silk kimono. The fabric felt slick under her hands, and the heat of his skin radiated through it.

He eased her away and held her by the arms. “Look at you. Oh, just look at you. Gorgeous! Absolutely gorgeous! As ever. Never change, darling! Whatever you do, never change!”

“You look pretty good yourself, she said.

Oh, dear, I know. I know! Ha! I look totally fabulous, don’t I?”

“As ever.”

“Oh, I’m so glad you chose today to come by. You’ve absolutely made my day.” He swept her aside, then closed the front door and whirled around to face her. “Oh, I do miss you when you’re gone. You’re such a delight! I do wish you’d move in. I have oodles of room.”

“I know. Maybe someday.”

“Oh, don’t torment me with your empty promises. I know you’ll never move in. But I do keep hoping, don’t I? We could have such fine times, you and I”

“I’m sure we would.”

“You are so gorgeous. And you’re such a chatneleon. So many moods and changes, so many shifts and nuances. If I had my way, you would be my only subject. I would spend every hour of my life painting no one but you.”

“Well, thanks.”

“We’d not only have a grand time, but we’d become filthy rich.”

“How are we doing ?”Sandy asked.

“Modestly well.” Wiggling his eyebrows, Blaze slipped a hand into a pocket of his robe. He drew out a fat pack of bills that were folded in the middle and held together by two rubber bands. “Your twenty percent,” he said. He dropped it into Sandy’s hand.

“Wow,” she said.

“Indeed. That’s two thousand three hundred smackarooes.”

She grinned. “Pretty good.”

Leaning toward her, Blaze narrowed one eye, lowered his voice and said, “We are an unbeatable combination, Ashley. Your beauty and my genius in capturing you on canvas...But you need to be here. I require your presence”

“Well, I just can’t get out here very often, Blaze.”

“How far away do you like?”

“Far far.”

“You have no desire to be wealthy?”

Two thousand bucks a month ain’t hay.”

“But we could be doing so much better. We could make a fortune.”

“I thought you artistic types didn’t care about money.”

“Am I not human? Do I not bleed ? Do I not crave goodies?”

Laughing, Sandy stuffed the pack of money into a front pocket of her jeans. “Well, Mr. Greedy, we’d better get to it.”

“Yes! The sooner, the better!” Smiling, he raised both hands like a kid trying to feel raindrops. “It’s a lovely day. Shall we go down to the sea again?”

“Fine with me. You driving?”

“I’ve already packed the gear. All we need to do is change into more suitable attire, and we’ll be off.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

STAFF ENCOUNTERS

In the parlor, Ethel looked as if she hadn’t been tampered with overnight.

“So far, so good,” Dana said.

They searched more and more of the house.

Nobody jumped them.

Nothing seemed out of place.

All the mannequins appeared to be in their usual condition.

Done with the walk-through, Tuck and Dana headed for the front door. “Maybe everything’ll go a little more smoothly today,” Tuck said.

“We’re getting off to a good start—if we don’t include the intruder at your house.”

“Oh, thanks for reminding me.”

“You’re welcome

“He’s probably after you, you know.”

“Thank you,” Dana said.

“My pleasure.” She opened the door and Dana followed her onto the porch. “Just be careful,” she said. “Keep your eyes open, okay? Don’t think you’re necessarily safe just because it’s broad daylight and there’re lots of people around...” She shook her head. “The house has a lot of little empty places. Places where things could happen. So don’t let your guard down.”

Noddihg, Dana said, “You watch out, too.”

“You bet I will.”

Side by side, they trotted down the porch stairs. As they headed around the house, Dana felt her heartbeat quicken. “Warren doesn’t show up for the staff meetings, does he?” she asked.

“Not the guide meetings.” Tuck flashed a grin at her. “So sorry,.”

“Just asking.”

“Sure you are. Anyway, he’s not actually staff. Not anymore. He owns the snack stand.”

“Owns it?

“Oh, yeah. Makes a nice little profit off it, too. But he doesn’t attend the guide meetings.”

“Ah.” .

“Don’t worry, you’ll see him sooner or later.”

“I know. I wasn’t...”

“Sooner if you buy yourself a cup of coffee before we get started.”

“He’s here now?”

“Maybe.”

They stepped around the rear corner of the house.

“Yep,” Tuck said. “He’s here.”

Dana only saw the three other guides. Rhonda smiled and waved. Sharon lit up a cigarette. Clyde, off by himself with one foot up on a chair, held a cigarette in his lips and a white styrofoam cup in one hand. Seeing Dana, he looked away.

“Warren’s inside the snack stand,” Tuck explained.

Dana squinted at it. Though sunlight glared on the glass front, she could see that one of the serving windows was open.

She smiled at Tuck. “Can I get you anything?”

“I’m fine. But you’d better hurry.”

“Right back.” Quickening her pace, she angled away from Tuck and hurried over to the stand.

Warren stepped up to the window and smiled out at her. “Moming, Dana.”

“Hi. Could I get a cup of coffee?”

“What size?”

“What sizes have you got?”

“Tom Thumb, Madame Blavatsky, and Cyclops.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Yeah. Sorry about that.”

“I hope it doesn’t get around.”

“I only try it out on special friends.”

Dana felt heat rush to her face. “Well, thanks. So I guess your medium sized coffee is the Madame Blavatsky?”

“You got it.”

“I’ll have one.”

“Take anything in it?”

“Just coffee.”

“Coming right up.” Warren stepped away from the window.

Looking over her shoulder, Dana saw that the other guides were gathering around Tuck.

“Here you go.”

She reached into her pocket.

This one’s on me,” Warren said.

“Well...thank you.”

“You’re welcome. How did it go yesterday? Did those cassette players ever turn up?”

“Two out of three. One’s still out.”

Warren grimaced slightly.

He shook his head. “It’s been happening a lot lately, that’s all. Maybe people stealing them. Anyway, I think Lynn’s waiting for You.”

“I’d better get going. See you later, okay?”

“You bet,” he said.

“Thanks again for the coffee.” She picked up the stryofoam cup, turned away and started toward the group. She walked slowly, her eyes on the steaming, dark surface.

Is he still at the window? she wondered. Is he watching me?

Is he interested? . .

He gave me free coffee, didn’t he?

Yeah, but why was he in such a rush to scram, yesterday? Like he could get away from me fast enough.

Scared I’d ask him to help me search the house.

“Okay,” Lynn said. “We’re all here.”

“Hi, Dana,” Rhonda said, smiling as her cheeks reddened.

“Hi, Rhonda. Sharon.”

Sharon, a cigarette jutting from a corner of her mouth, tipped her a wink. “Day two.”

“Yep.”

Clyde stared at her through the drifting smoke of his Camel. She nodded a greeting to him, but refused to smile. He kept on staring at her.

Was that you at the pool last night, Clyde,

You in the house this morning?

What were you doing in there, spying on...?

“The good news,” Tuck said, “is that nobody screwed around in Beast House last night.” .

“Nobody you know about,” Sharon said.

Diana took a sip of mffee. It was very hot, and tasted like a French roast.

Warren makes good coffee, she thought. -

“The bad news is, we came up short a cassette player yesterday. We started out three short, but Dana and I turned up two hiders. Just a couple of goofballs. They claimed not to know anything about another hider, and we couldn’t turn anyone else up. So there’s still one player outstanding.”

“-—Ciutstanding,” Clyde muttered.

Lynn said, “We don’t know of any missing tourists, though.”

“We never do, do we?”

“Probably because they aren’t missing,” Lynn told him.

“If we had a customer vanish every time a player does, we would’ve gone out of business years ago.”

“So you say.”

“Get off it, Clyde,” Sharon said.

“I say the beast is back,” Clyde said. He tossed a quick smirk at Dana. “Every so often, it puts the snatch on someone. Needs some fresh meat, you know what I mean?”

“He’s just trying to scare you,” Rhonda said.

“I’m trembling,” Dana said.

“Maybe you should be. You might be next.”

“That’s enough, Clyde,” Lynn said. “Let’s not make a big deal out of this. Far as we know, nobody’s missing. The player’s gone, that’s all. People do steal the things. But we need to keep our eyes open. Maybe someone did get snatched, even though there’s no reason to think so. Another possibility is that we’ve got a hider. If it’s a hider, he might still be in the house. No telling what he might be up to, so we need to be especially careful.”

“Do you suppose it’s all connected?” Rhonda asked, frowning as if deep in thought.

“What’s all connected?” Lynn asked.

Rhonda blushed. “You know. The vandalism of Ethel, the missing tape player. They both happened on the same day, didn’t they?”

“The vandalism might’ve been the night before,” Lynn said. “But yeah, there could be a connection. I just don’t think we know enough to draw any sort of conclusions yet.”

“I’ve got a couple of conclusions,” Sharon said, squinting through her cigarette smoke. “I conclude something weird’s going on. And I also conclude this might just be the start of it.”

