The Midnight Tour bhc-3

by Richard Laymon

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  She lurched to a stop.

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

  Dana gaped at her.

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

  “Whassa matter?” she asked.

  “Were you just up?”

  “Huh? No.”

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

  “Been right here.”

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

  “No.”

  “Promise?”

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

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

  “When?”

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

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

  “Did you hear anything?”

  “A toilet flushed.”

  “That was me.”

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

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

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

  They stared at each other.

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

  “What else makes a sound like that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “I can’t imagine what you heard.”

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

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

  “I know.”

  “This is nuts.”

  They started slowly down the stairs.

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

  “Maybe I brought it with me.”

  Tuck grinned at her. “Maybe you did.”

  “Do you think we should call Eve?”

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

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

  “Wasn’t me.”

  “So somebody else must’ve done it.”

  Tuck made a face at her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “You going in?”

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

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

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

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

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

  “If you say so,” Dana said.

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

  “You’re probably right.”

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

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

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

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

  “It might’ve been something else.”

  “Such as?”

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

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

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

  “What about that?” she asked.

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

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

  “Was it?”

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

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

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

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

  “Maybe it belongs to the missing tourist.”

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

  Dana looked around.

  The parking lot was empty.

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

  They hadn’t parked in the Beast House lot.

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

  Maybe one of these people owned the Granada.

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

  So what? Maybe it belongs to a repeat customer.

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

  She scanned the group.

  And caught a guy staring at her.

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

  Do I know him?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “But not necessarily.”

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

  Grinning, Tuck asked, “Egypt?”

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

  “Yeah. We get a lot of them, though.”

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

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

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

  “Are you sure it’s the same guy?”

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

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

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

  “Just because he gave you the eye?”

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

  “That does seem slightly odd.”

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

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

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

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

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

  “He’s over by the ticket booth?”

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

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

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

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

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

  “You’re kidding.”

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

  “Alone?”

  Tuck smiled and shook her head. “Me?”

  “Yes, you.”

  “I do it all the time.”

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

  “Nothing’s going to happen.”

  “But if it does, I’ll be with you.”

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

  chapter Twenty-five

  SANDY’S STORY July 1992

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

  Sandy felt a pang of regret.

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

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

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

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

  Chuffing. he nodded.

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

  “Hop on out, now,” she told him.

  He whined.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  He shrugged.

  “Jerk,” she said.

  He grinned.

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

  An old joke between them.

  Grinning, Eric bobbed his head.

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

  He looked so damn lonely and forlom.

  Sandy felt her throat tighten up.

  Poor kid, she thought.

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

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

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

  She hated leaving him alone for these drives into town.

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

  It matters.

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

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

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

  They were probably dead.

  But maybe not.

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

  Not if I’m sitting on it.

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

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