The Midnight Tour

The bedroom, Station Four, was supposed to be Owen’s next destination.

I’ll have to walk right past her!

He had an urge to turn away.

Don’t be such a damn chicken, he told himself. Just keep going, act natural. She doesn’t know I have any feelings for her. I’m just another tourist.

He moved slowly, stepping around several people, trying not to look at her.

But as he neared the doorway, their eyes met.

“Morning,” Dana said.

"Hi.”

“Back again, huh?”

She remembers me!

Blushing fiercely, he nodded.

“Where’s your friend?” she asked.

Owen pulled off his headphones. “My friend?”

She must’ve seen me with John! Now what’ll...

“The young lady who was with you yesterday,” Dana explained.

“Oh, her.”

I don’t want to lie. Not to Dana.

“She didn’t like this place,” he said. “She kind of...kept complaining and ruining it. So today I came back without her.”

“Ditched her, huh?”

“Sort of.”

Dana glanced at her wristwatch. “It’s about time for my break. You want to come outside with me?”

“Outside? With you?”

“Yeah.”

“Right now?”

“If you’d rather not...”

“No. No. I’ll come with you. Sure.”

Dana took a walkie-talkie from her belt. Holding it in front of her mouth, she thumbed a button and said, “Lynn, it’s Dana. I’m going for a break now. Okay? Over.”

A voice came back, “Knock yourself out, hon.”

Dana smiled at Owen and said, “Let’s go.”

He followed her along the corridor and down the stairway.

In the foyer, she said to the male guide, “I’m taking off for a break, Clyde.”

Clyde cast a quick, distasteful glance at Owen, then nodded to Dana.

Owen hurried ahead to open the front door. Stepping out, Dana thanked him. He followed her to the bottom of the porch stairs.

“Let’s go over here,” she said.

As he walked beside her, the grass was silent and soft under his shoes. His heart pounded hard. Sweat dribbled down his sides. His mouth was dry. The morning sun seemed to press a hot weight against the top of his head and shoulders. But a fine, cool breeze blew against him. It fluttered his shirt against his chest and belly. It smelled as if it had come from a long way off, traveling low over the ocean waves. He took a deep breath and sighed.

We’re walking together. This is so incredible.

But what does she want?

Just past the corner of the house, Dana stopped and turned to him.

In the distance, people were strolling along the walkway between the ticket office and the front porch. Others, on their way to the eating area or gift shop or restrooms, were walking toward the far corner of the house.

Dana and Owen had this section of lawn to themselves.

“Nice out here, isn’t it?” Dana asked.

“Fantastic.”

He stared at her.

I can’t believe we’re standing out here.

I can’t believe how incredible she looks.

Instead of revealing flaws, the bright sunlight seemed to highlight her beauty. Her hair glinted yellow and russet and gold. She had fine, pale down on her cheeks. Her eyes seemed a perfect match for the light blue color of the sky.

“What’s her name?” Dana asked.

"who?”

She frowned slightly. “The girl from yesterday.”

“Oh. That was Monica.”

“Where is she today?”

He made a face. “I left her at the hotel.”

"Here in town?”

"At Fisherman’s Wharf.”

“You left her in San Francisco?”

“I know, I know. But she hated this place. She wouldn’t let me enjoy the tour. I’d been looking forward to Beast House for years. And she spoiled it for me. She had snotty cracks about everything.”

“Including me, I suppose.”

Owen gaped at her. He nodded. “How did you know?”

She grinned mysteriously. “I know many things.”

“Did you overhear her, or...?”

“I couldn’t help but notice the way you were looking at me yesterday.”

He felt as if his face might burst into flame.

Cringing, he said, "Sorry.”

“Oh, that’s all right. Fine with me. But it wasn’t exactly fine with Monica, was it?”

"Not exactly.”

"I think she was really steamed. In the house. And then when I was taking your players at the front gate. She looked like she wanted to rip my face off.”

“She always blows everything out of proportion. I mean, I have to look at other women sometimes. You know? Or I’d bump into them.”

Dana laughed softly. “So that’s why you had your eyes glued to me—to avoid a collision.”

“Exactly.” Smiling, he added, “Plus...uh...because I couldn’t exactly help looking at you.”

“Why’s that?”

“You know.”

“Right. I know. I’m too big to miss.”

Owen laughed. “That’s not why. It’s because...I’ve never seen anyone so beautiful.”

Dana’s face suddenly turned scarlet. “Well, thanks. That’s very nice of you to say so.”

“It’s just the truth. You’ve seen mirrors, haven’t you?”

“I don’t look that great to me. Anyway, Owen..” She took a deep breath and said, “Back to you and Monica.”

“If it’s optional, could we maybe skip it?”

“It’s mandatory. To me, it is—since you came back today without her and I might be part of the reason why.”

“Well...”

“Also, I see that you’ve got tickets in your pocket for the Midnight Tour.”

Nodding, he patted them.

What’ll I say about the second ticket?

“Tomorrow night’s tour?” Dana asked.

“Yeah.”

“Monica hates Beast House. She also hates me.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t...”

“You’re probably not bringing her on the Midnight Tour.”

“Nope.”

“And you’re probably not planning a return trip to San Francisco before tomorrow night, are you?”

“No.”

“So you’re just leaving Monica alone in a hotel in San Francisco for a few days?”

“I’m not really planning to go back at all.”

“What?”

“I left her. I snuck out of the room while she was asleep and...”

“Good God. Didn’t say a Word?”

“No way.”

“Did you leave a note or something?”

He shook his head.

“She might think you got kidnapped or murderer or something.”

“I doubt it. I took all my stuff with me. She’ll probably figure I took an early flight home. And she’ll know why, too.”

Grimacing, Dana shook her head. “That’s an awful thing to do to someone, Owen.”

“Yeah, I know. But she’ll be fine.”

“She won’t be fine. She’ll be devastated.”

He smirked. “You don’t know Monica.”

“Any woman would be devastated if she’s on a trip with a guy and he disappears on her.”

“Yeah, well. I know it wasn’t a nice thing to do, but she had it coming She was asking for it.”

“Where’re you from?”

“We flew up from Los Angeles. And she has her return ticket. She also has plenty of money and everything. She can probably fly home today if she wants to. Or she can just go ahead and enjoy the rest of the vacation without me. I’m sure she’ll enjoy it a lot more without me. All she ever did was whine about everything. I mean, you saw her. She’s horrible. And she thought she had me. She actually believed I was going to marry her. I had to get out before it was too late.”

Dana kept grimacing and slowly shaking her head. “Were you engaged?”

“Not yet.”

“How long had you been going together?”

“Since about Christmas.”

“And you dumped her because of yesterday?”

“Sort of.”

“Because she ruined your tour of Beast House? Or did it have to do with seeing me?”

Owen squirmed.

“I was ready to break up with her before yesterday,” he said. “I just hadn’t gotten around to it yet.”

“So what was it about yesterday that made up your mind?” .

“She was just so bitchy about everything.”

“Did I have anything to do with your decision?”

Go for it, man!

He shrugged and said, “Sort of. It was like a combination of things. I wanted to come back and do the tour without Monica screwing it up, and I really wanted to take the Midnight Tour—she never would’ve let me do that. Any...I guess I was sort of hoping to see you again.”

“You didn’t dump her because of me, did you?”

“Not really.”

“Oh, terrific, not really. Means maybe you did.”

Owen cringed and shrugged. Unable to look at her, he lowered his gaze to the grass in front of his shoes. Then he said, “It’s, uh...not like I expected to go out with you or anything. I mean, someone like you...you’ve probably already got guys all over the place. Last thing you need is someone like me. But the thing is, looking at you? And, you know, we talked a little when you were taking the players back? The thing is, you’re like everything Monica isn’t. Everything a guy could ever ask for. And there I was, stuck with this sneering, snotty bitch. How could I throw my life away with someone like her when there are people like you in the world? You know?”

“You’ve maybe got me overrated,” Dana said. Her voice sounded odd.

Owen lifted his gaze.

Dana’s eyes were wet and shiny. Frowning, she turned away.

“I’d better get back to work.” She started walking.

Owen stayed by her side. “I’m sorry if I upset you.”

“I’m fine.”

“And you don’t have to worry, I won’t hang around bothering you. I won’t ask you out or anything.”

She glanced over at him.

He tried to smile. “Not unless you want me to.”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I’ll have to think about it.”

Oh, my God! She’s going to think about it!

“Where’ll you be staying tonight?” she asked.

Wow!

“I’m not sure. Probably the Welcome Inn, if they have a vacancy.”

“You haven’t checked in yet?”

“No. I was planning to go over and register after lunch.”

“Where’d you stay last night?” she asked.

“Fisherman’s Wharf.”

“Oh, that’s right. You’d already told me that.”

“Yeah.”

“You sure you wern’t here last night? I I thought I saw you.”

Smiling, he shook his head. “I wish I’d been here, that’s for sure. But I was with good old Monica having one of the most miserable times of my life.”

Dana patted his back and said, “Maybe tonight’ll be better.”

She touched me!

Her hand had gone away, but Owen could still feel warmth where it had patted him.

Side by side, they climbed the porch stairs. Owen opened the door for Dana and they entered Beast House. Clyde was busy talking to someone. Several tourists were coming down the stairway, so Owen dropped back and let Dana go first.

He climbed the stairs behind her.

Staring at the backs of her legs, at the way her shorts slid against the curves of her buttocks.

She might go out with me.

She’ll think about it.

My God!

Following Dana up the stairs, he suddenly knew for sure that leaving Monica was the best thing he’d ever done.

Chapter Thirty-one

SANDY’S STORY—July, 1992

Sandy couldn’t see the intruder.

Then he stood up, rising into plain sight behind a boulder. The boulder, his hiding place, was only a couple of yards to the left of where Sandy had been gazing while she posed.

The moment she spotted him, she felt a hot flush of embarrassment. This wasn’t the first time someone had interrupted a session. This time, at least she wasn’t entirely nude. Trying not to appear flustered, she simply lifted her left hand and cupped her bare breast.

“Sorry to bother you like this,” the young man called, and started working his way down toward the beach.

“No bother,” Blaze said, smiling and friendly.

And no wonder. After all, Blaze wasn’t the one standing around half naked. And Blaze was gay and the intruder was incredibly handsome and bare-chested with a nice tan and sleek muscles and low, faded shorts.

He came leaping down from the rocks and landed on the sand.

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” he explained, frowning and shaking his head. “I didn’t know you were down here. Not at first, anyway. I was just climbing round.” Twisting sideways, he gestured toward the high pile of rocks. “No reason.” He smiled at Blaze, then met Sandy’s eyes and said, “Once I got a look at you, I couldn’t leave.”

“Well, you’ve had your look, so...”

“My name’s Terry.”

“Well, don’t tarry on my account.”

He smiled slightly and shrugged. “I take it you’d like me to leave.”

“We’re sort of busy here.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” He glanced at the hand clasped to Sandy’s breast, then met her eyes. “You aren’t going to tell me your name?”

“I only give it out on a ‘need to know’ basis.”

He smiled. He had a great smile, full of white teeth and sincerity. “That ought to include me. I really need to know.”

“Maybe some other time,” she told him.

“I’ll look forward...”

“I’m Blaze,” Blaze proclaimed. “Blaze O. Glory.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Glory.”

“Oh, do call me Blaze.”

“Blaze.” Terry smiled once more at Sandy, then turned away from her and walked toward Blaze. “May I take a peek at the painting?”

“Certainly.” Blaze stepped back.

“Hey!” Sandy blurted. “No! If he wants to see it, let him go to the gallery.”

“Oh, don’t be a spoilsport,” Blaze told her.

Abruptly, Terry turned away, avoiding a look at the canvas.

“I’ll wait till it’s in the gallery,” he said.

“Oh, pay no attention to her.”

“That’s fine. Sorry I interrupted.” Striding toward the bottom of the trail, he glanced back at Sandy and called out, “So long. Maybe I’ll see you around sometime.”

“Good-bye,” Sandy called to him.

She and Blaze both watched as he made his way up the trail.

“What a delightful fellow,” Blaze said.

“A real charmer,” Sandy said.

“And stunning.”

“He’s all yours.”

“No, I’m afraid not. My dear, he’s yours for the asking. He was absolutly smitten.”

“Aren’t they all.”

“Well...I won’t push. I know you’ve had several dreadful experiences. Men can be such thoughtless thugs. But some are wonderful. Some would never dream of attacking you or beating you or...or abandoning you.”

“I know that. I know it. The trouble is, you can’t tell one from the other. Not till it’s too late.”

“Fini!” Blaze proclaimed.

Sandy, stiff and hot, muttered, “Finally.” She looked all around to make sure there were no intruders, then peeled off her dress and tossed it onto the beach. She turned around. After stretching, she waded farther out, dived into an oncoming wave, and swam for a while.

Ashore, she dried herself on a towel from Blaze’s backpack. He’d also brought her a pair of shorts and a flower-print shirt to wear for the picnic and the ride back to his house.

Sitting on a beach towel, they sipped Champagne and nibbled on crackers, hard Italian salami and a tangy, sharp cheddar cheese.

“You’re how old, now?” Blaze asked.

He knew her age. Though she’d given Blaze a lot of false information about herself, she’d never lied to him about her age.

“I can see where this is going,” she said.

“I’m not saying Terry is the one. But really, you need to give someone a try.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Not all men are beasts.”

“You’re okay.”

“And what about your son? Is he a beast?”

Sandy laughed and shook her head. “No, of course not.”

“So, you see? That makes two of us who aren’t horrors. Granted, I’m as queer as the day is long. Still, I am a man.”

“Sort of.”

“Bitch.”

“So, basically, you think I should start going out with guys?”

“Couldn’t hurt.”

“Could hurt.”

“But it’s worth the risk. Let me tell you, my dear. I’m one who knows. The greatest hurt of all is loneliness.”

“I’m not lonely.”

“Oh, you are. You’re desperately lonely.”

“Am not.”

“You’re just too tough to admit it.”

Back at Blaze’s house, Sandy took a shower and got dressed in her old clothes.

She found Blaze waiting for her in the foyer. “These’re yours,” he said, and gave her the new shorts and shirt in a shopping bag. “I’m sorry we were obliged to ruin that marvelous dress.”

Sandy smiled. “Sorry, but not very. You knew what you’d be doing to it.”

“Nonsense.”

“Then why’d you bring the spare clothes?”

“Ah! True! Well.”

“It’s all right. I expect you to ruin the outfits. You only do it about two-thirds of the time.”

Blaze laughed. “Can’t help myself.”

“I sometimes wonder if you’re as gay as you pretend to be.”

“If I weren’t, my dear, I would’ve ravished your gorgeous body eons ago. I’d be doing it on every possible occasion.”

Smiling, she gave him a hug and kiss. “I might’ve liked that.”

“Oh, I would’ve driven you mad with ecstasy. But then we couldn’t be great friends, could we? And we’d both be dirt poor, because ! I would never be able to finish any paintings. You’d no sooner strike a pose than I’d be overwhelmed with urges of the flesh and leap on you.”

“Lech.”

He gave her rump a swat. “Now, leave if you must.” He opened the door for her.

“See you later.”

“Not nearly soon enough, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, don’t pout,” she said, stepping outside.

“Ciao, babe!”

She gave him a wave, then trotted down the porch stairs and went to her pickup truck. As she opened the door, she looked back at Blaze. He still stood in the doorway. He waved at her, and she waved again. Then she climbed in, turned her truck around, and drove down the long, curving driveway.

As usual, she felt sad about leaving.

Blaze was her only friend. Driving away, she felt as if she were returning to solitary confinement.

It’s hardly that, she told herself. I’ve got Eric.

I love Eric.

But he wasn’t much of a companion. Sure, she could talk to him and he seemed to understand much of what she said. He couldn’t talk back, though.

Maybe that’s a blessing, she thought.

No, it’s not.

Besides, Eric was hardly ever around the cabin anymore.

And that made her sad.

We’ve got to spend more time together, she told herself.

Doing what? Running through the woods?

She used to do that. When Eric had been younger, Sandy would often spend hours with him. They’d explore the wooded hills together, run side by side, chase down wildlife.

Correction, he would chase down the wildlife. Leaving me behind.

But she remembered how he always brought the fresh kill back to her. Far from home, she would cook her meat over a campfire while Eric, crouching at the other side of the fire, always devoured his portions raw.

Those had been great times.

But they’d pretty much gone away.

Kids grow up, she thought. Before you know it, they stop letting you be their best buddy. Even if you haven’t changed, they suddenly see you as a nuisance.

But I did change, she reminded herself. I made myself into a nuisance.

Starting with the time Eric went chasing after a deer but brought back the boy instead.

Maybe I shouldn’t have made such a big deal out of it

Frowning, she drove slowly down the hillside road below Blaze’s house.

I didn’t make that big of a deal out of it, she told herself. It’s not like I smacked him. Just calmly told him not to do it again. Hell, I even let him go ahead and eat the twerp. That was pretty damn understanding, you ask me.

But I wouldn’t eat any. That’s what got to him. I already had the fire built and everything, and be brings back the prize for me—chased it doum and killed it all by himself—and I won’t touch it, won’t cook it up, won’t eat any.

She remembered how he’d crouched there, all bloody and silent, devouring a thigh and staring at her—a hurt look in his eyes as if he couldn’t understand why Mom had turned against him.

She felt her throat tighten.

I should’ve just gone ahead and eaten the little shit.

Even now, she doubted that she would’ve been able to stomach such a meal. But she wished she’d given it a shot.

Nothing had been quite the same after that.

He damn sure never brought me any more dead people.

Sandy felt certain that Eric loved her no less than before, but she’d lost some of the closeness and trust.

Once that’s gone, can you ever get it back?

Maybe. Who knows? Might be worth a try. Maybe if I go running with him again?

Hey, kid, how about letting the old mom tag along?

Nah. He wouldn’t want me around. Afraid I might disapprove of something.

Which I might, too. God only knows what he does all day.

At the bottom of Buena Vista Parkway, Sandy eased her pickup to a halt and waited while a string of cars rushed by on Fort Platt Boulevard.

Maybe I should bring Eric into town with me one of these days, she thought. He’s been wanting to do it for years. He would love it. If I did that, maybe we could be buddies again. I’d have to cover him up really good. Make some sort of outfit for him^?

God, it’d be so risky.

Introduce him to Blaze.

What if Blaze freaks out?

What if Eric eats Blaze?

No, no, not a good...

A car bore down on her from behind, growing suddenly in the rearview mirror. A white sports car. A convertible.

In front of Sandy, a pickup truck sped by.

As she waited for it to pass, the sports car stopped behind her.

The driver raised a bare arm above the windshield, waved and smiled.

The guy from the beach!

Terry?

He followed me!

Sandy opened her door and leaned out. No cars were approaching from up the hill, so she shifted to Park, set her emergency brake and hopped down to the pavement.

Terry stayed in his driver’s seat as she walked toward him.

He still didn’t have a shirt on.

“Hi,” Sandy said.