Clyde widened his eyes. “And it all began yesterday with the arrival of Dana.”

“Blow it out your ass,” Sharon told him.

“Kiss my ass.”

“Not with these lips.”

“That’s enough,” Lynn said. “For one thing, we had plenty of incidents before Dana came along. For another, Clyde, try not to be such a fuckwad.”

“Oooo,” he said. “You’d better watch your language, little girl, I might have to get out a bar of soap.”

Ignoring his remark, Lynn glanced at her wristwatch. “It’s almost time to open. Any questions about your assignment?”

I’d like to take the second floor,” Dana said. “If that’s all right. Since I screwed up yesterday.”

Sharon agreed to switch positions with her.

Smirking at Dana, Clyde said, “Guess who has the first floor?”

“I don’t see that as a problem,” Dana said. “Do you?”

“Oh, no no. I see it as an opportunity.”

“Are we all set?” Lynn asked.

“Not quite,” said Clyde. He mashed the remains of his cigarette under his shoe.

“What is it now?”

“You called me a fuckwad,” he said.

“Right. So?”

“Did you mean it as a complicnent?”

“Sure,” she said. “Whatever you wanta think. Now let’s get this show on the road.”

Clyde taking up the rear, they walked in a group around the side of the house. At the front, Lynn, Sharon and Rhonda cut across the lawn toward the ticket booth. Clyde stayed behind Dana. She resisted an urge to look back at him.

“Do you think I’m a fuckwad?” he asked.

Turning her head, she said, “I wouldn’t know.”

He hurried up to her. “Lynn can’t stand the fact that I broke up with her. She’s hated me ever since.”

“No kidding?” Dana muttered.

“I’m afraid I broke her heart.”

“I guess you’re a real heartbreaker.”

“So, how was your date last night?”

“Just fine.”

“Just fine? That’s not much of a recommendation. If you’d been with me, your answer would have been ‘extraordinary’ Or even ‘magnificent.’”

“I’m sure.” She climbed the porch stairs.

Clyde hurried ahead of her and opened the front door of Beast House.

“Thanks.” She stepped over the threshold.

Rushing in behind her, Clyde jerked the door shut. It slammed the daylight out.

Dana could hardly see the stairway through the murky gloom.

“Sorry,” Clyde said. “Do you need the light?”

“This is fine.”

“Could we talk for a minute?”

“I need to get upstairs.” She put a hand on the newel post and stepped onto the first stair.

“Nobody’ll be in here for another five minutes, at least. So don’t run off, all right?”

She climbed a few more stairs, anxious to get away from him.

Wait. Why not hear what he has to say?

Ask him a few questions.

Dana stopped and turned around. Clyde came toward her.

“Stay down there, okay? We can talk, but don’t try to come up.”

He halted. “Is this all right?”

“Fine. What do you want, Clyde?”

“I want us to be friends.”

“Friends. Right.”

Spreading his muscular arms, he said, “There’s still time.”

“Sure.”

“Do you already have another engagement planned for tonight?”

She realized that her heart was pounding fast.

“No, I don’t,” she said. “As a matter of fact, I didn’t have one last night, either. I just didn’t want to go out with you.”

“So you lied.”

“That’s right.”

“Shame on you.”

“I know. I hate lies. That’s why I’m leveling with you now. You and I are co-workers. I’d like for us to be friends, but I have no intention of going out with you.”

“Ah, the old ‘co-workers’ ploy.”

“It’s not a ploy.”

“Sure it is. It’s just a handy excuse. Why don’t you just come right out and say that you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you.”

“Your dear friend Lynn has probably told you all sorts of terrible lies about me. She can’t stand that I dumped her. Oh, she was absolutely nuts about me. She couldn’t get enough of me. She was insatiable. We even did it right here inside Beast House. Countless times. In every room. Even in the attic. Even in the cellar.”

“Yeah, right.”

“She had to have me over and over again. I drove her crazy with lust. And with jealousy. She was so jealous, so possessive. I finally couldn’t stand it any longer. The accusations. Groundless accusations. She thought I was fucking Sharon. She even accused me of seducing Rhonda. Rhonda! Can you believe it? Can you imagine, for one moment, that I would be interested in having sex with that childish, stupid pig?”

“Knock it off now.”

“God only knows what sort of lies Lynn’s been telling you. And you probably believe her. Hell, why wouldn’t you? She’s your best friend. In your eyes, I’m sure she can do no wrong.”

“I wouldn’t go that fu.”

“I’m not a bad person. Even she didn’t think so. She thought I was great. That’s why she hates me so much now.”

“I think there’s at least one more reason she hates you.”

“What’s that?”

“You’re a fuckwad.”

While standing on the stairs, Dana’s eyes had adjusted to the dim light. She was able to see Clyde’s lips tighten into a thin, angry line.

She turned her back to him and climbed the stairs.

“You’ll change your tune,” he called.

She didn’t answer, just kept climbing.

“You don’t know what you’re missing.”

She said nothing.

“You get a taste of me, you won’t be able to get enough. None of them can. You’ll be begging for more.”

At the top of the stairs, she turned to the right and started walking down the hallway.

“Don’t let the beast get you!” Clyde yelled.

“Thanks for the warning,” Dana called. “Have a nice day.”

She heard him mutter a word. It had only one syllable. Though she couldn’t quite make it out, she was fairly sure that she knew what it was.

“What a charmer.” she whispered.

Then she smiled but couldn’t stop trembling.

Chapter Twenty-seven

SANDY’S STORY—July, 1992

“Looks like we’ll have the beach to ourselves,” Sandy said, seeing no cars parked at the end of the dirt road.

“I certainly hope so,” Blaze said. “I have my heart set.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

He turned his Silverado around, then stopped it. They both climbed out and unloaded the gear.

“You carry the cooler and easel, if you will. I’ll take the rest.”

“Right,” Sandy said. She always carried the cooler and easel. Blaze always carried his canvases, paint box, and a full backpack. And he always insisted that Sandy walk in front of him, even though he was the one choosing the destinations.

“It allows me time,” he had told her, “to reacquaint myself with your form and flow.”

Sandy had left her own clothes back at his house, and now wore the blue silk dress that she’d found waiting for her in the guest room. Low cut in front and back, its top was held up by thin, wispy straps. The fabric of the dress, nearly weightless, felt like cool fluid against her skin.

Though she never let Blaze know when she might be coming to his house, he was always ready with a fabulous new costume for her. And she always gladly changed into it right away, even if they would be going no farther than his upstairs studio.

The garments never failed to be beautiful, clingy and revealing. Some were barely decent.

Like this one.

Not only was it semi-transparent, but its skirt was at the mercy of the wind.

The wind flipped it up as she bent over to lift the cooler.

“Oh, lovely,” Blaze commented.

“Dirty old man,” she said.

“Old? Bite your tongue!”

She stood up straight, the easel resting on her right shoulder. The cooler, down by her side, pulled at her left arm.

She supposed it contained the usual picnic lunch of cheese, Italian salami, crackers, grapes, and two bottles of Champagne.

Grinning over her shoulder, she said, “How old are you now, Blaze?”

“Twenty-nine.”

“Wow. That’s truly amazing. You don’t look a day over fifty.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Fifty-eight, if you must know.”

“No kidding? You do look great.”

“Oh, I know, I know.” Grinning, he stroked the wavy silver hair above his right ear. “I’ve been a raving beauty all my life and it’s too late to quit now. Ha!”

“Ready to go?” Sandy asked.

“Lead on, MacQuifl.”

She frowned back at him. “None of that, buster.”

He tilted his head sideways and gave her a look like a scolded, repentant kid. “Forgive me, my dear.”

“Just try to restrain yourself,” she said, and started off.

A path led away from the road’s end, curving along the side of a low, grassy hill before descending to the shore. It reminded Sandy of the way down to the beach at Malcasa Point.

How often had she taken the path down to that beach?

Dozens of times, at least. Maybe more than a hundred.

She found herself remembering the first time. With her mom and Jud and Larry.

Don’t, she told herself.

She remembered riding Larry’s back—playing “horsey” as he twirled on the sand, squealing.

Poor old Larry.

Stop it! Don’t think about any of that!

Blaze reminded her of Larry.

Good. Think about Blaze. Excellent idea.

Striding down the sandy path, she cast her memory back toward the time she’d met him. A long time ago. Twelve years.

I was hardly more than a kid...

The morning after the killings, Sandy had removed Eric from his cradle and gone exploring. About a hundred yards farther up the dirt road, they’d found Harry Matthews’s log cabin. A large, blue pickup truck was parked beside it.

Leaving Eric on the ground for a few minutes, Sandy had crept around the outside of the cabin, pistol in hand.

Nobody seemed to be there.

She entered the front door and looked around.

Harry had apparently been living alone.

