The Midnight Tour

“Nobody you know about.”

“Yeah. Well...I know what you mean. The tape players that don’t come back. But there are so many possible explanations for that. And nobody seems to be missing.”

“People must go missing all the time,” Dana said.

“Oh, I suppose so. Not out of Beast House, though. Not as far as we know. And we’d probably hear about it if a wife or daughter or someone disappeared during a tour.” He grinned at Dana. “As you found out the hard way.”

“Thanks for reminding me.”

“Wish I could’ve been there.”

“So you could watch me hurl? If I’d had another margarita or two, I could’ve put on a demonstration for you tonight.”

“Maybe some other time.”

“Hope not,” Dana said. “By the way, you know...speaking of the little tyke who ran up the attic stairs...Lance? You obviously heard about my trouble with his mother, but did you also know that he screamed when he was up in the attic and he came running down the stairs in a panic, yelling his head off about being chased?”

“Oh, yeah. I heard about that, too.”

“He said something was after him. But then all the trouble started with his mother and I never got to ask him about it.”

“Nobody did,” Warren said. “He and his mom took off the minute they got out of the house. But Lynn went up into the attic to investigate.”

“Right. She told me.”

“Nobody there. Which is pretty much what she expected. That sort of thing happens every so often—people get a case of beast on the brain and think they see one. Especially kids. They scream loud enough to wake the dead, run like hell, and scare the bejezus out of everyone. But it’s just their imaginations going wild.”

He turned onto the narrow, sloping driveway...

We’re almost back!

Dana suddenly felt a hollow ache.

Reaching over to Warren, she squeezed his thigh. “Will you come in with me?”

“If you want.”

“Sure I want.”

“I guess I could at least come in long enough to make sure everything’s okay...and say hi to Tuck.”

“Don’t you dare!”

Warren laughed.

“I already paid you off. Remember?”

“Maybe you need to pay me off again.”

“Bastard,” Dana said, grinning.

“That’s me.”

“What do I have to give you this time?”

“Surprise me.”

“Okay. Maybe. But not while you’re driving.”

Soon, the house came into sight at the top of the driveway. Its porch was lighted, and so were some of the windows. Spotlights brightened the broad area of pavement in front of the three-car garage. A blue Range Rover was parked there, off to the left.

Warren stopped behind it, killed his headlights and shut off his engine.

“Looks like Tuck has a visitor,” he said.

“Lynn has a visitor.”

“Tuck,” Warren corrected her. “You haven’t given me that extra payment yet.”

“Maybe you’ll get it now,” Dana said. “But you have to dose your eyes first.”

He shut them.

“Don’t open them till I say so.”

“Okay.”

“This is terrible, you know,” Dana said. “Making me pay and pay and pay. All for a little slip of the tongue.”

“And I intend to make you keep paying,” Warren said.

“Maybe this will satisfy you.”

“Hmmm?”

“Put out your hands.”

“Okay.”

“You may now open your eyes.”

He opened them, glanced at the bra in his hands, then quickly looked at Dana

She’d already put her T-shirt back on.

“Will that keep your mouth shut?”

He laughed. “Sure. Do I get to keep it?”

“Of course.”

He draped the bra over the white leg of his trousers and turned toward her. She twisted in her seat, leaned in and kissed him. As they kissed, she felt his hand on her right breast. There was only the thin fabric of her T-shirt in the way. She felt the heat of his moving hand. He rubbed her, gently squeezed her, fingered her nipple.

Squirming and moaning, she lowered a hand onto the lap of his trousers. Soon, Warren was also moaning and squirming.

Later, he lifted the T-shirt up over her breasts.

Later, she pulled his zipper down.

Still later, as they held each other and tried to catch their breaths, Warren murmured, “Fraid I can’t...go in with you now.”

“We’ll wait till we’ve...calmed down.”

“Won’t help. My pants.”

“What’s wrong with ’em?”

“Mess.”

“Huh?”

“Feel.”

“Where?”

He guided her hand.

“Oh,” she said. “Sorry about that.”

He laughed.

“Why don’t you come in the house...too?”

He laughed harder.

“We can throw them in the washer,” Dana said.

“Oh, sure. With Lynn and her friend there?”

“We could be sneaky.”

“No, no. I’d better just get going.”

“I hope it is a friend.”

“Was she expecting anyone?”

Dana shook her head. “Not that I know of.”

“I doubt if anything’s wrong.”

“But you don’t know who might own a thing like that?”

“Hell, I don’t know anyone who could afford one. Except for Janice, of course. It looks brand new, too. Doesn’t even have its license plate.”

“Maybe you should come in with me.”

“I could walk you to the door, anyway—stick with you till we find out who’s there.”

Smiling, Dana said, “You could hold my bra in front so nobody’ll see your wet places.”

“Maybe you should put it on.” He lifted her bra by a shoulder strap.

“It’s for you. You’ve got to keep it so you’ll always remember tonight.”

“I’ll never forget tonight.”

“A souvenir couldn’t hurt.”

Smiling, he shook his head. “If you insist.”

“I insist.”

“Thanks,” he said.

“Now, fork over your shorts.”

“Huh?”

“I want a souvenir, too.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

“But they’re...wet.”

“All the better.”

Shaking his head and chuckling softly, Warren unbuckled his belt. “This won’t be easy,” he said. “The steering wheel...”

“Nothing really worth doing is ever easy.”

“Tell me if you see anyone coming.”

Dana laughed. “I’ll alert you immediately.”

Trousers and shorts around his ankles, he said, “Sure hope I don’t get in an accident on the way home.”

“If you’re in an accident bad enough for anyone to find out haven’t got underwear on, that’ll be the least of your worries.”

“You may be right.”

“Of course I am.”

When the shorts were off, he handed them to Dana. “Thank you, sir,” she said, folding them. She waited until he had his trousers on again, then leaned over and gave him a quick kiss. “Thanks for the dinner, too. The steak was fabulous...once we finally got to it.”

He gazed into her eyes. “I wish you didn’t have to go in.”

“Me, too. But I have to. It’s already later than I planned. Tuck’s going to start worrying.”

“You might be the farthest thing from her mind right about now.”

“That’s another thing—I need to get in there and meet the mysterious visitor.” She reached for the door handle.

“Wait,” Warren said. “When’ll we get together again?”

“Tomorrow, I guess.”

“Want to come over to my place after work?” he asked. “Maybe we can go down to the beach if the weather’s nice.”

“I don’t know. We’ll see. The thing is, I’ll have to be back at Beast House before eight.”

“What for?”

“The picnic and stuff. I’m doing the whole bit tomorrow night.”

“The Midnight Tour?”

She nodded.

“Do you have to?”

“I want to. And I’ve already told Tuck that I would. She’s sort of counting on me to be there. Anyway, it’ll probably take me a day or two to recover from tonight.”

Warren huffed out a breath. It sounded almost like a laugh.

“You think you had it tough?”

“Aw, poor boy.” Smiling, she patted his cheek.

“I sure wish you’d spend tomorrow night with me,” he said.

Dana’s hand remained on his cheek. It drifted, caressing him. “Me, too,” she said. “But I gave my word about the tour.”

“If you explain to Lynn...”

“Nah. Anyway, maybe we can get together Sunday night. And Beast House is closed on Monday. Maybe we could spend the day together.”

He nodded. “That’d be great.”

“Yeah.”

“But I still wish you wouldn’t go on the tour.”

Dana lowered her hand. “It is safe, isn’t it?”

He didn’t answer.

“Is it?”

“I wouldn’t go in there at night.”

“You won’t go in there in daylight.”

“What I meant was, I wouldn’t if I were you.”

“So it’s not safe?”

“It probably is,” he said, his voice at a higher pitch than usual. He grimaced as if in pain. “The beast hasn’t shown up since the night it came after me. And there’ve been plenty of Midnight Tours since then. I guess you could say it’s safe. But you never know. You just never know. If I ran things, there wouldn’t be any more Midnight Tours. I’d make sure nobody ever got into Beast House after dark. I think it’s tempting fate. One of these times, the shit’s going to hit the fan.” For a few moments, he stared into Dana’s eyes and didn’t speak. Then he said, “I don’t want you in there when it does.”

“Tuck goes in every Saturday night,” Dana said. “She doesn’t even know that a beast attacked you. She thinks they’re all dead. The way you and Janice kept her in the dark, she isn’t even aware of the risk she’s running.”

“I doubt if it would stop her.”

“Maybe not. But she oughta be told.”

“You won’t tell her, will you?”

I should, she thought. I really should.

“I can’t have people knowing what happened to me in there,” Warren said.

“You told me.”

“Because I...I had to. I couldn’t let there be any lies between us.” He tried to smile. “Besides, you wanted to know my deepest, darkest secret, right?”

“Yeah.”

“So I told you. But it has to stay a secret. if it ever gets out...that’d be it for me. You know? I’d have to leave.”

“Leave?”

“I couldn’t stay in a town where people knew that about me. I’d probably just drive away and nobody would ever see me again.”

“Can’t have you doing that,” Dana said.

“Then don’t tell on me.”

“I won’t tell,” Dana said, “but I’ll be on the Midnight Tour tomorrow night.”

Warren shook his head.

Trembling, Dana leaned close to him. “If the place isn’t safe for me, it isn’t safe for Tuck, either. Or for the thirteen guests. So I have to go in with them.”

“You wouldn’t be much help...”

“I’d have to try. I’m a lifeguard, remember?” She kissed him lightly, quickly, then leaned away and swung open her door.

“Tell you what,” she said. “You don’t have to walk me to the door. Just wait here. I’ll take a peek inside and let you know if everything’s okay.”

She grabbed her purse and climbed out. On her way around the front of Warren’s car, she slipped the strap onto her shoulder. She stuffed his underwear into a front pocket of her shorts.

“I’ll be right back,” she called over her shoulder. “If I’m not, you’d better come running and rescue me.”

Chapter Forty-One

SPIES

Earlier, Owen and John had been sitting in the car behind the ice cream stand, still working on the stumps of their cones, when John said, “How about going for a little drive in the hills?”

“Are you kidding? I know where you want to go.”

“What do you wanta do, go back to the motel and sit in our room till bedtime?”

“I don’t...”

“Watch television?”

“I just don’t think we should...”

“Play footsie with me?”

“No.”

“Suck my dick?”

“Shut up!”

“Beat me up some more?”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“Hey, man, you owe me. You really hurt me and you busted my glasses.”

“You’ve got your contacts.”

“I like my glasses, man. They make me look smart.”

“Sure they do.”

“Anyway, I’m going for a drive. You’re too chicken to come with me, that’s your prerogative.” He stuffed the dripping end of the cone into his mouth, wiped his hand on the leg of his Bermuda shorts, then started the car. Headlights on, he drove onto Front Street. “What’s it gonna be?” he asked, his mouth full, his words mushy. “Just say the word, I’ll drop you off at the motel and go without you.”

“You’re never gonna find their house, anyway. Just because you’ve got the address...”

“Good point.”

A block later, John swung his old car onto the lot of a gas station, parked beside the mini-mart, and hurried inside. He came out carrying a map. Grinning, he dropped onto the driver’s seat, rocking the car. “Malcasa Point and vicinity,” he said. “Still think I’ll never find their house?”

“Even if you can, you shouldn’t.”

“That’s okay, I’ll drop you off. God knows, I don’t wanta make you do anything against your principles. No sweat off my nuts if you wanta miss out on the chance of a lifetime.”

“If you go, I go.”

A big grin blossomed on John’s face. “Why am I not surprised?”

“But it’s not so I can spy on anyone. It’s to keep an eye on you.”

Laughing, John said, “We know.”

We know.

Sure that’s why.

He ached to spy on Dana.

But he didn’t do such things.

Ever.

We’ll never find the house anyway, he told himself as they drove past the Welcome Inn and headed up Pacific Coast Highway.

“That’s it!” John blurted, stopping his car at the foot of a driveway. The rural mail box beside the driveway not only showed the address they wanted, but bore the names Tucker and Crogan.

The sight of the names gave Owen a sudden sickish feeling down low inside.

Dusk had already deepened into night. The driveway curved uphill into dark, heavy woods. There was no sign of a house, or any light.

“Let’s just get out of here,” Owen said.

“Good idea.”

John sped forward, leaving the driveway behind. But just up the road, just around a curve, he stopped his car and shut off its headlights. “We’ll walk from here.”

“Let’s just leave,” Owen said. “Let’s go back to town. Come on. We’ll think of something else to do.”

“I know what I’m gonna do. Gonna find the fuckin’ house and see what the babes are up to. You don’t wanta come, stay here.”

“We’re gonna get in trouble.”

“Not if we don’t get caught.” John opened his door. “You coming?”

“I don’t know.”

“Live a little, man. Don’t be a loser all your life.”

“I’m not a loser.”

“I’m going. With our without you.” John climbed out, eased his door shut, then hurried around to the trunk.

Owen followed and found him twisting a telephoto lens onto his camera.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Don’t.”

“We’ll get doubles made. That’s if we get lucky and find anyone worth shooting.”

“You can’t do this.”

“Sure I can. That’s the difference between me and you, buddy. You wanta do shit, I do it.” Laughing, John slammed the trunk shut. “Come if you’re coming.”

“You asshole.”

“I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”

“Bullshit.”

Together, they left the road and started climbing the dark, wooded hillside.

John gasped and huffed for breath.

Owen smiled. He said, “Hope you don’t have a heart attack, you fat piece of shit.”

“Eat me,” John said.

It took some hard work and searching, but at last they found the house.

Then they crept around its perimiter, staying in the shadows of the forest, and came upon a swimming pool behind the house. Though the pool was deserted, its lights were on. It shimmered, clear and blue. Steam was drifting off the surface of the hot spa over at the pool’s far corner.

“Let’s...stick around,” John whispered, out of breath. “See what happens.”

“We oughta just go.”

“Not me, man. This is perfect.” He panted for air, then continued. “You wanta chicken out, go ahead. I’m staying. I’m not gonna miss this.”

“We’re trespassing.”

“Big fucking deal.”

“If we get thrown in jail, we could miss the Midnight Tour.”

“Hey, man, that’s a chance I’ll take...You know what we got here? Lynn’s gonna come outa the house...any minute...and take herself a swim. Maybe go in the jacuzzi.” After pausing for air, he went on. “And who knows what the fuck she’ll be wearing? Maybe nothing!... No neighbors, man...She might go skinny-dipping...Dana, too.”

“Dana’s on a date.”

“Maybe she is, maybe she isn’t. You wanta...miss a chance to see her skinny-dipping?”

Owen didn’t need to think about that one. “I guess not,” he whispered.

“You guess.”

Not that it’ll happen. Great stuff like that never happens. Not to me.

They found a good place to hide in the bushes near the end of the pool, directly across from the hot spa. Kneeling down, they began to wait.

Though lights were on inside the house, all the curtains were shut. Owen couldn’t see through them. Nor could he hear any sounds from the house. The wind was loud in the trees and bushes.

Maybe nobody’s home.

Somebody must be, he told himself. You don’t go off and leave your pool lights on. For that matter, you don’t crank up your hot spa unless you’re planning to use it.

Somebody has to be home...and has to come out.

But nobody did.

Ten minutes passed. Fifteen.

Watching the steam rise, Owen wished he could jump into the spa. He wished he’d worn his windbreaker. Or even a long-sleeved shirt. He thought about how badly he would like to be back in the warmth of his room at the Welcome Inn.

After half an hour of waiting, Owen swayed sideways, bumped his shoulder against John and whispered, “Now can we go?”

“Go whenever you want to. I’m staying.”

“How long?”

“Long as it takes.”

“Aren’t you freezing?”

“Ask me if I care.”

“This is insane.”

“Think so? What if I wimp out and take off—and two minutes later, out come the babes...bare-ass naked?”

“Like that’s gonna happen.”

“You’ll never find out if you go running away like a...”

At the back of the house, a curtain was sliding aside. Owen saw someone behind the glass door. As he tried to figure out who it might be, the door glided open and Lynn stepped out.

John nudged him. “Here we go!”

Hardly able to believe this was really happening, Owen watched Lynn stride toward the hot spa at the corner of the pool. She wasn’t much compared to Dana, but she was cute, all right. Really cute. And what was she wearing?

White tennis shoes and no socks.

Hugged against her belly was a folded blue towel.

At the edge of the spa, she crouched and set down the towel.

Owen heard a click. It came from beside him. He knew what it was, but he didn’t look.

Couldn’t take his eyes off Lynn as she stood up.

Didn’t care that she wasn’t naked.

Her swimsuit looked like small, buttery patches of doe skin tied to her body with leather strings.

John clicked more photos. His automatic film advance made a quiet buzzing sound after each shot.

Lynn didn’t seem to hear the camera.

Instead of climbing into the spa, she turned away from it and walked toward a corner of the house.

There were no buttery patches of doe skin behind Lynn. Owen could hardly even see the strings.

Beside him, John moaned. The camera clicked and buzzed.

“Save some film for Dana,” Owen whispered. His voice came out raspy and trembling.

“Don’t worry, man. I’ve got plenty. Look at her, will you?”

“Yeah.”

“How’d you like to lick the sweat off an ass like that?”

“Shut up.”

“You’d love it.”

Lynn vanished around the corner of the house. Then came an engine noise, followed by burbly sounds from the hot spa. Through the steam, Owen saw the water in the small enclosure turn frothy white. Its surface began to shift and roll.

Lynn came back around the corner. Though her breasts were no larger than oranges, they jiggled nicely inside the loose patches of doe skin as she walked. Twin thongs slanted down from her hips to her crotch, where they met two comers of a tiny leather triangle.

John took more snapshots.

Owen moaned softly. He ached. He couldn’t believe he was actually here, crouching in bushes, seeing this.

At the edge of the spa, Lynn kicked off her shoes. Then she climbed down. When she was seated, the water covered her to the neck.

“Wanta leave now?” John whispered.

“Go to hell.”

John chuckled.

After that, it was a matter of waiting. With Lynn’s fine body submerged, there wasn’t much to see.

Maybe Dana would show up.

She might, Owen told himself. She really might. After all, she lives here. Even if she is on a date, she’s bound to come home sooner or later.

Doesn’t mean she’ll come out to the pool.

But she might.

And even if she doesn’t show up, Owen thought, it’ll be worth sticking around. Lynn can’t stay in there all night. We’ll get at least one more good look at her.

John put an arm around Owen’s back, pulled him closer, and whispered in his ear, “Wanta drop in on her?”

“Are you nuts?”

“Hey, man, maybe she’d like some company.” The warm breath tickled the inside of Owen’s ear. “A couple of studs like us...”

“No.”

“I’m so fuckin’ horny...”

“Try anything and I’ll rip up your Midnight Tour ticket and kick your ass.”

“How do you know she doesn’t want it?”

“From you and me? I’d bet a million bucks.”

“I don’t know, man. She’s gotta be feeling awfully horny.” He squeezed Owen’s arm. “That hot water rubbing her all over, and she’s got damn near nothing on. Bet she’d love to have a couple of guys jump in with her right about now.”

Owen shook his head. His heart was thumping fast and hard. “Knock it off.”

“Let’s do it. Come on, buddy. It’s the chance of a lifetime.”

Voice shaking, Owen said, “Yeah, to end up in prison.”

“We’re not gonna rape her. We’ll just go over and say hi and see what happens. You know?”

“No.”

“You wanta do it, man. I know you wanta.”

“I do not.”

“You’re just chicken.”

“Are you completely out of your mind?”

“Wouldn’t you just love to jump in the water and rip that little bikini thing off her and...”

“No. Now, cut it out. Shut up.”