“We meet again,” said Terry.

“I noticed.” She thought that she ought to sound angry, but she couldn’t quite pull it off. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Making a nuisance of myself?” he suggested, and lifted his eyebrows.

“You followed us when we left the beach?”

“Did a pretty good job of it too, don’t you think? Did you ever catch on?”

“Not till just now.”

“Well, just now is when you were supposed to catch on. I decided to spring out of nowhere and astonish you.”

"Really. So...now what?”

“I think we should spend some time together.”

“Why would I want to do that.?”

“Why not?” he asked.

“For one thing, I have other things to do. For another, I don’t even know you.”

"Teny Goodwin,” he said. He let go of the steering wheel and swung his left arm toward Sandy.

She shook his hand. “I’m Ashley.”

Keeping her hand, he asked, "Ashley what?”

“Maybe I don’t want you knowing my last name. You seem to be some sort of stalker. You might look me up and arrive on my door-step.”

“Pfff! Yeah! I’d be a fool not to.”

She laughed.

Still holding her hand, Terry said, “I had to follow you. I know it makes me seem like a nut job, but...I couldn’t just go home. Not without knowing who you are. What if I never got a chance to see you again? It would’ve been...” Scowling, he shook his head. “I would’ve regretted it the rest of my life.”

She stared at him.

She felt strange inside. Warm and trembly.

“So what do you want?”

"I want you not to vanish.”

"I’m right here. Besides, you’ve got a pretty good hold on my hand. It’d be tough for me to vanish right now.”

"there do you live?”

"Get real. Do I look like a moron?”

“Not in the least. Are you on your way home?”

“Not at the moment.”

He smiled gently and released her hand.

"I have to make a stop at the grocery store,” Sandy said. "Do you want to come along?”

"You bet I do!”

"All right. See you there.”

Back in her pickup truck, Sandy drove to the grocery store.

Terry followed her. In the parking lot, he swung his little car into the nearest space. He climbed out and came toward her, pulling a T-shirt down over his head.

"Ah, you’re making yourself decent,” Sandy said.

"Not entirely.”

On the T-shirt, a cartoony wizard was pointing at Sandy as he intoned, "Turn to shit.”

She burst out laughing. "That’s nice.”

“I know. I really shouldn’t wear it in public.”

“But you do.”

They walked side by side toward the store entrance.

“Afraid so. Want me to leave?”

“Just walk a few paces behind me.”

He started to drop back, so Sandy caught his hand and dragged him forward.

Inside the store, she grabbed a shopping cart. It had a wobbly front wheel that made the cart shimmy as she pushed it along.

"I’ll push it for you,” Terry said.

"No, that’s okay. I can push my own cart.”

"You sure?”

"Are you trying to annoy me?”

"I just want to be friends.”

"Oh ho ho.”

She made her way slowly up an aisle, sometimes pausing to snatch an item off its shelf and set it into her cart. Terry walked beside her—or behind her when the aisle became crowded.

At the end of the aisle, she turned and started down the next.

"Do you live alone?” Terry asked.

"No, do you?”

"Me? All alone. I have a little beach cottage south of town. Which you’re welcome to visit any time of the day or night.”

"You’re a very hospitable guy.”

"You’re not married, are you?” he asked.

"No, are you?”

"No.”

"Have you been married?” Sandy asked.

"You ask a lot of questions.”

"You started it.”

"I’ve never been married,” he said. "What about you?”

"Nope. How old are you?”

"Twenty-eight.”

"And you’ve never been married? Why not?”

He grinned. "Who knows? How old are you?”

"Not as old as you. You’re really old. Amazing you’ve never been married. Something wrong with you?”

He laughed. "Maybe I’m just picky. Who do you live with?”

Looking into his eyes, she said, "My son.”

If Terry was put off by the news, he didn’t let it show. "Really? What’s his name?”

"Eric.”

"That must be neat, having a kid. How old is he?”

"Twelve.”

At that news, he looked stunned. “You’re kidding. Twelve?”

"Sure.”

"So you were, what ... seven when you had him?”

She grinned. “A little older than that.”

"Amazing. So where’s Eric while you’re off modelling for Blazed?”

"He’s usually in school.”

"Not during summer vacation, I hope.”

"No, no. He’s home. My mother comes over to watch him when I have to go out.”

“That’s got to be a major convenience. Great for both of you. It frees you up and she gets to spend time with her grandchild.”

"It’s a pretty good deal,” Sandy said. She tried to hold on to her smile, but it fell. She turned to the shelves of groceries. She was facing a variety of mustards. She didn’t need any mustard but she stared at the jars, anyway, as if trying to decide which to buy.

Shouldn’t have said that stuff about Mom. That’s what did it. Keep her out of it. How to ruin a fine day in one easy lesson.

“Are you okay?” Terry asked.

"Yeah. It’s just ... Eric wasn’t feeling very well when I left this morning. I’m a little worried about him, that’s all. I need to finish the shopping and get home.” She grabbed a sweet-hot mustard off the shelf, bent over her cart and put it in.

“How far away do you live?”

She opened her mouth to answer, then gave him a sharp look.

"Where I live is my business.”

“I just mean, if it’s going to take you a while to get there, why don’t you phone up your mother and make sure Eric’s all right? Put your mind at ease.”

"That’s a good idea,” she said. "You want to watch the cart? I’ll go find a phone. Be right back.” She hurried toward the front of the store. With a glance back, she saw that Terry was staying put.

Dumb. This is what comes of lying.

The public telephones were just outside the store’s main exit. She glanced back to make sure Terry still wasn’t coming, then stepped outside and pretended to call home. After talking into the mouthpiece for a couple of minutes, she hung up and went back into the store. Terry was exactly where she’d left him.

He minds well, she thought.

“Eric’s fine,” she said.

“Glad to hear it. Feel better now?”

She nodded.

“The phone’s a great invention,” Terry said.

“It can be.”

“So now you can relax and enjoy the shopping.”

“I guess so.”

“And since everything’s fine on the home front, why don’t you stop by at my place after we’re done here?”

“And why would I want to do that?”

He grinned. “It’s a nice cottage. It has a nice view of the ocean. I’m nice. You’re nice. We’ll have a nice time.”

“Unless you get me inside the nice cottage and attack me.”

He suddenly looked at Sandy as if she’d turned into an odd specimen—an amusing, somewhat appalling, compelling creature unlike anything he’d ever seen before. In a solemn voice, he said, “I wouldn’t do that.”

“How do I know?”

He kept gazing at her. “I guess you don’t.”

“For all I know, you might be a very handsome, pleasant serial killer just looking for a chance to get me alone.”

“I’m not.”

“So you say. As if you’d admit it.”

He laughed and shook his head. “If I wanted to jump you, I could’ve done it on the beach. I don’t think Blaze would’ve been much of an obstacle.”

“Somebody might’ve come along,” Sandy pointed out. “You did. At your charming little beach cottage, though, you wouldn’t have to worry about anyone walking in on us. There’d be complete privacy. You’d have me at your mercy.”

“That sounds like a pretty good deal.”

“Md it might not even be your cottage. Maybe it’s just an abandoned place you happen to know about.”

“Gotcha!” Grinning, he reached into a seat pocket of his shorts and pulled out his wallet. He flapped it open in front of her. On one side was an i.d. card. On the other side was a shiny silver badge.

Chapter Thirty-two

Lunch Trouble

Just as Warren slid Dana’s tray through the window, a crowd of Japanese tourists swarmed into the eating area. All of them seemed to be talking at once. Some went straight to tables. A few scattered and started snapping photos of each other. Several wandered about taping everything in sight with their camcorders. The line behind Dana tripled in length. The line at the other window doubled. Probably half the group headed directly for the gift shop.

Looking in at Warren, Dana said, “Holy smoke.”

“We’re very big with the Japanae,” Warren explained. “We get busloads of them two or three times a week.”

“Must be great for business.”

“Can’t complain,” Warren said. “Only thing is, I was hoping I’d be able to have lunch with you.”

“Yeah, me too.” Trying not to let her disappointment show, she picked up her tray. “Well, maybe I’ll see you later.”

“How about after work?” he blurted.

“Today?”

“Yeah, if you want.”

“Sure!”

“We could go over to my place. I’ll show you the beach and stuff. And I could throw something on the barbie...”

“Hey, that sounds great.”

“Meet you at the ticket office at closing time?”

“You bet,” she said. “See you then.”

Dana found Tuck upstairs near the entrance to Lilly Thorn’s room. “That was quick,” Tuck said.

Dana nodded, grinning.

“What happened?”

“Well, a Japanese tour bus showed up and Warren couldn’t have lunch with me.”

“Ah. And that makes you giddy why?”

“He asked me over to his place! Right after work!”

“Today?”

“Yep. And we’re gonna eat there.”

“So I shouldn’t expect you for supper?”

“Nope.”

“Throwing me over for a guy, huh?”

“You better believe it.”

“How’ll you get home?”

Dana shrugged.

“Maybe you should spend the night with him. Then you’d just have a convenient little hike to work in the morning.”

“I’m not going to spend the night with him.”

“How do you know?”

“I know.”

“Do you want me to pick you up at a certain time?”

“He’ll probably drive me home.”

“What if he won’t?”

“Why wouldn’t he?”

Tuck shrugged. “He might not want you to leave. Or you two might not be speaking to each other by the time you’re ready to go. Or he might get drunk and pass out. Or...”

“Has he done anything like that?”

“Not that I know of. But guys will be guys.”

“I’m sure he’ll be fine. But if he does give me trouble, I’ll call you.”

“He doesn’t have a phone.”

“Really?”

“You’ll be trapped like a moose.”

“Up yours.”

“Tell you what. If you’re not home by a certain time, I could drive over and pick you up.”

Dana grimaced. “I don’t know if that’s such a great idea.”

“Couldn’t hurt. If you’re home by then, it’s a moot point. If I get there and you want to stay with Warren, that’ll be fine, too.”

“I guess that’d be okay.”

“What time? Two a.m.?”

“Very funny. How about midnight?”

“Fine.”

“But I’ll be home long before then.”

“Let’s hope not.” She gave Dana’s arm a pat, then said, “I’d better go downstairs and spell Clyde. “See you...”

“Excuse me?”

Looking over her shoulder, Dana found a husky young man standing behind her.

“Oh, hi,” Tuck said to him. “John?”

He beamed. “John it is. That’s right.”

“Hi, John,” Dana sad, tuming around. She’d noticed him earlier, herself. Hard not to notice a guy that size wearing black-rimmed glasses and a Beast House cap. She’d seen him up here before she went off to lunch.

The way he’d been wandering around, taking photos of every-thing in sight and fiddling with his tape player, she’d pegged him as a true aficionado of the house.

John and I are old buddies,” Tuck said.

“I’ve got pictures of her with Gus,” John explained, patting his camera.

“Gus is the one that’s hung,” Tuck said.

“Can I get a picture of you two together?” John asked. “I’ll send you a couple of copies.”

“Sounds good to me,” Tuck said. “How about it, Dana?”

“Sure, why not?”

“That’s great,” John said. “That’s really great.” As he took a few steps backward, Dana and Tuck stood side by side.

“I’m gonna have a great photo album of this place,” he said, and snapped a shot. “Hang on. Let me get a couple more, just in case.”

He clicked more than a couple more.

Sidestepping, ducking, zooming in for closeups, he took shot after shot.

“I have to get going,” Tuck said.

“Ah. Fine. No problem. Okay if I get a couple with my flash, just in case?”

“Well...”

The flash blinked, hitting them with a flick of brightness.

“I’ve got (flash) high-speed film in here (flash) but you never can be too sure. It’s awfully (flash) dark in this place (flash).”

“That’s enough, John.” Tuck put a hand across her eyes. “Knock it off.”

“Oh. Okay. Fine.” He lowered the camera. “I really appreciate it. You’ll never know how much I appreciate it.”

“Don’t forget to send us copies,” Tuck said.

“Oh, I won’t. But I guess I’ll need your names and stuff.”

Tuck reached into a seat pocket of her shorts. She took out a wallet and removed a business card. “Here you go. You can send them to me, and I’ll see that Dana gets copies.”

He took the card, squinted at it, then smiled and slipped it into a pocket of his enormous, wrinkled shirt. “Will do,” he said. “And thanks again.”

He hurried away.

“I think he’s in love with you,” Tuck said.

“Eat my shorts.”

“Bet he’d like to eat what’s in ‘em.”

“Hey, real nice. Aren’t you supposed to be relieving Clyde, or something?”

“Oh, yeah. Thanks for reminding me.” She slugged Dana’s arm. “See ya later, alligator.”

“In a while, crock-a-shit.”

Laughing, Tuck headed for the stairs.

More than half an hour went by before the Japanese tour group entered the house. When Dana heard them flood in, she crouched and looked down the stairs. The foyer was packed.

A lot of flash photos were being taken.

But Tuck was down there, smiling and nodding and making no objections.

A slim young woman carrying a miniature flag seemed to be in charge of the group. She spoke loudly and clearly in Japanese. It made no sense at all to Dana, but every so often the guide spoke familiar names: Lilly Thom, Ethel Hughes, Beast House, Maggie Kutch.

She couldn’t spot a Beast House tape player around the neck of anyone in the bunch.

They probably all know English, she thought. But it would be better to get the tour in their own language.

She wondered how long they would be staying downstairs.

Five minutes, maybe?

Dana stood up, turned away and walked the entire floor, looking into rooms and counting heads from one end of the corridor to the other.

Twenty-eight already up here.

Gonna get crowded.

Should I warn them?

So they can do what? she wondered. Evacuate the building and come back later?

Most of those in the hallway were wandering around as if lost in trances, their eyes blank as they listened to the tapes.

Hell they might not even notice,

Thinking it might be nice to greet such a large bunch of visitors from so far away, Dana returned to the top of the stairs. A few people were coming up, but they didn’t belong to the group.

She nodded and stepped out of the way.

“A real traffic jam down there,” said the man in the lead.

He was about the age of Dana’s father, and had a nice smile.

The woman, trudging up behind him, said, “The traffic jam’ll be up here before you know it, Herbie.”

“I’m afraid you’re right,” Diana said. “If you’d like, you could leave for a while and come back after they’re gone. We have a nice snack stand...”

“Oh, I don’t think I could make it up these stairs again,” the woman said. “We’ll just have to make do the best...”

“Lance?”

“...we can.”

“Lance!”

Dana jerked her head to the left.

“Lance! Where are you?”

She spotted the woman in the middle of the corridor, a frantic look on her face. The headphones hung around her neck.

Did she lose her kid? Dana wondered.

She looked awfully young to have a wandering kid.

Hands out, palms up, she turned slowly as she looked around.

“Lance!” she cried out “Where are you? Answer me this minute!”

Dana ran toward her.

Every other tourist in the corridor seemed to be watching.

Some were pulling off their headphones.

She stopped in front of the woman. “Who’s missing?” she asked.

“My boy. He was right beside me a minute ago, and suddenly he...he just disappeared.”

Dana snatched the walkie-talkie off her belt and thumbed the talk button. “Tuck,” she said. “We’ve got a missing boy. Over.”

“Nobody’s getting past me. Describe the kid.”

“How old is he?” Dana asked the mother.

“Nine.”

“Hair color?”

“Blond.”

“He’s nine years old,” she told Tuck. “Blond hair.”

“How long has he been...oh, great. Here come the...”

The walkie-talkie went silent, but Dana heard Tuck anyway. “Hold it!” Tuck yelled. “Yoshi, wait! Tell them to stop and stay away from the stairs. We have a problem.”

In a loud, clear voice, the Japanese tour guide started giving instructions to her group.

Dana turned her attention to Lance’s mother. “How long has he been gone?”

“Just a minute or two,” she said, her voice pitched high.

“You there, Tuck?”

“Yeah. Everything’s under control down here. For now.”

“The kid’s been gone a couple of minutes.”

“He has to still be up there. Look around. He probably wandered off by himself. Get back to me in about two minutes.”

“Will do.” Dana turned to the mother. “He can’t get out. Don’t worry, we’ll find him. Where were you when you noticed he was...”

“Is somebody looking for a kid?”

“Yes!” Dana called out.

A girl stepped forward. About ten years old, she looked like a tomboy in her short haircut and bib overalls. “A little creep with yellow hair?”

The mother scowled. “He’s not a creep.”

“Matter of opinion, ma’am,” said the girl. “Anyway, he ducked under the rope over there and ran up into the attic.”

“When was this?” Dana asked.

“Just before this lady started going all hysterical.”

“Was anybody with him?” Dana asked.

“Nope. He was all by himself. You should’ve seen the look on his face. He thought he was being oh so cute, but he wasn’t. I don’t happen to find it cute at all, breaking rules.”

Dana grinned at the girl. “Neither do I. Thanks a lot of your help.”

“You’re welcome.”

“What’s your name?”

“Janey.”

“Stick around, Janey.” Raising the walkie-talkie, Dana hurried toward the attic. Tourists in the corridor stepped aside to let her by. “Tuck? I just found a witness. Sounds like Lance took an excursion into the attic. I’m on my way.”

“Did he go up on his own?”

“That’s what I hear.”

“Okay. Keep your speak button depressed. I wanta hear what’s going on.”

“Right.”

At the attic doorway, Dana looked up the dark stairs. The entrance at the top looked like a black slab.

Unhooking one end of the cordon, she called, “Lance, please come down from there. It’s dangerous. We don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

Lance didn’t answer.

Dana swiveled around to face those who were clustered nearby. “I don’t want anyone coming up the stairs after me. The attic is off limits. Okay?”

“Want me to stand guard for you?” asked Janey.

“Sure. Thanks.”

Janey came over to the doorway. She turned toward the onlookers and folded her arms across her chest.

Dana started to climb the stairs. “Lance,” she called. “I’m coming up to find you. Why don’t you...?”

Out of the darkness above her came a squeal.

Her skin rippled with goosebumps.

She raced up the stairs, taking them two at at time, her strong legs pumping.

Mixed in with the sounds of her shoes striking the planks and the stairs creaking and groaning as she charged toward the top, she thought she heard other sounds.

Gaspy whimpers and quick footfalls.

Then something pale lurched into the black doorway and came down at her. Is it him?

Dana had a quick urge to scream.

“Stop!” she yelled.

“It’s after me!” the boy cried out.

He dodged to the other side of the stairway to get past Dana but she dropped the walkie-talkie and grabbed the banister with her right hand, flung out her left arm and hooked him across the chest. His whole weight suddenly tried to rip her backward and hurl her down the stairs, but she clung to the rail. The impact turned her sideways. Then the kid lost his momentum and she swung him in against her body.

“Let me go!” he gasped, thrashing. “Let go! It’s coming!!”

“Calm down,!” Dana said. She started carrying him down the stairs.

“Let me go! It’s gonna get us!”

“Nothing’s going to get us.”

“Hurry!”

Rushing down the stairs, she listened for sounds of footfalls behind her. She had an urge to look over her shoulder.