So she stepped outside and scooped up Eric and whispered, “Looks like we’ve found us a home, honey.” She carried him in.

And there they stayed.

Right at the start, Sandy made up a story in case anyone should come along. She would claim that she was Harry’s niece visiting him from Santa Monica. (She had lived in Santa Monica until she was twelve, so that’d be a good place to claim as her home.) If the story didn’t work and real trouble started, or if somehow Eric got seen, she would simply kill the trouble-maker.

She never went anywhere without Harry’s pistol in her pocket.

Day after day, however, nobody showed up.

They had no problems at all. The cabin and the surrounding woods seemed like a perfect hideaway, a sanctuary for herself and Eric.

He could grow up here...

But Sandy knew a problem was on its way.

As of the day they’d arrived, there had been only enough food in the cupboards, pantry and refrigerator to last for about two weeks.

Gradually, the supplies dwindled.

Dread stirred in her belly. Soon, she would need to leave the safety of the woods and venture into town for supplies.

On the bright side, she had some cash.

She’d been able to gather nearly four hundred dollars from her own purse, Lib’s purse, and the wallets of Harry and Slade. She’d also found several credit cards and Harry’s check book. The check book showed a balance of nearly nine thousand dollars.

The credit cards would do her no good at all.

The checks, on the other hand...She could use them to pay any bills that might come in the mail. Things like property tax, the electric bill (how nice that the cabin was wired for power!) or whatever else might turn up. Easy enough to forge Harry’s signature. But she didn’t see any safe way to use the checks for extra cash.

The cash wouldn’t last forever.

Once it was gone...

Too soon, the time came to go into town for supplies.

Sandy didn’t want to leave Eric alone, but what choice did she have? She couldn’t take him with her; he’d be seen for sure.

So after letting him suckle her that morning until he fell asleep, she carried him gently to his crib and put him down. Then she hurried out to Harry’s pickup truck.

Lib’s car and the trailer blocked the way out, but she managed to drive around them.

Fort Platt turned out to be a lot farther away than she’d thought.

It had taken her nearly an hour to get there.

The first thing she ran into, just on the other side of the bridge leading into town, was a place called the Sea Breeze Cafe. Though she felt an urgent need to buy supplies and rush back home to Eric, she craved a big, restaurant breakfast. Eggs over easy, bacon, hash browns, toast and coffee.

So she parked in its gravel lot, strolled in and...

No, she thought. That wasn’t when I met Blaze. I didn’t meet him until my next trip into town. That first time, I wanted to stop at the Sea Breeze, but didn’t. I drove straight to the grocery store, bought two hundred dollars worth of food and stuff, and drove straight home.

And panicked.

Couldn’t find Eric.

But then he turned up crawling around under the bed, happy as a clam.

It was two weeks later when...

That’s the time I stopped for breakfast.

She’d hardly been able to enjoy it, though. For one thing, she felt guilty about spending the time away from Eric. For another, though the meal and tip would only cost about six dollars, it was money that would be gone forever.

I’ve gotta figure out a way to make money, she thought.

But how?

I can’t go by my real name, don’t have any fake i.d. or phoney social security number. Even if I had the right papers, I sure as hell couldn’t get a job in town. Not unless it was just for a few hours one day a week or something. Wouldn’t dare leave Eric alone any more than that.

I’m screwed, she thought.

There’s a thought.

Make guys pay big bucks...

Yuck. No way.

There’s gotta be something else I can do.

What am I good at? she wondered. I’m a hell of a Beast House tour guide. But that won’t do me much good here and I can’t exactly go back.

Besides, no matter what I can do, nobody’ll hire me for any sort of legit job without an i.d. and Social Security number.

Maybe there’s something I can freelance at. Something I can do part time.

Clean houses? Do yard work? Wash cars?

Beg on street corners?

Done with breakfast, depressed, Sandy parted with her money and went outside. She crossed the road and walked on the beach.

I’d better get to the store, she told herself.

Later. Just a link later

She always felt better about life when she walked on the beach. Something about the fresh breeze, the sunlight, the steady roaring wash of the surf, the feel of the sand under her feet. They gave her a feeling of freedom, of wonderful possibilities.

She took off her shoes and socks, the better to feel the sand.

I’ll think of something, she told herself as she strolled along.

This was obviously Fort Platt’s main public beach. Though it wasn’t exactly crowded, several people were sunbathing, stretched out on towels, napping or listening to radios or reading paperback books. Some kids played in the water. A gal was running with her Golden Retriever through the wet sand near the water’s edge. A couple of young guys were tossing a Frisbee back and forth. Off in the distance, an artist was busy at a canvas. His subject appeared to be a tawny young man standing beside a surfboard.

That’s it, Sandy thought. I’ll be an artist.

A stick-up artist—the Jesse James of the Fort Platt beach.

She smirked at the notion.

But then she remembered Harry’s pistol in her purse.

She could rob someone.

No way. I’d rather be a whore than a thief.

From another part of her mind, a voice chided, What’s a little armed robbery? You’re too good to be a thief? You murdered three people, remember? Four if you count slitting the throat of Lib’s husband.”

He shouldn’t count, she told herself. He was probably dead already.

Anyway, she thought, I’m not going to rob anyone. I won’t stoop to that. And even if I wanted to stoop that low, it’d be too damn stupid and dangerous. A stunt like that could get me thrown in jail. Then what would happen to Eric?

Nearing the artist and his model, Sandy realized that she would be walking between them if she didn’t change course. The guy posing with his surf board was right at the edge of the water. A wave would probably catch Sandy if she tried to walk behind him. Besides, she didn’t really want to go anywhere near the guy. She supposed he was handsome enough to be a movie star, but he looked a little spooky to her. He was oily, muscle-bound, brown from the sun, and all he had on was the skimpiest, clingiest white bikini swimsuit she’d ever seen on a guy in real life.

Maybe she’d better circle around behind the painter. He looked like a decent fellow. About fifty years old, she supposed. Somewhat frail but also vibrant. Tidy and dapper in his Panama hat, white shirt and white trousers.

Either go around behind him, or just turn back. She really should be getting to the store.

But as she stood there trying to make up her mind, the painter cast her a cheery glance and said, “Isn’t he just the most gorgeous specimen?”

“Sure,” she said. “If you say so.”

“Ha!”

The model, smirking at her, flexed a mound of bicep and made it hop.

“Oh, my,” the painter said. “Now you have him showing off.”

“I know I’m bowled over,” Sandy said.

“Fuck off, little girl,” the model said.

“Tyrone!” snapped the artist. He seemed aghast. “How could you!”

Tyrone answered with a snort.

“I’ll not have you speaking to people that way! Especially not lovely young ladies. Not while you’re in my employ! I won’t have it!”

“You won’t have it?” Tyrone asked, turning his smirk on the painter.

“No, I won’t.”

“Then fuck you, you old queer.”

“How utterly charming. Go away.”

“You owe me a hundred bucks.”

“I believe the deal was for fifty.”

“You believe wrong, asshole.” Tyrone let the surfboard fall to the sand, then strode forward.

“Well, I suppose a hundred...” The artist reached into the back pocket of his white trousers and pulled out his wallet.

Tyrone stepped around the easel, glanced at the canvas, then faced the older man and held out a hand.

“A hundred bucks,” Tyrone said, and snapped his finger.

“Don’t give it to him,” Sandy said.

The painter gave her a defeated look. “Oh, I believe I will.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“I’d rather enjoy my health than...”

“I’m not even so sure you ought to give him fifty,” Sandy added. “I mean, you had to fire him. You’re not even done with the painting, are you?”

“No. I’d hardly gotten started on it.”

“Well, then...”

Tyrone turned on her. “Look here, bitch. I already warned you once. Now get the fuck outa here. Or do you want to me to hurt you?”

“You’re trying to rob this man,” Sandy pointed out.

“Ihat’s quite all right, dear. Please. I’ll pay him the money, and...”

“Just the fifty, then.”

“Okay, that’s it.” Tyrone trudged toward her, hunched over, arms out. “You’ve had it.”

But he lurched to a stop when Sandy pulled the pistol out of her purse, jabbed it straight out toward the middle of his chest and said in a low, calm voice, Just try it, bub. I’ll blow your ass to Kingdom Come.”

Tyrone gaped at her.

The painter, smiling gently, clapped his hands. “Bravo, young lady! Bravo!”

After accepting his fifty dollars, Tyrone hefted his surf board and trudged away, muttering.

“You are simply a marvel,” the painter told Sandy.

She put away the pistol, stepped up to him and offered her hand. “My name’s Ashley.”

“I’m Blaze.”

“Could you use a new model, Blaze?”

“Most certainly.”

“For fifty bucks, you can paint me.”

“I’d be most delighted.”

“Only thing is... What do you do with the paintings when you’re done with them?”

“Sell them. They afford me a modest income.”

“So...like, other people might see them?”