“I’m gonna do it,” John said. He gave Owen’s arm another squeeze, then let go. “Stay here and miss the fun if you wanta, but I’m goin’ for the gold.”

Owen clutched his shoulder.

Someone called, “Hey!”

Owen’s heart lurched.

Across the pool, Lynn turned her head.

Over near the corner of the house, a woman walked into the light, a hand raised in greeting.

Dana!

She’s here! She’s HERE! Oh, my God!

Owen gazed at her, shocked with surprise and delight. This was way too good to be true.

But what happened to her hair?

The last time he’d seen Dana, just this afternoon, her blond hair had been flowing down past her shoulders. Now, it was short and mannish.

Why’d she wanta get it all cut off?

It does look good this way, he realized. Real good.

Focused so much on Lynn for the past few minutes, Owen had almost forgotten how incredibly beautiful Dana was.

God, look at her!

She wore faded jeans and a blue chambray shirt. The shirt loomed out with the push of her breasts. It wasn’t tucked in. Its long sleeves were rolled halfway up her slender forearms,

As she walked toward Lynn, she was smiling and shaking her head. She was talking, too, but Owen couldn’t hear a word she said. He couldn’t hear Lynn, either.

Just as well, he thought. If we can’t hear them, they can’t hear us.

“Who the hell’s the gorgeous babe?” John whispered.

“It’s Dana.”

“My ass. That ain’t Dana.”

“She must’ve gotten a haircut, that’s...”

It isn’t!

“You’re right,” Owen said.

The stranger seemed to be Dana’s size. She had about the same height and build and complexion. Her hair, though cut so short, was Dana’s shade of gold. At this distance, illuminated by the pool lights, even her face resembled Dana’s face.

Resembled Dana’s, but didn’t quite match it.

She might’ve been a sister. A slightly older sister, more athletic, a little tougher, sharper, more intense.

More beautiful.

She can’t be more beautiful than Dana, Owen told himself.

“You believe it, man?” John asked.

Owen shook his head.

“Looks like some kinda Australian super-model.”

“Yeah.”

Lynn suddenly leaned to the right, reached out fast and snatched something out of her folded towel.

A revolver.

A huge revolver that gleamed like silver.

“Holy shit,” John said.

Waving the handgun, Lynn smiled up at the new arrival and said something.

The new gal grinned and nodded. Her lips moved. She nodded some more.

Lynn slipped the revolver back inside the folds of her towel. Then she stood up, turned around and climbed out of the spa.

Owen stared at her back and buttocks and legs. They were ruddy from the heat of the water, shiny in the lights.

After Lynn disappeared inside the house, the newcomer turned toward the pool. She seemed to be gazing across it, studying the long, thick row of shrubbery and small trees.

Almost as if inspecting it.

Does she know we’re here?

No. She couldn’t.

For a few moments, she seemed to be gazing straight at the place where Owen and John were kneeling.

Owen didn’t move. He held his breath.

Then the woman’s eyes moved on.

John made a “Whew” sound.

Owen resumed breathing.

On the other side of the pool, the gorgeous stranger started to unbutton her shirt.

“Oh, man,” John murmured.

As the buttons came undone, Owen saw that she was wearing something red underneath her blue shirt. She pulled off the outer shirt. The red belonged to a T-shirt. It hugged her body, and so did the straps of a brown leather harness.

The harness supported a shoulder holster.

She pulled a dark pistol out of the holster, bent down and set it on top of Lynn’s towel. Then she stepped over to the patio table. She draped her blue shirt over the back of a chair, removed her holster rig and put it on the table. Next, she pulled out a chair and sat down and took off her boots.

John nudged him. “She’s going in, man.”

“Looks that way.”

“Shit! Is this our lucky night, or what?”

“You’re lucky you didn’t get shot.”

“Fuck you.”

Done removing her socks, the woman stood up. She unfastened her jeans, pulled them down and stepped out of them. Her red T-shirt reached down like a very short, tight skirt to the tops of her thighs. Owen wished he could see under its edge, but coutdn’t—not even when she crouched to pick up her jeans.

Turning around, she bent over to drape her jeans on the chair.

Owen saw her bare buttocks.

His breath caught.

With her back to the pool, she pulled up the T-shirt and drew it over her head.

She was naked.

She tossed her T-shirt onto the chair, then turned away from the table.

Turned toward the spa.

Toward the pool and Owen and John.

Owen heard the click and buzz of John’s camera.

The camera! Yes! He’s getting pictures of her!

Take a million!

Bless you, John Cromwell. And thank God for your telephoto lens.

If only we had a camcorder!

Owen gaped at the woman, astounded by his good luck, hardly able to believe that he was actually here, spying from the bushes on someone who was not only absolutely naked but more beautiful and exciting than anyone he’d ever seen or imagined.

She had a soft, mellow tan all the way down her body. Every muscle looked sleek and strong. Her breasts, firm and round and heavy, were tipped with large, stiff nipples. Below her ribcage, her belly sloped in, flat and smooth. Twin hollows slanted downward from her hips, leading to a tuft of golden curls.

As she walked toward the spa, Owen glimpsed a fleshy cleft below the curls. Flushed and aching, he quickly lifted his gaze to her breasts. He saw how they bounced and swayed.

At the edge of the spa, she balanced on her left leg and dipped in her right foot. She took it out, dipped it in again, then shrugged and stepped all the way down, bending her left leg and holding out her arms like wings to steady herself. Owen again saw the split between her legs.

John clicked photos.

On the edge of losing control, Owen shut his eyes.

Are you nuts! Look at her! Don’t miss this!

If I look, I’ll come in my pants.

So what?

He opened his eyes and saw that she was already shoulder deep in the spa.

Okay, he told himself. Fine. I’ll be all right, now.

Maybe.

Out of the house’s back door stepped Lynn. She was carrying a bottle of red wine, two glasses, and a big blue towel.

“How you doing, man?” John whispered.

“Great.”

“Is this the best, or what?”

“It’s the best, all right.”

Grinning, John gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Looks like they’re gonna have a party.”

“Yeah.”

“I gotta reload.”

“Hurry,” Owen said. He watched Lynn fill the glasses with wine, climb down into the spa and hand a glass to the beautiful stranger.

After Lynn sat down, they touched their glasses together.

Owen imagined the musical tone of their rims clinking. He couldn’t hear it, though.

He could hear the thumping of the heart inside him.

He could hear the buzz of John’s film rewinding dose to his right side.

He could hear the wind in the trees behind him.

He could hear the burble of the spa in front of him and the noise of the heater off around the corner of the house.

As the wine glasses clinked together in silence, he also heard a single, phlegmy cough.

It came from somewhere in. the bushes to his left.

“What was that?” Owen whispered.

“What was what?”

“Didn’t you hear it? Like a cough? From over there?”

“Nah.”

Chapter Forty-Two

POOL PARTY

Dana hurried back to Warren’s car. “It’s okay,” she said. “I think the visitor’s a friend.”

“You don’t sound so sure.”

“Didn’t see his face.” At the driver’s window, Dana bent over and put her hands on the sill. “Who do you know with short blond hair?”

“Clyde?”

Dana laughed. “Can’t be him. Whoever he is, Tuck’s drinking wine with him in the Jacuzzi.”

“If they’re drinking in the Jacuzzi, he must be a friend.”

“Yep. So I guess there’s nothing to worry about.”

“Guess not.”

Diana leaned in and kissed him softly on the mouth. “See ya,” she whispered. Then she backed away, smiling and waving. “Don’t get in any accidents,” she warned.

Laughing, Warren started the car.

As he turned it around, Dana thought about going to him, hopping in, saying, “Never mind. Tuck’s fine. Let’s go back to your place.”

While she was still thinking about it, Warren drove away.

She sighed, then went into the house.

Feeling almost naked without her bra, she wasn’t especially eager to meet Tuck’s friend.

Besides, maybe Tuck wouldn’t want any extra company.

Maybe I’ll just go on upstairs...

But who’s the guy? she wondered.

I realty should at least go out and say hello. Be rude not to. Anyway, Tuck needs to know I got home all right.

She walked to the back door, eased it open, and stepped outside.

The two in the spa were sitting side by side, holding wine glasses above the bubbly surface of the water. Though they had their backs to Dana, she could see a side of Tuck’s face. Tuck was laughing and talking. From where Dana stood, she could only see the back of the stranger’s head.

On the patio table was a leather rig that looked like a shoulder holster.

A blue shirt, a red T-shirt, and jeans were draped over a nearby chair.

What’d this guy do, undress out here?

The back of his head suddenly looked familiar.

Eve!

Dana laughed. “Hiya, guys!” she called.

They both looked around at her.

“Hey there,” Eve said, a warm smile spreading over her face.

“Back already?” Tuck asked. “How’d it go?”

“Not bad.”

“Eve just got here. Why don’t you join the party? Go get yourself a glass if you want. Or you can drink straight out of the bottle.” “I think I’ll pass on the wine,” Dana said, stepping around to the side of the spa. “I’ve had some margaritas.” At her feet were two folded towels. One had a pistol on top. “That must be yours,” she said to Eve.

“Yep.” Eve took a sip of wine. Her shoulders, though out of the water, were shiny wet. Seeing no straps, Dana lowered her gaze. The spa was brightly lighted from the bottom. Through the shimmering water, she saw that Eve wore nothing at all. Her naked body seemed to ripple and sway with the currents.

Giving Tuck a quick check, Dana glimpsed a skimpy leather outfit. She returned her attention to Eve, who was setting her glass on the ledge.

“It’s my night off,” Eve told her. “I just thought I’d stop by to see how you two were getting along. After last night, I was a little worried.”

“She scared me shitless,” Tuck said, grinning. “She just came walking around the corner and yelled at me.”

“I had to yell or you wouldn’t have heard me.”

“I must’ve jumped a mile.”

“I couldn’t believe she was actually out here.”

“Doesn’t surprise me,” Dana said.

“I was perfectly safe,” Tuck said. “Brought the cannon.”

“It’s inside the other towel,” Eve explained. “She brandished it for my benefit.”

“So you’re out here with two guns.”

“We’re a regular NRA convention,” Tuck said. “Go get yours and we’ll all be armed.”

“I have it.”

“Huh?”

Smiling, Dana patted the side of her purse.

“You’ve been carrying it?” Tuck asked.

“Won’t do me any good if I don’t have it.”

“Bust her ass, Eve.”

Eve laughed, shook her head, and took a drink of wine. “Arrest her for carrying my pistol? I don’t think so. Anyway, she should keep it with her.”

“Some cop you are,” Tuck said. Smiling up at Dana, she asked, “Are you gonna come in, or just stand there?”

“You’d better come in,” Eve said.

“You look cold,” Tuck said.

“It is a little chilly out here.”

“Nice and toasty in here,” Tuck said. Just strip and jump in. That’s what Eve did.”

“Maybe I’d better go get my suit on.”

“Don’t bother.”

“Feels a lot better without,” Eve told her.

“I thought we weren’t supposed to give our prowler anything to see,” Dana said. “We probably shouldn’t even be out here, much less stripping.”

“You’re right about that,” Eve said. “It isn’t exactly the smart thing to do. But since Lynn was already out here...”

“It’s okay,” Tuck interrupted “Eve’s a cop and you’re a lifeguard. And now that you mention it...I guess I’ll avail myself of the clothing optional rule. Why not? If the peeping Tom is here, he might as well get a good show.” She set down her glass and reached behind her neck.

“What the heck?” Dana said. She moved away from the spa, kicked off her shoes, peeled off her socks, then pulled down her shorts and panties and stepped out of them. Her enormous white T-shirt hung down halfway to her knees.

“That’ll make a good nightshirt,” Tuck called.

If I take it off, Dana thought, she’ll wonder what happened to my bra.

Hell, she’s already noticed it’s gone. They both must’ve noticed the minute I showed up. They’re not blind.

Tuck swung the bottom of her swimsuit out of the water and dropped it next to the wine bottle. “Yesss,” she said. “Oh, that does feel good.”

A cold breeze fluttered Dana’s T-shirt, slipped underneath it and raced up her body, making her shiver.

Get this over with...

She pulled the T-shirt off, let it fall, then stepped quickly over to the spa. She sat down on its ledge, lowered her feet into the churning hot water, then stood on the submerged tile of the bench and stepped down. The liquid heat raced up her legs and between them and wrapped her to the waist.

“Uh!” she grunted.

“Great, huh?” Tuck asked.

“I’m ... scorched.”

“Pussy,” Tuck said.

Eve laughed.

Dana waded over to the side and eased herself down onto the bench. She gasped when the hot water clutched her breasts. Then she sighed and slouched backward until it lapped her chin.

“Nice?” Eve asked.

“Give me three minutes, I’ll be soft-boiled.”

“I guess your date went well,” Tuck said.

“Pretty good.”

“I’d say better than pretty good.” From the grin on her face, Dana knew she was referring to the vanished bra.

But Dana didn’t want to talk about it. Especially not in front of Eve. She liked Eve, but hardly knew her and didn’t want to speak about her feelings for Warren in front of her. For that matter, she wasn’t sure how much she wanted to tell Tuck. Better to hold it all inside, private and safe and special. Keep it her own, at least for a while.

“I’d still be at his place,” she said, “except I was afraid you’d decide to risk life and limb by doing something monumentally stupid. Which you, of course, did.”

“Of course,” said Tuck.

“Pretty damn reckless,” Eve agreed, shaking her head but smiling.

“You’re both a couple of pussies,” Tuck said. “Anyway, I was ready for any eventuality.”

“Don’t go looking for trouble,” Eve said, “just because you have a gun.”

“You do.”

“Trouble’s my job.”

“You’re off duty tonight. But you came over looking for trouble, anyway.”

“Just wanted to make sure you two didn’t get yourselves reamed by some bad-ass pervert, that’s all.” She poured more wine into her glass, then into Tuck’s. “Didn’t expect any of this, though. This is very nice.”

“Come over any time,” Tuck said.

“Thanks,” Eve said, then offered the bottle to Dana. “Have some?”

Dana shook her head. “No thanks.”

Eve set the bottle aside, then took a sip from her glass.

“I was planning to scout around the grounds, make sure your friend wasn’t lurking around.” Lowering the glass slightly, she scanned the dense row of bushes and small trees beyond the far side of the pool. “Never exactly got around to doing that.”

“Shame on you,” Tuck said.

“You distracted me with this stuff about the wine and jacuzzi.”

Dana suddenly found herself staring at the bushes.

Especially at the dark space where Tuck had seen the prowler last night.

“You’re not worrying, are you?” Tuck asked her.

“If nobody checked over there...”

“So what if somebody is there?” Tuck said. “We’re armed to the teeth. Anyone tries any shit with us, we’ll blow 'im to kingdom come.”

“I should’ve checked,” Eve said.

“Don’t worry about it. Forget it.”

“It’s the main reason I came over in the first place.”

Eve stood up. She turned around and set her glass on the ledge.

“Hey, don’t bother,” Tuck said.

“It’ll just take me a few minutes. Then we’ll know for sure that everything’s safe.”

“We’re safe here. I don’t want you going over there. What if somebody is there?”

“Then he’ll be in big trouble, won’t he?” Eve stepped onto the submerged bench, then onto the ledge. Water spilling off her body and spattering the concrete, she hurried over to the towels.

She squatted and snatched up her pistol.

“Wait,” Dana said. “Tuck’s right. You really shouldn’t go over there.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll be right back.”

“Maybe you won’t!” Tuck said. “Come on, you’re gonna ruin the party.”

Still squatting, Eve shifted the pistol to her left hand. She pushed her right hand into the folds of Tuck’s towel and pulled out the .44 magnum. “Mind if I borrow this?”

“Yeah, I mind. Just stay here.”

“If somebody is hiding over there,” Eve said, “I think we should find out about it.”

“Doesn’t mean you have to risk your ass.”

The huge revolver in one hand, the black automatic in the other, Eve stood up. “This better be loaded.”

“Damn it, Eve!”

Eve smiled, said, “Take it easy,” then started striding toward the end of the pool.

Dana leaped up. “Wait!” she called. “I’m coming, too.”

“Me, too!” Tuck shouted.

Eve stopped and faced them. “No. Just...”

They both sprang out of the spa.

“All for one and one for all!” Tuck yelled.

“Jesus H. Christ,” Eve said.

Water dribbling off her body, Dana crouched over her purse, fumbled inside and pulled out the pistol that Eve had loaned her last night.

As she rushed toward her two friends, she saw Eve hand the Smith & Wesson to Tuck.

“Be careful with it,” Eve said.

“Don’t you want to deputize us?” Tuck asked.

“Where would I pin the badges?”

“We don’t need no steenking badges.”

Eve in the lead, Dana and Tuck side by side a few paces behind her, they walked the length of the swimming pool, turned the corner, and headed for the dark row of bushes.

“If there is a Peeping Tom,” Tuck said, “he’ll think he’s having a wet dream.”

“Oh fuck,” John muttered, “I’d love to get a shot of this.”

“Don’t try it. We’ve gotta get out of here.”

In Owen’s mind, John ignored him and lurched out of the bushes, onto the pool’s apron straight in front of the spectacular trio and raised the big-lensed camera for what might’ve been the greatest photo of his entire life—and they opened up on him, their guns roaring, fire flashing from their muzzles. Owen could see how the flashes threw stark light across their wet, naked bodies. And he could see how the slugs struck John, smacking holes in him, making him twirl and dance in slow motion until he fell on his back.

Grabbing John’s arm, squeezing it, Owen blurted, “Come on!”

And John didn’t try for the shot. “Yeah,” he said. “Let’s book.”

Side by side, they scurried backward.

We’ll be okay, Owen told himself. 'They’ll never see us in here. Not without a flashlight.

He was nearly certain they had no flashlight.

As he crawled backward, he kept his eyes forward and watched for them. He ought to be able to see their legs through the bushes when they got to this end of the pool. Probably a few seconds from now.

Rustly sounds came from the bushes to his left.

Oh jeez, somebody IS over there!

The cough, a few minutes before Dana’s arrival, had frightened him badly.

But he’d heard nothing more from over there.

With Dana’s arrival, he’d been able to push his worries aside. Awestruck, he’d watched her remove her clothes. He’d been stunned to discover, when she pulled off her T-shirt, that she wasn’t wearing a bra.

“Ah, look at them titties,” John had said, inspecting her through his telephoto lens.

Owen had resisted an urge to hit him. He’d learned his lesson about that sort of thing. Besides, a blow might’ve jiggled the camera and ruined a shot.

The camera had clicked and buzzed again and again as Dana drew the T-shirt over her head, dropped it, and stepped down into the spa.

Then John had said, “Show’s over. Ready to go?”

“No way.”

“What, you don’t want to leave? I thought you couldn’t wait.”

“Blow it out you ass, Cromwell.”

“Think maybe they’ll have an orgy?”

“Shhh.”

“A three-way babe orgy.”

“Shut up.”

“How’d you like to get in the middle of that?”

The mere thought of it excited Owen. “Just shut up, okay? You want them to hear you?”

“They can’t hear shit...those bubbles and everything.”

“Maybe. But I’m not so sure we’re the only ones over here.”

“What, your phantom cougher?”

“It sure sounded like a cough.”

“Why don’t you go investigate, offer him a lozenge?”

“I haven’t got a lozenge.”

“What’re they gonna do, just sit in there and drink all night? Come on, babes, let’s have some action.”

“Would you please be quiet?”

Not long after that, the beautiful stranger had climbed out of the spa.

“Oh man, oh man,” John had murmured, his camera clicking and buzzing.