Only a few steps from the bottom, she thought, Made it. No matter what, I’ll make it to the hall before it gets me.

Get real, she told herself. Nothing’s up there.

She scampered down the final stairs and carried Lance out of the stairwell.

The onlookers applauded. She heard calls of “Thata girl!” and “Good going,” and “Nicely done.”

She set Lance onto his feet and turned him around to face her. Holding him by the sides, she crouched and said, “Everything’s all right, Lance. Everything’s fine.”

He gazed with wide eyes up the stairwell behind Dana. He was gasping and shaking.

“Nothing’s up there,” she said.

“Oh yes it is.”

Keeping hold of him, Dana checked him out from head to foot.

His pale blue T-shirt was dark with sweat. It felt hot and damp under her hands.

Lance didn’t seem to be injured.

She turned him around.

No damage that...

“Don’t you ever do that again! Do you hear me! Don’t you EVER! You scared the daylights out of me!”

“I was just...”

Smack!

He flinched in Dana’s hands.

She stood up fast. “Hey!”

He started crying.

“Don’t you hit him,” Dana snapped.

“I’ll hit him if I want.” As if to demonstrate, Lance’s mother hauled back for another swing at his face.

“No!” Dana caught her wrist.

“Let go of me!”

“Don’t hit the kid,” Dana said. “It isn’t nice to hit little kids.”

The mother spit at her.

The gob of saliva landed on Dana’s uniform blouse just above her left breast.

“Lady,” Dana said.

Then Janey kicked the woman in the leg.

“Ow! You little twat!” Her left hand darted at Janey.

As the girl leaped away, Dana jerked the woman’s right arm and swung her around and slammed her against the wall.

“That’s enough!” Dana shouted in her face.

The woman blinked.

The spit had soaked through Dana’s shirt. She felt its cool wetness against her skin.

With both hands, she clutched the front of the woman white T-shirt. “Calm down!”

“Let go of me!”

“You cannot go around hitting people,” Dana said.

Or spitting on them, she thought.

And she smelled the woman’s spit on her shirt. Felt it against her skin, and smelled it. It smelled like jasmine. It smelled like sneeze.

She suddenly gagged.

“Let go of me, or I’ll...”

Dana felt it suddenly coming. She had time to turn away. But she chose not to. She kept her grip on the mother’s T-shirt and lurched forward and threw up in her face.

For lunch, she’d had a Red-Hot Beastie Weenie, Beastly Chili Fries with cheese, and a strawberry flavored milkshake called a “Bucket of Blood.”

Chapter Thirty-three

SANDY’S STORY—July,1992

The sight of Terry’s badge seemed to freeze Sandy’s mind.

She gaped at it.

For God’s sake, don’t faint! Don’t scream and run! Just act normal.

Sure thing.

Keeping her eyes on the badge, she tried to sound like Cagney as she said, “So, you’re a copper?”

“Right. Fort Platt Municipal Police Department.”

“I’m supposed to believe that?”

“If I’m not a cop, I’ve got a mighty fine shield and i.d. Look at that photo. That’s me, rights

She stared at the i.d. photo. “Yep.”

“So I’m either a real cop or a really slick bad guy. But that isn’t the point.” He flipped the police i.d. over. Underneath it was his driver’s license. “Look. See the address there? Fourteen Beach Drive? That’s my cottage. If you follow me over, you can check the address before you even get out of your truck. If they don’t match up, you can just drive on.”

“I guess I could do that,” Sandy said.

She felt numb.

“Sure,” she said. “Why not?”

“Great!”

She smiled and nodded and resumed her grocery shopping.

Dazed.

Oh, my God. Oh, God. A cop. He’s a cop. What’m I gonna do?

Go over to his place and kill him?

No, no, no. Can’t do that. He’s a nice guy. I like him.

I can’t kill him.

Can’t?

Okay. I could.

But even if I wanted to, all these people are seeing us together. I’d never get away with it.

Just play along. See what happens.

In the checkout line, a couple of customers greeted Terry and he responded as if they were his good friends. The cashier knew him, too. Her name tag read, MARGE. She said, “Hey there, Ter. Whatcha up to?”

“No good, as usual.”

“Haw!”

As Marge slid the groceries across the scanner, Sandy said to her, “Is this guy really a cop?”

“Oh, I’ll say. He’s a regular terror. Ain’t you, Ter?”

“That’s me.”

“You gonna handcuff her?” Marge asked him.

“Gonna try.”

A few minutes later, he beat Sandy to the shopping cart.

She decided not to fight him for it. Outside, she walked beside him. “You’re a popular guy around here,” she said.

“For a serial killer.”

“Well, I guess you aren’t one of those.”

“They do impersonate cops, sometimes. You can’t be too careful.”

“Well, I’m convinced.”

When they reached her pickup truck, Terry unloaded the shopping cart for her. He even put the milk, butter, eggs and meat into the ice chest she’d brought along to keep them cold during the long trip home. After thanking him, she said, “You lead the way.”

“You won’t ditch me, will you?”

“If I do, I guess you can just run a make on my plates or something, huh?”

“I could. But I wouldn’t. I probably wouldn’t.”

“See you in a while,” she said. Then she climbed into her pickup, started the engine, and waited. After Terry’s car went by, she backed out of her space and followed it.

A cop. He’s a cop.

What if he does run the license?

He would find out that the vehicle was registered to Harry Matthews. And the computer would give him Harry’s address—Sandy’s address.

She had that covered, at least. During the past few years, she had managed to acquire the paperwork to back up four different false identities—including Ashley Matthews.

A girl named Ashley Matthews, born two years before Sandy, had died in an apartment fire at the age of nine.

Ralph had dug up her name—and the others. He did such things for a living, and he was good at it.

Thank God for private eyes, she thought as she turned left and followed Terry’s car onto Fort Platt Boulevard.

And thank God for Blaze. If not for the large amounts of money coming in from the paintings, she never would’ve been able to afford Ralph’s services.

So if Terry does check on me, she thought, I shouldn’t have any trouble. No reason for him to think I’m not Harry’s niece.

If he asks about Harry, I’ll say he’s on a trip.

Everything’ll be fine, she told herself.

Unless he comes over for a visit.

I can’t let that happen.

How can I stop it?

Ahead of her, Terry’s turn signal began to flash. He slowed down, then swung to the right.

I could just keep on going, Sandy thought.

But he’ll know where to find me.

We’d have to get our stuff together and leave. Right away.

Today. And find ourselves a new place to live.

Move in with Blaze?

Shaking her head, she made the turn and closed in on Terry’s car. It had slowed down to wait for her. As she approached, it picked up speed and led her onto Beach Drive.

The quiet, one-lane road ran parallel to the ocean. Along both sides were wood frame cottages and house trailers. One of the trailers had a swing set on its side yard. A boy in a swimsuit was standing on the middle swing, making it sway from side to side. A German shepherd wearing a red bandana around its neck was roaming down the side of the road. A woman was squatting down, planting flowers in front of her cottage.

An elderly couple sat on lawn chairs, one reading a newspaper, the other a paperback. A teenaged boy was busy with a hose and sponge, washing an old green Pontiac.

It looked like a nice place to live.

A lot nicer than a hideout in the woods.

Sandy felt a pull of regret.

Can’t have everything, she told herself. Be happy with what you’ve got.

Just ahead of her, Terry slowed down and turned left onto a gravel driveway. It seemed plenty long enough for her car to fit in behind his. As she made the turn, she glanced at the mailbox: 14 Beach Drive.

It was Terry’s place, all right.

She parked, climbed out of her pickup and walked toward him. “I won’t be able to stay long,” she said.

“Long enough to come in and have a drink?”

“Not sure I’d better come in.”

“That’ll be fine. We can relax out back on the sun deck.”

Sandy followed him around the side of the car port. About a hundred yards ahead, the ocean rolled into Shore. The beach stretched all the way to the rear of the cottage.

She pulled off her shoes and carried them. The dry, hot sand shifted under her feet.

At the bottom of the deck stairs, she stopped and watched Terry climb. He had fine, golden hair on the backs of his legs, and curly down just above his belt. His wallet made the left seat pocket of his shorts bulge. The other side of his shorts curved nicely against his buttock.

She felt a little funny about staring at his rear.

Normally, she wasn’t much interested in such things.

She wondered what he was wearing under his shorts.

Get a grip, she told herself. The guy’s a cop. I can’t have anything to do with him.

Then what am I doing here?

“Coming up?” he asked.

“Sure.” She climbed the stairs. The sundeck had a redwood railing on three sides. On the fourth side, the deck joined the cottage. Which seemed to be made mostly of glass. Draperies were shut, however, so she couldn’t see inside. The deck was furnished with a round glass table, a few folding chairs, two loungers with fabric pads, a couple of TV trays, and a barbeque grill.

“What can I get you?” Terry asked.

“I’ll have to drive home pretty soon.”

“I have soft drinks. Or you might try a beer. One or two beers shouldn’t impair you much.”

“A beer sounds good,” she said.

“I’ll have to go in through the front.” He headed for the stairs.

Sandy glanced at the two sliding glass doors. “You can’t get in from here?”

“They only lock from the inside. This’ll just take a minute, though. Make yourself at home.”

“I’ll come with you,” Sandy told him.

“Fine.”

As they retraced their route to the front of the cottage, Terry smiled and said, “I thought you didn’t want to go in.”

“I was just being cautious.”

“And now you’re not?”

“Maybe I was being overly cautious. I mean, you are a cop, right?”

“Right.”

When they reached the front door, he unlocked and opened it.

Sandy followed him inside. The living room had a hardwood floor and several rugs. There were bookshelves, a stone fireplace, a television, an easy chair, and an old sofa with a coffee table in front and lamp tables at each end. On one wall was a seascape of the ocean at sunset. On another wall hung The Sleeper.

By Blaze O. Glory.

One of his more recent paintings.

It showed Sandy sprawled on a bed, eyes shut, her hair spread across the pillow, sunlight slanting down on her from a nearby window. She looked as if she’d tossed and turned during the night. By morning, the single sheet over her body was a twisted disarray. Her entire left leg had come out from under it. The sheet covered her right leg, then swept upward across her body at an angle, draping her belly and her left breast and shoulder, but leaving her right breast naked.

Sandy gaped at it. Then she turned to Terry.

His smiled turned crooked and he blushed.

Sandy’s heart thudded wildly. Her face felt hot. “That’s me,” she said, her voice coming out no louder than a whisper.

“I know,” he whispered back at her.

“My God.”

What’s going on? she wondered. She felt very strange: confused, embarrassed, deceived and betrayed, frightened, flattered, vulnerable and excited. All at the same time.

“The painting’s beautiful,” Terry said. “You’re beautiful.”

“So...this morning wasn’t an accident. You didn’t just stumble onto us.”

“I had a spy in the camp.”

“Blaze?”

Terry nodded.

“That...”

“He meant well. He thought you and I might get along.”

“He set me up.”

“All he really did was tell me where you’d be.”

“Then he made sure I was half-naked for the encounter.”

Smiling, Terry said, “Well, he probably did that for artistic reasons.”

“Oh, sure.”

“He was just trying to help. He thinks you need someone...a friend. And he knew how much I wanted to meet you.”

“Because of that?” She nodded toward the painting.

“That. And others.”

“You have more?”

“No. Just the one. It’s all I’ve been able to afford. But I’ve seen a few of the others. I wish I had them all.”

Staring into his eyes, she asked, “Why?”

“Because they’re of you.”

“They don’t even look like me.”

“Sure they do. I mean, none of them looks exactly like you. Blaze doesn’t get every feature just right. But all of them have...I don’t know.” His blush deepened. “Your beauty. Your magic. I wish he’d paint one that really looks like you.”

“He’s not supposed to,” Sandy explained. “I don’t want everybody knowing it’s me when they see these things.”

“Couldn’t be anyone else,” Terry said. “Not if they know you.”

“I’d better make Blaze give me a bigger nose or something.”

Laughing softly, Terry shook his head. “Don’t do that. He should make them look exactly like you. In the ways they’re different, they lose.”

She gazed at him.

“Sony,” he said. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t? Then how come you brought me in here? Did you think I wouldn’t notice the painting?”

“I guess I wanted you to notice it.”

“So you intended to scare me away?”

“You’re still here.”

“Hanging on by the fingernails.”

“How about that beer?”

“Maybe I’d better get the hell out of here. This is a little...strange.”

“How about if you get the hell out to the back deck?”

Staring into his eyes, she wasn’t sure what she saw. A look of urgent hope?

Maybe that’s lust.

What she didn’t find in his eyes was any trace of malice.

“I guess the deck’ll be okay,” she said.

He led her toward one of the sliding doors. “How about the beer?” he asked.

“Make it a vodka, okay? If you have any. I’m beyond beer right now.”

“How about a vodka and tonic?”

“That’d be just right.”

He unlatched the door and rolled it open for her. Then he skidded the screen door out of the way.

“I’ll be along in a minute,” he said.

Sandy stepped across the deck. Bending over slightly, she clutched the top of the redwood railing with both hands and gazed out over the beach. Not many people were in sight. Those that she could see were far away. There were a lot more seagulls than people. They swooped and flapped and squealed.

The sun felt hot, but a cool breeze blew into Sandy’s face and ruffled her shirt.

This is so great, she thought.

And so horrible.

God, the guy is head-over-heels for me.

Not for me. For the gal in the paintings.

But she is me.

What am I gonna do?

Drink my drink and leave, she told herself. And avoid him from now on.

But what if he won’t avoid me?

This sucks so bad.

But if it sucks so bad, she wondered, why do I feel so great?

I don’t.

Don’t lie. You do, too.

Okay. Great but miserable.

Hearing footsteps on the wood of the deck, she turned around. Terry set down a serving tray on top of the glass table.

It had two vodka tonics on it. There was also a basket loaded with potato chips.

“Cocktails are served, ma’am,” he said, and pulled out a chair for Sandy.

“Thanks,” she said. She sat down.

“And thank you for sticking around. A lesser person might’ve fled the scene.”

“I will have to leave pretty soon. Mom and Eric...” She shrugged. “I don’t like to be away too long.”

“Any time you’re ready to go, just holler.” Terry sat down and raised his glass. “Here’s how,” he said.

“Here’s how.”

They clinked their glasses together, then drank.

“Ahhh,” Sandy said. “This sure hits the spot.”

“Glad you like it. You know, you’re really being a good sport about this.”

“Are we playing a game?”

“I just mean, I’m awfully glad you haven’t flipped out and run away.”

“The urge exists. I’m holding it at bay.”

“I did think about hiding the picture. You know, this morning before I set out for the rendezvous. But that would’ve been like assuming in advance that I’d get you here, and I didn’t want to do anything that might jinx the operation.” Laughing softly, he took another drink. “Stupid, huh?”

“Not entirely.”

“Anyway, it seemed sort of stupid to me, but it’s why I didn’t hide the picture. Then I thought, well, if I do get you into the house, it’ll be a good time for you to see it. I didn’t much care for the subterfuge.”

Smiling, Sandy set down her glass. “Why the subterfuge in the first place?”

“wetl...”

“Well?”

“I never knew anything about you till about three months ago. There was an overnight break-in at the Beachside Gallery.”

“I never heard about that.”

“It was kept pretty quiet. Someone forced open the back door and trashed a few paintings. In fact, all the paintings in the place that seemed to be gay-oriented.”

“That must’ve included some by Blaze.”

“Right. A couple of them. Anyway, I was called over to the gallery in the morning when Megan opened up for business and discovered what had happened. She started showing me around. And that’s when I saw The Sleeper for the first time. It just...knocked my socks off. I mean...I had to have it. I’d never seen a painting that hit me that way.”

“Blaze is pretty good,” Sandy said.

“And his model is spectacular.”

“I’m just a dame.”

Terry laughed. “Yeah. So anyway, I bought The Sleeper right then and there—right in the middle of my investigation. Had to max out my Visa card, but...” He shrugged. “A small price to pay.”

“A hefty price.”

“I had to have that painting. And I had to...meet you. Megan couldn’t tell me much. And I guess her information wasn’t exactly accurate, either. She told me your name was Electra, for one thing.”

“It’s my nom de nudie.”

Terry laughed. “She also said you’re Blaze’s niece and you live in San Francisco. You’re not his niece, are you?”

“Nope.”

“What about San Francisco? Is that where you live?”

“I’ll never tell.”

“Why not?”

“If I tell you all my secrets, I’ll lose my membership in the Mysterious Dames Society.” She poked a potato chip into her mouth and crunched it. “Then where would I be?”

“Will you at least tell me your real name?”

“What’d Blaze say it is?”

“Just Ashley. He wouldn’t tell me your last name.”

“Good for him!”

“He said I should ask you.”

“What else did he say about me?”

“He claimed not to know where you live. He said you just show up at his place every couple of weeks, then take off again after you’re done posing. He mentioned that you have a son. That’s about it. Well...and that he thought we’d make a nice couple.”

“Good ol’ Blaze.”

“So I suggested that maybe he should introduce me to you, but he didn’t want to do it that way. He thought you wouldn’t like him trying to ‘fix you up’ with a friend. That you’d resent it, and I’d stand a better chance if I just happened to run into you by accident. He thought I should put in an appearance while you were out posing for him. And I went along with it. I knew it was kind of a screwy idea, but Blaze completely refused to just introduce me to you.”

“He enjoys his melodramas,” Sandy said.

“Guess so. Anyway, I figured ‘whatever it takes.’ This morning, he gave me the call, said you were coming in and told me where he’d be taking you.”

Sandy shook her head.

“I am sorry about tricking you. But I just had to meet you. I would’ve done anything.”

“Anything?”

“Pretty near.”

“A desperate man. That’s flattering and scary.”

“Well, I’ll be perfectly straight-forward and honest from now on. I promise.”

“From now on, huh? That’s assuming we’ll be seeing more of each other.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” he said.

“What do you have in mind?”

“This sort of thing, I guess. Seeing each other. Talking. You know.”

“That might be nice.”

He looked relieved and glad.

“There is a problem, though. I’ve got Eric. And we do live pretty far away. I usually don’t make it into town more than a couple of times a month.”

“I guess I could live with that.”

“You wouldn’t have any choice. It’s that or nothing. Twice a month is all I can get away.”

“You don’t have any other guys, do you?”

“Just Eric.” She met Terry’s eyes. “I’ve had some bad luck with the men in my life. I’ll probably have bad luck with you.”

“But you’re willing to give me a try? Give us a try?”

“On one condition.”

“Anything.”

“You have to promise you’ll never come to my place,” she said.

“I don’t even know where it is.”

“But you’re a cop. You could probably find out easily enough. If you haven’t already.”

“I haven’t.”

“The thing is, whatever we do, I don’t want Eric involved. He and I... we’re very close. I think he’d see you as an interloper who’s trying to take his mom away from him. He’s insecure enough as it is. So you have to promise never under any circumstances to come out to the house.”

“I promise.”

“Cross your heart and hope to die?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.” With his forefinger, he marked an X over his heart. Then he leaned forward and reached across the table. Sandy reached out, too. He took hold of her hand and gently squeezed it.

