“I wasn’t born till six years later, that’s 1909. I ‘spect I’m what you’d call an accident, for I believe my folks were loath to have another child after what happened to Loreen. Oh, they treated me like royalty, but there was always a gloom in their eyes. The Thorn house, all the time I was growing up, stood deserted at the end of town. Nobody’d go near the place. It was said to be haunted. Every now and then, though, we’d have someone disappear. Then, in ‘31, the Kutch family moved in.
“They came from Seattle, and scoffed at warnings about the house, but they weren’t settled in more than a couple of weeks before the husband and kids were slaughtered. Maggie was scratched up bad, but…she’ll tell you all about it if you take the tour. What she won’t tell you—what maybe she doesn’t know—is that my father, the night after the funeral, took his Winchester and went off to kill the beast.
“He was sixty-two at the time. He’d been living with the guilt for better than thirty years, and he told me that morning he couldn’t abide it any longer. It was then I heard the whole story for the first time, and how he knew it must be Bobo, still alive, behind the murders. I begged him to let me come along, but he just wouldn’t hear of it. He wanted me to stay behind, and look after Mother. It was as if he knew he would never come back, and he didn’t. He was a good shot. I ‘spect Bobo must’ve snuck up on him, caught him from the back.” Captain Frank raked the air, fingers hooked like claws, and knocked over his mug. Tyler flinched as it pounded onto the table. Beer flew out, splashing Abe, sliding in a sudsy spill across the wood. “Oh, I’m…” The old man shook his head, mumbling, and swept at the puddle with his open hand. “Oh. I’m…I shouldn’t of…oh damn.”
The barmaid rushed up with a towel. “We have a little accident here?” she asked, mopping the table.
“Nothing serious,” Abe said.
“If Frank’s being a nuisance…”
“No. It’s fine.”
“I should’ve warned you,” she said, casting a peeved glance at Captain Frank. “Going at his Bobo story, I bet. He’ll talk your ears off once he’s soaked up a few. We’ve had folks get up and walk out. Haven’t we, Captain?”
He stared down at his shirt. “The tale must be told,” he muttered.
“Gives the place a bad name.”
“Pretty interesting stuff,” Nora said.
“Just don’t believe a word of it,” the barmaid said. “Come on, Frank. Why don’t you go on back to the bar and leave these nice folks in peace.” She took his arm and helped him stand up.
“Hang on a second,” Abe said. He lifted a pitcher and filled the old man’s mug to the brim.
“Thank you, matey. Let me tell you.” He met the eyes of everyone at the table. “The hours of the beast are numbered. One night, Captain Frank shall stalk it to its lair and lay it low. The souls of the dead cry out for its blood. I am the avenger. Mark my words.”
“We’ll be pulling for you,” Jack called after him.
“Jesus,” Nora said, and rolled her eyes.
Grinning, Jack shook his head. “The old fart waits much longer, he’ll be stalking it from a wheelchair.”
“He’ll never do it,” Abe said. “A guy talks it out that way, he doesn’t act on it.”
“Did you believe it?” Tyler asked. “About the beast?”
“He didn’t disbelieve it,” Jack put in.
“Hey,” Nora said. “We’ve gotta tell Gorman Hardy about this guy. Maybe he’ll put us in the Acknowledgment. ‘My gratitude to Nora Branson, Tyler Moran, Jack Wyatt, and Abe Clanton, whose valuable assistance led me to the true story of Bobo the beast.’ I ask you, would that not be terrif?”
“That,” Tyler said, “would be almost too exciting.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
A sharp pounding on the door startled Gorman Hardy awake. He bolted upright and scanned the dark room, wondering where he was. Then he remembered.
It must, he thought, be Brian at the door. But why the frantic knocking?
Perhaps he had lost his key.
“I’m coming,” Gorman called.
The knocking continued.
He swung his legs to the floor and squinted against the brightness as he switched on a bedside lamp.
“I’m coming,” he called again.
The knocking didn’t stop.
Something, he thought, must have gone wrong. More than a lost room key. Something bad enough to panic Brian.
He felt on the verge of panic, himself, as he stood up.
For the love of God, what had happened?
He was naked. He put on a satin robe, tied it shut, and opened the door.
Brian was not there.
On the dark stoop waited a man and a woman. The man was about forty and bald. He wore a blue windbreaker. His fists were clenched at his sides. Gorman had never seen him before. The woman, an attractive blonde, looked familiar. She wore jeans and a checkered blouse and an open leather jacket. She looked like an older version of Janice. Gorman realized he had seen her at the Carriage House where she’d been performing hostess duties.
These people are Janice’s parents.
He felt a little sick.
“Mr. Hardy?” the man asked in a taut voice.
“Yes.”
“I’ll try to be civilized about this, but it’s two o’clock in the morning and our daughter is missing. Is she here?”
“No, of course not. Come in and see for yourselves.” He stepped away from the door to let them enter. The woman shut the door and backed against it as if to prevent Gorman from escaping.
The man, after a glance at the beds, stepped into the bathroom and turned on a light. He came out a moment later, and checked the closet. He looked at the connecting door, then at Gorman. “What about Mr. Blake?”
“I really can’t answer for him.”
“You’re together. You paid both rooms.”
“He is my associate, yes. But I have no idea why you suspect either of us might be harboring your daughter.” As he spoke, he walked past the man to the connecting door. He rapped it with his fist. “Brian?” he called. He opened his side and tried the knob of Brian’s door. Fortunately, it didn’t turn. With any luck, if the girl was in the room, she would have time to get out. “Brian?” he called again.
“Let’s have a look,” the man said, striding forward.
“He drove her someplace,” the woman said, speaking for the first time.
“I’ll take a look anyhow.”
Gorman stepped out of his way. He watched Janice’s father insert a key and unlock the door. A lamp was on. Relieved, Gorman saw that both the beds were made. He waited while the man entered to search. Turning to the woman, he said, “Is the car gone?”
She nodded. Her face was grim, lips pressed together in a tight line, eyes glaring at Gorman.
“I honestly don’t know what to say,” he told her. “You suspect that she and Brian went off together?”
“You wouldn’t know anything about that,” she said, her voice bitter.
“I’m afraid not.”
The man came back into the room. “Okay, buster, where’d they go?”
“I have no idea. I don’t even know your daughter. Would she be the young lady who registered us?”
“She would be.”
“I haven’t seen her since then.”
“Don’t lie to us!” the woman suddenly blurted. She rushed to her husband’s side. “Show him, Marty. Show him!”
He pulled a folded sheet of paper from his back pocket. It shook in his trembling hands as he opened it. “We found this in Janice’s room,” he said, and held it out.
Gorman took the sheet. He stared at it. The bitch, he thought. Oh, the bitch! She was supposed to hide it! Brian’s fault. Where is he? What could’ve possessed him to keep her out so late and allow this to happen? He’s ruined it. He’s ruined everything!