“Is that a problem?”

“Sort of.”

“Well, considering your delicate age, I have no intention of asking you to disrobe.”

She blushed. “It’s not that.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t want a bunch of strangers looking at me.”

He smiled gently. “You want to be the subject of a painting, but you don’t want people to look at it? I’m afraid that does present a bit of a difficulty.”

“Suppose the painting doesn’t look like me?”

“And who should it look like?”

“Well, it can sort of look like me.”

“I should hope so. Otherwise, I fail to see the point in using you as a model.”

“I need the money.”

“I’d be happy to give you the fifty dollars. After all, you prevented Tyrone from stealing it.”

“I don’t want a handout.”

“And I want you to pose for me. You have a special radiance, a strange and wonderful beauty. I must paint you. Suppose I raise the offer to a hundred dollars?”

“That’s very nice of you, Blaze, but I’d still have the same problem even if you made it a thousand. The deal is, I’m sort of hiding from certain people. If you do a painting of me and they see it...” She shook her head. “It’d be really bad.”

Blaze nodded, scowling. “I see. You’re on the lam. A desperado, of sorts. That explains the gat.”

“The truth is, there’s a guy after me. This jerk named Steve from back home in Santa Monica. He’s got the hots for me. He sort of...attacked me. He raped me, in point of fact. When I was still a little kid.”

“My God, how dreadful.”

“Well, they got him for it and sent him to prison. But now they’ve let him out.”

They let him out? A man like that should never be allowed out of prison. Never! That’s an outrage!”

“You’re telling me. Anyway, I knew he’d be coming after me so I ran away from home. The way I see it, he can’t rape me if he can’t find me.”

“What about your parents?”

“Dead.”

“Oh, how awful.”

“I was living with an aunt. But she has a couple of kids of her own—little girls about the same age I was when Dad attacked me. So I figured I’d do us all a favor and hit the road.”

“Dad?”

“Huh?”

“Dad attacked you?”

“I didn’t say that. Steve.” But she realized that she had said it. Her phoney story had veered too close to the truth—and they’d collided. She could feel herself blushing. The blush was probably a dead giveaway.

“Steve’s your own father?” Blaze asked. “You were molested by your father?”

“Yeah”

“And you’re running away from him?”

She nodded.

And she could see the belief in Blaze’s eyes.

Why shouldn’t he believe it? she thought. It’s damn near the truth. Except that the name should be Roy, not Steve. And Roy’s pursuit of her had come to a messy end in Beast House a couple of years ago.

Comes right down to it, Dad is the reason I’m on the run.

Dirty fucking bastard.

Blaze, staring into her eyes, put both his hands on her shoulders. He squeezed them gently. “Do you need a place to stay?”

“No. Thanks, though. I have a place. It’s a good hideout, but its sort of far away.”

“You have a place, but no money.”

“Not much.”

“I’ll paint you. I’ll pay you a hundred dollars today. And you needn’t worry about being recognized. I’ll capture your essence and beauty but conceal your identity.”

“Do you think you can do that?”

“Bite your tongue! You’re speaking to Blaze O. Glory, the greatest artist of the age...whether anyone else knows it or not.”

Chapter Twenty-eight

OWEN TRIES AGAIN

Watching through the bars of the fence, Owen had seen Dana come around from behind Beast House with the other guides.

Near the corner of the house, three of them, all females, had walked toward the ticket booth. Dana, followed by the male guide, had headed for the front porch.

She hadn’t slowed down to walk with the guy.

Maybe she doesn’t like him.

Good taste, Owen thought.

Owen hadn’t seen much of him yesterday, but figured he knew the type. Handsome, big and muscular, arrogant, acts like he owns the world. Exactly the kind of jerk who always ended up with all the most beautiful women.

Like Dana.

The sort of women who couldn’t be bothered with guys like Owen.

Maybe Dana’s different, he told himself. She sure seems nice and friendly.

But I bet she wouldn’t go out with me.

Not that I’d have the guts to ask.

He’d watched her climb the porch stairs, her calves smooth and dark, the tan seat of her uniform shorts pulling briefly smooth against one side of her rump, then the other. Her shorts had rear pockets with button-down flaps. The pockets didn’t bulge. They seemed to be empty, the way they showed Dana’s curves.

The male guide had chased her up the stairs, dodged the legs of Gus Goucher, and opened the door for Dana. Then he’d followed her into Beast House.

Earlier, Dana had gone inside with the small, cute guide.

They’d come out about five minutes later. But Owen figured that she’d be staying inside, this time. She and the guy were probably taking their places to get ready for the tours.

Through the front window of the ticket booth, Owen saw a side door open. A guide entered and shut the door. It was the plump, friendly girl who’d taken their tickets yesterday.

Monica had gotten snippy with her.

Monica. Oh, my God.

Owen suddenly felt hot and squirmy.

What’ve I done?

He glanced at his wristwatch. Two minutes till ten. Though Monica was a late sleeper, she would certainly be awake by now.

Awake and wondering where the hell Owen had disappeared to.

How could I do this to her?

She had it coming, he told himself.

But to just abandon her...

She’ll be fine, he thought. Soon as she gets used to me being gone, she can relax and enjoy herself, explore all the wonders of San Francisco without the nuisance of my presence.

The hotel’s on my credit card. I left her airline ticket behind so she can fly home if she gets the urge. She has plenty of money, plus her own credit cards.

She’ll get along just fine.

Never acted like she wanted me around in the first place.

Well, now she’s got what she was asking for. Hope she’s happy.

I did you a favor, bitch.

So why do I feel so guilty about it?

Owen had gone through these matters before.

Many times.

In the cab on his way to the airport, then during the long drive back through San Francisco, over the Golden Gate Bridge and up the coast to Malcasa Point, he’d studied his actions, struggled with guilt, tried to justify what he’d done, and wondered what the consequences might be.

He supposed he must’ve spent the better part of four hours going over it all.

For a while, he’d worried that Monica might call the police. She probably would have called them except for one thing: his luggage had disappeared with him. Which made it fairly clear that he’d gone away on purpose.

No crime in that, as far as he knew.

After all, it wasn’t as if he’d run off and abandoned his spouse.

Owen had decided that he could stop worrying about the police.

But that still left him with plenty of other concerns.

Again and again, he’d concluded that he was definitely a jerk for ditching Monica. No question about that. A gentleman would never do such a thing. He should’ve stuck with her, no matter what.

But he was delighted that he hadn’t.

She had it coming. What did she think, I’d hang around and take her crap forever?

Inside the ticket booth, the plump girl slid open the window.

A big, heavy guy with glasses was first in line. He stepped up to buy his ticket.

He was one of the eight or ten people who’d arrived before Owen. He wore a black cap backwards, its bill sticking out behind his head. Though it looked like a baseball cap, it bore a Beast House logo the same as the guides wore on their uniform shirts.

Earlier, Owen had been tempted to approach him.

Say hi, introduce himself, ask where he got the neat hat.

Why not? The guy seemed to be alone. He was about the same age as Owen, and he looked friendly enough.

But maybe he didn’t want company.

Owen had decided not to bother him.

The guy stepped away from the window, clamped the ticket between his front teeth, and stuffed some bills into his wallet. Then he lifted the drooping tail of his shirt and shoved the wallet into a seat pocket of his plaid Bermuda shorts. His calves were round and pale. He wore moccasins and no socks.

Kind of a slob, Owen thought and watched him stroll around the corner of the ticket booth.

The others in line ahead of Owen seemed like ordinary tourist types. Three of them were gals, but they didn’t interest him. They couldn’t compare to Dana.

He pulled out his wallet and slipped a Visa card out of its slot in the leather.

Then he wondered if he should use cash, instead. His wallet was bulging. Here was a chance to slim it down by a hundred and fifteen dollars, especially if he paid with small bills.

But what if I get over to the Welcome Inn and find out they don’t take credit cards?

I’d better hang on to my cash, he thought. Better safe than sorry.

What if they haven’t got a vacancy?

Don’t worry about it, he told himself. Just take things as they come.

He stepped up to the ticket window.

“Good morning,” the girl said. “Welcome to Beast House.”

“Thanks.” He smiled in at her. The name tag on her chest read Rhonda. Though he remembered her from yesterday, he hadn’t been able to recall her name.

Does she remember me?

“I’d like one general admission,” he told her. “And can I also buy a ticket for tomorrow night’s Midnight Tour?”

“The Midnight Tour? Let me check for you.” She turned aside and typed something into a computer. Nodding, she faced Owen. “You’re in luck. It hasn’t sold out yet.”

“It sells out?”

“Oh, sure does. We like to keep it small and intimate, so we only allow thirteen guests.”

“Thirteen?”

“Don’t worry, you’ll just be number nine. Somebody else can be thirteen.”

“Lucky him. Or her.”

“We normally don’t tell whoever it is.”