A few minutes later, done with her drink, she said, “I’d better get going.”

“How about staying for one more round?”

“Afraid not. And you should know better.”

“I do. But I hate to see you go so soon.”

“I’ll be back in town before you know it.”

“How will I know it?” he asked.

“Oh, Blaze will probably tip you off.”

He laughed. “Come on.”

“I’ll call and let you know. Or I’ll drop by.”

“What if I’m not here?”

She grinned. “Then you might miss me.”

“I’m usually home during the day. I work the graveyard shift. Wednesdays and Thursdays off. And I’ve got an answering machine, so if you call in advance...”

“I’ll try not to miss you,” Sandy said. Then she scooted back her chair and stood up.

Terry got to his feet and pulled out his wallet. He searched it, frowning, then came up with a business card. “Need a pen. I’ll write my home phone number on the back.” He returned the wallet to his pocket, then turned around and reached for the sliding door. “This’ll just take me a second. Want to come in?”

“I’ll wait for you here.”

He rolled open the door and stepped inside. While he was away, Sandy ate a few more potato chips. Then she drank the melted ice water at the bottom of her glass.

Terry came out and handed the card to her. “My home number’s on the back.”

“Thanks.” She slipped it into a rear pocket of her jeans. “I’d better get going.”

Terry stepped toward the open door.

“I think I’ll go around the side.”

“This way’s shorter,” he pointed out.

“But it might take longer. You might decide to show me your bedroom and you might talk me into testing the bed.” Smiling, she shook her head. “No telling what might happen after that. And whatever does, it might take hours.”

“Whoa! Jeez!”

“And I’ve already been gone too long. So I’ll go this way.”

She picked up her shoes and walked toward the porch stairs.

“I’ll come with you.” He hurried down the stairs after Sandy. At the bottom, he caught up to her and took her hand. As they walked past the rear of the carport, he said, “Maybe we can get together longer next time. Maybe have a picnic on the beach or something. Maybe go in for a swim.”

“We’ll do something,” she said.

“It’s a pretty nice beach.”

“You’re a pretty nice guy.” She freed her hand, then slipped her arm across his back, low against the warm bare skin above his shorts. As she curled her hand against his side, he put his arm on her back. She felt his hand against her shoulder blade.

When they came around the front of the carport, she stopped to put on her shoes. Terry held her steady. Then she turned to him.

She was tall enough to look him straight in the eyes.

He gazed into her eyes for a long time as if he couldn’t get enough of them. And she gazed into his, wondering and hoping.

Finally, Sandy said, “I’ve gotta get going. Thanks for the drink and everything.”

“My time. Day or night. Feel free to...”

She darted forward, kissed him fast on the lips, then whirled around and hurried to her pickup truck. She was inside it with the door shut by the time Terry got to her.

He looked at her through the open window. “I’m going to miss you,” he said.

“You can’t miss me. We don’t know each other.”

“Oh. Okay. That’s good to know.”

“Anyway, you have The Sleeper to keep you company.” She twisted in her seat and leaned toward the open window and Terry’s face was there, sad as if she were already gone, but his mouth found her lips and kissed them with gentleness and longing and silent need.

When it was over, she backed her truck down his driveway to the road. She waved good-bye and he returned the wave and stayed there by the driveway, watching while she drove away.

Oh, God, she thought, I miss him already.

I can’t miss him. We don’t even know each other.

She had a strong urge to turn the truck around and go back.

Why not? Why the hell not? Eric’s probably romping around the woods, doesn’t even know or care that I’m not back yet.

But she kept on driving, heading for home.

Like a good little mommy.

Leaving behind the one and only man she’d ever felt this way about.

Felt what way?

What is it, love?

“I can’t be in love with him,” Sandy whispered. “I don’t even know him.”

I could remedy that.

She imagined herself making a U-turn and speeding back to his cottage.

She didn’t do it, though.

I’ll see him again soon enough, she told herself. Shouldn’t go rushing into anything. God knows, I’ve waited this long for a guy, I can wait two more weeks.

Chapter Thirty-four

BIG JOHN

“Man, you really missed out,” John said as Owen walked toward him. The big guy was standing on the sidewalk not far from the ticket booth, grinning and shaking his head. “Where were you, anyhow?”

“Taking a look around town. I checked out the museum.”

“Did that yesterday. Cool stuff in there, huh?”

“Yeah. But I’d always wanted to meet Janice Crogan. She owns it, you know.”

“Hey, what doesn’t she own in this town?”

“Anyway, I found a photography place that develops film in an hour. It’s just up the road a couple of blocks.” He glanced toward the ticket booth. Rhonda was behind the window, and Sharon was busy outfitting a family of five with tape players. “Let’s walk,” Owen said.

They headed north on Front Street.

“Did you get the pictures?” he asked.

“Ohhhh, yeah.”

“Dana, right?”

John grinned. “Got a whole bunch of Dana and some more of Lynn, too. But then you wouldn’t believe what happened. Really too bad you missed it, man. Wow.”

“You gonna tell me?”

“Sure. Why not? What are buddies for, huh?”

Buddies?

Oh, great, he thinks I’m his buddy.

“Okay. Here’s the thing. So I’m upstairs. I get our luscious sweet-hearts to pose for me, you know, and then I’m still hanging around and all hell breaks loose. Some little asshole gets away from his mom and she’s like ‘Oh my God, he’s been kidnapped! I’ll never see him alive again!’ Lynn, she’s gone by then. So it’s all up to Dana, you know? She goes running up the hall to see what’s wrong. You oughta see her run, man. She’s got these tits on her, and...”

“Hey.”

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry. But she does. You oughta see ’em when she runs.”

“Cut it out!”

John laughed. “Anyway...So then there’s this girl, she saw the missing brat hightail it up the attic stairs.”

“He wasn’t kidnapped after all, huh?”

“Nope, just thought he’d visit the attic. Which is off limits, you know.”

“I know.”

“So Dana, she goes up to get him and all of a sudden the kid lets out this scream like he just bumped into Freddie Krueger or something. I can’t see too much on account of all these rubber-neckers around the door, but I hear the kid yelling that something’s after him. Next thing you know, out Dana comes carrying him.”

“Carrying him?”

“Yeah! Like she’d snatched him off his feet. Had him hugged like this.” John demonstrated with his arms. “There’s an idea for you, pal. Run up into the attic, maybe she’ll carry you down.”

“I’ll be sure to do that. Was the kid okay?”

“Sure. He was fine. Just scared shitless. But then, get this. Dana, she’s looking the kid over and all of a sudden the mom hauls off and whacks him across the face. Which really pisses off Dana. Next thing you know, she’s yelling at Mom for hitting the kid, and the gal hocks one on her.”

“She spit on Dana?”

“Yeah! Man, you should’ve seen it. A big old gob. Lands on her shirt. Right here.” He pointed at his own shirt, just above the pocket. “Note how I’m not saying word one about it being on her tit.”

“Very decent of you.”

“Anyway, so Dana grabs her and pins her to a wall and pukes on her.”

“What?”

“She upchucked all over the gal.”

Owen grimaced.

“Man, it was awesome! God only knows what Dana’d been eating, but...”

“That’s okay,” Owen said. “You don’t have to go into it.”

“Whatever it was...”

“Hey!”

“All right, all right. Sorry.”

“So what happened after she threw up on the mother?”

“That’s when the reenforcements showed up. Lynn, Sharon and some guy...”

“Must’ve been Clyde.”

“Yeah. So Sharon and Clyde, they escort mom and the kid out of the house. I heard ‘em say something about cleaning her up. Man, you should’ve seen her. She was dripping puke all down the hall.”

“What happened to Dane?”

“Well, Lynn shut the attic door and kept people away from the mess. While she was doing that, Dana went off and came back with a mop and stuff. Then Lynn sort of directed traffic while Dana took care of the mess.”

“Don’t they have a janitor?”

“Nah. Lynn takes care of everything. She’s Janice Crogan’s daughter, you know that’”

“hurl? Really?”

“Her step-daughter,” John explained. “She’s married to Lynn’s dad.”

“I had no idea.”

“And Janice is away on a trip...”

“I knew that.”

“So L^ynn’s in charge of the whole works till she gets back.”

“How do you know all this stuft?”

John shrugged. “Been around a couple of days. And I pay attenlion. I keep my eyes open. I listen. People say stuff. You put two and two together.”

“What do you know about Dana?”

“Has a weak stomach.”

“Very funny.”

“Doesn’t like it if you hit kids.”

“I’ll try to restrain myself around her.”

“Great set of hooters.”

“Stop that.”

“She’s living with Lynn.”

“How do you know?” Owen asked.

“Saw them drive in together this morning.”

“I saw that, too. Doesn’t mean they live together. Maybe they car pool, or...”

“Well, I also heard some things.”

“Like what?”

“Like Dana has some kind of hot date tonight.”

The news gave Owen a sick feeling.

“They were talking about Lynx picking her up later and bringing her home. Home being Lynn’s place. So obviously they’re living together.”

“She has a date?”

“Buck up, little buckeroo.” John slapped his shoulder. “At least she’s not a Lesbo.”

“Who’s she seeing?”

“Didn’t catch that part. All I know is, he’s a guy. And it sounds like Dana hasn’t gone out with him before.”

Is it me? Owen suddenly wondered. Did John overhear them talking about a date with me?

No way!

But we did have that nice talk this morning, Owen reminded himself. And Dana did seem to like me. A little, at least. Maybe. Thought I was a jerk for ditching Monica, but her eyes got wet when I said that stuff about how she was everything a guy could ever want.

I touched her. I moved her.

And I promised not to bother her...unless she wanted me to. Joking like. But she didn’t take it like a joke. She said she would think about it.

And she asked where I’m staying tonight!

My God, Owen thought. Maybe she does plan to see me.

I might be the hot date!

But I told her I’d be at the Welcome Inn. I’ve gotta get over there.

What if they don’t have any vacancies?

He checked his wristwatch.

Almost two o’clock.

“What’s up?” John asked. “Wishing you were the lucky guy?”

“Sort of.”

“Don’t waste your time, pal. Guys like you and me, we’re never the lucky guy. Not when it comes to babes like Dana or Lynn. They got a word for guys like us.”

“What’s hat?”

“Losers.”

“Speak for yourself.”

John laughed. “Only one way you’d ever stand a chance with a gal like Dana—knock her out and tie her up.”

“You’re disgusting.”

He laughed again and said, “Truth hurts.”

“Fuck you.”

“Wanta?”

Owen snarled at him.

Laughing, John reached over suddenly and pinched his nipple.

Owen yelped “Ouch!” and swatted his hand away.

“Not much up top,” John said.

“Leave me alone!”

“Aw, that didn’t hurt you.”

“Did, too.” Owen stopped at the curb. On the other side of the street was the photo shop. “Just keep your hands to yourself, okay?”

“If you say so. Is that the place?” John asked.

“Yeah. Is your roll finished?”

“Yep.” He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a black plastic canister. “I’m all reloaded and everything.”

They crossed the street and entered the shop.

A man behind the counter looked up at them. He had no hair or eyebrows. He was too tall, too thin. He looked as if he’d been grabbed at each end and stretched by someone playful and malicious. “Help you?” he asked.

“We’d like to get some film developed,” Owen said.

John set the container on top of the glass counter. The man picked it up, opened it, and dumped the roll of film into his hand. His fingers were nearly twice as long as Owen’s. “Uh-huh,” he said. “Twenty-four color prints. I can take care of that for you.”

“We’d like two copies of each,” Owen said.

“Better make it four,” John said.

“Four?” Owen asked.

“Two for us, two for the girls.” Grinning, he said, “I promised ‘em.”

“That’s okay.”

“Four copies each?” the man asked. “That’ll run you.”

“That’s okay,” Owen said. “When can we pick them up?”

“When do you need them?”

“The sooner the better, I guess.”

The man glanced over his shoulder at the wall clock. Though mounted above a door, it was nearly level with his head. “I’d say I can likely have them done for you before closing time.”

“When’s that?” Owen asked.

“Six o’clock.”

“Ihat’s four hours,” John pointed out, glowering at the man. “Your sign says one hour developing.”

“You want four copies?”

“You telling me it takes four times as long?”

The man’s thin lips pressed together tightly and curled up at each end. “Might,” he said. “Might take longer. But I close at six, either way.”

“Six’ll be fine,” Owen told him, trying to sound especially friendly and sincere. “Really. We’ve got no problem with that. My friend’s a trouble-maker.”

“I ‘spent he is,” the man said.

Owen hauled out his wallet and removed a fifty-dollar bill. “I’d be glad to pay in advance.”

The man eyed the bill. He nodded as if agreeing with himself about a matter of little importance. “No need for that,” he said. “Come in here around five, maybe I’ll have ’em done for you by then.”

“Thanks. Thank you.”

Outside, John patted Owen on the back and said, “Well done, young fella.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Looks like we have some time on our hands. So, what’ll we do for the next three hours?”

“I don’t know,” Owen said. He crossed the street, John by his side, and headed south.

“Wanta go back to Beast House and scope out the babes for a while?”

“Not really.”

“What do you wanta do?”

“Actually, we don’t really need to... We could, like, each do our own thing and meet back at the photo shop at five.”

John laughed. “Trying to get rid of me?”

“No, but...I could use some time by myself.”

“What for?”

“Maybe I’d just like to be alone for a while.”

“So you can go to your room and freshen up?”

“I don’t have a room.”

“Ah! Okay. I get it. You need to find yourself a place to stay tonight, am I right?”

“I thought I’d drive around and see what’s available.”

“Good deal. Might I suggest the Welcome Inn? Best place in town. Plus it has all that history. I fully intended to stay there myself before my fucking radiator exploded. Get a room with two beds, and I’ll keep you company.”

Owen grimaced. “I really don’t want a roommate, John.”

“Sure you do.”

“No. I don’t. Really.”

“Come on. I’ve been sleeping in my car, man. It’s been a week since I took a shower. Anyway, it won’t cost you hardly anything. These motels, they charge you pretty much the same for two people as one.”

Owen shook his head.

“Come on, man. Do a guy a favor.”

“I’d like to have some time by myself.”

“You can have that any old time. I’m not asking you to marry me. Besides. You and me, we make a good team. You can use me. Look how I took those pictures for you.”

“I’m giving you a hundred dollar ticket for them.”

“But you’d never have the guts to take ’em like that yourself. You need a guy like me around. I can do stuff for you. I’ll do anything, man. Please.”

I’m never gonna get rid of this guy!

“I tell you what,” Owen said. “I want some time by myself.”

“Hey, but...”

“Listen! I don’t like all this pressure. If you want to use my room tonight, give me a little space. Right now, I want to get in my car and drive over to the motel—by myself. They might not even have any vacancies. And the more time I waste arguing with you....”

“Okay, okay. Go. I’ll find something to do without you.”

“Good. We’ll meet at the photo shop at five. After we get the pictures, I’ll let you know about tonight.”

John raised his hand. “See you there.” He stopped walking. They were still a half a block from the entrance to the Beast House parking lot.

“Fine,” Owen said.

“Fine. Go.”

“Okay.” Owen turned away from him and resumed walking.

He had an urge to look back, but he resisted it.

“Hey, Owen?” John called.

He looked around.

“Don’t forget it’s a midnight tour. You’d better get reservations for tomorrow night, too.” He held up two fingers and smiled rather sadly.

He was still standing in the same place on the sidewalk a few minutes later when Owen pulled out of the parking lot in his rental car and swung right onto Front Street.

John looked like a big, abandoned kid.

Owen slowed down and pulled over. He pushed a button to lower the passenger window. “Okay,” he called. “Come on.”

Crouching to see inside, John shook his head. “Thanks. But a deal’s a deal. You go on ahead and make your reservations. I’ll find something else to do till five.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. You don’t need me hanging around all the time.”

“Okay. See you later, then.”

“See you, pal.”

Owen drove on. In the side mirror, he saw John standing on the sidewalk, watching him.

Not such a bad guy.

The beeping alarm on his wristwatch woke Owen up. He was lying on top of a bed. The room was almost dark, but a strip of sunlight came in through a gap where the curtains didn’t quite meet.

Still on his back, he raised his arm.

The luminous numbers on his wristwatch showed 4:30.

He shut off the alarm.

But he didn’t get up.

No big hurry, he thought. It’ll only take five or ten minutes to drive over to the photo shop.

I could even skip it.

No law says I have to go and pick up the pictures. I can just stay here. That’d be the end of my troubles with John, at least for today. Deal with him tomorrow.

Besides, what if Dana calls while I’m gone?

Turning his head, Owen looked at the telephone.

She might call any second.

She probably won’t call at all, he thought. She wouldn’t go out with a guy like me. Her date’s with somebody else. A strong, handsome, suntanned jock.

Anyway, if she does call, the front desk will take a message.

Maybe she’ll just drop in.

He imagined her stepping up to the door of his motel room and knocking on it. In his mind, she was wearing her guide uniform. A couple of the top buttons were unfastened. “Just thought I’d drop by and see how you’re doing, Owen.”

“Would you like to come in?”

“Thought you’d never ask.” She stepped into his room and wrapped her arms around him and pulled him against her body. “I know we just met,” she said, “but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about...”

Someone knocked on the door of Owen’s room.

He bolted upright, his heart suddenly thudding.

It can’t be Dana, he thought as he scurried off the bed.

No way. That sort of thing just doesn’t happen. Not to me.

Maybe this once...

He jerked open the door.

“Hey, pal, how’s our room?”

“What’re you doing here?”

“Look what I’ve got.” John held up a bag. “Mr. Cucumber got done with the pictures early, so I saved us both some time and picked ’em up.” He stepped into the room. “They cost me down to my last nickle, pretty near. But I figure you’ll reimburse me. Too bad you couldn’t get a room in the old wing.”

“They were all full.”

“Yeah, bet they go fast. Everybody wants to be in the section where stuff really happened. Guess we were lucky to get anything.” this was the last room available,” Owen said.

“I know, I know. I saw ’em turn on the No Vacancy sign right after you went in the office.”

“What the hell did you do, follow me?”

“Shit, no. You told me you were coming here. I just hopped into my buggy and sailed on over. Wanted to see if you’d get us a room.” A grin suddenly spread across John’s face. “And which one,” he added.

“Real nice.”

“But please note, I did not disturb you. I allowed you your space.”

“Yeah. Thanks a lot.”

John spread the curtains wide, and afternoon sunlight flooded the room.

“Not bad, not bad. A queen and a single, huh? Who gets the queen?” He sat down on the queen-sized mattress and bounced.

“I do.”

“I’m bigger than you. Don’t you think I should get the bigger bed?”

“No. I’m paying. And what makes you think I’m going to let you stay?”

“What’re you gonna do, throw me out? If you throw me out, I take these with me.” He reached into the bag and pulled out an envelope thick with photographs. “I’ve already taken a peek. They’re hot. That Dana, she’s a babe and a half.”

“Let me see.”