“Oh shit,” Owen had said. “She’s getting the guns! She beard you, you asshole!”

“Take it easy.”

Then Dana had stood up and climbed out, followed by Lynn.

“Oh man,” John had said, snapping shots rapid-fire, “look at Lynn, look at Lynn. Oh man, she shaves it!”

I see, I see!

“We’ve died and gone to heaven, man!”

Except that Dana, down on one knee, had just pulled a pistol out of her purse. And Eve had just handed the giant silver revolver to Lynn.

And then they were all together, coming around the pool like a bizarre version of the Earps on their way to the O.K. Corral.

Side by side, Owen and John kept crawling backward. Owen watched for the legs of the women.

“I meant to bring a flashlight,” he heard one of them say. Her voice came from the left and sounded as if she was still down by the deep end.

“Want me to run in the house and get one?” He recognized Lynn’s voice.

“No, don’t bother. Let’s get this over with.”

“What was that?” Dana asked.

Bowels going cold, Owen stopped crawling. John stopped, too.

“Did you hear something?” the stranger asked.

“I thought I did. In there.”

“What?” Lynn asked.

“Like leaves.”

“Probably just the wind,” Lynn said.

“Maybe.”

“I’m a police officer,” the stranger said suddenly in a loud, hard voice that made Owen flinch. “Come out of the bushes. We know you’re in there. Come out slowly with your bands over your bead.”

Owen turned his head. John, on hands and knees, seemed to be looking at him.

Softly, Owen went, “Shhh.”

“I’ll give you five seconds. Then I’m coming in after you. If you make me do that, I’m gonna be pissed.”

Owen counted slowly to five, then to ten.

“Here I come, ” she announced.

“You’re not really...?” Lynn’s voice.

“You two wait here. Keep your weapons ready, but try not to shoot me.”

“If you go in, I go in,” Diana said.

“Me, too,” said Lynn. “All for one...”

John suddenly whispered, “Let’s get the fuck outa here.”

They resumed crawling backward.

Fast.

For a few seconds, Owen heard talk about getting scratched by the bushes.

Then the stranger announced in a, loud voice, “Here we come, ready or not.”

Chapter Forty-three

HERE THEY COME

Scurrying backward, Owen heard something shaking the bushes to his left.

The gals?

No. They were tromping through the foliage in the same direction, but farther away.

It’s that other guy.

No longer trapped in the thick shrubbery, Owen turned himself around, scrambled to his feet and dashed into the woods.

John ran close behind him. They were both gasping for air. Their shoes pounded the ground, crunching the undergrowth and snapping twigs

The woods were awfully dark. Owen could see nothing except dim shapes of gray and black and a few pale speckles of moonlight.

He was risking a bad fall. Or a collision with a tree.

But at least he was putting distance between himself and the heavily armed women.

As the ground began to slope downward, he slowed his pace slightly.

They won’t follow us this far, he thought.

Still running, he glanced over his shoulder.

Nothing back there except a dark, wooded hillside.

We left ’em in the dust.

Hell, they probably never did more than take a little stroll through the shrubs.

If we give them a few more minutes, he thought, they’ll be back in the water.

How about going back for a return visit?

Not a good idea. That’d really be pushing our luck.

Better not mention it to John. He’ll have us going back there for sure.

John?

Slowing down to an easy jog, Owen again looked behind him.

He saw the dark, wooded slope, but he didn’t see John.

Or hear him.

No thudding of shoes, no huffing of breath.

Where’d he go?

Probably couldn’t keep up with me, Owen thought. The fat slob. Must’ve stopped to rest. Or maybe he tripped or something.

Owen walked over to a tree, turned around, then leaned back against its trunk to wait for John. He was out of breath, himself. His clothes were clinging to him, and sweat trickled down his face. He wiped his face with a sleeve of his shirt.

Okay, Cromwell, where are you?

What’d you do, decide to take a nap?

Owen gazed at the hillside rising above him and expected to see his obnoxious friend come chugging down it at any second, shirt flapping, camera swinging by its strap.

Tuck, holding her .44 magnum high, climbed down into the steaming water. “I got pricked so many times,” she said, “I feel like a two-dollar whore.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Eve crouched and placed her pistol on top of the towel.

She’s not taking it in with her, Dana noted. Even though the weapon would still be within easy reach, it seemed like a good sign that Eve was willing to let go of it.

So Dana squatted down over her purse and slipped her pistol inside. Then she followed Eve into the spa. The water, she supposed, was every bit as hot as before. But it didn’t seem to bum her this time.

Its heat took away her shivers and seemed to soften the tightness of her muscles. It even made her scratches feel better.

“Think he’ll be back?” Tuck asked.

“You never know,” Eve said. “I bet we gave him a hell of a scare.”

“Also gave him a hell of a show,” Dana pointed out.

“He probably won’t be back tonight, anyway,” Eve said.

“Took off like a scalded monkey.” Tuck set her revolver on the ledge and picked up her wine glass. It was nearly empty.

“Too bad he waited so long,” Eve said. “Could’ve saved us from getting scratched all to hell in those bushes.”

“You would’ve gone in anyway,” Tuck said, then drained her glass. “You’ll go in anywhere.”

“Maybe not anywhere.”

“I was afraid you might take off after him.”

“I gave it some thought,” Eve admitted.

“He sounded big,” Dana said.

Eve shrugged her bare shoulders. Dana noticed a few red scratches on them, and some faint scars as if she’d done this sort of thing before. “I wasn’t worried about that. But I didn’t want to go chasing him through the woods and leave you two behind. He might’ve circled back...”

“If you’d tried to chase him,” Tuck said, “I would’ve tackled you.”

“Fat chance.”

“Okay, maybe not. So I would’ve told my big buddy Bullwinkle to do it.”

Eve looked at Dana. “Bullwinkle?”

“That’s me.”

“Well, you’re about my size. I’m sure you could tackle me if you set your mind to it.”

“That’s why I keep her around,” Tuck explained. “Now, everybody stay put. The night’s still young. I’ll get us a new bottle.” She set her glass out of the way, then hurled herself out of the spa. Dripping, not even bothering to grab a towel, she ran naked into the house.

Eve said to Dana, “You actually broke your evening short so you could come back and watch out for Lynn?”

“Afraid so.”

That takes some real loyalty.”

“I knew she’d come out here.”

“I had my suspicions, too.”

“Glad you came by,” Dana told her.

“I messed up, though. I should’ve scouted around first thing...with my flashlight.

“Oh, well, no harm done.”

“I’m not so sure of that. We really did give the guy an eyeful. He’ll be back for sure, sooner or later.”

“You’ll have to keep coming back to protect us.”

“You mind?”

“Not at all.”

“Maybe I’ll use some of my comp time, take a few nights off and keep coming over till I manage to nail him.”

“Really?”.

“Sure.”

“That’s a lot of trouble.”

“No big deal. Hey, I don’t have enough friends to let stuff happen to them.”

Staring into Eve’s eyes, Dana nodded.

“I look out for my friends,” Eve said. “And I destroy my enemies.”

“Glad you’re on our side.”

“I’ll get this guy. Maybe tomorrow night...”

“Tomorrow night, we won’t be here.”

Eve looked puzzled. Then her face seemed to light up. “Oh! Of course not. The Midnight Tour. You’re going, too?”

“I thought I’d give it a try.”

“That’ll be fun”

“Have you ever done it?”

“A few times. It’s terrific.”

“Here comes the vino,” Tuck announced, hurrying toward them.

She held a bottle of red wine in one hand, a cork screw in the other. A few strides from the edge of the spa, she stopped, bent over slightly and clamped the bottle between her thighs. “Ah! That’s cold!”

“Don’t do anything obscene with it,” Eve said.

Laughing, Tuck wrapped her left hand around the neck of the bottle. “I’m not that kinda girl,” she said. With her right hand, she started twisting the screw into the cork. “So what did I miss?” she asked.

“I was just telling Dana that I’ll take a few nights off work and try to catch this guy.”

“Good deal!”

“And I mentioned about tomorrow night,” Dana added.

“Ah. Yeah.” Tuck twisted the screw deeper. “Dana’s gonna try the tour.”

“So she tells me.”

“How about you, Eve? Wanta come along, too?”

“Wouldn’t mind. You sure there’s room?”

“For you, there’s always room. Just make sure you wear your uniform.” She grunted and tugged, legs squeezing the bottle hard, tremors shaking her body. “The guests... love it.” With a sucking pomp!, the cork sprang out. Tuck’s arm leaped high. “Got it!”

“Bravo!” Eve said.

Dana clapped.

Climbing down into the spa, Tuck asked, “So you’ll come?”

“If you really want me to.”

“Sure. It’ll be great.” To Dana, she said, The guests love it when Eve’s on the tour. You’ve seen her in uniform She started to fill a glass. “We make like she bas to come...You know, for safety reasons. In case the beast shows up.”

“But so far it hasn’t?” Dana asked.

“So far.” Tuck handed the glass to Eve, then filled her own. “But who knows? Maybe one of these nights...”

“That’s what Warren’s afraid of,” Dana said.

They both looked at her.

Oh, no! What’d I say?

“Maybe I’ll have a little wine, after all.”

“Glass?” Tuck asked.

Dana shook her head. “That’s all right.” She accepted the bottle and took a swig from it. The wine was cold and not too sweet. “He just thinks the Midnight Tour is dangerous. He’s afraid somebody’ll get hurt one of these times.”

Tuck sat down, the bubbly water rising to her shoulders.

“He’s been spooked,” she said, “ever since he got jumped that time.”

“What’s that?” Eve asked. “Warren got jumped? When?”

“A couple of years ago.” Eve shrugged, then sipped wine from her glass. “He got beaten up one night by some teenagers.”

“Inside Beast House?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you report it?”

“To the police? Nah. It was no big deal. He got some bruises and cuts, that’s all. He didn’t even need a doctor.”

“What else. has happened in the house?”

“Nothing much,” Tuck said.

“Such as?”

“Just little stuff.”

“Such as?” Eve repeated.

“You know. The usual. Cassette players not getting returned. Kids trying to stay overnight.”

“Assaults? Murders?”

“Nah, nothing like that.”

“Disappearances?”

“Not really,” Tuck said. “They just turn out to be false alarms. Like that kid today.” She nodded at Dam.

“Some mother flew off the handle this afternoon,” Dana explained. “She thought her kid had vanished.”

“turned out to be a false alarm,” Tuck said.

“He’d gone sneaking up into the attic.”

“You got him back all right?” Eve asked.

“Oh, yeah.” Dana chuckled, then took a sip from the wine bottle. “I wasn’t halfway up the stairs before he let out a scream and came running down in a panic. He claimed something was up there...and chasing him.”

“Was anything up there?”

Dana shrugged. “I never got to...”

“I went up and checked it out,” Tuck interrupted.

“You obviously didn’t run into a beast,” Eve said.

“Nope. But I did find something interesting.” Leaning forward, she looked at Dana. “Remember Thursday morning? How Ethel’s gown was all torn up?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s that about?” Eve asked.

“Somebody’d gotten into the parlor overnight and messed around with the Ethel dummy. Her gown was tom. More so than usual. I mean, everything. was showing. I think the guy must’ve been a pervert or something. Fooled around with her, you know? Anyway, when I was searching the attic this afternoon because of the kid, I found a piece of Ethel’s gown.”

Dana stared at her. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

“What was it doing in the attic?”

“Not much. Just lying on the floor.”

“Are you sure it was fabric from Ethel’s gown?” Eve asked.

“Oh, yeah, pretty sure.”

“When you found the tampering with Ethel, did you look for signs of forced entry?”

Tuck grinned. “Into Ethel?”

“Into the house.”

“Weren’t any,” she said. “But you know how it goes. Somebody hides while we’re open for the tours.”

“And this kid today claimed someone else was in the attic with him?”

“Yeah, but nobody was.”

“Are you sure?”

“I looked.”

“Everywhere?” Eve asked.

Tuck shrugged. “You’ve been in the attic. It’s a huge mess. Would’ve taken me an hour to look everywhere.”

“Has anything else happened in the past few days?”

“A couple of disappearing cassette players.”

“And there was that car on Front Street,” Dana pointed out. “It’s been there since Thursday.”

“What sort of car?” Eve asked.

“An old blue Ford Granada.”

“Is it still there?” Tuck asked.

“I think so,” Dana said. “I’m not sure. It was still there this morning, but...”

“I’ll stop by and take a look tonight. Where exactly was it parked?”

Dana thought for a moment, then said, “On the east side of Front Street, just about half a block north of Beast House.”

“If it’s still there, I’ll run a check on the plates and see what I can find out about the owner.”

“If you find out he vanished without a trace,” Tuck said, “make sure and let us know.”

“You can bet on it.”

Standing on the wooded slope with his back against the tree, Owen didn’t think he could wait much longer.

He was getting too scared.

He wished he had the courage to call out John’s name. But he was afraid of who might hear him—who might come looking for him in the darkness.

Anyway, calling out for John wouldn’t do any good.

Owen had already figured out the possibilities.

John might be playing a trick on him—ditching him or hiding nearby to enjoy Owen’s torment.

Or maybe he’d returned to the pool to spy on the gals for a while longer.

Or somehow, he’d gotten lost and wandered out of earshot.

Or maybe he’d had a bad accident, rendering him unconscious or dead.

Or he’d gotten attacked—abducted or killed.

Owen hadn’t been able to think of any other alternatives.

One of them, he figured, almost bad to be the truth. And no matter which it might be, he couldn’t see any benefit to calling out for John.

I can’t Just stand here all night!

What’ll I do?

He knew one thing he could not do: ascend the hillside.

But what if John crashed into a tree and he’s out cold up there?

I would’ve heard it happen, he told himself. The guy was right on my tail.

And I didn’t hear anything.

How could that be? he wondered.

Wondering about it gave him goosebumps.

The bastard probably just stopped on his own, turned around and sneaked away.

He’s probably waiting for me down at the car.

Goosebumps still prickling his skin, Owen pushed himself away from the tree, turned around and started rushing downhill through the darkness.

He ran with his hands out in front of him in case of a collision.

As he ran, he thought he heard someone huffing behind him.

But he looked back and nobody was there.

He thought he heard other quick, pounding feet.

Looking back, he saw no one.

Nobody’s after me!

But he looked back again.

And again.

He heard himself make whimpery noises as he panted for breath.

And thought he heard someone else whimpering in the night behind him.

Cut it out! Nobody’s after me!

I’m gonna get down to the road and find John’s lousy heap of a car and he’ll be waiting in it, laughing at me.

At last, Owen found a road

And finally, he found John’s car.

Wheezing, whimpering, hardly able to stay on his feet, he staggered down the narrow road toward the rear of the old Ford Granada. He stumbled to the passenger door. Crouching, he looked through the open window.

Where the hell ARE you?

He opened the door. The overhead bulb cast a dim, yellowish light through the car’s interior.

No John in the front seat.

No John in the back seat.

No key in the ignition.

Where is be? What’ll I do?

Feeling confused, worn out and helpless, Owen climbed into the car. He sat down on the crunched copy of Fangoria and pulled his door shut.

The overhead light went out.

He waited in darkness for John’s return.

Chapter Forty-four

SANDY’S STORY—June, 1997

She drove down Front Street, looking for the blue Ford Granada. There were only a couple of cars parked on the street near Beast House, and neither fit Dana’s description.

So maybe its owner hadn’t vanished, after all.

But a lot of funny stuff had gone on recently inside Beast House.

Worth checking out, Sandy thought.

She turned her Range Rover around and drove back into town.

A block past Beast House, she made a right turn and headed up a sidestreet. She parked at the curb. On both sides of the street, all the places of business were closed for the night.

This time, she didn’t leave her flashlight behind.

Though she carried it, she didn’t turn it on.

Staying a block east of Front Street, she made her way back toward Beast House.

She was shivering, but doubted that it had much to do with the chilly breeze or her damp hair or the fact that she’d just spent more than an hour in the steaming hot water of a spa. The shivers, she was sure, had mostly to do with Eric.

What if he’s in there?

Ever since the day he ran off, five years ago, she’d looked forward with terrible hope and dread to the time when they might meet again.

If he hadn’t fled, she would have shot him. She was pretty sure of that.

But now?

I’ll still shoot him, she told herself. For what he did to Terry. For what he did to me. To stop him from hurting anyone else.

I’ll kill him, all right.

If I find him.

At the rear of the Beast House grounds, Sandy came to the old iron fence with the spikes along the top. A lot had been changed over the years, but this section of fence remained the same.

Standing close to the bars, she scanned the area ahead.

She remembered a time when there’d been no paved patio area behind the house. No snack stand. No tables and chairs. No gift shop. No restrooms. None of this. Just the old gazebo—now on display in Janice Crogan’s museum—and a big, grassy lawn that Wick used to mow once a week. She remembered times when she would sit in the gazebo in the evenings, all alone. And times when she made love on the dewy grass late at night. With Seth. With Jason.

Eric might very well have been conceived on such a night, his father gleaming white as snow in the moonlight.

Sandy liked to think that Seth was Eric’s father. Seth was such a sweetheart. And gentle. Not like Jason. Seth probably was the father, but she couldn’t be sure.

Doesn’t matter, she told herself, suddenly feeling a pain of loss. They’re both dead, anyway. And Eric’ll be dead, too, if I find him.

Crouching, she slipped the flashlight between the iron bars of the fence. She set it on the grass, then climbed the iron bars. At the top, she imagined falling onto the spikes, feeling one or two of them drive up through her jeans and into...

Stop it!

She leaped, dropped to the grass, and rolled. Then she retrieved her flashlight. Its ribbed casing was wet with dew.

She wiped it with the tail of her outer shirt, then ran across the moonlit grass. She entered the paved patio through a gap between the gift shop and snack stand.

Warren’s snack stand,

If it was really teenagers that jumped him, she thought, why the big secret?

Because it wasn’t teenagers. It was a beast. It was Eric. And Warren was afraid somebody might find out Eric did more than just beat him up-so he concocted a lie.

That explains a lot, Sandy thought.

Explains why Warren quit being a Beast House guide and how he suddenly became the owner of the snack stand.

Janice must’ve bribed him with it.

Which would mean she knew the truth.

Which would mean she’s been letting the tours continue—even the

How could she do a thing like that? Sandy wondered.

The answer came to her mind in the old, familiar voice of Maggie Kutch-“Easy: m-o-n-e-y.”

No, Sandy thought. Janice isn’t like that. She wouldn’t risk the lives of innocent people that way. So maybe she doesn’t know what really happened to Warren.

Or maybe it was teenagers.

Eric would’ve killed him.

Sandy climbed the wooden stairs to the back porch of Beast House.

Warren would be dead, she told herself, if Eric had attacked him. Dead like Terry and all the others. So obviously, Eric wasn’t responsible for...

He didn’t kill me.

That’s different, she thought. I’m his mother. He hardly hurt me at all—a few scratches, a few bites, nothing major.

Everybody else, he rips apart

He would’ve shredded Warren, killed him.

So maybe it was teenagers, after all.

The porch door was locked. Clamping the flashlight between her thighs, Sandy dug into a front pocket of her jeans and pulled out a folding Buck knife. She opened the four-inch blade and slipped it into the crack between the screen door and its frame.

A simple hook and eye secured the door.

She couldn’t see them, but she knew they were there. They’d been there in the old days when she was a guide. And they’d still been there the last time she’d secretly entered Beast House to search for Eric.

After first returning to Malcasa Point in early 1993, she’d gone into the house two or three nights a week. But that hadn’t lasted long. Soon, she’d tapered off to once or twice a month as she began to give up her theory that Eric would return to the town of his birth, the home of his ancestors.