“Then how do I know I’m not thirteen.”

Rhonda blushed. “You’ll just have to take my word for it.”

“Happy to.”

A warm smile spread across her face. “Will that be a single admission for you?”

“Right, just one.”

“That’ll be a hundred dollars. Plus fifteen for today. How would you like to pay for that?”

“I guess I’ll have you put it on this.” He pushed the Visa card across the counter.

After signing for the charge, he was given a receipt, his ticket for the daytime audio tour, and a large red ticket.

“Both tickets have coupons for discounts at the snack stand, gift shop and museum.”

“Right.”

“The red one, that’s your ticket for the Midnight Tour. It’ll be your admission to the picnic which takes place here on the grounds tomorrow night at eight. After the picnic, there’ll be a special ten o’clock showing of The Horror at the theater up the street. Then comes the tour itself.”

“At midnight?”

“On the dot. The guide will lead you over to Beast House after the movie ends. Anyway, all the details are written out for you on the back of the ticket. But if you have any questions, just ask. I’ll be here all day today and tomorrow.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

“Enjoy yourself, Owen.”

“Thanks.”

He almost added “Rhonda” to show that he’d noticed her name, too. But he stopped himself and stepped away from the window.

She’d seemed a little bit too friendly. Owen didn’t want to encourage her.

If I get involved with anyone around here, it isn’t going to be Rhonda.

Standing near the corner of the booth, he slipped the red ticket into his shirt pocket. It protruded a couple of inches.

What if it falls out and I lose it?

He considered folding the ticket in half.

Nah. It’ll be all right. Long as I don’t bend over too far, or something.

He put away his credit card, returned his wallet to the back pocket of his trousers, and stepped around the corner.

“Morning,” said another guide he recognized from yesterday. A blonde with a deep tan and pale blue eyes—a real beauty, but so athletic and tough-looking that Owen found her somewhat frightening. She looked like she ought to be a skiing instructor somewhere in the high Sierras. Or the Alps. According to the tag above her jutting right breast, her name was Sharon.

“Good morning,” Owen said, and gave her the ticket for today’s tour.

She tore it. “You know about the discounts, right?”

“Yep.”

She handed the stub to him, then turned away and stepped over to the cupboard where the audio players were stored. She reached up and pulled one down. “It’s all rewound and ready to go,” she said, coming toward Owen. “You wear it around your neck like this.”

She put it on him, leaning in close and raising her arms to lift the strap over his head. He smelled cigarette smoke and perfume and spearmint chewing gum.

He began to feel a little breathless and trembly.

“Thanks,” he said.

“I saw you here yesterday, didn’t I?”

Heat rushed to his face. “Yeah. But I didn’t get to see everything. My girlfriend got sick and we had to leave.”

“Well, glad you could make it back. I guess you already know how the tour works.”

“Right.”

“Hope it goes better for you today.”

“Thanks. I’m sure it will.”

Turning toward the house, Owen put his headphones on.

Some of those who’d preceded him through the ticket line were gathered in front of the porch, eyes on the hanging body of Gus Goucher. The big guy with the Beast House cap was snapping photos of Gus.

As Owen approached, the others climbed the porch stairs and went into the house. The big guy stayed, ducking and bobbing with the big black camera at his eye.

One of the guides seemed to be watching him.

She was the small, cute blonde who’d given Dana a ride to work in her Jeep. The same one who’d briefly gone into Beast House with her. She stood at the top of the porch stairs, leaning back against a support post, one ankle resting across the other, arms folded across her chest.

She frowned slightly as she stared at the camera-happy fat guy.

She didn’t even glance at Owen.

He felt like an intruder as he walked toward them.

He wondered if he should just keep moving. After all, he’d done Station One yesterday. He didn’t really need to stop and listen to it all over again.

But if I don’t stop, she’ll think I goofed. She’ll point out my mistake.

Besides, Owen really wanted to start from scratch. This time, with no Monica moaning and smirking by his side, he might be able to concentrate on the tour and really enjoy it.

He stopped a few paces away from the foot of the stairs, lifted the player to take a look at its control buttons, and was about to press Start when the big guy waved at him and called out, “Hey, buddy?”

Owen raised his eyebrows and pointed to himself.

“Yeah, you. Wanta do me a big favor?”

Up on the porch, the guide uncrossed her arms and stood up straight.

“Could I get you to take my picture with poor old Gus here? Okay? You mind?”

“No. that’d be fine.”

The guy hurried toward him, smiling and nodding, reaching out with the camera.

Owen took it.

“It’s all automatic. Just push this right here.”

“Got it.”

The big guy rushed up the porch stairs to Gus, stood close to the dangling legs, put an arm around them and smiled.

“Ready?” Owen asked.

“Just a sec.” He turned his head toward the guide. “Why don’t you come over and be in the picture, too?” he asked.

“Aaaa, you don’t want me in it.”

“Sure, I do. Are you kidding?”

“You don’t even know me.”

“I’m John,” he said. “John Cromwell.”

“Nice to meet you, John.” She turned toward Owen. “And you are?”

“Owen.”

“Hi, Owen.”

“Hi.”

“I’m Lynn,” she said, more to Owen than to John.

“Now we all know each other,” John said. “Hop on over and join me in the picture.”

“Well, if you’re sure...”

“Come on.”

Walking toward him, Lynn said, “We’d better hurry, though. We don’t want to be in the way of these people.”

Owen glanced back and saw a family of five strolling toward them. Earlier, they’d been directly behind him in the line. They’d seemed like nice people, the kids quiet and well-behaved.

When he returned his attention to the porch, he found John standing between Lynn and the lynched dummy—arms around both.

And Lynn seemed to have an arm around John.

Boy! How’d John manage that?

“Better take it,” Lynn said.

He snapped the photo.

John said, “Take a second one, just in...” and squeezed Lynn in against his side.

She yelped and laughed as Owen took the second shot. Then she escaped and swatted John on his butt.

“Spank me again,” he told her. “Please.”

Laughing, she shook her head. “That’s more than enough, Johnny boy.”

Owen climbed the porch stairs, ready to return John’s camera.

“Thanks for the help,” John told him.

“No problem.”

Lynn glanced at Owen’s chest. “Ah, ha! I see you’ve bought a ticket for the Midnight Tour!”

He blushed and smiled. “Yeah. I can’t wait.”

“Doing it tomorrow night?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“Me, too,” she said. “I’ll be your guide.”

“Really? Great!”

She turned to John. “You coming on it, too?”

The big guy’s mouth fell open. He blinked a few times. Then he said, “You’re the guide?”

“I’m always the guide. It’s my tour. I originated it.”

“Wow,” John said. He looked awestruck.

“So, are you gonna be there?”

“Uh... Gosh... I guess I’d sure like to. But it’s like a hundred bucks, isn’t it?”

“It is a hundred bucks.”

He grimaced. “That’s a lot of money.”

“Worth every nickle.”

“Bet it is,” he mumbled, shaking his head. “But I don’t know.”

“Well, I hope you decide to join us. I think there’re still a few openings.”

“I just got number nine,” Owen said.

“That only leaves four,” Lynn said. Reaching out, she patted John’s arm. “Better make up your mind soon, pal.”

“I might just do it,” he said.

“I’ve gotta go.” Lynn started down the porch stairs. “So long, Owen. So long, John. Hope I see you both tomorrow night.”

“Bye,” Owen called after her.

“See ya,” John called.

In front of the porch, Lynn made her way around the cluster of tourists at Station One and headed off to the side.

“What a bitchin’ babe,” John said.

“Yeah,” said Owen, and gave him the camera.

“Wouldn’t kick her outa bed. Know what I mean?”

“I know.”

“Man, I gotta go on that Midnight Tour.”

“It should be pretty cool.”

“I need me a hundred bucks.”

Uh-oh.

“They take credit cards,” Owen explained, starting to feel embarrassed and guilty.

“Who’s got credit cards?”

Everybody I know, Owen thought.

This guy hasn’t got credit cards?

“I maxed ’em all out,” John explained.

Brilliant, Owen thought.

John reached under the loose tail of his shirt and hauled out his wallet. He opened it. Owen caught a glimpse inside the bill compartment and looked away quickly.

He wanted nothing to do with any of this.

He wanted to be away from John and inside the house, alone, listening to the tape.

“Got only twenty-three bucks,” John announced. “Shit.”

It’s not my fault.

Owen wanted to say, “Well, I’d better get on with the tour,” but he knew how awful that would sound. Why not just say, “I don’t give a rat’s ass about your money troubles, fella. I don’t even know you. Just leave me alone so I can enjoy the tour.”

“Did you bring your checkbook?” Owen asked.

“Nah, it’s at home.”

“Where’s home?”

“Mattoon.”

“Where?”

“Mattoon. Illinois.”

“My God, you’re a long way from home.”

“You telling me?”