“Who gets the queen?”

“Oh, for the...”

“I can always leave.”

“You really are a jerk.”

“I’m the jerk with guts enough to take photos of your secret honey.”

“Okay. Fine. You win. Take the queen.”

“Thank you.”

Chapter Thirty-five

WARREN’S PLACE

“You’re out of uniform,” Warren said as he met Dana in front of the ticket booth.

“Had a little mishap.”

“So I heard.” He smiled at her. For a moment, she thought he might reach out and take her hand. But he didn’t. “Sounds like the gal deserved what she got,” he said.

“Well, I didn’t exactly premeditate the attack. Talk about embarrassing . I wanted to crawl in a hole. And then the gift shop was out of my size. They were out of most sizes, for that matter.” She looked down at her huge, flapping T-shirt. It drooped over her shoulders. It hung down low enough to cover her shorts when the wind wasn’t flinging and lifting it. “I know I’m big, but this thing would fit Jabba the Hutt.”

“Looks good,” Warren said.

“Well, thanks.”

“Ready to go?”

“Sure.”

Staying by Warren’s side, she stepped to the edge of Front Street. Traffic was coming from both directions. Warren’s head turned from side to side as if he were watching a tennis match.

Glancing Dana’s way, he caught her looking at him. He smiled.

Then came a break in the traffic and they hurried across.

They stopped just short of the high, chain link fence in front of the Kutch property.

Dana stared at the house.

“Have you ever been in there?” she asked.

“Not in the house itself. I’ve trespassed on the grounds, though. I was hoping to get a look inside.”

“No windows.”

“I knocked on the door.”

“You knocked?

“Oh, yeah. I thought maybe I’d introduce myself to Agnes. I brought her a bouquet of flowers.”

“That was nice.”

“Well, you know. All women are supposed to love flowers. Agnes Kutch is apparently nuts, but she’s still a woman. Thought I’d try to win her over and maybe she’d give me a tour of her house. But she wouldn’t open the door. She doesn’t open it for anyone.”

“I’ve heard she’s sort of a recluse.”

“Sort of. It’s like she’s hiding in there. She has a remote system for opening the gate of her driveway. Whatever she needs, she orders it by phone and has it delivered. See how the porch is all enclosed? They leave the stuff inside and she gets it after they’ve gone.”

Warren turned away. Dana stayed with him. Together, they walked along the sandy patch between Front Street and the fence. “She can’t stay in the house all the time, can she?”

“Looks like she does.”

“She must pay her bills somehow.”

“Janice pays them. Everything is billed to Janice.”

“So, does Janice ever see her?”

Warren shook his head. “Not in the past four or five years. Nodody has.”

“How creepy.”

“Well, you can’t really expect someone like Agnes to be normal. When you think about what she’s been through.”

“You’re probably right about that,” Dana said.

“Amazing she survived,” Warren said. “Here. Up this way.”

They headed to the left up a narrow lane of asphalt. The road was cracked and pitted. Grass and dandelions grew in some of the fissures.

“Going nuts was probably her way of coping with it,” Dana said.

“I guess you either go nuts or kill yourself.”

As they walked along, Dana looked over at the Kutch house.

She imagined a withered, hunched old crone lurching through its blue-lit rooms. “What kind of life could she have in there? What does she do all day?”

“God knows,” Warren said.

“Glad Idon’t.”

“An advantage of not being God.”

“I wonder if she’s got a T.V.”

“Last time Janice was inside, she didn’t.”

“And all the lights are blue?”

“I thought...”

“They were blue. Back when everything happened. But Agnes switched over to red lights a year or so later.”

“I hadn’t heard about that. Do you think she was trying to cheer the place up?”

Laughing softly, Warren shook his head. “If that was the idea, I guess it didn’t work. Janice said it was like looking at the world through blood-colored glasses.”

“You’d think she would’ve appreciated the change.”

“Janice? You’d think so, but she didn’t.”

“I can’t even imagine her going into the Kutch house. After what happened to her in there?”

Warren met Dana’s eyes, then quickly looked away and said, “Neither can I”

For a while, they walked up the lane in silence. Dana heard the squeals of seagulls. The wind hissed through the nearby trees.

It seemed to be blowing much stronger as they neared the ocean. It flung Dana’s hair. It pricked her legs with flying sand. It flapped her T-shirt, sometimes pressed the thin fabric against her body, other times blew underneath it and billowed it out. Once, the wind flung her T-shirt up as if to show Warren her bra. While the shirt was up, sharp bits of sand blasted against Dana’s belly. She pulled her T-shirt down, then switched the purse strap to her other shoulder so it crossed her chest like a bandolier. The wind was no match for the leather strap.

“Would you like to go to the beach for a while?” Warren asked. “Or straight to my cabin?”

“How about your cabin?”

“Good idea. Awfully windy today.”

“I noticed.”

When they came to a long row of rural mailboxes, Warren opened one and pulled out a handful of envelopes and catalogs.

He shut it, then nodded to the right at a side road. Narrow and unpaved, the lane stretched off into a shadowy, wooded area. “This way,” he said.

The trees kept most of the wind out. Dana could feel the heat again. The road, dim with shadows, was littered with bright dabs of sunlight. Pine needles crunched softly under her shoes. The air smelled of Christmas trees.

“I like it in here,” she said.

“It’s not L.A., is it?”

“Makes me wonder why I live there.”

“Why do you?”

“I don’t know. I grew up in L.A. My parents live there. Most of my friends, too. I’ve thought about moving away, but...there’s so much I’d miss. Earthquakes, riots, fires, floods, the late-night crackle of gunfire.”

Warren laughed.

“I really do like the restaurants and movie theaters. And the beach.”

“I hear you’re a life guard.”

“I’ve been a life guard.”

“Just like Bay Watch, huh?”

Grinning, she said, “Oh, yeah. It’s me and Mitch. Actually, my life guarding has mostly been confined to swimming pools.”

“You didn’t feel like doing it this summer?”

“I liked the idea of coming up here. And I hadn’t seen Lynn in a while.”

“Well, she has a pool. You can life guard her.”

“Right! She needs it.”

She really might need it, Dana suddenly thought. She’ll probably go out there tonight with or without me, no matter who might be lurking around.

What if something happens to her?

“You really do need to keep an eye on her,” Warren said. “She’s...maybe a little too daring for her own good.”

“Oh, yeah, I know. More guts than sense.”

“Here’s my place.” He nodded toward a log cabin off to the left. It had a screened-in porch along the entire front, and a large stone chimney at one end. Sunlight coming down through the trees dappled the cabin and yard with gold. The yard was forest floor: pine needles and cones, twigs, rocks, saplings and scattered trees.

“It’s like a vacation cottage,” Dana said.

“If you’re having a really cheap vacation.”

“I think it’s nice,” Dana said, following Warren toward the porch.

“I like it. But wait till you meet my neighbors. The Seven Dwarfs live over that way.” He nodded to the right. “And over there...” He pointed at a bleak-looking cabin some distance to the left. “That’s where my buddy Ed lives. Ed Gein.”

“Oh. Charming. You’ll have to introduce us.”

“I don’t know. Ed’s sort of a loner.”

“Ah, but I bet he’d like me.”

“He’d love you.”

“With mustard and relish?”

Warren’s head swung around. He looked surprised and delighted. “You’re bad,” he said.

“You’re the one who brought up Ed Gein.”

“He doesn’t really live there.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Warren trotted up the porch stairs. He pulled open the screen door and held it for Dana.

Before entering, she paused and said, “I’m not on the menu here, am I?”

“You’re safe with me.”

“Okay, then.” She stepped through the doorway, then moved out of the way to let Warren by. He fumbled with a load of keys, chose one, and unlocked the cabin’s main door.

“You mean to tell me that you keep your door locked? In a bucolic place like this?”

“When you’ve got Ed Gein on one side and the Three Stooges on the other...”

“The Seven Dwarfs.”

“Oh. Right.” He opened the door. “Come on in.”

Dana followed him into the cabin. Straight ahead, on the other side of the living room, was a picture window bright with sunlight. A couch was facing it. She stepped around the couch and walked up to the window.

Behind the house, the woods continued for twenty-five or thirty feet. But there were few trees. Through the spaces between them, Dana could see down to the beach. The surf was rolling in. A man, looking very haggard, was jogging near the water.

Warren came over and stood beside her.

“Great view,” she said.

“Look at the fog out there.”

It lay spread across the ocean, far out, thick and pure white in the sunlight.

“Think it’ll come in?” Dana asked.

“Hard to say. Sometimes, it just stays offshore all night.”

“Must look great in the moonlight.”

“Oh, it does. Stick around long enough and you’ll get to see it. Either out there, or up close and personal.”

“That’d be nice,” Dana said. “I’m not sure how long I can stay, though. I’m a little nervous about leaving Lynn by herself.”

Warren looked concerned. “Is something wrong with her?”

Should I tell him? Dana wondered. What if be’s the prowler.

Not likely.

“Somebody was hanging around outside the house last night.”

And inside it this morning?

“Like a prowler?” Warren asked.

“I guess. We were in the hot spa and Lynn saw him. He was apparently hiding in the bushes on the other side of the swimming pool.”

“Did she recognize him?”

“All she saw was his arm, I guess. A bare arm.”

Warren grimaced. “What’d you do?” he asked.

“Ran into the house and locked the door. Lynn phoned the police. Then we kept an eye on things till a cop showed up.”

Why didn’t I tell him about the gun?

He doesn’t need to know everything, she thought. He sure seems like a nice guy, but...

“Which cop?” Warren asked.

“Eve Chaney.”

“Ah-ha! Eve of Destruction! What’d you think of her?”

“Very impressive.”

“Yeah. I’ll say. I’d sure hate to get on her bad side.”

“Having seen her,” Dana said, “I don’t think she has a bad side.”

“That isn’t exactly what...”

“I know. But she sure is a good looking woman, isn’t she?”

“She’s not bad.” Warren hesitated, then said, “But you’re better looking than she is.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“I do.”

“Well...Thanks.”

He gazed into her eyes.

Her heart thumped hard and fast.

“Anyway,” Warren whispered, “that’s my opinion. For what it’s worth.”

“It’s worth plenty. To me.”

He glanced at her lips, then met her eyes again.

Come on, do it. Don’t just look.

“I bet you could use á drink,” he said.

Damn!

“Sure. Sounds good,”

“Do you like margaritas?”

She nodded.

“Why don’t you relax in here and enjoy the view? I’ll get changed , real fast. Then I’ll make the drinks and bring ’em in.”

She watched Warren hurry off to a bedroom. After he shut the door, she set down her purse and sank onto the couch.

She sighed deeply.

Take it easy, she told herself.

But he didn’t even make a try! He should’ve kissed me right then. What’s wrong with him?

He’s a gentleman, she thought.

Or maybe he is gay.

Maybe it’s something wrong with me.

When the door opened, Dana looked over her shoulder. Warren came out of his bedroom. His tan uniform was gone. He now wore sandals, white trousers and a bright, flower-patterned shirt. Loose and untucked, the shirt floated around him like silk.

“Drinks coming up,” he said, hurrying toward the kitchen.

“Mind if I join you?”

“Help yourself.”

Dana followed him into the kitchen. “You got all dressed up,” she pointed out.

“I hate to stay in my work clothes. By the end of the day, they always smell like burgers and fries.”

“I’d think that would be nice.”

“It gets old.” He removed some bottles from a cupboard. “Anyway, you were telling me about your prowler?”

“Oh, yeah. Well, Eve went hunting for him around the other side of the pool, but he got away. She found where he’d been, though. He’d trampled the area pretty good. She figured he must’ve been spying on us.”

“I don’t like the sound of that.”

“Neither did we.”

Warren set the bottles on the counter, then turned around to face her. “Some kind of peeping Tom?”

That’s one of the possibilities.”

“No wonder you’re worried. Any ideas at all about who it might be?”

She shook her head. “Clyde?”

Laughter burst out of Warren. He looked surprised by it, himself.

Dana started laughing with him. When she stopped, she said, “You don’t think Clyde is a likely suspect?”

“It isn’t that. I wouldn’t put anything past him. It’s just that he’s such a jerk. And he’s the first name out of your mouth.”

“Anyway,” Dana said, “we don’t have any reason to suspect him except for the fact that he is such a jerk. And he’s shown some interest in me at work.”

“I bet he’d love to get his hands on you.”

“He’d better not hold his breath.”

Warren turned away and continued preparing the drinks.

“He isn’t my type,” she said.

“Then you’re the exception. Most women find him irresistable.”

“So I’ve heard. Personally, I find him creepy.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“We don’t really think he’s our prowler, though. He doesn’t seem like the type to sneak around and spy on people.”

“You have to be careful of him, though.”

“Oh, I am. But it’s this prowler who has me worried. I mean, there’s no telling what he might try. And I just know Tuck’s going to...”

“Tuck?” Warren turned around.

Oh, no!

“Lynn.”

“You called her Tuck?”

“She’s gonna kill me.”

A smile spread across Warren’s face. “As in Friar Tuck? Robin Hood and his merry men?”

“As in a lot of stuff. It’s short for Tucker. I’ve always called her Tuck, but she didn’t want me to say it around any of you guys.”

“Why not? I think it’s cute.”

“She used to have trouble with people making fun of it. A lot of trouble. It rhymes with a certain something.”

“That might cause problems.”

“Maybe you could pretend I never said it.”

“I suppose that’s possible. What’ll you give me to keep my mouth shut?”

“What do you want?” Dana asked.

He glanced at her lips.

Here we go again, she thought as her heart quickened its pounding.

“Could I try on your lipstick?” he asked.

NO!!!

She supposed her shock must’ve showed.

Smiling, Warren said, “Plant it on me with your mouth.”

Chapter Thirty-six

SANDY’S STORY—July, 1992

She couldn ’t wait two weeks.

She couldn’t wait two days.

She could barely last overnight, tossing and turning in her bed, her mind in a turmoil, her body feverish as she wondered and hoped and worried.

In the morning, she woke up naked under her twisted sheet.

She was surprised to realize that she must’ve been asleep. Raising her head and looking down at herself, she had to smile.

Just like The Sleeper. But sweaty and messy, skin flushed, creased here and there from wrinkles in the sheets.

Not a pretty sight, she thought. Good thing Terry can’t see me now.

But she suddenly wished that he could. Wished he were here in the room with her right this minute.

I could be at his place in a couple of hours.

The notion shocked her with its urgency.

Why not!

She squirmed and stretched on the bed, then climbed off.

Her nightgown was on the floor. She vaguely remembered sitting up in the middle of the night, breathless and soaked with sweat, pulling the nightgown up over her head and throwing it aside.

She picked it up. It still felt damp.

At the sound of a grunt, she turned her head and saw Eric standing in the bedroom doorway. He smiled and raised a hand.

“Morning there, hotshot,” she said. “I picked up something special for breakfast yesterday. You want to hang around for it? I’ll just be a few minutes. I have to take a shower.”

He nodded. But he stayed in the doorway, staring at her.

“What?” she asked.

With a shrug, he turned around and wandered away.

She tossed her nightgown into the hamper, then headed for the bathroom.

Why did he look at me that way? she wondered.

She glanced down at herself.

Sure, she was naked. But that was nothing new. She often went around without anything on, and Eric himself never wore clothes. It had always been that way. It seemed perfectly natural.

So why did be stare at me like that?

Maybe I do look different, she thought. She entered the bathroom and studied herself in the mirror. Her smoothly tanned skin had a more rosy look than usual. She must’ve picked up a little too much sun yesterday in spite of her sun block. That happened fairly often, but...

Was Eric suspicious?

Maybe he noticed the extra color and didn’t understand how she managed to get it while buying groceries.

Or was it something else?

Could he tell, by looking, that she’d met Terry yesterday and...?

She swept the shower curtain aside and found blood stains in the tub.

“Eric!” she yelled. “Get in here!”

He showed up quickly and offered a nervous smile.

“What’s this?” Sandy pointed into the tub.

Eric groaned.

“How many times have I asked you to clean out the tub after you’re done? Especially after you’ve slaughtered some damn thing?”

Looking miserable, he shrugged.

“I mean, man! Don’t you think it’s high time for you to start cleaning up your own messes? You’re thirteen! I’ve got better things to do than waste my whole life cleaning up after you!”

Eric whimpered and lowered his head.

Something seemed to crumble inside Sandy. “Oh,” she said. “Hey.” She hurried over to him, wrapped her arms around him and drew him against her. “I’m sorry,” she said. She gently stroked his back. “I’m sorry, honey. Mommy shouldn’t have yelled at you. Okay?”

He pressed his face against the side of her neck.

“Better?” she asked.

He sighed.

“I don’t like it when I have to yell at you, honey. But you need to learn to start cleaning up after yourself. You’re getting to be a big boy, you know? I don’t want people saying my big fellow’s a slob.”

The way he started to jiggle, Sandy knew he must be laughing. He did seem to understand so much. If only he could talk...

“You all better now?” she asked.

He sniffed and nodded.

“I’ll take care of the mess this time,” she told him. “But from now on, I want you to make a little more effort to clean up after yourself. Is it a deal?”

He grunted and nodded some more.

“Okay, then,” Sandy said.

She let go of him, but he still clung to her. “Okay if I take my shower now?”

He shook his head.

“What do you want?”

His hands began moving in big circles over her back, the way he did when he soaped her.

“Okay,” Sandy said. “You can come in with me. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

In the shower, they stood together under the hot spray.

Eric soaped her first, rubbing the slippery bar all over her body. Then she did the same for him.

After they’d rinsed all the soap off their bodies, Sandy shut off the water and Eric slid open the shower curtain. They climbed out. Eric handed a towel to her.

As she dried herself, Sandy said, “I need to go back into town this morning.”

Eric furrowed his brow.

“I know. I hate to leave you again so soon. I really should’ve taken care of this yesterday, but I sort of ran out of time.”

Not exactly a lie, she told herself.

Eric didn’t look pleased.

“Oh, don’t give me the sourpuss routine. Why does it even matter if I leave? You’re never around, anyway. And it’s not as if you’ll let me come with you. What am I supposed to do, just hang around the house all day and be here in case you happen to drop in?”

He scowled at her.

“Real nice,” she said. “Anyway, I have to go. I’m sure you’ll get along just fine without me.”

He growled.

“Hey!” she snapped.

Eric flinched at the sharpness of her voice. Glaring at her, he threw his towel to the floor. Then he whirled around and stomped out of the bathroom.

“Wait,” Sandy said. “Eric!”

He hurried down the hallway, feet thumping, claws clicking against the hardwood floor.

“I bought us some chocolate doughnuts yesterday!” she called.

Seconds later, she heard the front door slam.

“Shit”

She suddenly felt like crying.

She almost didn’t leave. But she wanted worse than ever to see Terry And what was the point in staying? Eric was nowhere to be seen. Though he might be hanging around to spy on her, he had probably run off sulking into the woods.

Ready to go, she went out to the pickup truck.

Yesterday, she’d found Eric waiting in the passenger seat as if eager for a ride.

