“Which people?”
“Well, like Maggie Kutch. She’s the old bag that owns the place. Beast House. You’ll see her if you take the tour. And there’s this slime, Wick Hapson. He’s like her flunky. He’s the one sells the tickets.”
“A young lady,” Gorman said, “was in the ticket booth when we stopped there earlier this afternoon.”
Janice shrugged. “I don’t know who she’d be. I’ve been trying to keep my distance from the place. I mean, you can’t help going by it sometimes, but I haven’t been on the tour since I read the diary. And I don’t intend to, either. Maybe they hired some kid. I wouldn’t know.”
“After reading the diary, what did you do?”
“Nothing. I kept it hidden. I thought a lot about throwing it away. It made me nervous just having it around. But then I got to thinking it might be valuable. When I read your book last March, that’s when I realized there might be a book in it. That’s when I decided to write you a letter.”
Leaning forward, Gorman picked up the recorder. “Is there anything else you’d like to add?”
“That’s about all, I think.”
He switched it off.
Janice drank the remains of her martini. She set the empty glass on the bedspread. “What now?” she asked.
“Now,” Gorman said, “I shall read the diary. Tomorrow, we’ll take the tour. Would you care to join us?”
“I don’t think so. I don’t know. Maybe. I’ll think about it.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Pacific Coast Highway had curved inland soon after they left the Lighthouse Inn. Now they were passing through an area of wooded hills. The briny, fresh smell of the ocean was gone, replaced by a sweet scent of pine. The blue Mustang vanished as they rounded a bend. Tyler eased off the gas until it reappeared in the rearview mirror.
“There,” Nora said.
A sign reading malcasa point, 3 mi, pointed at a side road to the left. Tyler slowed and signaled the turn, and swung sharply across the empty lane.
“Wait for ’em,” Nora said.
She slowed to a crawl until the Mustang made the turn, then picked up speed again. The road curved along a shadowy hillside, sloping gradually downward. Not far ahead, a squirrel scampered over the pavement, bushy tail up like a question mark. Tyler touched the brake. The squirrel finished its crossing in plenty of time.
As the hill to the left fell away, she glimpsed the ocean through the trees along its crest. The breeze coming in her window suddenly turned slightly cool and smelled again of the sea.
“Almost there,” Nora said.
Tyler’s stomach lurched. Almost there. Her hands were slippery on the wheel. She rubbed them, one at a time, on the legs of her corduroys. “Let’s find a place to stay before hunting Dan up,” she said.
Nora agreed.
At the foot of the hill, the road curved to the right. A sign by the ditch read welcome to malcasa point. pop. 400. drive with care. Tyler took a deep breath. Her lungs seemed to tremble.
She gazed ahead. The road led flat and straight through the center of town. The town ahead was small, no more than a few blocks long, with shops lining both sides of the street before the road turned in the distance and vanished into the woods.
“The sticks, all right,” Nora said. “I hope it does have a motel. And I hope that isn’t it,” she added, looking to the right.
Tyler glanced that way. Through the bars of a wrought-iron fence beside the road, she saw a two-story Victorian house with weathered sides, bay windows, a peaked tower.
Nora said, “Here, we thought the Bates house was at Universal Studios.”
“Maybe they moved it.”
“Gee, should we stop for the tour?”
“That’s just what I’d like to do,” Tyler said, and kept on driving. The Mustang stayed a short distance behind them as they moved through town.
Nora, leaning toward the windshield, studied the roadside businesses. “Where’s the Holiday Inn?” she asked. “Where’s the Howard Johnson, the Hyatt?”
“There’s gotta be some kind of motel.”
“I sure don’t see one. Maybe you’d better pull in at this gas station and we’ll ask.”
“We can use a fill-up anyway,” Tyler said. She signaled well in advance, then swung over and eased the car up beside the row of full service pumps. Killing the engine, she looked over her shoulder. The Mustang stopped at the self-service island, and Abe climbed out. He nodded a greeting, then turned away to open his gas tank.
Tyler pulled her hood release as a lean, sour-looking man stepped around the front of her car. He crouched by her window. The name patch on his shirt read Bix. He peered inside as if sizing them both up, and one side of his mouth stretched over. “Ladies,” he said.
“Hi. Fill it up with unleaded, please.”
He gave the window sill a pat, then ambled around to the other side.
“Guess I’ll make a pit stop,” Nora said. “Go while the goin’s good.” She left the car, eased past the pumps, and headed for the station building.
Tyler climbed out. She stretched, feeling good as her muscles strained. The breeze off the ocean smelled fresh. Mixed with the subtle aroma of pines was a faint, pungent odor of gasoline. The breeze chilled the sweaty back of her blouse. Reaching around, she plucked the clinging fabric away from her skin.
Abe was watching the pump as he filled his tank.
She turned to Bix as he approached.
“Check under the hood for you?” he asked.
“Please.”
He nodded. His eyes strayed to her breasts and paused there for a moment before shifting away. Then he stepped past her. He bent over the hood and felt under its lip for the catch.
Tyler glanced down to make sure her blouse was buttoned. It was. “Is there a place to stay around here?” she asked.
“A motel, like?”
“Yes.”
He licked his lower lip. He stared at her breasts as if the answer were written there. “Only one,” he finally said. “That’d be the Welcome Inn, about half a mile up the road, on your right.”
“Thank you,” she said.
He raised the hood. Tyler was glad to be hidden from his view. She considered asking the location of Seaside Lane, but wanted as little as possible to do with him. She could find Dan’s place without the help of this lech.
Abe was still bent over the rear of his Mustang, pumping in gas. She walked over to him. He looked at her and smiled. “What’s up?” he asked.
“The guy says there’s a motel about half a mile up the road.”
“I was starting to wonder if we’d find one.”
“Apparently there is only one. The Welcome Inn.”
“Clever.”
“He says it’s on the right.”
“Fine. We’ll follow you in.” The feed clicked off. He pulled the spout out of his tank and stepped backward, holding it away from himself so gasoline wouldn’t drip onto his Nikes. He hung up the nozzle. Then he sniffed his fingers. He caught Tyler grinning. “Stinky,” he said.
She laughed. “We’ve got some Wet Ones in the car.”
“Thanks,” he said. “I’m a big boy. I can live with it.” He screwed the gas cap on.
“Oil’s half a quart low,” Bix said, coming up behind her.
“Thanks,” she said. “See you later,” she told Abe, and returned to her car. Watching from the window, she saw him pay cash. He pushed the wallet into his rear pocket. It made a small bulge. The other pocket apparently empty, curved smoothly over his right buttock.
The passenger door swung open. “Hi ho,” Nora said, climbing in.
“Everything come out all right?” Tyler asked.
“Right as rain. Did you ask Clyde about a motel?”
“Bix. Yeah. Dead ahead.”
“Terrific.”
Tyler found her credit card as Bix approached.