“And you left your checkbook all the way back in Illinois?”

“Sure. Closed the bank account before I took off.”

“Ah. So how did you get here?”

“Drove.”

“So you have a car?”

“Well, it’s my brother’s. I borrowed it off him.”

“And now all you’ve got to your name is twenty-three dollars?”

“That’s about the size of it.”

Owen shook his head and laughed.

“What’s so funny?”

“You’re a couple of thousand miles from home and down to your last twenty bucks, but you managed to buy yourself a brand new Beast House hat and you blew fifteen bucks on today’s tour.”

John grinned. His teeth were crooked and needed to be brushed. Owen looked away from them. “That ain’t all,” John said. “I blew fifteen bucks on the tour yesterday, too.”

“Good God. You must be nuts.”

“Nuts about Beast House,” he said as if proud of himself. “Thing is, I always aimed to get here with enough money left over for the Midnight Tour and the whole shebang, but I ran into some car trouble along the way and had to buy me a whole new radiator. Car’s a piece of crap.”

“Well, I wish I could help you out. But...” He shrugged.

“Forget it,” John said. “I ain’t no freeloader. But you wanta do me a real big favor?”

Owen struggled not to groan. Trying to smile pleasantly, he asked, “What sort of favor?”

“Take my camera with you on the Midnight Tour? Get me some pictures of the good stuff? And a couple pictures of Lynn, too. That way, at least I’ll be able to see what I missed. How about it?”

“Well...”

John thrust the camera at him.

Owen held it away. “No, no, wait. Just keep your camera, okay?”

“You won’t...?” John looked ready to cry.

“The tour isn’t till tomorrow night. I don’t want to be... responsible for your camera. Look. Look. Tell you what. Are you hungry?”

“Starving.”

“Me, too. Why don’t we go on over to the snack stand and have something to eat.”

John shook his head. “Gotta save my money.”

“My treat. Come on. We can do the house tour later.”

“Well. Okay. Sure. Why not?”

Side by side, they trotted down the porch stairs.

How the hell did I get into this? Owen wondered.

Payback for dumping Monica?

Chapter Twenty-nine

SANDY’S STORY—July, 1992

Reaching the beach ahead of Blaze, Sandy looked around.

Nobody seemed to be out on the water. She studied the rocky bluffs on both sides of the beach and saw no one. Good thing. Because this was such a secluded patch of shoreline, Blaze probably intended her to pose in the nude.

She lowered the easel and cooler onto the sand, then sat on the cooler to wait for him. She could see him a distance up the trail, making his way carefully down its switchbacks, the wind fluttering his white shirt and trousers.

“Be careful!” she called.

“I’m quite all right,” he called down to her.

A few minutes later, huffing and red, he walked out onto the sand. “Invigorating,” he said.

“Well, don’t invigorate yourself into a heart attack.”

He flung back his head and filled his lungs. Then he said, “Ahhhhh. Is this not delightful?”

She had to smile. “It’s pretty nice, all right.”

Blaze looked all around. “I see we have our privacy.”

“Nobody else is nuts enough to come all the way down here.”

“Let’s hope it remains that way. The sooner we start, the better.”

“I’m ready when you are.”

He laughed, then got to work setting up his equipment.

Sandy remained seated on the cooler, but swiveled around to watch him. She knew better than to offer any help. Blaze, very particular about the positioning of his easel and canvas, wanted no interference.

He set up on the firm, damp sand just beyond the reach of the waves, his canvas at about a forty-five degree angle to the shoreline.

“Where am I gonna be, in the ocean?”

He grinned at her. “Precisely! It promises to be brilliant! You’ll be trudging out of the sea, wet and bedraggled, half-drowned—as if perhaps your ship went down a mile or two offshore. I’ll call it, Sole Survivor.” He clapped his hands and blurted, “Ha! I’ll call it Soul Survivor, s-o-u-l. Or is that a bit too precious?”

“Maybe.”

“Well, I’ll think of something. We should get started.”

Sandy stood up. Fingering the front of her gown, she said, “You want this off?”

“I think not. You don’t mind getting it wet?”

“Whatever you want.”

“I’m afraid if we’re sans attire, we may loose the narrative. People will think you’re returning from a frolic. We’d have all the drama of a skinny dipping episode. No, no, we must have the gown! It will tell everyone that you’ve survived a mishap. You had no intention of taking a plunge. Perhaps your ship went down. Or you fell off a yacht, or leaped overboard to escape a madman. No one will quite know for sure why you were in the water. Do you see?”

“I see.”

“We attain elusiveness. Elusiveness, my dear, is what separates the artist from the mindless painter. We hint at mysterious vistas and depths.”

“So you want me to keep this on.”

“Precisely.”

“And wade into the water.”

“I need you to be drenched.”

“Including the hair?”

“Certainly!”

“My hair won’t look too great if its all wet and stringy.”

“Be that as it may... You’ve been swimming for hours, struggling to reach land, so of course your hair has to be... No! No, no, no! Your hair shall be dry! Dry and windblown and fabulous, just as it is now. And the people will gaze in amazement and ask themselves why? Why is her hair dry? It will mystify everyone!”

“It’ll give you some more of that elusiveness,” Sandy pointed out, grinning.

“Precisely! Look at her! She has barely escaped extinction in the briny deep, yet her hair is totally dry! Why! Why is the carcass of a leopard to be found near the summit of Kilimanjaro?”

“Huh?”

“Hemingway.”

“Muriel?”

“Bite your tongue.”

“Maybe we should keep the gown dry, too.”

“Don’t be silly. Now, go on into the water. Drench yourself, but be careful of the hair.”

She slipped out of her sandals and walked over the warm, damp sand to the edge of the ocean. A wave was coming in. She waited for it, watched it curl and tumble and flatten out, sliding its frothy edge up the sand. The cold water washed over the tops of her feet, making her flinch.

As the wave receded, she hurried forward, splashing through the water until -it reached her thighs. A wave washed against her, wetting her to the waist. After it had passed, she crouched down enough to let the next wave wash against her chest. Then she stood up straight and cupped water onto her shoulders.

Looking down, she saw that her shoulders and the tops of her breasts gleamed in the sunlight. The gown clung to her, blue and transparent. It revealed every detail of her body. But it didn’t feel so great. No longer light and airy, it felt like a layer of someone else’s wet skin.

She turned toward Blaze. He was gazing at her from behind his easel. “How’s this?” she called.

“Superb! You look glorious! But be a dear take a few steps forward. We don’t want to have the water hiding those extraordinary legs.”

-“Want me to stand on the beach?”

"No, no.”

As Sandy walked slowly closer to the shore, Blaze scurried over to her. He stepped into the water. Taking her gently by the shoulders, he moved backward. “This way,” he said. “A little more. Yes. Here. Right leg forward. Yes. Exactly. Lean into it. Now we turn you toward me.” He adusted her position. “Yes. Now, hunch over. You’re bone weary, barely able to stand on your feet.” He stepped back and studied her.

“Put your right hand on your knee. Yes, that’s it. No. You’re hunched over too much. We can’t have your left arm dangling so much. It’s in the way of your boobie. Stand a trifle straighter. More. Yes. Excellent.”

He hurried away. Once again standing behind his easel, he squinted at her. “Now, look toward me, darling. Stare intently over my left shoulder as if perhaps you see something far down the beach. Yes. Exactly.” He squinted at her for a while, then frowned. "No.”

"What?”

“It’s simply not the way I... You need to look more...done in.”

“Want me to sprawl on the sand?”

“Not that done in. We need to maintain the illusion of movement.” He frowned at her for a few moments. Then he said, “Don’t move,” and scampered back to her. “I’m afraid we may have to ruin your lovely dress.”

“Whatever works.”

He pulled out a Swiss Army knife, pried open one of its blades, and slit the left shoulder strap of Sandy’s gown. The soaked fabric still adhered to her breast, so he peeled it down. “Much better,” he said. “Now, you look distressed.”

“I feel a lot better,” she said, glad to have the clammy fabric off her breast. “Maybe we should take it all off.”

“No no no. I already explained.”

“I know, I know.”

“This will be brilliant.” He started trotting back to his position behind the easel.

“Blaze?”

“Yes?” He glanced back.

“How about this?” Not waiting for a reply, she reached down and tore a slit up the front of her dress, baring her right leg all the way to her hip.

Blaze beamed at her. “Perfect! You’re a genius!”

“That’s how come you give me twenty percent.”

“No no no. I give you twenty percent because you gave me no choice.”

“Feel free to dump me any time.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

She knew he couldn’t be tempted. The amount of money Blaze was making with his paintings of Sandy, he would probably be willing to part with fifty percent if she gave him no other choice.

He seemed ready to begin, so she gazed intently into the distance beyond his left shoulder.

Not that there was much distance to gaze into.