He’s not a homing pigeon, she used to tell herself.

But then she would think of all the stories she’d heard about cats and dogs finding their way home from enormous distances...

Their cabin to Malcasa Point wouldn’t be any great trick.

A person could walk the distance in less than a week, no trouble at all.

Eric, apparently, hadn’t.

Maybe he just wasn’t interested in returning to Malcasa Point. Or maybe he didn’t know how. Or he couldn’t return because he’d been injured or killed.

Maybe I’m the reason he hasn’t come. He might’ve figured thal I’d be here, waiting to kill him.

Though Sandy could only guess at the reason, the fact was that she never found Eric—or any trace of his presence—during her clandestine visits to Beast House.

She’d made her last illegal entry near the end of 1994.

Here we go again, she thought.

With a flick of the knife, she tapped the unseen hook out of its unseen eye. She folded the knife, slipped it into her pocket, then took the flashlight from between her thighs and opened the screen door. Inside the porch, she eased the door shut. She fastened its hook.

Turning around slowly, flashlight off, she scanned the dark porch. During the day, it served as a makeshift lounge area for Beast House staff members. She knew there was a sofa, a card table, a couple of old lounge chairs and a small refrigerator. Now, they made a jumble of motionless shadows. She smelled a faint, stale odor of cigarette butts.

Facing the back door of the house, Sandy listened. She heard the quick thumping of her own heart. Off in the hills, an owl hooted. She also noticed a quiet shhhhh that might be the breeze or might be a car rushing down Front Street.

Nobody here but me.

She stepped to the wooden door. Again, she clamped the flashlight between her legs. Hands free, she removed a slim leather case from a breast pocket of her outer shirt. She opened it and drew out her pick and tension bar.

She felt for the door knob, found the lock hole, then slipped her tools into it.

She needed no light for picking the lock

Inside the kitchen of Beast House—the door shut and locked behind her back—Sandy put away the tools. Then she took slow, deep breaths, trying to calm down.

This was another reason she’d given up the break-ins.

Too damn rough on the nerves.

Her heart was trying to smash its way out of her chest. Sweat trickled down her face and neck. The flashlight felt slippery in her hand.

With the tail of her outer shirt, she wiped her face.

Then she made her way slowly through the kitchen.

Nothing to be afraid of, she told herself.

I’m the baddest son-of-a-bitch in the Valley.

She smiled, but her smile trembled.

She knew that she wasn’t afraid of physical harm to herself...and she certainly didn’t fear “the beast.” She had no reason to fear being caught trespassing, either; not only was she a police officer, but she was one of Lynn Tucker’s best friends. If taken for a prowler, she could simply explain that she’d entered to investigate something. Maybe she’d noticed a flicker of light in one of the windows...

She feared none of that. What terrified her was the possibility of confronting her son.

Her baby.

Eric.

She had always loved him. Even before his birth, when he was an unseen force slumbering in her womb, she’d loved him.

After his birth, she’d cherished him even more. She would’ve done anything for him. She would’ve died for him. She did kill for him, and he had killed for her.

But Eric had also murdered Terry.

And he had taken Sandy by force and made her pregnant, and caused all that

She had to kill him. For what he’d done to Terry. For what he’d done to her and what she’d bad to do because of it. But she still loved him. She would never be able to stop loving him, no matter what he might do, but she had to kill him nonetheless.

He probably isn’t here, anyway, she told herself.

But maybe he is.

Something had scared the kid in the attic.

While still in the spa, Sandy had decided to try the attic first.

She left the kitchen and walked slowly along the narrow passage to the foot of the stairway. Then she stepped around the newel post and began to climb the stairs. She made no attempt for silence. Her western boots clumped against the wood. The old planks creaked and moaned under her weight.

The noises seemed very loud in the silence. Sandy figured they could probably be heard throughout the house-except perhaps in the attic and cellar.

They might warn Eric of her approach.

Good.

Be smart and run for your life, honey. Momma’s here to gun you down.

At the top of the stairs, she turned to the right and walked heavily down the hallway. She stopped at the attic door.

It was shut. With her left hand, she unhooked one end of the cordon and let it fall. Then she gave the knob a twist. The door wasn’t locked. She swung it open.

The stairway to the attic was as black as a mine shaft.

Sandy switched her flashlight on. Its beam drilled through the darkness, slanting upward all the way to the shut door at the top of the stairs.

She changed the flashlight to her left hand.

With her right hand, she unholstered her 9 mm Sig Sauer semiautomatic. A hollow-point in the chamber and the hammer down, the double-action pistol was ready to fire. A pull of the trigger would do it.

The bright beam trembling on the attic door, Sandy began to climb the stairs. The stairwell was hot and stuffy. She panted for breath. She blinked sweat out of her eyes. She could feel her T-shirt clinging to her back. Sweat dribbled down her inner thighs. The moist seat of her jeans pressed against her buttocks as she climbed.

Don’t let him be up here, she thought.

Please, God, I don’t want to kill him. But I will. You know I will. If you don’t want me to, don’t let me, find him,

At the top, she clamped the flashlight between her thighs.

Then she used her empty hand to turn the knob and shove the door.

It swung open, hinges squealing, and the beam of her light tunneled into the attic.

Reaching down, she pulled the flashlight free. She held it low and off to the side as she stepped over the threshold. Just inside the doorway, she began to move the flashlight slowly. The pale beam, aswirl with specks like miniature snowflakes, drifted at hip level from one side of the attic toward the other.

It lit the steeply slanted roof, thick support beams, the broken-faced mannequin of Officer Dan Jenson...

The kid didn’t run into any beast, just caught a glimpse of poor Dan!

Mystery solved.

Though Sandy felt her tension start melting away, she continued to move her light across the attic. It revealed old steamer trunks and suitcases, cardboard boxes, dummies of the two Zieglers, framed paintings stacked against a wall, a few rolled rugs, an ancient wheelchair, a tattered sofa, a rocking chair, a pedestal table and other odds and ends of old furniture.

Then her flashlight illuminated a hunched, furry creature with wild eyes and teeth bared in a mad snarl.

Vincent, the stuffed monkey. A Nineteenth Century umbrella stand, it used to reside in the foyer.

Sandy smiled, recalling how it often freaked out the kids.

Maybe that’s why Janice stored it away.

Though Sandy had been in the attic several times, on her own and with the Midnight Tour, she hadn’t seen Vincent in years. Not since her old days as a guide.

She smiled at the hideous monkey. “How you doing, Vincent old pal?” She stepped closer to him and squatted down—grimacing as her buttocks and crotch pushed against the sweaty denim of her jeans. “You’re looking a bit the worse for wear,” she said.

His short brown fur looked a lot more ratty and filthy than she remembered. If she dared to pat him on top of the head, a cloud of dust would probably rise.

He seemed to be glaring into her eyes.

In the old days, to test her courage, Sandy used to dare herself to insert her forefinger into his open mouth. She’d always been sure that Vincent, though dead and stuffed, wouldn’t miss the opportunity to bite her finger off. She’d also known that he couldn’t. He was dead and stuffed. If he tried to bite her finger, his jaw would probably break off.

Still, she’d never been able to do it.

Sandy hadn’t feared the fangs of living beasts, but the teeth of poor old Vincent always terrified her.

“You don’t scare me now,” she whispered.

She set her pistol on the floor.

“You wouldn’t bite your old friend, would you?”

Vincent glared at her.

“You better not,” she warned him.

Then she eased her forefinger into his mouth.

And gasped out a yelp of fright as she was clutched from behind by her crotch and neck and jerked high. The flashlight flew from her hand. Her head pounded against a roof heam. As the light blinked out, she felt herself slam against the attic floor.

Chapter Forty-five

RUDE AWAKENING

Dana woke up feeling chilly. She was curled on her side, covered only by the top sheet. She supposed she must’ve thrown off the blanket.

The bedroom was gray with early morning light.

She glanced at the clock.

6:20

Mmm Great. I can go back to sleep. If I can just get warm.

Straightening her left leg, she tried to feel the blankest.

There seemed to be nothing down there except the lightweight sheet.

Her blanket must’ve fallen off the end of the bed.

Only one way to retrieve it—by getting up.

Dana groaned.

She didn’t want to move. Even though the sheet that covered her to the shoulders felt unpleasantly cool, the mattress underneath her body was cozy and warm.

She imagined Warren being in the bed, too. Asleep on the other side of it.

If only, she thought.

His side of the bed would be nice and warm. She would roll toward him and squirm closer until she could feel his heat. Then she would rest her face on his shoulder, curl an arm across chest, swing a leg over his thighs. She would stay on him like that, and fall asleep.

What’s he wearing? she wondered.

Soft, flannel pajamas.

In the morning, she would wake up fust. And watch him sleep for a while. Then she would sneak her hand into the open fly of his pajamma bottoms...

Moaning, Dana rolled toward the other side of the bed

It was empty.

Of course.

Warren’s probably fast asleep in his own bed right now.

Maybe he’s lying awake, the same as me. Wishing he could turn over and take me in his arms.

If I don’t go on the tour, she thought, we can be together tonight.

The tour’ll be fun.

Anyway, I promised Tuck.

Would she really mind if I missed it? Dana wondered. She’ll still have Eve with her. It’s not like she has to have an entourage.Why don’t I just tell her that I’d like to see Warren tonight, but I’ll go on the tour with her next Saturday?

Not a bad idea, she thought.

She imagined herself stepping up to the window of the snack stand, Warren smiling out at her. He would say, “You look wonderful this morning, Dana.”

And she would say, “Guess what! I can see you tonight, after all. I decided to bag the Midnight Tour.”

“Great!”

Excited by her plan, she no longer felt drowsy or chilly.

But this was too early for starting the day.

I’ll take a pee, she thought. Then I’ll get nice and cozy and try to grab a couple more hours of sleep.

Flopping onto her back, she swept the top sheet away and sat up.

Then gazed down at herself.

She’d gone to bed last night wearing a white cotton nightshirt.

She still wore it.

But now it hung from her shoulders, ripped wide open down the front.

“Uh-oh,” she muttered.

What the hell’s going on?

She stared at her nightshirt’s ragged edges.

I didn’t do it, did I?

If didn’t, who did?

She recalled the strange sound she’d heard yesterday just after waking up—a door sliding shut as if an overnight intruder were sneaking out of the house.

She suddenly felt crawly.

Goosebumps prickled her skin.

Take it easy, she told herself. Maybe I did it in my sleep.

Not likely, but possible

And maybe not quite as farfetched as the idea that a prowler was in here and ripped it open.

If be ripped it oven, what else did he do?

What if he messed with me?

Climbing off the bed, Dana felt her soreness.

That’s from Warren, she told herself.

Is it?

She wanted to turn on a light. She wanted to take off the split nightshirt and study herself in a mirror.

But two strides away from the bed, her bare left foot kicked something heavy and hard.

She cried out in pain.

The kicked object spun across the floor and vanished behind a corner of the dresser.

Hurt foot up, Dana hopped backward on her good foot and dropped onto the edge of the bed. She sat there, face contorted, throat tight, toes throbbing. Very quickly, however, the pain subsided.

Then she scooted sideways on the mattress, reached out and turned on the lamp. Three of her toes looked red. So did a dozen or so scratches on her legs and belly and breasts. And several mouth-shaped blotches.

The toes got that way from smashing against that thing on the floor.

The scratches all came from roaming the bushes behind Tuck’s pool last night. Probably.

The blotches all came from Warren’s mouth. Probably.

Warren really wracked me up, she thought. I won’t be the same for a week.

Neither will be.

Smiling slighty, she decided nobody else had been tampering with her body.

Probably.

Maybe she bad torn the nightshirt herself. Maybe got carried away, dreaming.

As a kid, she’d sleepwalked a few times.

Maybe it was something like that.

But what the hell did I kick? she wondered. A shoe?

I don’t think it was a shoe.

She stood up: Her injured toes ached, but not too badly.

Trying to keep the pressure off them, she limped over to the dresser.

And stepped past it.

On the floor in front of her feet was an expensive-looking camera with a telephoto lens.

She crouched over it.

A Minolta.

She reached for it.

She grabbed the thick lens, but it felt moist and sticky.

She jerked her hand away.

And stared at the red stain across her palm and fingers.

“Oh, shit,” she muttered. Then she yelled, “Tuck!”

Seconds later, Dana heard racing footsteps.

Thank God she’s all right.

If that IS Tuck.

Better be.

Suddenly, Tuck lurched through the doorway. She wore a blue pajama shirt. Though only two of its buttons were fastened, it apparently hadn’t been torn open. Her hair was mussed. She was breathing hard. She held the huge, stainless steel magnum in her hand. “What happened?” she gasped.

“Somebody...look.” Dana brushed her fingertips against the torn edges of her nightshirt.

“Huh? How’d that happen?”

“I don’t know. I woke up and...” She shook her head.

“Somebody must’ve done it while I was asleep.”

“You think so?”

“I don’t think I did it. Did you do it?”

“Not hardly.”

“And look at this.” She stepped over to the camera and nudged it with her right foot.

“A nice one.”

“But whose is it? It’s not mine.”

Tuck’s mouth tilted crooked. “Is now, huh?”

A laugh escaped from Dana. “Yeah, sure.”

“It’s a beauty.” Crouching, Tuck reached for the camera.

“Better not touch it. You’ll get blood on you.”

“Huh?”

Dana held out her stained hand.

“Oh, yuck. That’s from the camera?”

“Yeah.”

“Shit.” Tuck stood up and took a step backward. Frowning, she looked from the camera to Dana’s exposed body. “Whose blood?”

“Not mine.”

“Then it must be his.” She looked down at the carpet, her gaze roaming. “I don’t see any more.” She held out her revolver toward Dana. “Why don’t you hold on to this and I’ll call Eve.”

Dana took the weapon.

Tuck stepped over to the telephone extension on the nightstand. She tapped in three numbers. Then she said, “Malcasa Point...The number for Eve Chaney. C-h-a-n-e-y...Right.”

Seconds later, her fingers scurried over the keys, entering Eve’s telephone number.

Then she stared at Dana and listened.

She made a face. “Answering machine.”

“Maybe she screens her calls.”

Tuck nodded, waited, then said, “Eve? This is Lynn Tucker. Pick up if you’re there, okay? Eve? Yo, Eve! Pick up! I’m sorry to be calling at this hour, but we’ve had another problem over here. Somebody was in Dana’s room. He cut open her nightshirt, maybe took some pictures of her. We don’t know if he’s still in the house. His camera is. And it has blood on it. He might’ve cut himself with whatever he used on Dana’s nightshirt. I don’t know. Where the hell are you? Anyway, give me a call when you can.” She hung up and said, “Shit.”

“Heavy sleeper,” Dana suggested.

“Who knows.”

“I hope she got home all right.”

“Like we don’t have enough to worry about.”

“Should we call 911?”

“About us or Eve?”

“Us. I think it’d be a little premature to call the cops about Eve.”

“I don’t want to call them period—have one of those assholes like Cochran show up in half an hour or so. You start telling him what happened, he’ll get himself a fuckin’ boner.” She held out her hand, and Dana gave the revolver to her. “You get your gun and we’ll take a look around. The bastard’s probably long gone, but you never know.”

Dana’s purse was hanging by its strap from the closet door.

She walked over to it, reached in, and pulled out the pistol Eve had loaned to her.

“How do you suppose he keeps getting in?” she asked.

Tuck shook her head. “No idea. But I know he’ll never get in again. Not if we find him. I’ll blow his ass off.”

Chapter Forty-six

OWEN’S BAD NIGHT

They were chasing Owen over a sunny, deserted stretch of beach.

He was terrified, but he didn’t know why. They were Dana and Lynn and the beautiful stranger from the Jacuzzi. They looked great. They were golden in the sunlight. Except for their cowboy hats and western boots, they were naked

They’ll never catch me, not in those shit-kicker boots.

But they were gaining on him!

If they get me...

He wasn’t sure what would happen if they caught him, but he knew it would be horrible.

They’ll do me like they did Cromwell.

He wasn’t sure what they’d done to John. All he knew was that his friend had been running just behind him down the beach and then he was gone.

What’d they do to him?

Something monstrous.

And they’/l do it to me if they catch me.

He glanced back.

They were so much closer than before!

He felt a scream rising in his chest.

And suddenly he heard the vroom! of a car engine. Speeding straight toward him, sand blooming behind it, was John’s old blue dune buggy.

He’s coming to the rescue!

“Hurry!” Owen yelled.

It raced closer, closer.

Glancing back, he saw the women stop running.

They’re giving up!

Laughing with relief, he ran toward the dune buggy.

As it bore down on him, he saw that the driver wasn’t John.

Of course not. They got John, remember?

The driver was Monica, teeth bared, glee in her violet eyes, her raven hair blowing wild. Her arms and shoulders were bare. Tied around her neck was a silk scarf. It matched her eyes, and flowed behind her in the wind.

She’s gonna run me over!

“No!” he yelled, and woke up.

Morning. At last.

But the engine sound was real.

Heart pounding, Owen scurried off the bed and ran to the window. He pulled its heavy curtains apart. Sunlight flooded his room.

Over to the right, a white Porsche was backing out of a parking space. It stopped for a moment, its engine rumbling. Then it swung away and thundered toward the exit.

Owen let his hands fall. The curtains stayed open.

He scanned the entire courtyard, looking for John’s old Ford.

Most of the parking spaces were empty.

They’d been packed last night when he finally got back. By then, the Welcome Inn’s neon “No Vacancy” sign had been glowing by the side of the road.

He’d sure been glad to see that sign.

Up in the wooded hills last night, waiting for John, Owen feared that he would never get back.

He sat in the car all alone, surrounded by darkness.

Afraid a hand might reach in and grab him, he soon rolled up the windows and locked the doors. But with all fresh air cut off, strange, disgusting odors seemed to rise around him and envelop him.

He tried to put up with the stink.

Then he thought, What’s a window going to keep out? I’m no safer in here than I’d be outside.

He didn’t exactly believe that, so it took a lot of courage to open the door and climb out.

It was good to get away from the nasty odors.

But he felt exposed.

After standing in front of the car for a while, he climbed up and sat on its hood.

And sat there.

Surrounded by darkness.

Shivering with cold and fear.

They could get me from any side!

He stuck with it, though.

He frequently checked his wristwatch. Each minute seemed to last for ten. When his watch showed 11:30, he told himself that he would wait till midnight.

If John isn’t back by then, I’ll walk to the motel

Or try to, anyway,

On the way up, he hadn’t paid close attention to the route. A downhill course, however, should take him to Front Street somewhere north of town. Make a left, and he’d get to the Welcome Inn sooner or later.

It’s probably no more than four or five miles, he thought.

If I have to walk back, that’ll be it for John. He doesn’t get into the room tonight and be doesn’t go on the Midnight Tour. Not on the ticket I paid for. I’ll rip it to shreds,

Don’t rip it up, he told himself. Turn it in at the ticket office and get a refund.

Or scalp it tomorrow night. I can probably sell it for a lot more than I paid for it. Maybe a hundred and fifty, two hundred bucks. I should shoot for two hundred...

Right, Sure thing. John has the pictures, so I’ll give him whatever be wants.

If he ever shows up.

At 11:41, Owen heard crunching noises in the woods to his right.

They sounded like footsteps.

He felt his scrotum shrivel.

Maybe it’s John, he told himself.

Staring into the trees beside the road, he saw nothing except motionless shadows and bits of moonlight.

The noises stopped.

He opened his mouth, but couldn’t force himself to call out.