Seeing the seat empty today made her throat feel tight.

“Eric?” she called toward the woods. “I’m sorry! Okay? Look, I’ll stay home if you really want me to. We’ll have the chocolate doughnuts. What do you say?”

She waited, listening, turning slowly and looking for him in the bushes and trees. He remained silent and hidden.

“If you don’t want me to go, you’d better come out.”

He didn’t come out.

Stepping up to the side of the pickup, Sandy tossed her beach blanket into the bed. Then she reached over the panel and set down the canvas bag in which she had packed her swimsuit, sun block, a couple of towels and a paperback novel.

“Last call, Eric!” she yelled. “I’ll stay if you want me to, but you’ve got to come out! I’m not staying home for you if you’re not going to be here!”

She waited, listened.

“No? Okay. See you later.”

She climbed into the truck, swung her purse onto the passenger seat, and started the engine. As she drove down the rough, unpaved road through the woods, she kept looking for him.

But he didn’t show.

She glanced at the place where Slade, Harry Matthews and Lib were buried.

I’m on my way to visit a cop?

Real smart.

If had a lick of sense, I wouldn’t get involved with anyone, much less a cop. I must be out of my mind.

I oughta turn around right now and go back to the cabin.

Instead of turning around, she drove to the gate.

I’ll go back to the house, all right, After I’ve seen Terry. Maybe not till after dark, if I get lucky.

As she unlocked the gate and swung it open, she thought about calling out one more time for Eric.

Why bother? He had his chances.

But she couldn’t help it. “Eric?” she shouted.

No answer.

Good!

In the pickup again, she drove through the open gate. Then she hopped out, shut the gate and locked it.

He made his choice, she told herself.

Back inside the truck, she drove slowly forward, bouncing and shaking her way down the shadowy tracks until she came to the edge of Pacific Coast Highway.

It was a little after nine o’clock when she turned onto Beach Drive. Nobody was stirring. Copies of the morning newspaper still lay on several lawns and driveways. She supposed that some of the residents had already gone to work for the day, while others weren’t yet up and around.

What if Terry isn’t up?

No big deal, she told herself. If he isn’t, he should be.

Just so he’s home.

His car was in his driveway. His newspaper lay on the grass in front of his porch.

Sandy stopped and shut off her engine.

What if he just got to bed? she wondered. What’s the graveyard shift, midnight to eight?

Ah, but this is Friday. He has Wednesdays and Thursdays off, so he wouldn’t have worked last night.

She put the keys in her purse and climbed out. Then she eased the door shut so that it hardly made any noise. She walked slowly around the front of her truck—and realized she was sneaking.

If I’m this afraid of waking him up, she thought, maybe I’d better just leave.

She could drive to the cafe, have a nice breakfast and come back in an hour or so.

Bending over, she picked up Terry’s newspaper. She carried it up his porch stairs and stopped in front of his door and stood there. She stared at the doorbell button, but didn’t reach for it.

What if I wake him up?

What if he’s not alone?

What if he’s actually married? She might’ve been at work yesterday when I was here.

Don’t be ridiculous, Sandy told herself. He’s not married.

For one thing, no wife is going to let a guy keep a painting like The Sleeper in his living room. And he wouldn’t want a steady girlfriend to see something like that, either.

He’s single and unattached, just like he said.

Trembling, heart thudding, Sandy raised her hand toward the doorbell button.

And stopped with her finger an inch away from it.

I can’t do this. He’s not expecting me. He’ll think I’m a nutcake. I’ll just go away and come back a little later.

She took a step backward, crouched, and gently placed his newspaper on the welcome mat. Then she turned around and started down the stairs.

This is the guy who ambushed me, she suddenly thought. Blew five thousand bucks on a painting of me. Tracked me to Blaze. Set me up. Climbed around on those rocks to meet me “by accident.”

And he’s gonna mind a surprise visit?

She turned around and climbed the porch stairs. Not pausing for an instant, she jabbed the doorbell button. Then she swooped down and snatched up his newspaper.

Though her confidence had returned, her calm hadn’t.

As she waited, she felt weak and trembly. Her heart pounded fast and hard. Underneath her loose shirt, drops of sweat dribbled down her sides. They ran all the way down from her armpits to her waist, cool and tickling.

From behind the door came a quiet sound of footsteps.

Oh, my God. He’s coming.

She took a deep, deep breath.

Calm down, calm down,

He opened the door.

“Your paper, sir,” Sandy said.

He looked stunned. He gaped at her.

“Ashley?” he whispered.

“At your service, sir.”

Grinning and shaking his head, he stepped backward. “Come on in.”

“Thanks.” She entered, and he shut the door.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” he said.

“I just happened to be dropping by.”

He laughed.

“I know it’s early,” she said. “I was afraid I might wake you up. Guess I did, huh?”

Grinning, he said, “I must look a fright.”

Sandy laughed. “You look perfect.”

His hair was mussed and he wore an old, faded blue bathrobe. He looked as if he’d outgrown it. The sleeves were too short and the front wouldn’t shut all the way across his chest. The edges didn’t meet until just above his waist, where the robe was held shut by his cloth belt.

“I did wake you up, didn’t I?” Sandy asked.

“Ask me if I mind.”

“Do you mind?”

“Oh, man, you’ve got to be kidding.” He grinned and shook his head. “So, would you like a cup of coffee, or something?”

“I’d like a kiss.”

“I thought you were going to make me wait two weeks.”

“I couldn’t wait.”

“What about your son?”

“He’s all right. He’s with my mother. All day.”

“All day?”

“Overnight, even.” She slipped the strap off her shoulder and lowered her purse to the floor.

“You can stay with me all day?” Terry asked.

“If you want me to.”

“Oh. Man.” Stepping forward, he put his arms around her. “Yes,” he said, and drew her in gently.

She tilted her head so their noses wouldn’t bump.

His mouth pressed against her parted lips.

His chest pushed against her breasts.

Still holding the newspaper, Sandy let it drop behind him. It hit the floor with a soft whop. She squeezed herself against him.

And suddenly she felt as if she were being drawn into a strange and wonderful place where she’d never been before.

Getting lost in it.

Oh my God, she thought.

Too soon, his mouth went away. He whispered, “Wow.”

“Wow yourself,” she told him.

“Now do you want some coffee?” he asked.

“No. But you go ahead and have some. If you’d rather have coffee than me.”

He seemed to groan and laugh at the same time. His body still jerking with the laughter, he planted his mouth on hers. Then he stopped laughing. His hands glided down her back, rubbing her through the slippery fabric of her silk blouse and skirt. He moaned as he caressed her buttocks. Then he eased his hands up beneath the tail of her blouse. They drifted slowly up her back, lightly touching her skin. As they roamed, she felt a hardness push against her through the front of her skirt.

His hands tried to come around.

She was pressed too tightly against him for that.

Though she didn’t want to move, wanted only to stay this way, Terry’s body warm and strong and hard, his mouth open and wet, she wanted too to feel his hands on her breasts and on her belly and everywhere else they wanted to go. So she released him and took a small step backward.

His hands, still under her blouse, came around beneath her arms and curled over her breasts. He sighed. He had a delirious look in his eyes. His mouth hung open. His lips and chin were shiny with spit.

His robe seemed to be wider open than before, but Sandy couldn’t see down very far. Her view was blocked by the bulging top of her blouse.

She watched the shapes of his hands under the silk as they explored her breasts.

Reaching up, she unbuttoned her blouse. She spread it open, slipped it off her shoulders, and shook it down her arms until it fell to the floor behind her.

Terry let go and stepped back and stared at her.

And she stared at him.

His cloth belt had come loose. The front of his robe hung open a few inches all the way down. He seemed unaware of it, though. He appeared to be transfixed by the view of Sandy. But then he must’ve noticed where her gaze was aimed. He glanced down at himself, made a quiet “Uh” sound, and started to shut the robe.

“Don’t,” Sandy said. “Don’t do that. Take it off.”

He closed his mouth. He wiped his lips with the back of one hand. Then, gazing into her eyes, he took off the robe and dropped it to the floor.

Just below his waist, his tan stopped. It started again partway down his thighs.

“Tum around,” Sandy said.

He raised his eyebrows.

“I want to look at you.”

“I’m just a regular guy,” he said, his voice shaking slightly.

“I haven’t seen that many.”

“Oh? Okay.” He turned around slowly. Though the curtains were shut across the glass wall behind him, plenty of light filtered in. Sandy stared at his profile, then at his back, and then at his other side as he continued to turn.

When he was facing her again, he said, “Want to take your skirt off?”

Smiling, she unfastened the button and zipper at the side of her skirt. The skirt fell, clinging to her legs until it came to rest around her ankles. She stepped out of it. Then she bent over. Standing on one leg at a time, she pulled off her sneakers and tossed them out of the way.

“Now you turn around,” Terry said. “I want to look at you.”

“I’m just a regular gal.”

“Not even close.”

She began to turn around very slowly.

Terry murmured, “God.”

Facing him again, Sandy whispered, “Come here.”

He stepped close to her. When he was a stride away, she motioned for him to halt. He stood there, arms at his sides.

Without looking down, she reached out and curled her fingers around him. He gasped and arched his back.

“You want to put this exactly where?” she whispered.

He sort of smiled.

“Here?” Sandy asked.

She took a step closer to him, pushing down gently at the stiffness with her hand. As her breasts touched his chest, she felt the rub between her legs. She let go and moved in more, feeling him press up against her. Kissing him, she squeezed her thighs together. He felt hot and thick between them.

His hands rushed feverishly up and down her back.

He writhed against her.

Huffing for air, he pulled his mouth away and gasped, “Bedroom?”

“Here.”

“Couch?”

“Here.”

His hands slid all the way down Sandy’s back and under her buttocks. Clutching her there, he pulled upward, spreading her cheeks so she felt cool air between them as he lifted. She went to her tiptoes. A moment later, her feet came off the floor and she opened her legs wide.

As he raised her, she felt her sweaty breasts slide against his sweaty chest, felt her slick belly slide upward against his slick belly, felt the thickness between her thighs follow her upward, pressing at her.

Then she could see over the top of Terry’s head.

She gazed at the bright curtains but didn’t really see them, didn’t really see anything because her world had become the feel of Terry’s penis down there touching her, nudging her open, delving.

She clutched the sweaty hair on the sides of his head.

Gasping and whimpering, she threw her own head back and stared at the ceiling.

Then he eased her downward.

He was all wet and slippery outside Sandy, stout and thick inside. Lowering her slowly, not thrusting himself but only lowering her very slowly as if to torment her by holding back, he pushed in, spreading her, climbing snugly higher and deeper. On her way down, she whimpered and kissed his eyes and his nose. And then he stopped lowering her.

“What?” she gasped.

“You...okay?”

“Huh?”

“Am I...hurting you?”

“No.”

“Should I stop?”

“No!” She cried the word out in such a loud, urgent voice that she shocked even herself.

Terry winched He grunted, “Ah.” Then his hands seemed to drop out from under her buttocks.

She plunged, letting out a yell of shocked delight as she rammed down and felt the full solid length of him shove its way up her. Then her groin bumped his. He was all the way in, all the way home.

“Yes!” Sandy whispered.

She locked her mouth against his.

Arms and legs wrapped around Terry as if she were climbing a tree, she pushed her tongue into his mouth, squirmed and moaned .

Terry, though no bigger than Sandy, held her and stayed in her and sank to a crouch. Then a hand moved to the center of her spine. Holding her, staying in her, he tipped her backward and lowered her onto the rug.

Sandy planted her feet on both sides of him.

He pulled nearly out of her and thrust back in.

Sandy arched her back, crying out.

Terry took his mouth away from hers. He raised his face It was dripping with sweat. “Did I...hurt you that time?” he gasped.

“No! God, no!”

“Are you sure?”

She saw a gleam of mischief in his eyes.

“Bastard,” she said.

He smiled. “Want me to stop?”

“No!” She laughed and sobbed. Then, as she blurted, “Stop fooling around... ”

Terry started to thrust.

“and fuck...”

The noise of exploding plate glass roared through the room.

“...me!”

Jammed in to the hilt, suddenly throbbing and squirting, Terry jerked his head toward the noise.

Sandy, head turning at the same instant, saw the curtain rush forward, bulging away from whatever was left of the glass wall behind it. Through the curtain, she could see a dark shape lurching in from the deck.

Almost the shape of a man.

But not a man.

“No!” she shrieked through the clamor of raining shards.

Terry shoved himself up and popped out of her, shooting semen onto her thigh. As he struggled to stand, Eric found his way out from under the curtain and flung it down.

He seemed to be bleeding all over. Pieces of glass jutted out of, his skin.

Spreading his arms, he roared at Terry.

And charged him.

“No!” Sandy shouted. “Don’t!”

Terry hurled himself at Eric.

“No!” Sandy shouted. “Stop it!” She lunged toward them, hoping to throw herself between them.

But it was happening so fast.

Everything was so fast except Sandy.

She felt as if she were running underwater or through a nightmare where she was only allowed to move in slow motion as she raced the distance of no more than six feet toward the gap between the man she loved and the son she loved. She reached out with both arms. She cried “No!” as she raced, but could hardly hear it through Eric’s roar of fury.

An image flashed through her mind of three kids racing toward each other hoping to catch the same high-hit baseball, all of them yelling, “It’s mine! It’s mine!”

Terry glanced at her and yelled, “Get back!” His arm darted out to hold her off.

Eric took a swipe, ripping off half his face.

Screaming, Sandy launched herself at Eric.

He clubbed her aside with a forearm. She staggered backward, flapping her arms.

Still on her feet, she saw Terry trying to run away.

Going to get his gun?

Eric bounded after him.

Then the front of the coffee table knocked Sandy’s feet out from under her. She flew backward. Her rump smacked the top of the table. Teetering, she slid on what felt like magazines. Then she tumbled off the other side and dropped into the gap between the table and couch, her head shoving at the couch, her legs kicking toward the ceiling, the edge of the table scraping a hot path down her back.

She stopped when the floor caught her behind the shoulders. Her head was jammed forward, her back curled, her rump off the floor, the side of the table propping up her legs, her feet in the air.

As she wheezed for breath, she heard Eric snarling and grunting.

“Eric!” she yelled. “Leave him alone.!”

She bucked and thrashed. The coffee table scooted. The couch scooted. In a frenzy, she twisted and kicked and squirmed, turning herself until at last she fell lengthwise into the gap, landing on her side with a floor-level view under the table to the middle of the room where Eric was hunkered down, his bloody snout buried in Terry’s groin.

A roar seemed to fill Sandy’s head.

She didn’t know where it came from, but obviously not from Eric: his mouth was full.

The roar went on as she stumbled to her feet and rushed out from behind the table and ran at him.

Sandy knew what she was doing.

But it seemed very much like someone else running toward the beast and the dead man.

Can’t be me. This can’t be happening.

Someone else throwing herself onto Eric, wrestling him away from Terry’s carcass.

Someone else under him, pinned to the floor, staring up at his bloody snout and fierce blue eyes.

Then someone else getting squeezed and sucked and gnawed on.

Then someone else sprawled under his powerful body, whimpering and trying to fight him off, her skin being cut by the glass shards embedded in his flesh as he squirmed and gunted and plunged.

Not me.

This can’t be happening.

Please.

Chapter Thirty-seven

SECRETS

Laughter exploded out of Dana when Warren said to plant the lipstick with her lips. But her laughing stopped as he came up close to her and put his arms around her and kissed her on the mouth.

He kissed her as if he’d been wanting to do it for a long time.

But he didn’t explore her with his hands, didn’t squeeze her tightly against his body. Dana leaned forward until her breasts touched his chest.

Then Warren stopped kissing her. He stared into her eyes.

She watched the way his eyes flicked back and forth.

“Where were we?” he whispered.

“Kissing.”

A smile spread over his face. “Yeah,” he said.

“You wanted to try on my lipstick.”

“I don’t think you’re wearing any.”

“I’m not.”

“I just wanted to kiss you.”

“That’s nice,” Dana said.

“It was nice.”

So let’s do it again, she thought.

Let’s not push him.

“It was very nice,” she said.

“We’ll have to try it again sometime.”

No time like the present.

“Anyway,” he said, “your secret is now safe with me.”

“What secret?”

“That you blurted out ‘Tuck.’”

“Oh. That’s right.”

“Never happened.”

“And if it happens again,” she said, “we’ll know how to handle it.”

“That’s right.”

“Tuck,” she said.

Warren put his arms around Dana and kissed her again. This time, his hands moved gently up and down her back. She could feel his body against her.

When the kiss ended, she whispered “Tuck” against his lips.

He kissed her harder, deeper. He pressed himself against her. His hands rubbed up and down her back.

But they wouldn’t come around to her front. They wouldn’t stray lower than the waist of her shorts. They wouldn’t slip under the back of her T-shirt.

So Dana put her hands under the hanging tail of Warren’s shirt and lightly caressed his buttocks and eased her hands higher until they found the smooth, bare skin of his back.

His mouth broke away from her.

“Tuck,” she whispered.

He stared into her eyes. His mouth was wet and shiny around the lips.

“Tuck,” Dana said again.

His head shook.

“Tuck?” she asked.

“Uhh...Maybe we oughta slow down.”

“That’s supposed to be my line,” Dana said.

“Sorry.”

“That’s okay. I wasn’t planning to use it, anyway.”

“Didn’t think so.” He smiled. Stepping back, he ran his hand across his mouth.

“Is everything all right?” Dana asked.

“Better than all right.”

“Are you sure?”

“Oh, yeah. But...I didn’t really expect to...you know...have things happen so fast.”

“I didn’t expect to like you so much,” Dana said.

“I’ve got an idea. Why don’t I go ahead and make the margaritas? Then we can sit around and have a few drinks and get to know each other a little better. How does that sound?”

“Sounds fine.” Maybe he’ll tell me what’s wrong. Something has to be wrong.

Maybe it’s my breath.

Maybe he’s secretly married.

Has a terminal illness.

Oh, God, don’t let it be anything terrible. Please. I really, really like this guy.

When Warren was done blending the margaritas, he filled two glasses and asked Dana to carry them.

“Where to?” she asked.

“How about the porch^? I’ve got a table out there.”

“Sounds good.”

“I’ll be along in a minute,” he said.

Dana carried the drinks to the porch. She found a small, wooden table at the far end. It looked clean, and had a red candle in the center. She set down the drinks.

Warren came in with a bowl of corn tortilla chips and a bowl of salsa.

They sat down on wicker chairs.

A mild breeze drifted in through the screens. Looking to her right, Dana could see through the trees to the ocean. The fog was still far out. She turned to Warren as he lifted his glass.

“To the prettiest girl I know,” he said.

“Thanks. To my favorite guy.”

They clinked the rims of their glasses together, then drank.

“Oh, this is really good,” Dana said.

“I made ’em Mexican style.”

“As opposed to?”

“U.S. restaurant-style. Be careful, though. They’re very strong.”

“I’ll drink slowly.”