About twenty feet behind Blaze was the side of a rocky outcropping. Sandy pretended it wasn’t there, and gazed through it as if trying to identify something a few hundred yards away. An approaching stranger, maybe.

Then she began to wonder how much Blaze would be willing to pay her. Maybe even more than fifty percent.

Without me...

At her first sight of Blaze’s estate, Sandy had assumed that he was an enormously successful artist.

Not so.

He’d bought the estate with inherited money. His artwork sold only modestly well, earning him just enough income for a comfortable living.

Until Sandy showed up.

For the first couple of years, he’d paid her no more than the fifty dollars per session. And she’d been delighted to get it. After posing, she would hurry around to a few stores, buying food and supplies, picking up treats for Eric. Then she would hop into the pickup truck and rush home.

Near the end of the second year, however, Eric had started spending most of his days roaming the wooded hills. He was often nowhere to be found by the time Sandy returned from town. So she began to wonder why she bothered to hurry back.

One day, she didn’t hurry back. Instead, she wandered the streets of Fort Platt, exploring the town, dropping into shops that she’d previously seen only from the outside.

Including the Beachside Gallery.

She entered the gallery feeling like an intruder. It was so quiet. Was she the only one here? Silently, hardly daring to breathe, she wandered among the paintings.

She half expected to be discovered and kicked out.

After all, at her age she could hardly be expected to have enough money to purchase much of anything.

She was well dressed, though. Blaze, that day, had outfitted her in tennis whites and she’d posed for him on a court behind the high school. She still wore the tennis skirt and pullover. She looked like a rich kid whose parents might belong to one of the nearby country dubs.

If they give me any crap, I’ll threaten to sick my parents on them.

Sure, she thought.

Just act as if you belong here, she told herself. Act like you own the place.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, she wandered deeper into the gallery. She moved slowly and looked at every painting.

Many featured the surf crashing into rocky outcroppings. The surf crashed into them in daylight, at sunset, and in the moonlight. There were beautiful ocean vistas. Several underwater paintings depicted whales and dolphins. Sailboats glided into sunsets. She saw storm-tossed seas, a ghost ship with tattered sails, footprints in the sand along the shoreline, seagulls gliding through the pale sky.

And Surfer Boy, which showed a tawny, muscular young man wearing the skimpiest of swimsuits, posed on the beach with his surfboard. The sight of it gave Sandy a twist in the stomach.

Tyrone!

Stepping up close to the painting, she found Blaze’s signature low in a corner.

The price tag showed $450 with a slash through it, replaced by $150.

Sandy smirked.

Having some trouble selling it?

“It’s one of my favorites.”

She jumped, then whirled around.

A short, round woman gazed up at Sandy through huge round glasses with red plasic rims. Her gray hair was cut to an even dome of bristle. She wore huge, gold hoop earrings and a flowing moo-moo.

Offering a hand, she said, “I’m Megan Willows, proprietor.”

“Hi.” Sandy shook her hand. “I’m Ashley.”

"Ashley. A lovely name. I couldn’t help noticing your interest in our Surfer Boy.”

She nodded. “it sort of caught my eye.”

“You must have a very good eye, then. This is an earlier work by one of our fine local artists, Blaze O. Glory. His talent has absolutely bloomed in recent years.”

“Must’ve bloomed after he did this one,” Sandy said.

Megan chortled. “You do have a good eye. This is certainly not one of his more mature works. But it does have a certain raw power, don’t you think?”

“I guess so.”

“A lovely boy. Isn’t he just scrumptious? Wouldn’t you just like to eat him up?” Grinning, Megan clicked her teeth together.

“I don’t know about that,” Sandy said.

“A figure of speech, Ashley. But wouldn’t you just adore having him on your bedroom wall?”

“I don’t know.”

“Or are you considering this as a gift?”

“No. I’m looking for myself. I got a ton of money for...my birthday.” She had almost said “graduation,” but realized Megan might not believe it. Sandy looked mature for her age, but she might not pass for a high school graduate. She shrugged and smiled. “I thought I might want to spend it on some art.”

“That’s a very wise decision, Ashley. A good piece of art is not only a pleasure to the soul, but often a sound investment. You certain wouldn’t go wrong, on either count, by purchasing Surfer Boy. And it is a wonderful bargain at a hundred and fifty dollars.”

“I don’t think it’s worth that much,” Sandy said. “Not to me, anyway.”

"Well...I suppose I would be willing to mark it down to...shall we say, a hundred dollars?”

“I don’t honestly think so,” Sandy said.

“It’s a steal at that price. You wouldn’t be able to touch one of his more recent pieces for...”

Sandy shook her head.

“Seventy-five dollars. I’m afraid that’s as low as I’ll be able to go. What do you think? That would include the frame, of course. The frame alone is worth fifty.” She blinked behind her goggles and grinned. “So, do we have a sale?”

“I’m afraid not. You know what? I don’t think my parents would approve of me buying a thing like that. I mean, it may be a just a little too risque. You can dam near see his unit, if you know what I mean.”

“Well...” Megan chuckled. “I suppose so. We wouldn’t want to upset your parents, would we?”

“Not much.”

“Maybe I can interest you in something else?”

“Well, I would like to see some of the more recent work by this guy. Flame?”

“Blaze.”

“Right, him. Could I see something else of his?”

“I’m afraid we only have one in stock just now, and it’s already sold. You’re welcome to look at it, however.”

“I’d like to. Thanks.”

Leading her toward the other side of the gallery, Megan said, “We do expect another one in, fairly soon. Perhaps in two or three weeks. We have a terrible time keeping his paintings in stock. Ah. Here we are.” Megan stepped aside, swept an arm toward the painting and said, "Voila!”

“Oh! That is nice.”

“Isn’t it? Mmm.”

Sandy had posed for it only a month earlier. The setting looked great—a clearing in the deep woods, all rich green and shadows and golden pillars of sunlight slanting down through the trees. But there hadn’t been a breath of a breeze. In the shadows and dampness of the sylvan scene, the mosquitos had been nearly overwhelming. Few had feasted on her, thanks to the repellant, but they’d mobbed her anyway. Some had gotten into her ears. One had even taken a detour into her eye.

The girl in the painting sure didn’t look distressed, though. She seemed carefree and contented like a kid on the first day of summer vacation.

And a bit like a monkey.

She’d actually been standing on a stool, but the stool was nowhere to be seen.

She looked as if she’d been hiking through the woods, happened upon a likely limb, and leaped up to swing on it just for fun. She dangled crooked below the limb, hanging on with her right hand, her left arm waving, her left leg kicking out wildly to the side.

You’re a tomboy frolicking in the forest, Blaze had told her.

A barefoot tomboy wearing cut-off blue jeans and a short-sleeved red shirt. The cut-offs were very short, faded almost to white, and torn at the sides. The red shirt, also faded, looked too small for her. The way she dangled, it was pulled up halfway to her ribcage, showing her midriff and navel and how her shorts hung so low they looked ready to fall down. Partly unbuttoned, the shirt showed the bare slope of her left breast.

Blaze had called the painting, Huckleberry Fem.

Below the sticker reading SOLD, Sandy saw the price tag.

$5,800.

“Holy smoke,” she muttered.

“If you ask me,” Megan said, “it’s a masterpiece. I absoludy adore it. Look at that girl. So...fresh and innocent. And yet so...alluring. It’s as if Blaze has captured the magical blend of childhood innocence on the verge of blossoming sensuality.”

“Sure looks that way,” Sandy said.

“Wouldn’t you just love to take her home with you?”

“Yeah. Sure would. Too bad it’s already sold.”

“As I said, we’ll probably be getting another one in fairly soon.”

“Are they all this good?”

“Oh, yes. The new ones most certainly are. Ever since he’s been using Electra.”

"Huh?”

“Electra. That’s the name of his model.”

“He uses the same model in all of them?”

“Oh, yes. Isn’t she a find? She’s simply devastating.”

Sandy almost slipped and said, Thanks. But she caught herself in time.

“She’s Blaze’s niece, you know. Such a beauty! She comes all the way up from San Francisco twice a month to pose for him. I’ve met her myself, and she is just the most charming creature.”

Liar, liar, pants on fire.

“Well,” Sandy said, “I’ve got to be on my way. Maybe I’ll come in for a look at the new one.”

“Try us early next week. Of course, we never know for sure when Blaze will come in, but we are the only gallery he deals with. If you want an Electra, this is the place to come. And, as I mentioned, they sell as fast as we’re able to hang them on the wall. Your best bet would be to come in daily.”

“Well, we’ll see. Thanks again.”

Sandy walked out of the gallery, amazed that Megan hadn’t recognized her, determined never to return, delighted that paintings of her could be so highly prized, and looking foward to an increase in pay from Blaze.

A big increase.

And she’d gotten it.

She’d decided not to tell him about her visit to the art gallery, but just to...