If it’s John, why doesn’t be come out? Why’s he doing this to me?

What if it ISN’T john?

Owen glanced at his wristwatch.

11:43

“Well,” he muttered. “Guess it’s about time to get going.”

He jumped down from the hood and walked slowly away from the front of John’s car.

Slowly for a few strides, then faster.

Then faster.

The moment he rounded the curve in the road, he broke into a run. Shoes smacking the pavement, arms pumping, he sprinted for all his worth. He ran on and on.

At last, worn out, he slowed to a walk. Aching, panting, drenched in sweat, he turned around.

Nobody was chasing him.

Got away just in the nick of time.

With frequent glances over his shoulder, Owen walked the rest of the way back to the Welcome Inn.

Nobody gave chase.

No cars passed him, not even while he walked along Front Street.

He saw nobody at all.

When he finally spotted the neon “No Vacancy” sign of the Welcome Inn, he felt saved.

I’m all right now.

Though the courtyard was crowded with parked cars, nobody was roaming about. The room windows were dark. He heard no voices, no laughter.

Am I the only one up at this hour?

Trying to be quiet, he let himself into his room. It felt hot and stuffy. He turned on a light and looked around. There were John’s broken glasses on top of the nightstand. And there was the telephone directory where he’d found Lynn’s address.

No John.

What did you think, he’d beat you back? He’s still up there, having the time of his life.

Or else dead.

He’ll be back, Owen told himself. Any minute now, he’ll come pounding on the door, wanting in. And then he’ll brag about all the great stuff I missed.

In the bathroom, Owen shut and locked the door. Then he took off his clothes. They were filthy and sodden with sweat. He piled them in a corner of the floor, bent over the tub and turned the water on. It thundered out of the spigot.

He hoped the noise of the plumbing wouldn’t disturb anyone.

But he had to take a shower.

He made it quick.

As he stood beneath the hot spray, he thought he heard voices, people knocking on the door of his room, even the ringing of his telephone.

But nobody was there when he got out.

The red light on the phone wasn’t blinking, so nobody had called and left a message.

He stepped back into the bathroom, but left the door wide open while he dried himself, brushed his teeth, then urinated and flushed the toilet.

Done in the bathroom, he searched his suitcase and pulled out his pajamas. They were pale white and neatly folded. He hadn’t worn them at all since leaving Los Angeles, but tonight he might need to haul himself out of bed to let John in. So he put them on.

I guess I’ll have to let him in, Owen thought.

Then he gave the bed a quick inspection. Satisfied that there was nothing disturbing between its sheets, he turned off the light and climbed in.

It felt great.

He sighed with pleasure, shut his eyes, and fell asleep.

And lurched awake in the dark room, sweaty and gasping, his heart slamming with fright.

He sat up and turned on the nightstand lamp. He checked his wristwatch.

3:20

He looked at the other bed.

Where the bell is he!

Owen switched the lamp off. He flopped back down on the bed and shoved aside the blanket. Even the sheet seemed too hot, so he flipped it away. He shut his eyes and tried to sleep.

His mind was a turmoil, swirling with a seemingly endless string of feverish scenerios about John, about Dana and Lynn and the beautiful but dangerous stranger, about whoever or whatever had been lurking nearby in the bushes, even about Monica. Some of the images terrified him. Others wracked him with guilt. One moved him with hopes of love. A few made him grow hard with lust. He writhed on the bed, his damp pajamas twisted around his body. He lost track of when he was awake, when asleep. The scenerios wouldn’t stop. They seemed too vivid to be dreams.

More like hallucinations.

Every so often, cars drove up. There were knocks on the door and he climbed out of bed, thinking John had finally returned. The first time, John stood there headless. Another time, he seemed all right but out of breath and frantic. “Let me in! Let me in! It’s after me!”

“What’s after you?”

“The great white ape! Let me in!”

Still another time, Owen had opened the door and found John naked and torn and bloody all over, his stiff severed penis protruding from his mouth like a cigar.

“Need a light?” Owen asked.

In answer, John jerked him mouth open wide and the penis fell out and he screamed like a terrified lunatic.

Longest damn night of my life, Owen thought as he stared out the window at the sunny courtyard.

John’s car wasn’t there.

I wonder if I should call the police.

And tell them what? he asked himself. That we were up in the hills last night spying on some naked gals in a jacuzzi and John disappeared?

Real cute.

Besides, who’s to say he isn’t perfectly all right? He might’ve even ended up in the sack with one of those gals.

Fat chance.

The hell with him anyway. He’s a jerk.

Owen turned away from the window.

Might as well get dressed and..

I’d better take another shower first, he thought. He certainly needed one. And maybe a long, hot shower would loosen up his tense muscles, help him to calm down.

Inside the bathroom, he shut and locked the door and peeled off his damp pajamas.

As he stood under the hot spray, he decided that he would have a nice breakfast, then go over to Beast House and try to get a refund on John’s ticket for the Midnight Tour.

“Your ticket? Well, you disappeared, old pal. I really didn’t think you’d have any use for it, so I sold it.”

“YOU SOLD MY TICKET???”

“Sorry.”

A weary smile lifted the comers of Owen’s mouth.

Chapter Forty-seven

Saturday Gets Under Way

“Wake up! Yo! Time to rise and shine, your highness. It’s me. Lynn. You there? You gonna pick up? Where the hell are you? Anyway, we had a visitor last night—as you already know if you listened to the previous message. We subsequently searched the house but didn’t have any luck finding him. Don’t know how he got in, either. But then, you’re the trained investigator, not us. And you’re making yourself conveniently scarce. Bitch. Hey, we are starting to worry about you. Not that you can’t take care of yourself, but...Never mind. We’re leaving for work in a couple of minutes. You can call me there or drop by. And don’t forget about tonight. We’re expecting you for the tour—in full battle regalia. Plan to get there in time for the picnic if you can. But don’t make us wait all day to hear from you, okay? It’d be nice to know you didn’t have an accident and shoot off your toe or something. Not that we care. Anyway, take it easy. Bye.”

On the way to Beast House in the passenger seat of the Jeep, Dana pictured herself asleep in the bedroom while someone hunched over her in the darkness, sliced her nightshirt all the way down, spread it open and snapped photographs of her body.

Did he use a flash?

Why didn’t I wake up?

And why did he leave his camera behind?

She realized that Tuck had spoken to her. “Huh?” she asked.

“The blue Granada. It’s gone.”

Dana looked at the area of curb where the car used to be. “You’re right. Maybe its owner finally showed up.”

“Or Eve had it towed away last night.”

“But where is she?” Dana asked.

Tuck shook her head. “Who knows? Maybe she spent the night somewhere with a secret boyfriend. Or maybe she was at home and just couldn’t hear the phone from her bedroom. Or heard it, but didn’t feel like answering.”

“Do you think she’s all right?”

Tuck shrugged. “I don’t know. But I think it’s way too early to start worrying.”

“When should we start worrying?”

Tuck swung off Front Street. She stopped at the closed gate to the Beast House parking lot, then met Dana’s eyes. “If she doesn’t show up for the Midnight Tour.”

Tuck and Dana entered Beast House together for the walkthrough.

In the attic, Tuck pointed out where she’d found the patch of fabric from Ethel’s gown—at the feet of a scraggly, stuffed brown monkey.

Dana had never seen the monkey before. “Where’d that thing come from?” she asked.

“Oh, that’s Vincent the umbrella stand. Maybe be’s the one who monkeyed with Ethel.”

Dana smiled and shook her head.

“You know what?” Tuck said. “This is a little strange. Should’ve mentioned it to Eve last night. Vincent isn’t supposed to be here.”

“Where is he supposed to be?”

“He used to be down in the foyer where everybody’d see him when they started the tour. He freaked people out. Kids used to cry. Even adults thought he was awful. So I’m told. Janice had him removed before my time. She actually couldn’t stand the cute little guy.”

“Nothing cute about him.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Reaching down, Tuck patted the top of his. head. Pale dust rose. He wobbled slightly.

“Real nice. Touch him.”

“The thing is, Janice hid him. She put him way over there in a back corner and covered him with a sheet so nobody would see him.”

“You saw him.”

“What can I say? I’m a snoop. Anyway, he was tucked out of sight until yesterday. Obviously, somebody moved him.”

“Great,” Dana muttered.

“Maybe whoever messed with Ethel. Or maybe it was the kid.”

“Lance?”

“Yeah.”

“I doubt if he was up here long enough. But you know what? This monkey might be what scared the crap out of him.”

“A cute little fellow like Vincent?” Tuck asked, and again patted the monkey’s head.

Unwilling to wait alone in the kitchen, Dana followed Tuck down the cellar stairs. They creaked under her footfalls. As she decended, she smelled dank earth and felt the air grow cool.

“Charming place,” she muttered.

“You should see it at night.”

“Can’t wait.”

“I get people sometimes, they won’t even come down here. Or they’ll start down, then run back up. You believe it? They fork out a hundred bucks for. the tour, then can’t even work up the nerve to visit the cellar.”

“I’m on their side,” Dana said.

At the bottom of the stairs, she quickly scanned the cellar. She’d only been down here once before, during Tuck’s “orientation” tour on Wednesday. She hadn’t liked it then. Now, she liked it even less. It seemed more cluttered than the attic. Lit by one dim, bare bulb dangling by a wire, it had too many shadows, too many dark places . where someone might crouch and lurk.

“I think I’ll just wait right here,” she said.

“Pussy.”

“Meow.”

“Oh, that’s pathetic.” Footsteps silent on the dirt floor, Tuck walked toward the tunnel hatch.

The area in front of it had been cleared of junk.

The floor hatch was Station Twelve of the audio tour.

From where Dana stood, she couldn’t see much of the round steel cover because Tuck stood in the way.

Glancing over her shoulder, Tuck asked, “Ever see The House on Haunted Hill? William Castle? Had Vincent Price in it? I caught it on cable a few months ago. There’s this awful scene in the cellar. The candles blow out...” She grinned. “Scared the bejeezus out of me.”

“I’m glad. Can we get out of here?”

Laughing, Tuck crouched over the hatch and tested the padlock. “Well, this one’s okay,” she said.

“Do you always check the locks?”

“Every morning,” she said on her way back. “We don’t want any surprises, do we?”

“Seems like we get them whether we want them or not.”

“Some surprises are worse than others.”

As Dana watched, Tuck made her way over to the “old jailhouse door.” Never intended for jail use, however, it had been special-ordered by Janice to seal off the Beast House end of the tunnel leading westward to the Kutch house.

Through the bars of the door, Dana could see the opening of the tunnel. Light spilled in from the cellar, then faded to blackness.

Tuck stepped up to the door.

That’s where Warren got jumped.

Dana slipped a hand into the baggy front pocket of her uniform shorts and wrapped her fingers around the grips of her pistol.

How could they not tell Tuck about what happened to Warren?

My God, she comes in at night. Week in, week out.

Doesn’t know any better.

It’s all a lark for her,

I oughta tell her, myself.

“Locked up tight as a frog’s asshole,” Tuck said.

“Good. Let’s get out of here.”

Dana waved to the others, then veered off and headed for the snack stand.

Warren smiled at her through the order window. “Morning,” he said.

“Hi.”

She had a sudden urge to embrace him.

“Can I come in for a minute?” she asked.

“If you don’t mind everybody knowing.”

“I don’t mind. Do you?”

“Go to the back.”

Dana hurried around to the rear of the snack stand. There, Warren opened a door for her. She rushed up a couple of stairs and into the small enclosure. Warren shut the door and turned to her.

“Missed you,” he said, taking her into his arms.

“Me, too.”

They kissed gently. Dana pulled him hard against her. She could feel the moist heat of his mouth. She could feel his chest and belly. She could feel his breathing. She moaned with the feel of him.

After a few seconds, they ended the kiss and loosened their embrace.

“Have a good time after I dropped you off” Warren asked.

“Oh, I’ve had better—like back at your place. How about you?”

“Well, I got lonely and tried on your bra.”

Laughing softly, Dana said, “I tried on your underwear.”

“Oh, gross. Did you?”

“Maybe I’m wearing ‘em now.”

While one of his hands stayed in the middle of her back, the other glided down and felt her through the seat of her uniform shorts. “You’re not really, are you?”

“That’s for me to know...”

“And for me to find out?”

“But not now,” Dam said. “I’ve gotta go out and get to work.” She kissed him on the mouth, then eased away. “See you later.”

Opening the door for her, Warren asked, “Are you still planning to go on the tour tonight?”

“Afraid so.”

“I wish you’d change your mind about that.”

“Me, too,” Dana said, and hurried out.

Chapter Forty-eight

A TICKET TO DIE FOR

After breakfast, Owen walked to Beast House. The morning was fresh and sunny. He couldn’t really enjoy it, though. Nor could he look forward with much enthusiasm to the Midnight Tour.

John hung over his head.

He’ll kill me if I sell his ticket.

Probably won’t kill me, Owen thought, but he’ll sure as hell never forgive me. It’ll crush him. I can forget about ever seeing those pictures he took last night.

Oh, God, I’ve gotta see those! I’ve gotta have copies!

Do I? he asked himself. Even if the pictures turn out fine, they’ll never be as good as what I saw.

Walking along Front Street, he called an image into his mind of Dana standing by the jacuzzi and pulling off her huge white T-shirt. He saw her so clearly that he started to get hard.

The hell with John’s pictures, he thought. The hell with John. If he shows up, I’ll just smile and say, “Sorry, but you disappeared. I didn’t think you’d be back, so I took in your ticket for a refund.”

“YOU WHAT!!!”

Anyway, Owen told himself, maybe John won’t be back. Maybe something actually did happen to him.

He’s probably fine.

Sure.

“He won’t be so fine,” Owen muttered, “when he drags his fat, sorry ass back from wherever he’s been all night and finds out his little prank cheated him out of the Midnight Tour.”

Though feeling sick with tension—and probably lack of sleep—Owen grinned..

By the time John shows up, he thought, it’ll be a done deal.

If be shows up.

As Owen walked closer to the ticket booth, he saw that only eight or ten people were standing in line.

Won’t be much of a wait.

After I get my refund, he thought, maybe I should go back to the room and take a nap. A long nap. Maybe I can sleep all afternoon. Then I’ll be good and fresh for tonight.

As he walked closer to the ticket booth, he looked through its glass.

And saw Dana at work inside.

Oh, no!

Heat flashed through his body. He felt as if his skin might burst into flame. Sweat seemed to spill out of every pore.

He didn’t think Dana had seen him yet; she was talking to a customer.

Afraid that stopping might draw attention to himself, he slowed down, turned his head as if looking back for someone, then made a casual U-turn and started walking away.

At the first intersection, he turned to the right and stepped past the corner of a bakery.

Can’t see me now.

He stopped and took deep breaths, trying to calm down.

Now what? he wondered. I can’t ask for a refund, not with Dana working the booth. She knows all about me and Monica and how I feel about her and...Oh, man, I saw her naked last night. How can I face her?

She doesn’t know I watched her.

Unless John told.

They caught him and made him talk?

Don’t be ridiculous, Owen thought. The only way she could know is if John went back and joined the party and shot off his mouth.

Wouldn’t put it past him.

But if that’s what he did, where is he?

In jail?

That’s possible, Owen thought. If he went back, maybe they had him arrested. That would certainly explain why he hasn’t turned up yet.

Turned up where?

Owen had been away from the motel room for more than an hour and a half.

Maybe he’s back by now.

As Owen hiked toward the motel, he thought, I have all day to return the ticket. Maybe if I time things to show up during Dana’s lunch break...

But he didn’t know when that might be.

I’d have to go back and bang around...

It seemed too risky. And too much trouble

Besides, he could always sell the ticket to a tourist at the last minute.

What if John turns up before then?

I’ll say I already sold it. That’s fix him. See the look on his face. Then, If he’s good, I can surprise him with it.

The best of both worlds, Owen thought.

When Owen entered his room at the Welcome Inn, John still wasn’t there.

Both beds had already been made, their blankets smooth and flat, pillows neatly arranged at the heads. There were fresh glasses on the tray with the ice bucket, clean towels and washcloths in the bathroom.

Owen shut the curtains, closing out most of the light. Then he changed into his pajamas, pulled back the blanket of the bed he’d used last night, and climbed between the sheets.

Lying on his back, he raised his left arm and stared at his wristwatch.

Maybe set the alarm for five or six, he thought. Just to make sure I don’t oversleep and miss the tour.

I probably won’t even fall asleep at all, but I’d better play it safe.

He decided to set the alarm for 4:00 p.m. That would give him time to try the ticket booth once more before closing time.

What if Dana’s still there?

Cross that bridge when I come to it.

He saw himself step up to the ticket window. Dana smiled at him. A soft, warm smile that made him long for her. “Hi, Owen,” she said.

“Hi, Dana.”

“You just keep coming back for more, don’t you? What are you, a glutton for punishment?”

“I can’t get enough of Beast House,” he told her, thinking I can’t get enough zoom, either.

“Where were you last night?” she asked.

The question knocked his breath out.

As he tried to think of a lie, Dana said, “I thought we had a date.”

“We did?”

A look of disappointment on her face, she nodded and said, “I stopped by the motel, but you weren’t there.”

Oh, no. Oh, no. It can’t be true.

“I really wanted to see you,” she said.

“I really wanted to see you, too.”

“I missed you so much, Owen.” Reaching out through the ticket window, she gently took hold of his hands.

In his right hand, he was holding John’s ticket for the Midnight Tour.

Dana saw it. “Oh, you’re going on the tour tonight?”

“Yes.”

“Me, too.”

“That’s great.”

“Will you be alone?”

His heart pounded hard. “Yes.”

“Me, too. Do you think we could... do it together?”

Somewhere, a car door slammed. Owen woke up, realized he’d only been dreaming, and almost cried.

He hoped to fall asleep again quickly and return to the dream.

But you never get the great ones back. Just the nightmares.

Owen was rushing through the halls of a huge old school building, jerking open doors and glancing into classrooms. At any second, the tardy bell would ring. Where’s my room? Gotta find it! Oh, my God, where is it? I’ll never find it in time. if only I knew the room number!

Suddenly, the bell rang.

No! I’m late!

He woke up.

The noise wasn’t the tardy bell, after all. It came from the telephone on his nightstand. Each time the phone rang, the little red message light flickered..

He squirmed toward the edge of the bed.

Who could it be? Nobody knows I’m here.

Just John.

Maybe he wants me to bail him out.

Bracing himself up with an elbow, he reached out and picked up the phone. “Hello?”

Through the earpiece came an empty sound, a quiet hiss.

“Hello?” he asked again.

At the other end of the line, the caller hung up.

Owen hung up, too. Then he flopped onto his back and shut his eyes and sighed.

No big deal, he told himself. Probably a wrong number.

But it must’ve come through the motel switchboard.

So what? Who cares?

He looked at his wristwatch.

3:50

His alarm would be going off in ten minutes. But he felt awfully groggy. He didn’t want to get up in ten minutes and go over to the ticket booth.

Besides, it’s probably still Dana. I’ll just sell the damn thing when I go over for the picnic. Somebody’s bound to want it.

He reset his wristwatch alarm for 6:30 p.m. That would give him an hour to get ready for the night’s big events, plus half an hour to rid himself of John’s ticket.

Owen woke up sweaty and hungry.

He checked his wristwatch. It showed 6:10.

Sitting up, he looked around the room. He saw John’s glasses on the dresser and felt his stomach squirm.

Still not back

It’s all gonna start in a couples hours, man. Where are you?

Owen climbed out of bed. He took still another shower, then sprayed his armpits with Right Guard, shaved, combed his hair and brushed his teeth.