Warren set down his glass. Smile fading, he looked Dana in the eyes. “You will stay for dinner, won’t you?”

“I’m invited, aren’t I?”

“I not only invited you, I ran home right afterwards to thaw out a steak and put it in marinate.”

“Can’t miss that. Unless you throw me out.”

“What about Lynn and the prowler?”

“Tuck?”

His smile returned. “Let’s not start that again.”

Dana smiled innocently and shrugged her shoulders. Then she said, “I think as long as I get back before very late.”

“Before dark?”

“Maybe not that early.”

“I tell you what. Just let me know.”

“When it is time to go, will you drive me?”

“That can probably be arranged.”

After pouring refills and adding a handful of chips to the bowl, Warren said, “I’d better get the fire started.”

“Can I come?”

“Sure. You want to bring my drink with you?”

“I’ll bring ’em both.” Dana stuffed a crisp, salty chip into her mouth, then got to her feet and picked up her glass and Warren’s.

Ever so slightly, the porch seemed to tilt.

“These babies are strong,” she said. “But deee-licious.”

Warren smiled back at her. At the far corner of the porch, he picked up a bag of charcoal briquettes and a tin of lighter fluid. He carried them to the screen door, bumped it open with his shoulder, and trotted down the stairs.

Dana followed him, moving slowly, being careful not to spill the drinks.

Just past the end of the porch, they stopped at a red brick fireplace. Warren removed the grill. Then he up-ended the sack of briquettes, sending black chunks tumbling out.

“This is like what they call a busman’s holiday,” Dana said.

“I guess so.”

“Here you’ve been slaving over a hot grill all day, and now you’re at it again.”

“Oh, I don’t mind. I enjoy it.” He set down the bag, arranged some of the briquettes by hand, then set the black iron grill into place.

“I hear you own the snack stand,” Dana said.

“That’s right.” He started squirting fluid onto the pile of briquettes.

“How did you go from Beast House guide to snack stand owner?”

He squirted out more and more fluid. It made the briquettes look wet and shiny, but only for a moment. No sooner did they get soaked than they appeared to be dry again. Dry, but a slightly darker shade of black.

“Well,” Warren said, “I had to get out of the guide business.”

“How come?”

Shaking his head, he set down the can. “The house. It finally got to me.” He reached into a pocket of his white trousers and pulled out a book of matches. “I just couldn’t go in anymore.” Crouching, he struck a match. Its head flared. He touched the flame to a briquette. Blue and yellow fire began to spread over the surface. He moved his match to another lump. Then another. Soon, the entire pile was bathed in a low, fluttering fire. “That should do it,” he said.

He stepped over to Dana and accepted his glass.

Standing side by side, they sipped their margaritas.

Dana took deep breaths. She smelled the ocean, the pine trees, and the warm scents of the barbeque. The odor from the barbeque was mostly burning fuel, she supposed. But it was a good, familiar aroma. It reminded her of fine times when she was a kid and her father cooked steaks on their backyard grill.

“If it doesn’t go out,” Warren said, “I should be able to throw on the meat in about half an hour.”

“Sounds good.”

“Want to go back into the porch?”

“I’d rather stay here. This is nice.”

“It is nice.”

“So,” Dana said. She sipped her drink. “Let’s see. Yesterday, you were telling me how you had this huge attraction to Beast House. Like you belonged there.”

“I did.”

“So what happened? All of a sudden, you just muldn’t go in?”

He nodded.

“How come?”

He shrugged, then took a drink. “The place suddenly got to me.”

“Got to you how?”

“Just... realizing that all those people had really died in there. That it wasn’t make-believe. I’d always thought of the place as...like a carnival funhouse. But then it all turned real in my head and I couldn’t stand to be inside it anymore.”

“What made that happen?”

He shrugged again. “Just happened,” he muttered. After another sip of margarita, he said, “Anyway, Janice didn’t want to lose me, so she offered me the snack stand.”

“She gave it to you?”

“It pretty much amounts to that. She gets a small percentage of the profits.”

“But you actually own it?”

“Right.”

“That’s pretty cool.” Dana sipped her margarita. Then she reached over and put a hand on his back. She moved it lightly, sliding the silk fabric against his skin. “So,” she said. “Now that I know you’re a big, successful business man, tell me your deepest, darkest secret.”

She couldn’t believe she’d asked.

“Do I have a deep, dark secret?” he asked.

“Oh, I bet you do.”

And maybe it’ll tell me why you stopped things in the kitchen. Any normal guy...

“What makes you think so?”

“Everybody has at least one deep, dark secret,” she said. “I want to know yours.” Her hand continued to roam his back.

“What’s yours?” he asked.

“I asked you first.”

“I wonder if the fire’s still going.”

Dana saw no flames, but that was normal. Warren stepped away from her and lowered an open hand close to the grill. “Yeah, it’s fine.”

“I’ll tell you mine,” she said.

He turned to face her, but stayed near the fireplace. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to. I want you to know me. Do you want to know me?”

“Yes.”

“Then I have to tell you my deepest, darkest secret.” Her heart was pounding fast. Her voice sounded as if it were coming from someone else.

“You don’t have to. You’re not completely sober.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

“Tomorrow, you might wish you hadn’t said anything.”

“No. I’ll tell you mine and you tell me yours.”

“I’m not sure this is such a great idea, Dana.”

“Hey,” she said. “After I tell you the worst, it’ll all be uphill. Everything about me’ll be better. Know what I mean?”

“I think you should wait till some other time.”

“No. Now’s...”

“I don’t even know your favorite color yet, and you wanta tell me...”

“Blue. Royal blue.”

“What’s your favorite song?”

“When I was fifteen, I had this terrible crush on my English teacher. Mr. Johnson. I I guess he was about thirty, and...”

“Don’t tell me this now. You’re half drunk, and...”

“Mr. Johnson had a wife.”

“I got attacked in Beast House,” Warren said.

“What?”

“About two years ago.”

“Oh, my God!”

She hadn’t expected this.

“How?” she asked. “What happened?”

He drank his glass empty and set it down on the fireplace.

“If I tell you, you’ve got to keep it a secret. You can’t tell anyone. Not even Lynn. Do you promise?”

This is serious.

“I promise,” Dana said. “But you don’t have to tell me.”

“Now you tell me.”

She smiled and almost sobbed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to force you into...”

“It’s all right. I’d have to tell you sooner or later. Might as well get it over with.”

“Are you sure?”

Nodding, he said, “What happened, we came up a couple of tape players short at closing time. Janice and I did a search of the house, but we couldn’t find anyone. She was pretty upset about it. We’d been having a lot of trouble with that sort of thing. Players missing. People staying overnight. Vandalism. I figured, this time, they wouldn’t get away with it. So I went in by myself at around midnight. Didn’t tell anyone. I just snuck in, figuring I’d probably catch a couple of teenagers, scare the hell out of them, then make them clean up whatever mess they’d made and throw them out.

“But I couldn’t find anyone. What I did find ... You know the iron door down in the cellar?”

“Yeah.” Dana lifted her glass and noticed it was empty.

“Can I get you a refill?”

“No. Thanks. What about the door?”

“You know how it’s always padlocked from the Kutch side?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, the padlock was off. It was down on the tunnel floor, and the door was ajar.”

“Jeez.”

“What I thought was, maybe these jokers had reached through the bars and picked the lock so they could go through the tunnel.”

“Pay a visit to old lady Kutch?”

“You bet. Everybody wants to see what it’s like inside her house.”

“Including you.”

“I used to,” Warren said. “And that night was my big chance. It was perfect. The lock was already off. I had a responsibility to find the intruders. They’d given me a great excuse in case I ran into Agnes at the other end.”

“And you did it? You went through the tunnel?”

“I never got the chance. I opened the door a little wider and bent down to pick up the lock, and...I guess I hadn’t been exactly alone down there. I got jumped.”

He unbuttoned his bright silk shirt and took it off.

Dana stared at the scars on his shoulders.

He turned around.

“My God,” Dana murmured.

The nape of his neck, his shoulders, his upper back...a tangle of scars as if he’d been mauled by a pack of raging cats.

He turned to face her again. Looking miserable, he said, “That’s why I...stopped things in the kitchen. You don’t want to just stumble onto a mess like this.”

Dana felt tears stinging her eyes, running down her face.

She went to Warren and set her glass on the fireplace beside his glass. She put her arms around him. “Tuck,” she said.

Before he had a chance to respond, she kissed him. Her hands glided up his bare back. She wanted to touch his scars, caress them, let him know they didn’t repel her.

Holding her by the sides, he pushed her gently away. He shook his head.

“What’s wrong?”

“Everything.”

“So you’ve got a few scars. I don’t...”

“These aren’t the worst of them.”

“I don’t care.”

“I do.”

“Show me?”

He stared into her eyes. His head jerked very slightly from side to side. “Nobody’s ever...I’ve never shown them to anyone. Just Janice. She...bandaged me afterward.”

“Can I see?”

He studied her eyes, but didn’t answer.

“I’ll have to see, sooner or later.”

“Why’s that?”

“Why do you think?”

“You tell me.”

“It’s customary to remove one’s clothes before making love.”

As she spoke those words, her face burned.

“We don’t have to,” Warren said.

“Which? Make love or remove our clothes?”

“Either. Both.”

“Don’t you wanta?”

“Of course I want to. Are you kidding? I haven’t...you know...I haven’t let anyone get near me, much less... I want you so badly...You’re all I’ve been able to think about since we met yesterday. But I just can’t...”

Reaching down with both hands, Dana started to unfasten his belt.

He clutched her wrists.

“No,” he said.

“It’s all right.”

“No, it’s not. If you knew...”

“I want to know. I want to know everything.”

“You just think you do.”

“Warren...”

“Trust me.”

“I never trust anyone who says ‘trust me.’”

“Okay. Okay.” He shoved Dana’s hands away, then turned around.

“Don’t be angry,” she said.

“I’m not. It’s just...” He shook his head. His arms moved, and Dana heard the jingle of his belt buckle.

“If you don’t want to do this...”

“I don’t,” he said. He bent over, pulling down his white trousers and his shorts in the same quick movement.

Dana gritted her teeth, but didn’t make a sound.

Warren straightened up and stood there.

His buttocks and the backs of his thighs looked as if they’d once been shredded by claws, gnawed on.

The sight made Dana feel squirmy.

“That isn’t so bad,” she said.

“It’s hideous.”

“What did it to you?”

“The thing that jumped me in the cellar.”

“But what?”

“What do you think?

“I don’t know.”

Warren pulled up his pants, fastened them, and turned around. His face looked grim.

“Do you think it was a bear?” he asked. “Maybe a bobcat? An escaped gorilla?”

“I don’t know. Tell me.”

“I’m not going to say it,” he told her.

“Why not?”

“I don’t want you thinking I’m crazy. Or a liar.”

“A beast did it?”

“Is that your best guess?”

“I guess so.”

“You don’t really believe in the beasts, do you?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Yeah. Maybe. There’ve been eyewitnesses.”

“Maybe they were nuts or drunk or lying about what they saw.”

“There were beast bodies.”

“I’ve never seen one, have you?”

“No, but...”

“Anyway, who’s to say they weren’t fakes?”

“I don’t think they were,” Dana said, staring into Warren’s eyes. “I think the beasts might’ve really existed. Lynn certainly believes in them. So does her father. And if they aren’t real, Janice is a liar.”

“Or crazy.”

“I don’t think she is. I don’t think you are, either. But the beasts...they’re all supposed to be dead.”

“I know.”

“They were all killed off in ‘79.”

A corner of Warren’s mouth tilted upward. “Were they?” he asked.

“It was a beast?”

“Maybe it was someone wearing a beast costume.”

“Was it?”

“Why do you think I haven’t stepped foot inside Beast House since the night it happened?”

“Oh, my God.”

“And there’s one other thing,” Warren said. “Whatever it was that ripped me up that night...it...it molested me.” He met Dana’s eyes. “It pinned me down on the floor of the cellar and...”

Dana hurried over to him and took him into her arms.

He hugged her tightly.

He began to cry.

“It’s all right,” she whispered, stroking his back. “It’s all right, honey. It’s all right. Everything’s fine.”

Chapter Thirty-eight

SANDY’S STORYJuly, 1992

Sandy knew something was wrong.

She hurt everywhere. She was lying on her back, but not on a bed. The hardness underneath her felt like a floor. A floor with a rug.

She felt as if someone had worked her over, inside and out. With a club. With teeth. With knives, maybe.

Then she remembered.

She opened her eyes and turned her head.

On the floor beside her were remains.

Terry. Oh, my God!

Grimacing and groaning as pains swarmed her from everywhere, Sandy sat up.

Parts of Terry were scattered around the room.

She started to sob.

It hurt very badly to cry.

Later, she forced herself to stand up.

Trying not to step on broken glass or pieces of Terry, she walked out of the room. She searched the cottage.

Eric seemed to be gone.

Of course he’s gone, Sandy thought. After what he did...

He must’ve run away.

She needed to go after him.

Find him fast.

Take him home.

Or kill him.

Look what be did to my Terry!

Look what be did to me!

Fucking monster!

But she couldn’t go searching for Eric like this.

She hurried into Terry’s bathroom and started the shower and stood under it. The hot spray burnt her wounds. Blood streamed down her body.

She realized this was her second shower of the day. The earlier one, she’d taken with Eric. He’d been so sweet, so gentle...

How could be do this!

Maybe be thought he was saving me. The same as he saved me from Slade. Thought he was doing a good thing.

She did have a vague memory of crying out “No!” once or twice. Listening from out on the deck, maybe he’d misunderstood and charged in to rescue her.

How did be get here in the first place?

In the bed of the pickup, she thought. No other way seemed possible. She was certain he hadn’t been there when she’d left the cabin or when she’d opened the gate. But maybe after she’d shut it. Maybe he’d been hiding in the trees, waiting for her to climb back into the driver’s seat and get the truck moving. Then he’d rushed over and leaped into the back. That section of road was so bumpy that she wouldn’t have felt anything unusual.

He wanted a ride into town.

Or maybe he just bad to find out what I was doing. How come I was leaving him two days in a row? I’d never done it before. What was so special that I couldn’t wait?

Terry was so special.

DAMN IT!

If only she’d stayed home.

Or never met Terry at all, so he would still be alive.

Or never given birth to Eric.

No, don’t wish that.

I do! I do! I wish he’d never been born!

He was just trying to...

It had nothing to do with rescuing me, she suddenly realized. It was spite. It was jealousy.

He needs me all to himself.

After the shower, Sandy got blood on the towel.

She had so many wounds from the broken glass and Eric’s claws and teeth that it seemed pointless to worry about bandages.

None seemed to be bleeding seriously, anyway. Just leaking a little.

Besides, some of the injuries were where she wouldn’t be able reach them. On her back. Or inside.

In Terry’s bedroom, she put on a pair of his briefs and a T-shirt. They clung to the moisture of her skin and the seepage from her injuries.

In the living room, she picked up the skirt and blouse that she’d worn from home. No blood showed on them, so she put them on over the T-shirt and briefs. Then she stepped into her sneakers. She found her purse near the door and slipped its strap over her shoulder.

It was heavy with the weight of her pistol.

Turning around, she gazed at the ruin of Terry’s living room. And the dismembered remains of his body.

She had already made up her mind to leave everything in place.

No point in trying to clean the mess or destroy evidence.

Sure, the cops would realize Terry had been with a woman.

But there was no crime in that.

No woman had done this to him.

No man had done this to him, either.

Terry hadn’t been murdered, he’d been tom to shreds and partly devoured by a wild animal. You could tell that just by looking.

And if you did more than look—if you ran laboratory tests—the teeth and claw marks and saliva and semen would confirm what you already knew: Terry Goodwin had suffered his fatal injuries as the result of a vicious animal attack.

They couldn’t tell you what sort of animal, though.

Over the years, whenever the remains of Eric’s human victims had been found, the blame had always been placed on mountain lions, bears or coyotes.

Such an animal would probably catch the blame for this, too. Not that there’d be many facts to support such a theory. Just that the evidence pointed to some sort of wild carnivore with sharp teeth and claws. Something like a mountain lion, a bear or a coyote.

Some folks, of course, were bound to suspect that Terry had fallen victim to one of those beasts. After all, Malcasa Point was only about a hundred miles to the south. Everybody knew about the beasts. Most of the people in Fort Platt had probably gone on the Beast House tour at one time or another. Most had certainly seen the movies, too, and some had undoubtedly read the books.

People would wonder.

But nobody was likely to believe—or suggest—that a beast had killed Terry.

The beasts were like U.F.O.s. Only kids, drunks, and morons believed in them.

And me, Sandy thought. And me.

She opened Terry’s front door and stepped out onto the porch. Without even glancing around to see if there might be a witness, she turned to the doorway and raised a hand in farewell.

“See you later, Terry,” she said in a cheerful voice. “And thanks again. I really had a great time.”

When she said that, she had a sudden urge to scream.

But she kept smiling.

Nodding and smiling, she said, “Okay. Sure. Tomorrow would be great. See you then.”

Leaning inside, she pulled the door shut. Still smiling, she trotted down the porch stairs and walked toward her pickup truck.

She glimpsed a few neighbors here and there. But nobody was nearby. And nobody seemed to be watching her.

On her way to the pickup truck, she took the keys out of her purse.

Instead of walking around the front of the truck, she went behind it. Along the way, she glanced over the side panel. Her beach blanket was spread out on top of something lumpy the size of a man.

None of Eric stuck out.

From the contours, though, he seemed to be curled on his side in a fetal position.

I’ll take care of you when we get home, Sandy thought.

But she kept her mouth shut, kept walking, opened the driver’s door and climbed in behind the wheel.

On the long drive home, she couldn’t force her mind away from what had happened back at Terry’s place.

She had never felt so sick and horrible before.

Never.

So wracked by guilt and shame and loss.

I didn’t just lose Terry, I lost Eric. He’s not my son anymore. Not after this.

How could he do that to Terry?

How could he do that to ME?

Oh, my God! What if I get pregnant?

It could happen.

She heard herself let out a moan of despair.

I’d rather die...,

Driving south on Pacific Coast Highway, she often had a cliff just a few feet to her right. There was sometimes a low barrier, but frequently nothing...

Just a strip of gravel, then a few feet of dirt or rocks or weeds, then an edge.

And air.

A slight jerk of her arms, and she could put an end to it all.

A long fall.

A hard landing on boulders or beach.

An end for herself and Eric and the baby that might soon begin to grow inside her.

Eric’s brother, Eric’s son.

Another monster.

Another killer.

I’ve done enough damage, she thought. The beasts have done enough damage, too.

Kill Eric, kill myself and whatever chance be has for an offspring, and that’ll be the end of it.

No more beasts.

It can all end here and now.

As she watched the side of the highway, waiting for an opening in the guard rails, she felt a trickle inside her. She wasn’t sure what it might be. Blood or semen, she supposed.

Whatever it was, it dribbled slowly downward.

Terry’s semen?