“Be a good girl and wet yourself up again,” Blaze said, snapping Sandy out of the memories. “You’re losing your cling.”

“Wouldn’t want to loose that,” she said. She stetched, then turned around and waded into deeper water. There, she dunked herself to the shoulders. The water felt cold and good. She came up with her dress clinging, her skin shiny wet.

“Fabulous,” Blaze said.

She returned to her former position and bent over with her right leg forward, her body turned slightly toward Blaze. She fixed her eyes on the rocks beyond him.

“Tilt your head up slightly. Good, good. Fabulous.”

Blaze resumed painting.

After a while, he said, "This may be our masterpiece.”

“What’s your asking price?” someone called.

The man’s voice seemed to come from somewhere in the rocks beyond Blaze.

Chapter Thirty

PICTURE PERFECT

At the snack stand, Owen asked for a Red-Hot Beastie Weenie, fries and a medium Creature Cola. John Cromwell ordered a Double-Decker Monsterburger Deluxe, Beastly Chili Fries with cheese, and a large Creature Cola. Owen paid for both meals.

"You’re really a pal,” John said and patted him on the shoulder.

"Well, glad to help.”

“Most guys wouldn’t do that, you know?”

"Well...”

“Good main. Hope I can do something for you some day.”

"Well, that’s all right. Don’t worry about it.”

Soon, the food was ready. They carried their trays over to a corner table and sat down.

John stripped off the paper and poked his straw through the split X on the lid of his drink. He sucked up some cola, then sighed. “Know what I’ll do for you? I’ll take your picture.”

“Ah, that’s...”

John shoved his chair back and stood up.

“You don’t have to.”

"I want to. No, seriously.” Stepping away from the table, he raised the camera to his eye. “Just act natural,” he said. “None of this cheese shit.”

Owen laughed.

John snapped the shot, then sidestepped and took another. Then he returned to the table. “I’ll send em to you,” he said, sitting down.

Send them to me? He’ll need my address.

What if he drops in for a visit?

"Ah,” Owen said, “you don’t have to...”

“Tell you what, pal. Know what I’ll do? I saw you scoping out that guide. Lynn. A real babe-a-roo, huh? How about if I send you copies of the shots with her in ’em, too? Bet you’d like that, huh?”

“I guess so,” he admitted.

“You guess so.” John laughed.

“Yeah, that’d be fine.”

“It’s done, man.” He stretched his mouth open wide and bit into his huge burger. Juices and melted cheese dribbled off and spattered the paper lining of the basket.

Mouth watering, Owen picked up his Red-Hot Beastie Weenie and took a bite. The buttery, grilled bun crunched. His teeth popped through the charbroiled skin of the hot dog. Warm, spicy juices flooded his mouth.

John said something, but his mouth was full so Owen couldn’t understand a word that came out.

“Huh?”

John chewed for a while, swallowed a couple of times, and said with his mouth only half-full, "Weenie-eater.”

“That’s me.”

For a while, they ate and didn’t talk.

Owen thought about John’s offer to send him photos of Lynn. He would be glad to get them, all right. But he wasn’t eager to let John have his home address.

Even if I give it to him, be probably won’t send the pictures. People are always making promises like that, but they hardly ever follow through.

Later, John paused in his eating and said, “So, how about what we were talking about before?”

“What?”

“Will you take my camera with you on the Midnight Tour? Do that for me, I’ll get doubles made and send you one of everything.”

Owen shook his head.

“Come on, man. Please. What’s it gonna hurt?”

"I have my own camera.”

“No sweat. Take shots with both.”

“Do they even allow photography inside the house?”

“Can’t use a flash. I already checked. But I got high-speed film. Four hundred. You don’t gotta have a flash, not if there’s any kind of decent light at all. So what kinda film you using?”

“Two hundred.”

“You’re fucked. Won’t get dick inside the house, night or day. Not without a flash.”

“I can buy a role of four hundred before the tour.”

“Hey, come on, man.”

“Why don’t I take tour pictures with my camera, have doubles made and send you a copy of everything?”

John grimaced “I haven’t got anyplace you can send 'em to. I’m living in my car, man. I’d never get ‘em. Jeez! Cut me a break, will you?” He suddenly smiled. The crevices between his teeth were calked with white pasty bun. “Anyhow,” he said, “I already got the pictures of you and Lynn on my camera. You want them, don’t you?”

I’d want them a lot worse, Owen thought, if they were pictures of Dana.

Dana!

An idea struck him.

Stunned him.

He thought about it for a few seconds.

“What?” John asked.

"I tell you what,” Owen said. ”How would you like to go on the Midnight Tour, yourself?”

“You kidding?”

Owen leaned to the right and pulled out his wallet. He removed a fifty dollar bill and reached across the table with it.

John frowned at the bill. “What’s that for?”

“A down payment on a job.”

“Who I gotta kill?”

“You don’t have to kill anyone, but I want you to shoot one of the other guides.” Owen grinned, pleased by his pun, delighted by his plan. “With your camera. Her name’s Dana. She’s probably working inside Beast House right now.”

“What’s she look like?”

"Tall and blond. And extremely beautiful.”

“Right. The gorgeous one. Know just who you mean. Saw her yesterday, myself. A real honey. I got a stiffy just...”

"Hey.”

“Sure. Sorry. Didn’t mean to offend you, pal. You want pictures of her, I’ll take pictures. They have to be nudes or something?”

“Dont be a jerk. Just get me a few good snapshots of her. However you want to do it. Ask her permission, or do it on the sly, whatever. But don’t involve me, okay? Just act like you’re taking them for yourself.”

"No problemo.”

“I know, let’s take the audio tour separately. I’ll go first. Give me maybe a half hour headstart, then you come in and do the tour and take your pictures of Dana. When you’re done, I’ll meet you out front and we’ll take a look around town. Maybe we can find some sort of one-hour film developing place. Or maybe there’s a place that’ll do it overnight.”

“Might be,” John said, and sipped some cola. “Wouldn’t be surprised.”

“Soon as I have my pictures of Dana, I’ll give you another fifty bucks and you can buy yourself a ticket for the Midnight Tour.”

John nodded, looking pleased for a few seconds. Then he frowned. “What if they’re all sold out by then?”

“Can you stick around and do the tour next week?”

John wrinkled his nose. “I don’t know, man. A week’s a long time when you’re flat busted. Can’t we just go ahead and buy me the ticket now? Tell you what, we buy it now, then you keep it till I give you the pictures. How about that^? Anything goes wrong, you can sell it to somebody else and make all your money back. Shit, you could maybe even scalp it and make yourself a profit. What do you say?”

Owen wanted photos of Dana.

“Sure,” he said. “It’s a deal.”

“You won’t regret it, man. This is great! I’ll get you some great pictures of that babe.”

They finished their meals. Then they hiked across the front lawn toward the ticket booth. Owen waited on the grass. John went up the walkway, spoke briefly with Sharon, then stepped out of sight. A few minutes later, he reappeared holding a red ticket. Sharon looked happy to see that he’d gotten it. They talked for a while, nodding and smiling. At last, Sharon had to hand out some tape players, so John strolled over to Owen.

“Good thing we didn’t wait,” he said, waving the ticket.

“This was the last one they had for tomorrow night.”

Must be number thirteen.

“Lucky,” Owen said.

“Man, this is the luckiest day of my life. I’d give you a hug and kiss, only we don’t want nobody thinking we’re fags.”

Owen tried to smile. “Wouldn’t want that.” He held out his hand and John gave him the ticket.

“I get it back when you get the pictures of Dana, right?”

“Right,” Owen said, slipping it into the shirt pocket with his own ticket. “Now, I’ll go on in and do the tour. Why don’t you spend a while over at the gift shop, or something?”

“Maybe I’ll have me another burger. Can you spare a couple more bucks?”

“Sure.” Owen took out a ten-dollar bill. "Take this and give me an hour headstart.”

“A whole hour?”

“Spend it eating,” Owen suggested, and handed him the ten.

"You’re the boss.”

As John headed for the corner of the house, Owen returned to Station One. Standing at the foot of the stairs, he put on his headphones. He pressed the Play button. Then he gazed up at the lynched body of Gus as Janice Crogan began to tell the story.

Later, after listening about Ethel, Owen left the parlor and climbed the stairway. He looked up and down the corridor but didn’t see Dana.

Never mind, he told himself. She’s probably up here someplace.

He listened at Station Three, then shut off the player, stepped out of Lilly Thorn’s bedroom and walked up the hallway toward Station Four. Yesterday, he’d first seen Dana near the attic door.

Today, some tourists stood there, listening to their tapes and gazing up the stairway.

No Dana, though.

Where is she?

Up ahead, some people near the left side of the corridor wandered out of the way.

Owen saw her.

His heart seemed to lurch.

She was standing like a casual guard just outside the doorway of the boys’ bedroom, nodding and smiling at the tourists who went by.