By 6:45, he was dressed and almost ready to leave.

He grabbed his camera and hung its strap over one shoulder.

Then he slipped the two Midnight Tour tickets into the left breast pocket of his sport shirt.

He had already decided to walk.

He made sure he had the room key, then opened the door.

He’d expected golden sunlight, warmth, and a mild breeze.

But sometime during the afternoon, while he’d been shut away in his room with the curtains closed, a fog had crept in.

It drifted like a gray mist around the cars in the parking lot. Owen could barely see to the other side of the motel courtyard. The cabins over there were fuzzy blurs.

A chill had arrived with the fog.

Owen hurried inside the room for his windbreaker. On the back, CRAWFORD JUNIOR HIGH SCHOOL was emblazoned in big gold letters. He tossed his camera onto the bed, slipped his arms into the sleeves of the windbreaker, fastened a couple of the front snaps, then rushed outside.

The jacket helped, but its sleeves felt cool against his bare arms.

He paused for a moment, wondering if he should go back inside and put on a long-sleeved shirt.

Gonna be indoors most of the time, anyway.

Then he wondered if he should give up the idea of walking, and take his rental car instead.

Probably crash and kill myself.

Besides, he thought, it’ll be neat to walk through the fog.

He set off for Beast House.

Halfway there, he realized he had left his camera in the room.

The hell with it. Wrong film, anyway.

He kept on, but he felt its loss—and wondered what else would go wrong.

Stopping at the corner of the high, iron fence, Owen looked through its bars. He was half an hour early. Though he saw no tourists on the grounds, most of the regular guides were busy getting ready for the picnic. He spotted Dana right away, helping a guy carry a picnic table across the front lawn.

Two other picnic tables had already been brought out, along with a couple of smaller tables and three barbeque grills. Near the picnic tables, a bar was being set up by the only person not wearing a Beast House uniform. This man sported a red jacket, a white shirt, and a red bow tie.

Owen found Dana again.

She put down her end of the table. Then the guy from the other end walked toward her, smiling and talking.

Who the hell is he?

He looked a little familiar...

The lunch counter guy?

He joined up with Dana. As they headed away, Dana slipped an open hand inside a seat pocket of his shorts.

Owen suddenly felt as if he’d been slugged in the guts.

What did you expect? Of course she’s got a boyfriend.

Sure, he thought. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.

Dana and her friend disappeared around a corner of the house.

Since she’s busy, Owen thought, who’s minding the ticket booth?

Probably no one. The self-guided tours were over for the day and the Midnight Tour had been sold out since yesterday, so the ticket booth would probably be closed.

Closed or not, a number of people were milling about the area in front of it. Waiting for the festivities to start, he supposed.

Maybe one of them could use a ticket.

Owen started walking toward the gathered tourists.

John wasn’t among them.

A couple of the gals were real babes, even though one of them looked like a weirdo.

Pity you’re gonna miss this, buddy.

Owen wandered through the group. He nodded greetings to those who seemed to notice him, and kept on moving. Leaving them all behind, he stepped over to the gate of the parking lot. It was still open. The lot was empty except for seven or eight cars.

John’s blue Ford Granada wasn’t among them.

Still up in the hills? Or maybe it got towed off and impounded by the cops.

Owen turned his back to the parking lot.

Nobody seemed to be watching him.

Scanning the group, he found the best-looking gal. Maybe thirty, she had light brown hair, a deep tan, and lively eyes. She was slender, but not skinny. She had a firm, athletic look. For whatever reason, she was dressed in a white tennis outfit: a knit pullover shirt, a sweater tied around her neck, a very short pleated skirt, ankle socks with a puffy little balls at the back, and sneakers.

She was with a man who wore a red knit pullover and plaid Bermuda shorts. He looked husky and powerful and cheerful.

No wonder he’s cheerful, Owen thought. Has a gal looks like that.

Owen turned his attention to the weirdo. Probably no older than twenty, she had done herself up in vampire cbic. She was at least six feet tall and as sleek as a cover girl. Her skin looked smooth and oddly white. Her raven hair was cut short, slicked down. Her pierced left eyebrow sported a ring. Her eyelids were blue. She wore a gold stud in her nose, a ring in her upper lip. Her lipstick was black. She had about six rings along the rim of each ear. A tattoo of barbed wire surrounded her neck. She wore a black bra that looked like satin, no shirt at all, a belly button ring, and an open jacket of black leather. Low and tight around her hips was a pair of tight, black leather short-shorts. Below them, her long legs were bare and very white. She wore black boots that reached almost to her knees.

She wasn’t alone.

Her handsome young friend had a delicate, rather feminine face. Compared to her, he looked almost clean-cut. He showed no signs of makeup, piercings or tattoos. His shaggy blond hair blew softly in the breeze. He wore a loose, long-sleeved shirt that appeared to be black silk. Unbuttoned, it exposed pale, hairless skin almost down to his waist, where the shirt was tucked into black leather trousers. His belt buckle was a white, snouted beast, possibly carved from ivory.

There’s a real fan, Owen thought.

These two are really into it. If the tour gets boring, I can just watch them.

Owen noticed that he wasn’t the only one checking out the weirdos: so were two guys standing near the road. One was a beanpole with stringy brown hair. The other was short and pudgy and had a crew cut. They both wore gray sweatshirts, plaid Bermuda shorts, white socks and sneakers.

They hardly looked old enough for an “adults only” tour. The cut-off age was supposed to be eighteen. These two might’ve been sixteen. Had they used fake i.d.’s to buy their tickets?

Maybe they don’t have tickets.

Maybe they aren’t even here for the tour.

Owen supposed that they could’ve simply stopped by to enjoy the spectacle of the vampire queen and her eunuch. They kept glancing at the pair, whispering, chuckling and elbowing each other.

Couple of dorks.

Owen hoped they wouldn’t be going on the tour; they’d probably interrupt Lynn, laugh when they shouldn’t, make wisecracks...

Jungle Jim, eyeing those two, seemed to share Owen’s opinion. Maybe fifty years old, with a lean and rugged face, he studied them with a haughty look. One of his eyebrows was cocked as he surveyed the guys through his gold-rimmed glasses. He wore a safari jacket replete with epaulets, pocket flaps and a cloth belt. His tan trousers, matching the jacket, were tucked into the high tops of his paratrooper boots. His outfit seemed incomplete without a hunting knife and a high-powered rifle. He did, however, carry a weathered black camera around his neck.

Maybe he’s a photo journalist, Owen thought—just back from covering tribal warfare in Rwanda.

The only remaining early-arrivals were a man and woman who appeared to be married. Thirty-five to forty years old, they were both slender, attractive and nicely dressed.

The man, going bald on top, made up for the loss with thick eyebrows and a heavy mustache. He had lively, almost impish eyes that seemed to be scanning the area in search of oddities or mischief. His clothing looked new and expensive: a crew-neck, camel sweater with long sleeves; trim gray slacks; and black leather wingtip shoes.

His wife had thick brown hair, a lovely face, a creamy complexion and fabulous eyes.

Make that three babes, Owen thought. Then he felt a little guilty. This woman was beautiful, but it seemed wrong to consider her a babe. She seemed too...dignified. A woman, not a babe.

Her eyes somehow looked calm and excited and amused and intelligent all at the same time. She wore a fuzzy, forest green sweater over a white blouse with an open collar. Her bare neck looked long and sleek. The sweater, rising over the push of her breasts, reached down past the waist of her skirt—a kilt of Stuart plaid. Below the hem of her kilt, her legs looked bare. She wore no socks. On her feet were brown, penny loafers.

What a great-looking couple, Owen thought. Doctors, maybe. Or professors. What the hell are they doing at a place like this?

Nobody else seemed to be standing around.

Owen counted.

Ten, including himself.

He had one extra ticket in his pocket. So only two people (other than John) were missing.

He glanced at his wristwatch.

7:52

In eight minutes, the picnic would start.

I’d better stop screwing around and do something about the ticket.

Reaching inside his windbreaker, Owen fingered the tickets in his shirt pocket and pulled one out. He raised it overhead.

“Excuse me, everyone!” he announced. “Do all of you have tickets for tonight? I have an extra one I’d be glad to sell.”

The vampire queen gave him a narrow glance. Her eunuch ignored him. The tennis lady and her husband politely looked at Owen and shook their heads.

“Sorry, man,” said the beanpole.

His chubby friend said, “Can’t help you, dude—we got ours.”

Not such bad guys.

Jungle Jim took the pipe out of his mouth, scowled at Owen and proclaimed in an excessively loud, high-pitched voice, “Sorry, old chap. It seems we all had the foresight to purchase our tickets in advance.”

“That’s what I did,” Owen explained. “I bought two, but then my friend got sick. I was hoping maybe I could unload his ticket.”

The well-dressed, mustached man said, “You might be able to turn it in for a refund.”

His wife nodded in agreement. Large eyes fixed on Owen, she looked concerned. “I should think you might be able to sell it without too much trouble. This is an awfully popular attraction.”

“From what we hear,” said her husband, “it’s always a sellout.”

“That’s right. So there may very well be people trying to get tickets at the last moment.”

“I’ll take the ticket off your hands!” piped a familiar voice from behind Owen.

His stomach knotted.

The woman smiled as if delighted by Owen’s quick success.

“There you go,” said her husband.

“Dude!” proclaimed the chubby teenager.

The skinny sidekick gave Owen a thumb’s up.

Jungle Jim planted the pipe between his teeth and nodded briskly at Owen, looking pleased with himself as if he’d caused the customer to materialize.

Trying to keep a smile on his face, Owen turned around.

“Surprise!” Monica greeted him, strutting out of the parking lot. “I’m feeling so much better suddenly,” she announced. “Now you won’t need to sell my ticket!”

He gaped at her.

Smirking, she plucked the ticket out of his hand. Then she swung an arm around his back, pulled herself against him, stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the mouth.

A moment later, she whirled away. “Hello, everyone! I’m Monica! I was suffering from a terrible migraine, but I’m feeling so much better now. I think we’re going to have a super time tonight, don’t you?”

Chapter Forty-nine

TICKETS AND BADGES

“Anything I can do to help?” Dana asked as Warren slapped a hamburger patty onto the barbecue. The meat hissed as it hit the grill.

“You can just stand there looking beautiful,” Warren said.

She laughed.

Tuck, suddenly behind her, said, “I’m gonna puke.”

Dana turned and smiled at her. “The hamburgers smell great to me.”

“It ain’t the burgers, it’s him.” She nodded at Warren.

“You weren’t supposed to hear it,” he said.

“Well, lordy, don’t say repulsive stuff like that in public. And especially not at a picnic. You’ll spoil appetites.”

“I thought it was fine,” Dana said.

“You would.” Tuck rapped Dana lightly on the upper arm.

She had a small paper bag in her hand. As it bumped against Dana, whatever was inside clacked and clicked together. “Anyway, why don’t you come along—if you can tear yourself away from Golden Lips. I’m about to greet our esteemed guests. You want to experience the full treatment, don’t you?”

“We...” She looked at Warren.

“Go ahead. I can get along without you for a few minutes.^*

“Okay. See you.”

They walked away, Tuck swinging the bag by her side. “Ah,” she said. “Summer romances.”

“Feels like a winter romance.”

“Yeah. A bit of a nip in the air, huh? But it’s great atmosphere.” She looked over her shoulder at Beast House. “This is how it oughta be all the time. I mean, talk about bleak and spooky. Our friends are gonna eat it up.”

“Speaking of friends, what about Eve?”

Tuck grimace. “I don’t know. But it’s still early. She has plenty of time to get here before the tour.”

“I’m really starting to worry about her.”

“Yeah. Me, too. She’s probably all right, though. I mean, I pity anyone who’d try to mess with her. We don’t call her Eve of Destruction for nothing.” Suddenly raising a hand and waving, Tuck called out, “Hello, everyone!” to the people waiting on the other side of the fence.

Some of them ignored her. Others nodded or waved or returned tentative greetings. One guy, costumed either for Halloween or a safari into darkest Africa, raised the stem of his pipe and called out in a harsh voice, “Those who are about to die salute you!”

“Aw, nobody’s gonna die,” Tuck said. “Not tonight, anyway—if we’re lucky.”

As she unlocked the gate, the tourists migrated toward it.

Dana recognized two of them...no, four of them.

There were her two goofy teenaged friends from Thursday—Arnold and someone? They’d caused some trouble by hiding in the house after closing time, but they’d been pretty nice about it.

They seemed a bit young to be doing the Midnight Tour.

Doesn’t matter to me.

She was glad to see them.

The other two familiar faces belonged to Owen and his snotty girlfriend. Mona? No, Monica.

The girl he’d dumped in San Francisco.

What’s she doing here? Dana wondered.

Owen didn’t seem very happy. His face was flushed. He met Dana’s eyes for an instant and quickly looked away. Monica cast a smirk in her direction.

Dana smiled at her, then turned away and saw a couple who looked as if they’d come here to audition for roles in remakes of The Rocky Horror Picture Show.

Charming, she thought.

At least a few of the bunch looked fairly normal. Though why a gal would come to the Midnight Tour in her tennis outfit...didn’t she have time to go home and change?

Done with the lock, Tuck swung open the gate and asked, “Ever-body hungry?”

“I’m beastly starved!” said the safari man.

Dana’s two friends from Thursday smirked and nudged each other.

“Before we start,” Tuck said, “I have a few words to say. I’m Lynn Tucker, and I’m the official guide for the Beast House Midnight Tour. This is my old friend and new assistant, Dana Lake. We’ll be with you till the bitter end. In case you’re wondering, that’ll be at about two a.m. Here’s how the schedule goes.

“You’ll have two hours for the picnic. There’s a no-host bar...meaning you’ll have to shell out cash if you want to get liquored up—but soft drinks and your picnic dinners are included in the price of your tickets. Feel free to roam the grounds. Beast House will be closed until the tour starts, but we’re keeping the gift shop open until nine. As a Midnight Tourist, you’ll get a special ten percent discount on any purchases you make.

“Feel free to leave the grounds at any time. We’ll be handing out souvenir badges that’ll get you back in.

“Our special screening of The Horror will take place at the Haunted Palace movie theater on Front Street.” She pointed to the right. “You can’t miss it. Just be at the main entrance by ten o’clock. After the film, dank and I will lead you back here for the Midnight Tour.

“Any questions about the schedule?” Tuck asked. Not waiting more than half a second, she said, “Okay! Let’s get this show on the road. Welcome to the Midnight Tour picnic. I’ll take your tickets as you come in, and Dana will give each of you a badge.”

“We gotta keep ‘em?” asked the chubby kid.

“You’re Dennis, right?”

He beamed as if proud that Tuck had remembered his name. “That’s right, ma’am. Dennis Dexter. D.D.”

“Call me Lynn, okay? And yes, the badges will be yours to keep. Okay, let’s get started.”

She passed the bag to Dana, then stepped forward to start taking tickets.

Dana reached into the bag. When she tried to scoop up a handful of badges, points pricked her. She winced and jerked her hand out. It looked okay except for a single, bright red drop of blood on the tip of her middle finger.

Just lick it off and...

As she raised the finger toward her mouth, someone caught her wrist and said, “Mine.”

Dana looked up into blue-shadowed, leering eyes.

“No,” she said. Though she spoke softly, everyone nearby suddenly went silent. Heads turned. People were staring, frowning, gathering closer so they wouldn’t miss whatever might be happening. “Please let go,” Dana said. “I don’t...”

Her fingertip vanished into the mouth of the creepy vampire gal. She felt the suck of warm, quick lips.

Onlookers gasped, flinched and muttered.

“Hey!” Dana jerked her hand back.

Tuck, watching, had a strange smile on her face as if she couldn’t believe what had just happened.

“Mmmm, delicious,” the creep said. She licked her black lips. “Now we’re sisters. My name is Vein. V-e-i-n as in bloooood vessel.”

“Right,” Dana muttered. Being more careful this time, she reached into the bag and took out a badge. It was round with a pin on the back, like a political campaign button. Larger than a silver dollar, it showed a small black rendition of Beast House on a scarlet background. Around the rim, in black letters, it read MIDNIGHT TOURIST.

“Pin it on me.” Vein spread open her black leather jacket and thrust her bra-clad breasts toward Dana.

“Thanks anyway,” Dana said. “Here. Just take it.”

“No no no. Pin it on me, dahhhling.”

“What’s the problem here?” Tuck asked.

“Dana’s shy,” Vein said.

“I’m not,” Tuck said, and snatched the badge out of Dana’s hand. Grinning up at Vein, she asked, “Where do you want it?”

Vein patted the front of her left bra cup, sending a tremor through her breast.

“I wouldn’t want to poke you,” Tuck said.

“Oh, feel free.”

“How about here?” Not waiting for an answer, Tuck slipped a finger under the left shoulder strap, pulled it away from Vein’s skin, and pinned the badge to it.

“Thank you so much, my dear.”

Tuck patted the badge. “I’m here to serve,” she said.

Then she dipped a hand into Dana’s bag, came up with another badge, and turned to Vein’s blonde friend. “Would you like me to pin yours on, too?”

Looking at Tuck with sultry eyes, the blonde said, “I’m Darke.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Tuck said.

Darke’s tongue darted out and wiggled at her.

“Trying to upstage the beast?” Tuck asked.

Several of the others laughed.

“Way cool,” said Arnold..

Safari man blurted, “Bravo!”

Vein and Darke strolled away holding hands.

Everyone seemed to be watching them.

After they were out of earshot—probably—the woman in the tennis outfit said, “To think they’re someone’s children.”

“I don’t envy their parents,” said the fellow beside her.

Probably her husband.

“Did you see what she did?” Dennis asked. “She sucked Dana’s blood.”

“Cool,” Arnold said.

“Nothing cool about it, young chap! Assault and battery, plain and simple. She ought to be incarcerated!”

“They do seem a bit eccentric,” said a mustached man who looked as if he’d stepped out of Gentleman’s Quarterly. “Personally, though, I feel as if I’ve already gotten at least half my money’s worth. I can hardly wait to see what Vein does next.”

“Maybe she’ll suck me,” Dennis said, and blushed as his comment raised some laughter.

“You already suck, dipshit.”

Dana started to laugh.

Raising a hand, Tuck announced, “I’m still open to the idea of taking your tickets and letting you in. Anybody interested?”

First to come through was the safari man. As Dana offered the badge to him, he said, “I’d be pleased to inspect your wound. I’m a doctor, you know.”

“Are you?”

“Dr. Clive Bixby, Ph.D., professor of literature, U.C. Santa Cruz.”

“Ah. You’re not a medical doctor?”

“Hasn’t stopped me yet! I’m a master of many arts, including but not limited to the art of healing.”

Dana raised her finger.

He took the pipe out of his mouth, removed his glasses, and peered at her fingertip. “Anticeptic! Bandage! Take two aspirin. Call me in the morning.” He hiked up an eyebrow, jabbed the pipe into his teeth, and put his glasses back on. “In case of infection,” he said, “we’ll remove it.”

“Oh, great.”

“Cheers,” he said, and hurried on.

Next to come through was the stocky man, followed by his wife in the tennis outfit. They smiled and took their badges, thanked Dana and moved on.

Normal people, Dana thought.

Then came Owen and Monica.

I’d better watch my mouth.

“Welcome aboard,” she said to Owen.

“Hi,” he said. He looked as if he wanted to scream or run away.

“Glad to see you both made it,” she said. She handed one badge to Owen, another to Monica. Speaking directly to Monica, she said, “I hope you have a really good time tonight.”

