“Especially unnerving,” he continued, “are the small, attic windows that look out from three gables along the steeply slanting roof, draped in shadow from eaves like brooding eyelids. Peering up at them, wondering what might lurk inside, I feel a chill creep up my spine. If I don’t look away soon, I know that a dim, ghastly face will appear at one of the windows.” Such eloquence, he thought—such nonsense. But he suddenly found himself staring at the farthest attic window. A chill had indeed crept up his spine. The skin at the back of his neck felt tight and tingly. If I don’t look away soon…
He lowered his eyes to the gray metal recorder. He listened to its quiet, reassuring hum for a few moments, then looked again toward the house, taking care to avoid the high window.
“At the far end of the roof,” he said, “is a tower. It has a cone-shaped top. A widow’s peak…no, a witch’s cap, that’s what it’s called. There are windows under…” He switched off the recorder.
Twisting around, he eased his head out the car window and looked back. Brian wasn’t in sight. He pulled in his head, turned the other way, and spotted the younger man through the rear window. Camera to his eye, Brian was standing on the other side of the road directly across from the ticket booth. Gorman reached to the steering wheel. He gave the horn a quick beep. Brian lowered the camera, nodded, and returned to the car. Instead of opening his door, he ducked and peered in at Gorman.
“Are you about finished?”
“Any time. I got some sweet ones. Found out they’re running another tour in forty-five minutes.”
The news didn’t please Gorman; it gave him a chilly, liquid feeling in the bowels. “Not today,” he said. “I’d prefer to wait until we’ve talked to the girl.”
“Fine by me,” Brian said, and climbed in. “The motel’s just a couple of miles up.” He swung out from behind the station wagon. “The gal said it’s on the right, we can’t miss it.”
“The girl in the ticket booth?”
“She’s the one. Name’s Sandy. Very cooperative.”
“Have you ever met a young woman who wasn’t?”
“Very few,” Brian answered. A smile creased his lean cheeks, and he gave Gorman a sample of the sincere, penetrating gaze that made him such a hit with the ladies.
“Watch where you’re driving,” Gorman said, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice. After four years of almost daily contact with Brian, he still found himself, at times, seething with envy. The thick blond hair, the pale blue eyes, the flawless skin and trim young body seemed to mock Gorman, make him look by comparison like an aged and overweight bulldog. It hardly seemed fair.
“Wonder what they do for kicks in this burg,” Brian said.
“Our friend Janice will provide you with some distractions.”
“Hope she’s not a dog.”
“Dog or not, you’ll abide by the game plan.”
“Sure, sure.
After a few blocks of souvenir shops, cafés, sporting-goods stores, bars and gas stations, they reached the far end of town. The road curved into a forest. Gorman looked back, wondering if they’d somehow passed the Welcome Inn.
“Don’t worry, Brian said. “We didn’t miss it.”
“Sandy told you we couldn’t.”
“Should be just ahead.”
And it was.
On the right, looking cool in the shade of pines, stood the Welcome Inn’s Carriage House, a quaint-looking restaurant with bright white siding and green trim, an antique buggy adorning its lawn. A walkway led from the entrance to an auto court where a dozen bungalows surrounded a parking area. Except for two cars, the lot was deserted.
“Looks like they’re not full up,” Brian observed.
“Very astute,” Gorman said.
Just beyond the entrance to the court, the road flared out for parking in front of the office. Brian slowed and swung over. He pulled up close to the front porch. “Want to wait in the car?” he asked.
“I hardly think that would be appropriate.”
“Thought you might want to make notes.”
While Gorman put his recorder into the glove compartment, Brian twisted the rearview mirror and patted down the sides of his windblown hair. Then they both climbed from the car. They mounted the wooden steps to the porch. Gorman pulled open the screen door and entered first.
With light pouring in from the door and windows, the office seemed bright and cheerful. He saw no one, but through the half-open door behind the registration desk he heard the voices and music of a television. Stepping up to the desk, he tapped the plunger of a call bell. He turned around. Brian had wandered over to a rack of travel brochures.