If I do get pregnant, she thought, maybe it’ll be from him.

It’d be a fifty-fifty chance.

Clenching the steering wheel, she groaned.

Just like Mom, she thought.

Her mother had gone through an entire pregnancy not knowing whether she was carrying the child of her dead lover or the child of a beast.

I probably won’t even get pregnant, Sandy told herself.

But if I do, it’ll be the same.

Way too much the same.

Too damn weird.

It would just be a coincidence, she told herself.

But it felt like much more than a coincidence. It felt almost like an inescapable destiny. As if she were trapped in a sequence of events planned out well in advance by unseen forces.

This is all meant to be, she thought.

I’m meant to do a replay of what happened to Mom.

Maybe it hadn’t gone according to plan with her, and Somebody needs to try again.

“Ridiculous,” she muttered.

What Somebody is doing is playing games with me.

“I’m not playing,” she said.

Even as she spoke the words, however, she knew that she had no choice. If her life was being manipulated by God or the Fates or some other prankster, the game was out of her control. She could do nothing to change anything.

Am I meant to fly off the next cliff? she wondered.

Who the hell knows?

“Who the hell cares?” she asked. “I’ll do what I want.”

Which is what They want.

Is it?

What do I want? she wondered.

For starters, how about staying alive long enough to find out whether I’m pregnant. And then to find out if it’s Terry’s child. For starters.

So I won’t be driving off any cliff today, she thought. So what’ll I do about Eric?

Shoot him.

The pickup bounced and lurched as Sandy drove over the bumpy dirt road. The rough ride punished her body, but she was hardly aware of the many pains. She seemed to be far away from them, watching from a distance.

She stopped at the gate.

And stared at it.

I can’t do this, she thought.

She seemed to be far away from the thought.

The woman in the driver’s seat twisted off the ignition and pulled out the key. Turning sideways, she reached into her purse. She pulled out the revolver.

I bet I’m not meant to do this, she thought.

I can’t.

Watch.

She watched.

She seemed to be two places at once.

One place was outside her body, standing maybe a few feet away, observing the behavior of this grim and battered and heart-broken woman and wondering what she might do next.

The other place was inside herself, where she was full of pain but numb and dazed and determined.

Revolver heavy in her right hand, she swung open the driver’s door and jumped to the ground.

Do it fast while he’s still under the blanket, she told herself. Before he knows what’s happening.

Before he looks at me.

If he looks at me, I won’t be able...

She sidestepped, keeping her back to the pickup truck.

Then she thumbed back the hammer and whirled around, raising the weapon, taking quick aim over the side panel and down at the beach blanket.

It was rumpled and bloody.

It no longer covered Eric.

He was gone.

Chapter Thirty-nine

FLYING FISTS

“A fabulous dinner,” John said. “I thank you from the bottom of my stomach.”

“You’re welcome,” Owen muttered. He added a twenty percent tip to the credit card slip, wrote down the total, and signed his name.

“Ready to go?”

“I believe so.”

They scooted over the soft leather cushions of the booth and made their way through the dimly lit restaurant. Along the way, they were thanked by their waitress and by the host. Owen returned a “You’re welcome” that was far more enthusiastic than the one he had bestowed on John Cromwell.

Outside, the sunlight looked dusty and golden. The shadows of the trees were long.

They walked through the parking lot toward their room.

“Okay,” Owen said. “You got your dinner at the Carriage House. Now what’s your big plan for a night I’ll supposedly remember the rest of my life?”

“How would you like to pay a little visit to your honey?”

“Dana?”

“Who else? I know where she lives.”

“Sure you do.”

“Oh, I do.”

Owen took out his room key and unlocked the door. As he stepped inside, he turned his eyes to the telephone.

No blinking red light.

No messages.

He was disappointed, but not surprised. He and John hadn’t left the room until 6:30. Dana almost certainly would’ve called by then if she’d had any intention of seeing him tonight.

Her “date” was obviously with someone else.

Assuming she had a date at all.

John might’ve made up the whole business.

Dropping onto the end of his bed, Owen asked, “Even if you do know where she lives, she’s out with some guy tonight. Remember?”

“Dates don’t last forever,” John leaned backward, his rump sinking into the front edge of the dresser in front of Owen. He folded his arms. He raised his eyebrows. “When she gets back, my boy, we can be waiting for her.”

“Oh, that sounds like a really fine idea. Then what, we jump her?”

“Wanta?”

“Go fuck yourself.”

John chuckled. “How would you like to fuck her?”

“Shut up.”

“Just pulling your chain.”

“Well, stop it.”

“Wouldn’t you like to see her, though?”

“Not with you around.”

“I have to be around. I know where she lives. And I’m the guy with the good camera. How would you like some more photos of her?”

Owen stared at him.

“You were drooling all over those pictures of her and Lynn.”

“Was not.”

“Were, too. And you think she looks hot in those, just imagine how she must look when she goes on a date. Bet she doesn’t wear that uniform. She probably puts on a nice dress, you know? Maybe a low-cut little number that shows off her cleavage. Know what I mean? Maybe a nice, tiny little skirt that’s hardly big enough to hide her snatch.”

“You’re a pig.”

“You love it.”

“I do not.”

“Bet you’ve got a big ol’ stiffy right now just from thinking about her.”

“Do not.”

“Prove it. Let’s see?”

“Go to hell.”

“Stand up, man.”

“If I do stand up,” Owen said, “I’m gonna punch your face in for you.”

“Oooo, I’m trembling.”

Owen got to his feet.

John pointed at the front of his trousers. “See? What’d I tell you?”

“What’d I tell you?” Owen asked, and slammed him in the side of the face. John made a quick, hurt sound. The blow knocked his head sideways. Spit flew out of his mouth. The glasses leaped off his face, clattered against the wall and fell to the dresser top.

Uncrossing his arms, he put up one hand to fend off Owen.

With his other hand, he tried to push himself off the dresser.

Owen planted a punch deep in his big, soft belly.

John squealed. He started to fold over, but Owen blocked his way, shoved him up, pounded him in the chest and stomach with a left and a right and a left. Each time he was hit, he made a quick whimper.

Owen backed off.

John slumped forward and fell to the floor. Wheezing and sobbing, he pushed himself up. He hobbled to the queen-sized bed and eased himself down on it. Kneeling, he pulled the pillow out from under the bedspread. Then he flopped on his belly and buried his face in the pillow.

“I warned you,” Owen said. He felt sick.

John just kept crying.

“You shouldn’t have said that stuff.”

Voice muffled by the pillow, John said, “You...didn’t have to...hurt me.”

Owen had never done anything like that before...not pounded someone.

He’d thought it would feel great to punch the crap out of a fat, obnoxious slob like John.

Maybe if the guy had fought back.

This is how you must feel if you stomp on a parakeet, he thought. Or kick a cat across a room.

He had a tightness inside his throat and chest. A heaviness inside his stomach. He felt as if he might throw up or begin to cry.

“Are you okay?” he asked. His voice sounded high-pitched.

“No. You hurt me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“All I wanted was...just to be...your friend.”

“I’m really sorry.”

John, sobbing, rolled onto his side. He looked odd and vulnerable without his glasses, as if his face had been stripped naked. His arms were hugging his belly.

“I’ll get your glasses,” Owen said.

John snuffled.

Owen went over to the dresser. He found John’s glasses on a plastic tray beside the ice bucket. When he picked them up, the right lens dropped out and struck the dresser top and broke into three pieces.

“Shit,” Owen muttered.

“What?”

“They’re broken.”

John sighed loudly. He sobbed a couple of times, then said, “Lemme see?”

Owen picked up the pieces of the lens. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to wreck your glasses.”

Sitting up, John swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

He cupped his hands above his lap, and Owen gave him the broken remains of the glasses.

“Some friend you are,” he said.

Owen sat on the edge of the other bed and leaned toward him.

“How do you feel?”

John shook his head.

“Do you need a doctor?”

“How would I know? I’ve never gotten beat up before.”

“That’s surprising.”

“Hardy-har,” John said.

“Do you want to hit me?”

“No. Why would I want to hit you?”

“I hit you.”

“Two wrongs don’t make a right.”

“Come on, why don’t you take a swing at me?”

“No thanks.”

“Come on.”

“I’m a lover, not a fighter.”

Owen laughed. John looked up at him, a slight smile on his face.

His left cheek was swollen and red.

Owen felt bad again.

“Maybe we can get your glasses repaired in the morning,” he said.

“Gonna need a new lens. And frame. See how the frame’s busted?”

Owen saw.

“You did that,” John said.

“I know. I’m sorry. I’ll get you a nice, new pair.”

“You think that’ll make everything okay?” John asked.

“No. But I do wish I hadn’t hit you.”

“Not as much as I do.”

“I know. I’m sorry. Look, should we go out and get some ice cream or something? Would that make you feel better?”

“Nice, big dessert for the fat boy.”

“I could go for some, myself. There’s an ice cream shop across from the photo place.”

“Yeah.”

“Wanta drive over there? I’ll treat you to a cone.”

“Wonder if they’ve got waffle cones,” John said.

“Probably.”

“I love waffle cones.”

“Let’s go see.”

“Promise you won’t hit me anymore?” John asked.

“I promise.”

“Cross your heart and hope to die?”

“Yeah. Cross my heart.

“Cause it doesn’t feel good, you know?”

“I know.”

“That’s how they killed Houdini.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

John wiped his eyes, then got to his feet. As he straightened up, he winced. “Feel like my stomach’s all fucked up.”

“Maybe you do need a doctor.”

“Ice cream oughta fix me up.”

“Okay. Let me hit the john first.”

“You already did.”

“Oh. Sorry about that.” Owen hurried into the bathroom, used the toilet, then washed his hands.

When he came out, a telephone directory lay open on one of the beds. John, bending over it, flashed a smile at Owen and ripped out a page.

“Hey! What’d you do that for?”

“Just in case.”

“In case of what?”

“Case you change your mind about paying a visit to Dana.”

His eyes, red and watery, looked strange without glasses. “This has her address on it.” He fluttered the page. “Lynn’s address.” He started to fold it.

“You know her last name?”

“I know many things.”

“What is it?”

“Tucker.”

“What’s Dana’s last name?”

“That I don’t know. I know many things, not everything. But if we go over there tonight, maybe we can find out.”

“We’re going for ice cream,” Owen said. “Nothing else. And you shouldn’t tear pages out of telephone books. Other people might want to use them, you know.”

John smirked. “My bad.”

“You really are an asshole.”

“Least I don’t go around punching people.”

Outside, Owen pulled the door shut and tried the knob to make sure it was locked.

“Since you’re buying,” John said, “I’ll drive.”

“Without your glasses? That’d be fun.”

John smiled and blinked at him. “Contacts, man. Ever hear of contacts?”

“You’ve got contacts on?”

“Sure.”

“How come you were wearing glasses?”

“I look good in ’em.”

“Sure.”

“So, I’ll do the driving.”

“No, you won’t. It’s a rent-a-car. Nobody’s allowed to drive it but...”

“Not your car, mine. Come on.” He nodded toward an ancient Ford Granada parked in a far corner of the lot. It looked as if it had seen better decades.

“Does it work okay?” Owen asked as they walked toward it.

“It runs. Has a brand new radiator, too. Might blow up, but it won’t overheat.”

“Maybe we should take my car.”

“No, no. I insist.”

When they reached John’s car, he opened the passenger door. The seat and floor were hidden underneath candy wrappers, maps, magazines and books. Owen glimpsed a Hustler, a Scream Factory, and a paperback copy of The Horror at Malcasa Point. Then John got in the way, bent over, and started tossing the material over the seatback.

“Nice,” Owen muttered.

“Huh?”

“Nice way to treat books and stuff.”

“You’re really some kind of tight-ass, Owen. You oughta loosen up, man.”

“So I can be more like you?”

“Couldn’t hurt.” A moment later, John scuttled backward.

“Voila,” he said, and swept a hand toward the passenger seat.

Owen could see it, now.

The floor in front of the seat was still cluttered, but nothing remained on the seat cushion except a few scattered puffs of grimy popcom, a chewing gum wrapper, and crumbs from assorted chips and cookies. Owen was tempted to brush them off with his hand. But that would’ve required touching the seat’s upholstery.

Touching the stains. Some were pale, some dark. Some looked as if they might be sticky. Owen suspected catsup, mustard, blood, “secret sauce,” salsa, honey, coffee, maybe chili. He hoped that snot, feces and semen weren’t among the substances.

Don’t bet on it.

“It’s not very clean,” he said.

John dropped into the driver’s seat, shaking his car. Then he looked across at Owen and said, “Don’t be a wimp.”

“I don’t want to get my pants dirty.”

“Awww. Well, sit on a map or something.”

Among the debris on the floor was a copy of Fangoria magazine. Owen held it up. “This okay?”

“Whatever.”

Owen flopped the magazine onto the seat, opened it to the middle, and sat down on it.

John started the car. As he backed it toward the middle of the lot, he grinned and said, “What do you think Dana’s doing right now?”

“I wouldn’t know. And I don’t want to talk about her. And I especially don’t want you to talk about her. Don’t even think about her.”

John laughed. “Man, you’ve got it bad. Know what? I can take her or leave her.”

“Then leave her.”

John pulled out of the parking lot, swinging left onto Front Street. He stepped on the gas. The car leaped ahead. “Lynn’s the one I like. She is so fucking cute. I’d like to rip her clothes off and...”

“Would you please shut up?”

“You take Dana, I’ll take Lynn.”

“We’re not taking anyone. We’re just gonna get a couple of ice cream cones, then go back to the Welcome Inn.”

“We oughta at least drive by their house.”

Chapter Forty

THE RIDE HOME

Warren stopped his car at Front Street, waited for a van to pass, then swung to the left and picked up speed. Ahead, the town was brightly lighted. There wasn’t much traffic, though.

“You know how to get there?” Dana asked.

“Oh, I’ve been to the house a few times. Janice has parties fairly often. Staff parties. Barbecues out by the pool. I guess Lynn’s planning to throw a party in a couple of weeks, keep up the tradition in Janice’s absence.”

“That should be fun. You planning to come?”

“If I’m invited.”

“Oh, I bet you will be.”

He turned his head and smiled at Dana through the darkness.

“Just don’t count on me swimming,” he said.

“You could wear a wetsuit.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Do you ever go swimming?”

“Sometimes in the ocean. Late at night.”

“I’d like to do that with you.”

“Might be arranged. It’s a trifle cold, though.”

“Maybe we can go in Lynn’s pool sometime.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I could send her away for a couple of hours.”

Warren shook his head. “I wouldn’t want to take the chance.”

“Your scars aren’t that bad. It’s not like you’re hideously deformed or anything...or repulsive.”

“They apparently didn’t repulse you.”

Dana reached over and put a hand on his thigh. She felt the heat of his leg through his trousers. “You know what?” she said. “Maybe Lynn should see them.”

“No way.”

“They’re not that...”

“Give her a glimpse of my scars and she’ll know right away what happened to me.”

“What does Lynn think happened to you?”

“We told her the truth, up to a point. I went into Beast House at night because of the missing tape players. Down in the cellar, I was jumped by a couple of teenagers. They beat the crap out of me and I got cut on some broken glass. That’s what we told Lynn.”

“What about the cops?” Dana asked.

“We didn’t tell them a thing. We didn’t tell anyone a thing except Lynn. And her father, of course. Janice was taking care of my injuries, so we had to tell them something.”

“But not the truth?”

He shook his head. “I can live without being famous for a thing like that.”

“Janice went along with keeping it a secret?”

“Yeah. She didn’t want me humiliated.”

“It might’ve been good for business.”

“I’m sure it would’ve been. We kidded around about that. Doing an ad campaign. ‘The beast is back and it wants you!’ But she never really tried to make me go public.”

“Maybe the public should be told...warned.”

“Maybe,” Warren said, and stopped at a blinking red traffic light. Except for his car, the intersection was empty. He drove on. “Thing is, who would really believe a warning like that? Most people really don’t believe in the beasts. Evidence or no evidence. They’re like Bigfoot. Like vampires or werewolves. We’d sound like lunatics. We’d get accused of being frauds...And there’s no telling how a thing like that might play out. We might have even more people trying to sneak into the house at night. A warning might cause more attacks.”

Dana frowned through the darkness at him. “The Midnight Tour goes in at night.”

“It’s never been attacked.”

“At least not so far.”

“For all we know,” Warren said, “the beast hasn’t been in the house since the night it got me.”

“But it might be there every night.”

“No. Janice made sure things were safe. She cancelled the Midnight Tour and spent every night for more than two weeks in Beast House.”

“By herself?”

“Yeah. With Jerry’s .44 magnum. Most of the time, she stayed in the cellar. In the dark. Just waiting for the beast to come along.”

“My God. Is she nuts or something?”

“Brave,” Warren said.

“At least. I can’t imagine doing something like that. Actually, I can. Out of her mind.”

“Well, she felt that she had to do it.”

“What did she tell Mister Tucker about her nightly disappearing act?”

“Just that she wanted to guard the house from overnight intruders. And that she was hoping to catch the guys who’d assaulted me. Jerry and Lynn both volunteered for the job, but Janice wouldn’t let them. She insisted on handling it herself. Anyway, nothing happetted. The beast never showed up. So then she had a lock installed on our side of the tunnel door.”

“Is that how it got in? Through the Kutch tunnel?”

“Could be. Seems likely, since the lock was off.”

“Did anyone talk to Agnes about it^? Or search her house?”

“Nope. Couldn’t do it without involving the police and getting a search warrant.”

“Why couldn’t Janice just drop in on her?”

“She tried, but Agnes wouldn’t come to the door. And Janice didn’t want to force the issue because part of her original deal was that Agnes’s house would be out of bounds.”

“So Agnes might’ve been harboring whatever attacked you?”

“Possible,” Warren said. “Or maybe she didn’t have anything to do with it. The thing could’ve gotten in from our side. Maybe it was out in the hills behind the house and found an entrance to the burrow.”

“But the locked cover...?”

“...was put in after I got attacked.”

“Ah.”

“Before that, we had an open hole in the cellar floor—with cordons around it so the tourists wouldn’t fall in. No telling what might’ve come crawling out of it at night.”

Dana realized she had goosebumps. Rubbing one of her forearms, she said, “But nothing can get in now?”

“Wouldn’t be easy. And if it did, we’d find out first thing in the morning. You know how Lynn checks through the whole house...”

“I’ve been with her.”

“She always makes a trip down cellar, doesn’t she?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s to make sure nothing’s open down there.” Warren flicked on his turn signal, then slowed down. “If she finds a lock off, anything like that, she’s supposed to run like hell, clear the house if someone else is inside, then lock the front door and notify Janice.”

“Who will then come over with the Smith & Wesson?”

“That’s the plan,” Warren said. He turned right and started up the road. On both sides, trees loomed over them. No moonlight reached the pavement. The only light came from his car’s bright headbeams. “So far,” he said, “everything’s been fine. Nothing’s gotten in and nobody else has been attacked.”