Bobbing her head and showing her teeth, Monica said, “Thank you so very much. I’m sure it will be memorable. For all of us.”

Owen cringed.

Poor guy. What’d she do, track him down?

Monica pulled his hand, dragging him away.

When Arnold stepped up to Dana, he said, “Weird chick, huh?”

“Pretty weird.”

“Did it hurt?”

“What?”

“How she got your finger. Did she, like, bite it?”

“Oh, her. No, she didn’t bite. I’m fine.”

“That’s good. I mean, it was cool and all, but it wouldn’t be so cool if she hurt you.”

“Sure hope she hasn’t got rabies,” Dennis threw in.

“Shut up, shithead.”

“I wanta pin a badge on her. I’d stick it in her tittie. Prick her tittie.”

“Okay, Dennis,” Dana said.

“I’d, like, prick her anywhere.”

Arnold slugged him on the arm.

“Ow!”

“Don’t be such an asswipe.”

“That hurt, dude.”

Dana quickly gave them badges. “Go on in and have a good time, okay? Try to be nice.”

Next in line was the mustached man. “Is it always this zany?” he asked.

“This is my first time,” Dana explained, and handed a badge to him.

“I won’t even ask you to pin it on me.”

“I’d be happy to pin one on you.”

He blushed slightly and glanced at the woman beside him.

“I’m not sure Alison would appreciate that. But thank you for the offer. I’m Andy Lawrence, by the way. This is my wife, Alison.”

“Nice to meet you,” Dana said. “I hope you enjoy yourselves tonight.”

“It’s off to a pretty good start,” Andy said. “They were ringers, weren’t they?”

“Huh?”

“Vein and Darke. Ringers. It was staged?”

“I wish.”

Looking amused, Alison said, “We thought it might be part of the show. It seemed slightly too bizarre to be real.”

“You should’ve been at this end.”

“Are you all right?” Alison asked.

“Fine.”

“You really ought to put some antiseptic on it.”

“I should say so,” Andy agreed. “You never know where a mouth like that might’ve been.”

“Thanks. I’ll take care of it.”

As they walked away, Tuck stepped over. “We’re still short two customers. I’ll stick around and watch for them. Why don’t you go on over and enjoy the picnic? You shouldn’t leave Warren alone for very long—he’ll suffer withdrawal pangs. Might start weeping, or something.”

Dana gave her the finger.

Laughing, Tuck asked, “Too bad about that. Now you’ll turn into one.”

“A finger?”

“A Vein.”

“If that happens, put me out of my misery.”

“Cheerfully. With a nipple-ring-extractor.”

Dana cringed. “Don’t say stuff like that. Jeez! I hurt just thinking about it. Besides, what makes you think she has nipple rings?”

“What makes you think she doesn’t?”

“I’m getting out of here.” She gave Tuck the bag of badges. “See you later,” she said. “Try not to poke yourself.”

Chapter Fifty

PICNIC

“Buy me a glass of white wine, Owie.”

“Sure,” he said, and hurried over the grass to the bar.

Darke, in front of him, was paying for two glasses of red wine.

“I thought you folks only drink blood,” Owen said.

Darke picked up the glasses and looked at him with lazy, half-shut eyes. “Is that an observation or an offer?”

Wishing he’d kept his mouth shut, Owen shrugged. “Just asking. My name’s Owen.” He thought about putting out his hand for a shake, but Darke was holding two drinks.

Just as well.

Owen didn’t really want to touch a freaky, effeminate guy like this.

“I’m Darke.”

“I know. I heard.”

“What’s your blood type, Owny?”

The question made him feel nervous. “I don’t know.”

“Vein prefers O negative.”

“Ah.”

“I simply like mine warm.”

“I like mine on the rocks,” Owen said, and tried to smile.

Darke looked unamused. “We’ll see you later.”

As Darke glided away, Owen turned to the bar and took a deep breath.

“Don’t let her rattle you,” the bartender said.

“Huh?”

“She’s just trying to shake your cage.”

“She?”

“Her.”

Owen glanced over his shoulder at Darke. “Her? That’s not a woman. Is it?”

“You better believe it, sonny.”

He found the idea strangely exciting. “How do you know?”

The bartender winked and said, “Oh, nothing much gets past me. So, what’ll you have?”

“A white wine and a vodka tonic.”

“Comin’ right up.” As he prepared the drinks, he asked, “A squeeze of lime in the vodka tonic?”

“Sure. Thanks. Are you absolutely sure that was a woman.”

“Not only was, still is.”

Owen chuckled nervously and shook his head. He paid for the drinks, leaving the bartender a large tip. Then he picked up the glasses and turned around.

He saw Darke standing with Vein.

Is it possible?

The bartender was probably just pulling my chain, he told himself, and looked for Dana. He spotted her striding toward the barbecue grills...toward the one in particular where her loverboy was busy turning hamburgers.

She wasn’t wearing a jacket.

Isn’t she cold? Owen wondered.

He thought about offering his windbreaker to her.

Oh, Monica would love that.

He stared at the way Dana’s rump moved inside the seat of her shorts as she walked.

Catching loverboy’s eye, she raised an arm in greeting.

Owen looked away.

And found Monica staring at him. He forced himself to smile.

Approaching her, he kept the smile on his face.

Why the hell did she come back? Doesn’t she know when she’s not wanted?

Ha! That’s a good one.

He stopped in front of Monica and gave her the glass of wine.

“Thank you, kind sir,” she said, her voice lilting.

“You’re welcome.”

“You don’t seem very happy that I’m here.”

“Why are you here?”

She sipped some wine, then smiled. “Did you really think I’d let you get away?”

“Monica...”

“You never had me fooled,” she said. “I knew exactly where you’d gone. Back here to Beast House and your precious slut.”

“Don’t talk about her that way.”

“I’ll talk about her any way I like.” Monica looked toward Dana and glared at her. “The overgrown bitch. I can’t imagine what you see in her.”

“I didn’t leave because of her. I left because of you.”

“As if.”

“It’s true.”

“You loved me till she came along.”

Let’s change the subject fast, he thought. And said, “So how did you get here? Take the bus, or...?”

“You’ve got to be kidding. Do you think I’d put myself through that again?”

“What did you do?”

“Rented a car.”

“When was that?” Owen asked. Suddenly, he was afraid to hear the answer.

What if she’s been here all along? Watching me. Following me. Maybe SHE was the one in the bushes last night... did something to John so she could get his ticket.

No, that’s ridiculous.

“Oh, I’ve been here for a while,” she said. With a benign smile, she added, “As a matter of fact, honey, you and I have adjoining rooms.”

“What?”

“At the Welcome Inn.”

Monica made the mystery call!

Though still shocked and disoriented, Owen felt a small measure of relief. The ringing phone had shaken him awake at about a quarter till four this afternoon. If Monica had come into town earlier, she would’ve called sooner.

“You’re the one who phoned?” he asked.

“That’s right.”

“Ahhh.”

Owen took a few swallows of his drink, enjoying its taste. She got into town this afternoon—had nothing to do with John or the creep in the bushes or anything else that happened yesterday.

Probably.

“You were in your room all by yourself,” Monica told him, looking very pleased with herself. “I knew you must be missing me, so I phoned to invite you over for a little lovey-dovey.” Taking a drink of wine, she stared at him over the rim of her glass. “I was sprawled on the bed, all decked out in my birthday suit. I’d already opened my side of the connecting door. When you picked up the phone, I planned to say, ‘Come and get it, big fella.’ But then I heard your voice and realized that you didn’t deserve me. Not after what you’d done. I don’t put out for naughtly little boys who run away from me. So I hung up.”

“What a shame,” Owen said.

“You’ll have to earn your way back.”

“I’m not interested.”

“Oh yes, you are. Can’t fool Monica. I know you want me. You always want me. You’re so predicatable.” Stepping closer to him, she pressed her open hand against the front of his trousers.

Owen took a quick step backward.

Raising her upper lip, Monica growled softly.

“Stop that.”

She smiled. “You want me right now.”

“Right now, I want a hamburger.”

He turned and walked away, but Monica stayed by his side like a perky, vengeful shadow.

How am I ever going to get rid of her? he wondered.

He felt trapped, crushed.

No matter what, tonight’s ruined. She’ll make sure of that.

Owen sipped his drink, nodded and smiled at some of the other Midnight Tourists as he made his way toward the barbeque grills. There were three grills. On one, hamburgers sizzled.

Dana was manning it with her loverboy. Sirloin steaks were being prepared on the second grill by the chubby, shy guide named Rhonda. The third grill held a combination of hot dogs and Polish sausages. Behind it, turning the food with tongs, was a young brunette who didn’t look familiar to Owen.

“Over here,” Monica said, and headed for the third grill.

“I thought I’d have a hamburger.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You know how much you love Polish sausage.”

“I like hamburgers, too.”

“You just want to flirt with your slut. Besides, look at her. She already has a boyfriend, and he’s a lot more handsome than you. She won’t give you the time of day. Now, come on. You know you’d rather eat Polish sausage.”

I’ll get a burger later, Owen told himself.

He followed Monica to the third grill.

“May I help you please?” the worker asked. Like the others, she wore the tan uniform of a Beast House guide. Owen guessed she was no older than twenty. She had short brown hair and large, nervous eyes. Her nameplate read, WINDY.

“We’ll have two Polish sausages with the works,” Monica told her.

“Are you a guide?” Owen asked. “I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”

“I work at the snack stand,” she said, smiling a little.

“I thought be did,” Owen said, and nodded toward loverboy.

“Warren? He owns it. I help out part time at the windows. I served your lunch yesterday.”

“Really?”

“You and your friend.”

Holy shit!

“Ah,” Owen said. He smiled and nodded as if nothing had gone wrong. “That’s right. I remember you now.”

Windy turned away to finish preparing the sandwiches.

“What friend?” Monica asked.

“Just some guy I met.”

“Guy. I’m sure.”

Windy came back with two paper plates. On each was a Polish sausage in a long roll. They were gloppy with yellow mustard, onions and peppers. Steam rose off the grilled sausages as she handed the plates to Monica and Owen.

“Enjoy them,” she said, smiling pleasantly.

“Thank you, Windy,” Owen said.

“You’re an absolute treasure,” Monica said.

Windy’s smile slipped crooked.

Owen cringed.

As he hurried away, Monica kept pace beside him and said, “So, Owie, tell me more about your mysterious friend.”

“It was a guy.”

“Mmm. I’m sure.”

“If you don’t believe me, go back and ask Windy.”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary. I believe you. If you say your friend was a guy, your friend was a guy.”

He hurried to the nearest picnic table. A few people were already there, but one of the side benches had room for two. “Mind if we join you?” he asked.

“Sit, dude,”

“You, too, dudette.”

They climbed over the bench, placed their plates and glasses on the table cloth, and sat down.

“Hi,” Owen said. “I’m Owen and this is Monica.”

“Dude. I’m Dennis.”

“I’m Arnold.”

“We’re A.A. and D.D.”

“Nice to meet you, guys.”

Monica, ignoring them, took a drink of wine.

“Dr. Clive Bixby, here!” proclaimed Jungle Jim. He waved from the other end of the table, then bit into a hamburger.

Ignoring it all, Monica set down her glass. She turned her head toward Owen, smiled with mocking sweetness, and said, “So, what was your friend’s name?”

“John.”

“What an unusual name.”

“It is?”

“For a girl. And how was she in bed?”

“John was a guy.”

“So you say.”

He stared into Monica’s eyes. In them, he saw cold, amused contempt.

He picked up his icy glass in one hand, his Polish sausage sandwich in the other, stood up and climbed off the bench. “Excuse me,” he said.

“Where’re you going now?”

“Just stay here.”

He rushed away. After a few seconds, he glanced back.

Monica was twisted around on the bench, watching him but still seated.

Fucking bitch, ruins everything!

She was still on the bench when he reached the corner of Beast House.

He hurried to the rear patio area and entered the men’s restroom.

It was well lighted, clean-smelling, and it seemed to be deserted. It had five stalls. He entered the one in the middle. The toilet seat looked clean. He locked the stall door, then sat down.

And drank his drink.

And ate his Polish sausage sandwich.

And struggled to keep from crying.

After a while, Owen began to feel better. The vodka tonic had warmed him up inside, calmed him down—and the sausage had tasted awfully good.

He looked at his wristwatch.

8:40

The movie wouldn’t be starting for another hour and twenty minutes.

I oughta just wait here, he thought. Let Monica enjoy her own company till ten, see how she likes it.

But I’ll miss the whole picnic.

I want another drank. I want a cheeseburger. I want to be where I can at least look at Dana every once in a while.

He suddenly imagined John Cromwell chuckling, shaking his head and saying “What’s the matter with you, buddy? Hiding in the john ‘cause you’re scared of that smirky twat? Fuck it, man. Go out and have a good time. She gives you any trouble, stomp her ass.”

Owen smiled. Right on, he thought.

Then he heard the restroom door swing open.

Shit!

He heard footfalls on the tile floor. Someone took two or three steps, then stopped. The door bumped shut.

Silence.

More silence.

Is it Monica? Would she really dare come into a men’sjohn?

It didn’t seem likely...but she might.

Why is she just standing there? he wondered.

He didn’t like that.

“Helllowwww, Owennnn!” Not Monica’s voice.

“Youuu-whoooo.” A second voice. Also, not Monica’s.

One sounded like a female voice, but the other...sounded like Darke.

It’s them.

Vein and Darke.

Oh my God!

“We know you’re here,” Vein said.

“Are you trying to hide from us?” asked Darke.

“I’m not hiding,” Owen said. “I’m having...a little stomach trouble.”

“Liar, liar, pants on fire,” sang Darke.

“We know why you’re here,” said Vein.

“She isn’t coming,” Darke said.

“Nobody is.”

“We’re all alone.”

“Just the three of us.”

Trying to keep the worry out of his voice, Owen said, “Uhhh.... This is a men’s restroom, you know.”

“Woops,” said Vein. “Are you going to report us?”

“No, but...”

Footsteps.

Here they come!

“I’ll be done in just a minute,” Owen said. “Why don’t we meet outside, or something?”

“This is such a nice, private place,” Vein said.

The door of the stall to Owen’s left squeaked open. Footsteps strolled past his bolted door. A second later, the stall door to his right swung open.

What’re they doing?

They won’t try anything...

He tipped back his head.

Vein on the left and Darke on the right grinned down at Owen from the top of the stall partitions. He supposed they must be standing on the toilets.

“There you are,” said Darke.

“Such a modest boy,” said Vein. “Takes a crap with his pants up.”

Blushing fiercely, he said, “I just came in here for some peace and quiet.” He stood up. He shifted his empty glass to his left hand. With his right, he snapped the bolt clear. “You can have the place to yourselves, now.” He pulled the stall door open. Stepping out, he said, “I’d better be getting back to the picnic.”

Vein and Darke leaped from their stalls, Vein in front of him, Darke behind him.

Vein blocked his way to the exit. Leering, she stretched her arms to each side. The motion spread the front of her black leather jacket. He glanced at her canyon of cleavage, at the snowy white breasts bulging from the cups of her bra. “You don’t want to leave,” she said.

“I’d really better be going.” He looked over his shoulder.

Darke gazed at him with languid, half-shut eyes and whispered, “Stay.”

He turned toward Vein. She still held her arms out.

What would happen if I plow through her? She’s bigger than I am, but...

Her left leg swung up. Swiftly and gracefully, she bent slightly at the waist and swept her right arm down and withdrew a knife from inside her boot.

Owen felt himself shrivel.

“Hey,” he said.

Vein grinned.

Owen looked at Darke, then at Vein. Then he turned slowly sideways. As he backed toward the wall, he found that he could keep his eyes on both of them at the same time. They made it easier by closing in.

“What do you want?” he asked, his voice shaking.

“Some of your blood,” said Vein.

“You’re...kidding.” His back met the wall.

“Do you see us smiling?” Darke asked.

They were both smiling, but not as if much was funny.

Darke came in from the left, Vein from the right. They didn’t stop until they were close enough to touch him.

“You can’t,” Owen said.

“Certainly we can,” Vein said.

“And certainly we will,” said Darke. Reaching out, she took the glass from his hand.

“Somebody might come in,” he told them.

“Somebody might not.”

“It’ll only take a few minutes,” Darke said, setting his glass on the floor.

“You can’t do this.”

“Yesss,” said Darke. “We can.”

Vein took hold of his hair and pressed his head against the wall.

“I’ll yell! Somebody’ll come and...”

His words stopped as his hand was lifted and slipped inside Darke’s open black shirt and guided to a breast.

The bartender had been right.

The breast was a small, smooth mound under Owen’s hand, tipped with a turgid nipple.

Vein’s black lips pressed against his mouth. As her tongue thrust in, Owen felt fingers quickly unbuttoning his shirt. As he fondled Darke’s breast, someone unfastened his trousers.

Pinned to the wall, he felt hands and mouths, tongues and teeth, quick hot flicks of the knife.

They sucked him, both at once.

What if somone comes in?

Nobody came in.

Not as they sucked and caressed him.

Not as he fondled and sucked and delved into them.

Not as all three of them sank onto the cold tile floor.

Not as Vein smothered him between her pillowy breasts and Darke straddled him, impaling herself.

Finally, drained, Owen lay sprawled on his back while Vein and Darke climbed off him and glided away.

“Why me?” he asked.

Vein, naked except for her boots, licked blood from her knife blade. “Don’t ask me, dahhling. It was Darke’s idea.”

She raised her left leg and slipped the knife down into the top of her boot.

Bending over, Darke stepped into her black leather pants.

“You’re a nice guy,” she said, pulling them up.

“I am?”

“Sweet,” added Darke, fastening her belt. It had the white beast-head buckle, but Owen found that it didn’t interest him nearly so much as Darke’s breasts. They were so small and pale and had such large, dark nipples. He remembered their springy feel, their heat, their taste. He started getting hard again.

Darke glanced at his rising penis, smiled and met his eyes.

“Nice guys shouldn’t always have to finish last,” she said. Digging a hand into a front pocket of her pants, she walked over to him. She pulled out a few bandages, then crouched beside him and tore one open.

Chapter Fifty-one

FINAL WARNING

With only half an hour left before showtime at the movie theater, there wasn’t much activity on the front lawn of Beast House. All the tourists seemed to be done with their main courses. Some sat at a table, chatting as they nibbled cake or sipped drinks. Others stood around in a small cluster, each holding a cocktail or a glass of wine. Several had drifted away.

Monica sat at one of the picnic tables, sipping red wine, talking and laughing with Dr. Clive Bixby and the two late arrivals, a young, married couple named Phil and Connie.

Phil and Connie seemed like nice folks. Real Beast House fans. While Warren had prepared their burgers, they’d told Dana about ordering their Midnight Tour tickets six months in advance, then driving all the way up from San Diego (with a stopover in Boleta Bay) for tonight’s festivities. They’d almost made it without incident, but a radiator hose had popped on Pacific Coast Highway only five miles south of town. So they’d walked the rest of the way and arrived an hour late.

Though Phil and Connie hadn’t missed out on any of the food or drinks, they’d gotten ambushed by Monica and the professor.

Must be loads of laughs, Dana thought.

Maybe I should go to their rescue.

She put a hand on Warren’s back. “I think I’ll join our friends over there.”

“Sure. Go ahead.”

“You could come, too. Doesn’t look like we’re being overrun by customers.”

Rhonda and Windy had already abandoned their grills. They were sitting across from each other at a picnic table, eating steaks and talking.

“I think I’m about ready for some food,” Warren said. “How about you?”

“I’m starving.”

“You could’ve gone ahead and eaten.”