“If there’s a Beast House, grab a few.”
Brian nodded without looking back.
Gorman scanned the calico curtains, the pine paneling of the walls, the glossy green and yellow body of a fish mounted above the entry, the couch resting beneath one of the windows, its tweedy green fabric faded from the sunlight. A few magazines were neatly stacked on an end table.
Hanging on the far wall was an enormous map labeled malcasa point and its environs, vacation paradise with oversized cartoon characters enjoying the various activities: a little man surf-fishing; a family sunbathing and swimming at a beach; a boat offshore full of cheery anglers one of whom had managed to hook a scuba diver. The diver had exclamation points trapped inside his air bubbles. Back on land, the map depicted an array of hikers and campers in the wooded hills, a man in waders fly-fishing in a stream, rafters riding the rapids. At the center of the map loomed the Welcome Inn, shown in detail and larger than the entire town of Malcasa Point. Gorman’s eyes followed the main road downward to a drawing of Beast House. Over its roof hovered a white apparition twice the size of the house. In spite of fangs and claws, the creature bore a marked resemblance to Casper the Friendly Ghost. The word “BOOO!” was scrawled across its belly.
“Sorry to keep you waiting.”
Turning, Gorman smiled at the girl. “Quite all right,” he said.
She pushed the door to the living quarters shut. The latch clacked into place. She glanced toward Brian, then fixed her eyes on Gorman. “Mr. Hardy,” she said.
“Janice?”
Her head bobbed a bit.
She was not a dog, which must please Brian. Nor did she appear to be underage, a possibility which had worried Gorman. From the correspondence, he had assumed her to be a teenager but had never pinpointed her age. He guessed, now, that she must be eighteen or close to it.
She was slim and attractive, with golden bangs brushing her forehead, hair flowing down the sides of her face to her shoulders. The white of her bra showed through the thin white cotton of a T-shirt that read WELCOME TO THE WELCOME INN.
Brian, he thought, must be quite pleased indeed.
The girl glanced over her shoulder as if to reassure herself that the door was firmly shut. Then she looked again at Brian, who was staring at her. In his hand were a few brochures.
“He’s with me,” Gorman explained.
He came forward as if summoned.
“Janice, I want you to meet Brian Blake—my research assistant, photographer, chauffeur.”
He reached over the counter. Janice, her face puzzled and wary, shook the offered hand. From the letters, she must have assumed Gorman would come alone. Was she wondering if this man’s presence would affect her share?
In rich, sincere tones, Brian said, “Pleased to meet you, Janice.” He kept his hold on her hand. “Very pleased.”
A blush tinted her cheeks. Her mouth opened as if to speak, but no words came out. Suddenly, her eyes widened. “Bri…the Brian Blake?” she blurted. Her stunned expression brought a smile from Gorman. She looked as if she were gawking at a movie star, awestruck and a little frightened. “My God,” she muttered.
“Nothing to be afraid of,” Brian said. “I left the spook back in Wisconsin.”
“God, I don’t believe this.”
Brian relinquished her hand. It dropp
ed, limp, to the counter. She continued to stare at him.
“As you may remember,” Gorman said, “Mr. Blake and I worked very closely together on Horror. He not only recounted the tragedy during our tape sessions, he also was responsible for the photographs used in the book. I’ve kept him on as an associate ever since. He’s really an invaluable asset.”
Janice nodded. She still looked a trifle dazed. “Must’ve been awful for you,” she said, her eyes fixed on Brian’s.
“It’s like Nietzsche says.”
“Huh?”
“What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I guess so.”
“Besides, it was a long time ago. I suppose I’ll never be over it completely, but…I’m coping.”
“Well…”
“This,” Gorman interrupted, “is probably not the ideal place to talk.” He nodded toward the closed door behind which, he assumed, her parents were busy with other matters. “Why don’t you check us in to our rooms? Then we’ll make arrangements to meet later, after we’ve had a chance to rest up from the drive.”