“Without you?”

“What’ll you have?”

“How about a cheeseburger with the works?”

“My specialty.” He glanced at the three dark, dried-up patties already on the grill. “Guess I’ll throw on some fresh ones. You can go ahead and sit down. I’ll be along when the burgers are done.”

“I’ll get the drinks,” Dana said. “What would you like?”

“Maybe a beer.”

“Coming up.” She patted his back, then walked over to the bar.

Biff was there, getting more refills for himself and his wife, Eleanor. Though Dana hadn’t been trying to keep track, she’d seen Biff over here a number of times.

They’re really gonna be juiced, she thought as she watched the bartender pour Scotch into two glasses half-full of ice.

“After that,” Biff told him, “it was hit the ball, drag Bob, hit the ball, drag Bob.”

Dana recognized the old joke. She wondered how many times the bartender had heard it.

He laughed, though.

Biff paid him, tucked a bill into the tip glass, then picked up his drinks and turned around. Dana sidestepped out of his way. He didn’t seem to notice her. He walked carefully toward the place where his wife was standing with Tuck and the Lawrences. In spite of the chill, Eleanor hadn’t put on her sweater. It was still tied around her neck and hanging down her back.

“They’re feeling no pain,” the bartender said.

“The way his wife is dressed,” Dana said, “she needs all the antifreeze she can get.”

“And what’ll you have?”

“A couple of beers.”

“Bud, Bud Lite, Corona...?”

“A couple of Buds would be great.”

He turned away from the counter and bent over an ice chest.

“My name’s Dana, by the way.”

“I’m Hank.”

“Nice to meet you, Hank,” Dana said as he came back to the counter with a can of beer in each hand.

“Haven’t seen you around before,” he said, snapping open the cans.

“This’ll be my first Midnight Tour.” She opened her purse, took out her wallet, and found a ten-dollar bill.

“You’re going inside tonight?” Hank asked, taking the bill.

“Yep.”

“Couldn’t pay me enough to do that. Not at night. Hell, no.” He counted change into her hand. “Not that I’m chicken. Just got more sense than that. Not that I’m saying you haven’t got sense.”

Laughing, Dana slipped a bill into his tip glass.

“Thanks.”

“Have things happened on the Midnight Tour?” Dana asked.

“Folks go in, they don’t come out.”

“Really?”

“That’s what I hear.”

“Do you know of anyone not coming out?”

“I’ve heard plenty. I was in your shoes, I wouldn’t go in there.”

“Sounds like traitor talk.”

Hank laughed.

“Do you say this stuff to the guests?”

“Sure. Why not? They already paid, right? Who’s gonna get scared off after they’ve already forked out a hundred bucks? Anyhow, Lynn and Janice, they say I oughta keep it up. Folks come here to get scared, ain’t that so? I give ‘em what they’re here for.”

“Ah, I see. It’s just an act.”

“Nope, it ain’t no act. I wouldn’t step foot in that place for a million bucks. Not after dark. Not in broad daylight, either, for that matter, if you wanta know the truth. You couldn’t drag me in there, night or day.”

“The last of the beasts were killed in seventy-nine,” Dana told him.

“So they say. But I ain’t gonna stake my life on it. You shouldn’t either. You’re a mighty damn attractive lady, and it’d be a rotten shame if one of those critters laid its claws on you.”

Smiling, Dana said, “I wouldn’t care for that, myself.”

“Well, you may find it amusing now, but it ain’t funny at all—what one of them monsters’d do to a honey like you. It’d rip the clothes off your back and have it’s way with you, for starters. Know what I mean?”

Nodding, she said, “I’d better get going. Nice meeting you, Hank.”

“It’s got a tool on it the size of a billy club—with teeth like a rat!”

“See you later, Hank.” She hurried away from him. Instead of heading for the table to rescue Phil and Connie, she returned to Warren. She handed him a can of beer. “Hank the bartender just warned me off the Midnight Tour.”

“Good for him,” Warren said.

“He’s a pretty creepy guy.”

“What’d he have to say?”

Aware of Warren’s own experiences in Beast House, she hesitated and felt herself blush. “The usual. But he got pretty graphic about the thing’s anatomy.”

Warren slipped a spatula under one of the patties. He flipped the burger. It hit the grill sizzling. “I can’t actually vouch for the business about the mouth and teeth down there. That part of it might be a myth. Or it might not be.”

He flipped the other burger. “Either way, you wouldn’t want to get nailed by one.”

“I know I wouldn’t.”

“Even if you survive, you’ll never be the same.”

“Maybe we can have matching scars,” Dana said.

“It’s nothing to joke about.”

“I’m sorry.” She lifted her can of Bud and took a drink.

“Well now,” Warren said.

“What.”

“Look.” He nodded to the left.

Off in the distance, three figures came striding across the lawn. Even though they were fuzzy through the fog, Dana instantly recognized Vein by her size and outfit. And that had to be Darke on the left. But who was the guy in the middle?

Owen?

“What’s he doing with them?” Dana asked.

“Found a couple of new friends?” Warren suggested.

“Ohhh boy.”

Hand in hand, the trio walked diagonally across the front lawn. If they didn’t change direction, they would end up at the front gate.

Probably on their way to the movie theater.

Is Owen planning to sit with them? Dana wondered.

Can’t blame the guy. I’d sit with them, too, she thought, if it’d keep Monica away from me.

She glanced at the abandoned girlfriend.

Monica had been seated in the same place during the entire picnic, not once leaving her bench. Dr. Bixby, sitting across from her, had sometimes strutted away to bring her refills of wine.

At the moment, the professor was holding forth with great conviction and volume about Bigfoot. Monica, Phil and Connie seemed to be paying close attention to his lecture.

The angle taken by Owen, Vein and Darke would lead them straight into Monica’s line of vision.

Maybe Bixby’s head’ll block her view...

Tuck suddenly seemed to be aware of possible trouble. She ended whatever discussion she’d been having with Biff, Eleanor, Andy and Alison, stepped away from their group and watched Owen hurry by with Vein and Darke. Then she checked on Monica. After that, head rising slightly, she seemed to look at Dana.

Dana nodded to her.

Tuck nodded back.

Any second, now...

Monica flinched, her back jerking rigid.

“Saw ‘em,” Warren muttered.

“Yep,” said Dana.

Monica started to rise from her bench. She stood halfway up, possibly to eliminate Dr. Bixby’s head from the picture.

“She might not recognize Owen,” Warren said. “All this fog, that could be just about anyone.”

“Process of elimination might give her a clue,” Dana said. “He’s only been missing for the whole picnic.”

Monica sank back down in her seat.

Bixby said something to her. Dana caught only the word, “wrong.”

Monica shook her head, her pony tail jerking from side to side. Then, leaning forward, she reached across the table and patted the professor’s hand.

“Crisis averted,” Warren said.

Tuck seemed to agree. She stopped watching, glanced at her wristwatch, then turned around and rejoined her small group.

“Guess the burgers are done,” Warren said.

“I’ll get the buns. You want mayo or mustard?”

“Mayo.”

“Excellent choice.”

Warren tossed slabs of cheese onto the dark patties while Dana slathered the buns with mayonaise.

Just as Warren was slipping the patties onto their buns, Tuck announced, “It’s ten till ten, everyone. If you’re interested in the special Midnight Tour screening of The Horror, better start heading over to the Haunted Palace theater. The film will begin at ten. I’m on my way over right now, so you can follow me if you’d like.”

Tuck stepped closer to her group. A few seconds later, they began heading for the gate, Tuck leading the way.

By the time Dana and Warren were ready to find seats, nobody remained at any of the tables except Windy and Rhonda. Hank was busy cleaning up his bar.

Dana saw Monica leave the grounds, walking with Dr. Bixby.

“Maybe she’s found true love,” Warren said.

Dana let out a laugh. “I hope so. But somehow I doubt it.”

“Shall we sit with Rhonda and Windy?” Warren asked.

“I think we probably should.”

“Mind if we join you?” Warren called to them.

“Come on over, boss,” Windy called, and Rhonda smiled at them.

On the way over, Warren said to Dana, “If you’re not careful, you’ll miss the start of the movie.”

“I’ve seen it before.”

“But never the special, exclusive screening for the Midnight Tour.”

“I can catch it next week.”

“You really should see it tonight, or you won’t get the full experience.” Sounding hopeful, he added, “Unless you’ve changed your mind about the tour.”

“No, I still want to do that.”

“You shouldn’t miss the movie, then.”

“But I want to eat with you.”

“Well...the show never starts on time, anyway. You probably have fifteen or twenty minutes.”

“Then I’ll eat with you and catch the movie.”

They sat down beside each other, across the table from Rhonda and Windy.

Dana took a long drink of beer. “What about Hank?” she asked. “Do you think he’d like to join us?”

“He’s awful,” Rhonda said. “Have you ever talked to him? Yug!”

“He’s a real sicko,” Windy said.

“Besides which,” said Warren, “he never eats with us. We’ve asked him before. He likes to get out of here as early as he can. Which reminds me—do you want another beer?”

“Sounds good,” Dana said.

“Ladies?”

“No thanks,” Rhonda said. “I’m about ready to get started with the cleanup.”

“Me, too,” said Windy. “The sooner we start, the sooner we’ll be done.”

Warren excused himself and hurried toward the bar.

Smiling, Julie leaned foward and said to Dana, “Whatever you’ve been doing to him, don’t stop. Okay? He’s been like a new man ever since you first showed up.”

Dana grinned. “Glad to hear it.”

“But he’s worried about you. He has a real problem with anyone going in the house after dark. Do you know what happened to him in there?”

“He told me,” Dana said, and wondered what he’d told Windy. A lot, probably. After all, they worked together inside the snack stand day after day. “He got beaten up by some thugs?” Dana asked.

To Dana’s relief, Windy nodded.

Then Windy said, “He’s really scared something might happen to you if you go on the tour.”

“I guess it shows he cares.”

“Cares a lot,” Windy said. “You ask me, he’s in love with you.” She glanced to the side. “Here he comes. Don’t tell him I said that, okay?”

Feeling a tightness in her throat, Dana smiled at the girl.

Warren placed an open can of beer in front of Dana, then climbed over the bench and sat down beside her.

“Thanks for the brew,” she said, and put a hand on his back.

He leaned sideways, bumping her gently. Then he said, “You’re going to be late for the movie if you don’t start eating.”

“I had to wait for you.”

“I’m here. Eat.”

She took a large bite out of her cheeseburger, moaning with pleasure as the flavors flooded her mouth.

“Tell you what,” Windy said. “Why don’t you both go to the movie?”

“That’s a great idea,” Rhonda agreed.

Warren shook his head. “I can’t leave you two with all this mess.”

“We insist,” Windy said. “Besides, Lynn’ll be along in a little while and give us a hand.”

“That’s awfully nice of you, but...”

“It’s no big deal,” Windy said.

“We insist,” said Rhonda.

“If it’ll make you feel better, you can do our share of the cleanup next week.”

“Well, in that case...”

“We accept your offer,” Dana said. “And thank you. That’s very nice.”

“You’d better get going,” Windy said.

“Take your food with you,” Rhonda suggested. “You can eat and drink as you walk.”

“Wanta?” Warren asked Dana.

“Fine with me.”

Leaving their plates on the table, they picked up their burgers and beers. Then they climbed clear of the bench. On their way around the table, they both thanked Windy and Rhonda again.

As they hurried toward the gate, Rhonda called, “See you later.”

“See you,” Dana called back.

“Be good,” Rhonda advised.

Windy elbowed her. “Don’t tell them that.”

The two girls laughed.

“Don’t be good,” Rhonda called.

“Be great!” shouted Windy.

Chapter Fifty-two

THE HAUNTED PALACE

When Owen arrived at the theater with Vein and Darke, the marquee was dark, the ticket booth empty. But the lobby lights were on. Through the glass door, Owen saw a Beast House guide standing alone on the red carpet, staring out at them.

The big, smirky-looking guy.

The muscle-bound jerk.

God’s gift to women.

Clyde.

He strolled over to the door and opened it. “Midnight tourists?” he asked, a cigarette jerking between his lips.

Owen tapped a finger against the badge pinned to his chest. Clyde nodded at it, then glanced at Darke. She dipped fingers into a breast pocket of her black silk shirt, drew out her red badge and showed it to him.

“And how about you?” he asked Vein.

After leaving the men’s restroom at Beast House, she had zipped up her leather jacket. Now, she skidded the zipper down and pulled her jacket wide open.

Clyde grinned around his cigarette. “Ah,” he said. “There it is. Please come in.”

They entered the lobby.

Though Clyde couldn’t seem to take his eyes off Vein’s chest, he made no lewd or suggestive comments.

Probably afraid of us, Owen thought.

Clyde seemed large and strong enough to handle all three of them at once, but Owen figured he must be creeped out—at least a tittle—by Vein and Darke.

“The show’ll be starting in just a few minutes,” he said. “Feel free to wait out here in the lobby, if you like. Or you can go in and choose your seats.” As if addressing only Vein, he said, “My name’s Clyde. I’m one of the Beast House tour guides.”

“Will you be our guide tonight?” Vein asked.

“Not tonight. That’ll be Lynn Tucker.”

“Pity,” Vein said.

“I’m only the projectionist for tonight.” He tapped some ash from his cigarette. “But I work Wednesday through Sunday at Beast House.”

“Maybe we’ll see each other again,” Vein said.

Clyde grinned and nodded.

“That wasn’t a come-on,” Darke told him. “That was a threat.”

Clyde stood taller and his eyes narrowed. “Maybe you three had better go in and take your seats.”

Vein pursed her black lips and kissed the air. “It’s been a slice, dahhhling.” To Owen and Darke, she said, “Come along, dears.”

They followed her into the theater auditorium. Overhead lights were on, illuminating two aisles, row upon row of empty red seats, a slim edge of stage and an enormous white movie screen.

Sitting near the middle of the second row were Dennis and Arnold. They looked over their shoulders and waved.

“Dudes!” called Dennis.

“Greetings!” called Arnold.

“Children of the night!”

“Vampires rule!”

Vein bared her teeth at them.

“Whoa!”

“Awesome!”

“How you doing, guys?” Owen called.

“Flyin’ high, dude!”

“Top notch!”

Darke stuck out her tongue and wiggled it at them.

Dennis hooted.

Arnold squealed.

Then Vein pulled her jacket off, swung it over one shoulder, and started striding down the aisle.

Dennis and Arnold stared at her, struck silent.

Vein stopped a few rows back from the guys. “In here,” she said to Owen and Darke. She sidestepped toward the middle of the row. Owen went in next, followed by Darke. Arriving at the seat she wanted, Vein spread her leather jacket across its back. Then she turned toward the watching boys. “It promises to be a most interesting night,” she said to them. Writhing, she slid her tongue across her lips and gave her left breast a slow massage through her bra. “See you later, dahhhlings,” she said, and sank down into her seat.

Dennis and Arnold turned toward the screen.

Vein grinned. Darke laughed softly. Owen sat between them, feeling a little nervous but also, strangely, very safe. As if he’d found himself a couple of spectacular body guards—weird, maybe, but his.

It seemed more like some sort of wild dream.

A great dream.

After so many things going so badly, to be followed into the men’s room by these two bizarre, incredible strangers...

Did we really do all that?

Damn straight, he thought, and smiled. He could feel the reality of it all over his body.

They aren’t exactly strangers anymore.

Turning his head, he looked at Darke. She was staring forward, her eyes half-shut.

How could I ever think she was a guy?

She looked at him. A corner of her mouth tilted slightly.

Then she leaned toward him, reached over the chair arm that separated them, and gently took hold of his hand.

His heart raced. His mouth went dry.

This is crazy, he thought.

She’s holding my band like a normal girl.

But the feel of a girl’s hand hadn’t made Owen feel like this in a very long time. Not since he was thirteen, he supposed. Thirteen and holding Nancy Farrow’s hand...

“Is this row all right with you, professor?”

Monica’s voice.

It gave Owen a sudden sick feeling.

Darke’s hand tightened its grip.

“Lady’s choice,” Bixby said, his voice booming at its usual volume.

Owen swung his head, peered over his right shoulder and saw Monica coming down the aisle with the professor.

“What do you want to do?” Darke whispered.

The sound of her voice sent a thrilling warmth through Owen.

He looked into her eyes. “I don’t know.”

“I don’t want to get you in trouble,” she said.

“Speak for yourself,” Vein said.

“I mean it.” Darke released her hold on Owen’s hand, but he kept his grip on hers. Her eyes widened a little. She pressed her lips together.

“This’ll be fine,” Monica said.

Owen kept his eyes on Darke’s eyes. But he noticed that Monica’s voice had come from nearby.

“If you want her back,” Darke whispered, “I can help.”

“I don’t.”

“Are you sure?”

“I can’t stand her.”

Nodding slightly, Darke squeezed his hand. Her eyes shifted sideways, then returned to Owen. “Looks like she’s going to sit behind us.”

“Owie, is that you?”

He twisted in his seat and forced himself to smile. “Hello, Monica.”

She sat down directly behind Darke. “You’ve met Professor Bixby, haven’t you?”

“Hi, Clive.”

“Owie,” Clive boomed, and dropped into the seat behind him. “Too bad you missed the picnic. We had a ripping good time!”

“Glad to hear it,” Owen said.

“Had a spot of digestive trouble, did you?”

“Right.”

“A shame. Likely the Polish sausage. But of course, your sister also ate the Polish, and had no trouble at all.”

“Owie has such sensitive bowels,” Monica explained, smiling at Darke.

Sister?

Twisting around farther, Owen said to Bixby, “If my bowels are sensitive, it’s because Monica is such a pain in the ass. I didn’t have digestive troubles. I escaped from the picnic to get away from her. And she’s not my sister. She’s my former girlfriend. Presently, she’s my stalker.”

Clive looked astonished. “I say,” he said.

Monica, sitting rigid and motionless, smiled sweetly at Owen and said, “I’m the best thing that ever happened to you, buster.”

“What a laugh. You’re an obnoxious bitch and I’m sick of you.”

“That’s no way to talk to the lady, young chap,” Bixby said.

Darke turned her head. “What’s with you and your fake accent, professor?”

“Ah! Now we have the castrato weighing in.”

“Get bit,” Darke said.

Vein twisted around. “Can’t we all just get along?” she said, glancing from Bixby to Monica. “Otherwise, I may pay you a visit during the show. You might not care for that.”

They both stared at her.

The lights went off.

Owen turned forward.

In the total darkness., Monica said, “I’ve had enough of this foolishness. Come back here and sit with me, Owen. Right now. I’m not kidding.”

He didn’t answer.

Suddenly, a spotlight came on. Its beam slanted down through the darkness and lit the center of the stage. There stood Lynn Tucker, a microphone in one hand.

“I guess everyone’s here,” she said. “Welcome to the Haunted Palace. Before we start the film, let me give you some background. In 1982, the year of The Horror’s original release, Malcasa Point didn’t have a functioning movie theater. The old theater had burnt down a few years earlier. But Janice Crogan really wanted The Horror to be shown somewhere in town. After all, she’d written the book it was based on, and the film was about Malcasa Point. It’d be a shame, she thought, if none of her friends or neighbors would get a chance to see it. So she asked for permission to show the film at the high school auditorium. No dice. The Legion hall. No dice. The Elks. Nope. The K. of C. Huh-uh. She even asked permission at a couple of local churches. Everybody refused. When The Horror came out, Janice could find only one suitable place to show it—the dining room of the Welcome Inn. She owned the Welcome Inn, and she couldn’t very well refuse her own request.”