“Good idea,” she said. She made a shaky smile and licked her lips. “Will you be together or…”
“Separate rooms,” Brian told her.
“Very good.” She snapped a pair of guest registration cards down on the counter. “Would you each fill out one of these?” she said in a firm, practiced voice. Obviously embarrassed by her earlier loss of composure, she was trying to appear businesslike. This delighted Gorman. From the tone of her letters, he’d been prepared to face a rather tough, cynical bitch, an operator. Now, he realized she wouldn’t be the obstacle he had feared. The toughness was no more than a thin shell, easily cracked.
He finished filling in his card.
“All our units,” Janice said, “are equipped with queensized double beds, color TV, and complimentary coffee.”
“Magic fingers?” Brain asked.
A slight frown drew her brows together. She studied him as if trying to figure something out, then seemed to give up. With a shake of her head, she told him, “I’m afraid not.”
“Well, shit.”
A grin split her face.
“I could just shit, couldn’t you, Gorman?”
Now she was softly laughing.
Brian gave her a pitiful look. “I can’t sleep without Magic Fingers.”
“Aw, poor boy.” One of her hands lifted as if to pat him on the head. She caught herself, and lowered the hand behind the counter. “You’ll just have to suffer,” she said. She smiled at Gorman. “Is he always this way?”
“Just around beautiful women.”
Her face went red as if magically sunburned. “Anyway.” She took a deep breath. “How long do you expect to be staying with us?”
“I believe two nights should be sufficient, don’t you?”
“Depends, I guess. What’re you planning on?”
“Why don’t we discuss that in the privacy of our rooms?”
“Yeah, that’d be better.” She glanced at Brian, and quickly looked away. She picked up the two registration cards. “Will this be cash or charge?”
“Do you take Visa?”
“Yes, we do.”
Gorman used his card to pay for both rooms. After he signed the receipt, Janice turned over the card to compare signatures. “I’m no imposter, young lady.”
“Huh? Oh. Just force of habit. I know you’re Gorman Hardy.”
“The paperback edition didn’t have a photo.”
“I saw you on the Today show.”
“Ah. Am I even more handsome in person?”
“Oh yes. A lot more handsome.”
“Why, thank you. You have an endearing quality about you, Janice.”
She shrugged, muttered thanks, and reached under the counter. She came up with two keys, each attached to a tab of green plastic. “I’ll put you in five and six. They’re together with a connecting door.” She swung an arm out behind her. “Just drive through, they’re the third duplex on the left. The ice machine’s just outside the office here, and there’s a soft-drink vending machine beside it.”
Gorman nodded. Leaning against the desk, he asked in a quiet voice, “When would you be able to join us?”
“I can usually get away. Mom’ll be over at the restaurant most of the time, and Dad’s pretty loose. I just tell him I want to go out, and he takes over the office.”
“Excellent. Now, as I understand it, they know absolutely nothing about our purpose here.”
“Right. Nobody knows but me.”
“It’s imperative that we keep it that way. At least for the present,” he added.
“I’m not gonna tell anyone,” Janice said. “Are you kidding? It’s my neck.”
Brian peered closely at her neck. She met his eyes, blushed and looked back at Gorman.
“Would one of our rooms be a convenient meeting place?” he asked.
“Sure. Good as any. I’ll bring in some clean towels, just in case, but nobody’s even gonna notice me.”
“Very good. Say room six, then, in an hour?”
“I’ll be there.”
“And bring the diary along.”
CHAPTER FIVE
“Voilà!” Nora blurted, startling Tyler. She jabbed a finger against the windshield.
Just ahead, on the left, was a white-painted adobe restaurant with a red tile roof. The sign in front, hanging from a miniature lighthouse, read Lighthouse Inn.
Tyler checked the rearview. The Mustang was a hundred yards back. She signaled for a turn. A moment later, the Mustang’s turn light began to flash. She swung across the road, into the paved parking lot.
Nora leaned over, twisted the mirror and studied her reflection. She started brushing her hair. Tyler pulled into a space and stopped the car. She waited for Nora to finish, then turned the mirror toward herself. Her blonde hair was slightly mussed, but she thought it looked all right. She checked her face for blood. She couldn’t see any.
The Mustang eased in beside them. Tyler grabbed her handbag off the backseat, and climbed out. The ocean breeze felt cool and good. It tossed her hair. It flipped open the bottom of her untucked blouse as she stepped around the car, exposing her tanned belly to Abe’s stare. She had neglected to fasten the last button. She closed it now, and Abe lifted his gaze to her face.
Not hard eyes, she thought. But probing, maybe a little amused.
“Bet you’re surprised we found a place,” Nora said.
“I was beinning to wonder.”
“Boondocks, USA.”
Jack hurried ahead and pulled open the dark wood door. He held it while the others stepped into the dimly lighted foyer. A blond girl in a turtleneck and kilts came forward, clutching menus to her chest. Abe told her that they’d come in for cocktails, and she led them through a nearly deserted dining room to a table by the windows. Abe pulled out a chair for Tyler. Jack did the same for Nora. “A waitress will be by for your orders,” the girl said, and left them.
“Nice joint,” Jack said.
“We picked it special,” Nora told him.
“Come here often?” Abe asked, raising an eyebrow at Tyler.
“Whenever we’re in the neighborhood.”
“We’re from LA,” Nora said. “How about you?”
“Here and there,” Jack said.
“These are a couple of very evasive guys,” Nora said. “What are you, bank robbers?”
Jack grinned. “Now there’s a thought, huh, Abe?”
“I guess you might say we’re itinerants.”
“Farm workers? What do you hear from Caesar Chavez?”
Jack laughed. It was more of a giggle, high-pitched and quiet, an odd sound to come from such a power-fully built man but, Tyler thought, somewhat appropriate to his baby face.
A waitress came. Nora ordered a vodka martini, Tyler a margarita. Abe asked for a Dos Equiis, was told there was no Mexican beer in stock, and settled for a Michelob. Jack ordered the same.
Smiling slightly, Abe shook his head. “Actually, we just got ourselves mustered out of the Marine Corps.”
“Ah-ha! Leathernecks.” She grinned at Tyler. “What’d I tell you? Tough guys.”
“You just got out?” Tyler asked.
“We’ve been civilians since Monday.”
“In since sixty-seven,” Jack added.
“Holy shit. That’s what, twelve years?”
“We liked it,” Jack said.
“But not enough to re-up again,” Abe added.
Jack wrinkled his nose, shook his head. “Gets to be a drag when you haven’t got a shooting war.”
“Are you kidding?” Nora asked.
“Not that we particularly enjoy combat,” Abe said.
“Speak for yourself,” Jack told him.
“But the peacetime corps is a lot of dull routine, and after the last fiasco we’re not going to see any real commitment of ground forces for some time. Not much point being a soldier without a war. So we thought we’d get out and see how the other half lives.”
“What’ll you do?” Tyler asked.
“As little as possible,” Jack smiled.
“Right now, we’re busy playing tourist. Left Camp Pendleton on Monday, took the Hearst Castle tour at San Simeon, came up through Monterey and Big Sur, stayed a few days in San Francisco. Just seeing the sights.”
“Hanging loose,” Jack said.
The waitress brought the drinks.
“To fortunate encounters,” Nora toasted.
“Hear, hear,” Jack said.
“And thanks for helping us,” Tyler said.
Abe smiled. “Our pleasure.”
They drank. After a few swallows, Jack sighed loudly. “Ah,” he said. “That do hit the spot.”
“You ladies are from Los Angeles,” Abe said. “What brings you up here?”
“Just…” Tyler started.
Nora broke in. “We’re hunting up one of Tyler’s old flames.”
Why did she have to say that? Tyler felt herself blushing. “Well, we were in the area anyway for a conference in San Francisco. We just thought we’d look him up, see how he’s doing.”
The Beast House Page 4