“What do you say to that, Mr. Hardy?” the woman said, almost snarling.
He managed a smile as he handed back the contract. “Janice planned to surprise you,” he said. “If the proposed book is as successful as my previous one, this agreement will likely earn her in the neighborhood of a million dollars.”
The news had its desired effect. Janice’s parents looked at each other, then at the contract. They seemed to soften, as if their pent-up rage was melting away.
“Is this on the level?” Marty asked. He sounded suspicious, but a hint of excitement glittered in his eyes.
“It most certainly is. The agreement gives Janice fifty percent of all earnings from the book. This includes the advance and all royalties. We’re talking here about a hardbound sale, book club and paperback sales, foreign sales, probably a movie deal. So far, my previous book has brought in over three million dollars. I suspect the Beast House story will do as well, or better. And Janice will receive half of it all.”
And she will, he thought. Good Christ, she will. Now there was no chance of tricking her out of it. He felt sick.
The woman raised her eyes from the contract. She looked wary. “What did Janice have to do for this?”
“The book was her idea. She initiated the contact with me. And she provided me with a resource that gives invaluable insight into the subject.”
“What’s that?” Marty asked.
“Janice doesn’t wish that known, but since you’re her parents, I see no harm in telling you that she found a diary written by Elizabeth Thorn, the lady who…”
“Where is Janice now?” the mother asked. “I realize this puts a somewhat different light on the subject, but where is she? Does it have something to do with this?” She nodded at the contract.
“I honestly don’t know. When did you last see her?”
“Around nine,” Marty answered. “She said she was going for a walk. This was right after she came back from delivering an ice bucket to Mr. Blake—which, by the way, he didn’t need in the first place. I saw two in there.”
“I can only suppose,” Gorman said, “that Brian invited her to accompany him. Perhaps she lied to you thinking you might disapprove of her traipsing off with one of the motel guests.”
Marty and his wife exchanged a glance.
“I take it she’s done such things before.”
“Wherever they went,” Marty said, “they should’ve been back long ago.”
The woman said, “There’s no excuse for this.”
“I quite agree,” Gorman told her.
“Where did he take her?” Marty asked.
“We have no proof that she went with Brian at all, but he left with the intention of exploring an area behind Beast House. He was hoping to locate and photograph a hole near the rear fence.”
“A hole?”
“It’s mentioned in the Thorn diary. Allegedly, an underground tunnel leads from the hillside to the house’s cellar. If Brian finds the opening, it lends a certain credence to the…”
“Janice wouldn’t go anywhere near that place,” her mother said.
“Well, perhaps she didn’t. I’m simply pointing out the purpose of Brian’s search. That’s where he intended to go.”
“She must’ve gone with him, Claire.”
Claire shook her head. She looked resigned, rather weary. “I guess I wouldn’t put it past her,” she admitted. “This Brian, I saw him at the restaurant. He’s a very attractive man.”
Marty put a hand on Claire’s back. In a gentle voice, he said, “I’ll drive out and bring her home.”
“I’m sure she’ll be right along,” Gorman said.
“We’ve been waiting up for hours, Mr. Hardy. Have you got any idea what goes through a parent’s mind when your kid’s out at this time of night and you don’t know where she is, what’s happened to her? You tell yourself she’ll walk through the door any minute, and all the time you’re wondering if maybe some lunatic got hold of her, if maybe you’ll never see her again.”
“I can assure you, Brian’s no lunatic.”
“Why isn’t she home?” Marty demanded. He sounded a little frantic.
Claire sighed. “She probably got carried away and forgot the time.”
“I’ll remind her of the time,” Marty snapped, “when I get my hands on her.” He frowned at Gorman. “Where, exactly, is this hole supposed to be?”
“If you’d like, I’ll accompany you. I’m rather concerned, myself, at this point.”
“We’ll all go,” Claire said.
“Just give me a minute to get dressed,” said Gorman.
They found the Mercedes just above the curve leading into town from the south. Marty swung in behind it. He took a flashlight with him, and shone it through a side window. With a shake of his head, he came back down the road to Claire and Gorman. “Nobody there,” he said.
“That young lady has a lot of explaining to do,” Claire muttered.
“So does Brian,” Gorman said. A million dollars worth, he thought.
They followed the road to the bottom of the hill, then crossed a ditch to the corner of the Beast House fence. Marty took the lead, trudging through the underbrush alongside the fence, playing his flashlight beam over the wooded slope on the right. “Janice!” he yelled.
Claire tugged his shoulder. “Don’t,” she said.
“Janice!”
“I wish you wouldn’t do that!”
“There’s nobody to hear it but them.”
Gorman saw the woman look through the fence bars at the house. “I just think we should be quiet about this.”
Now Gorman found himself looking at the house—at the darkness of the porch but especially at the windows. It seemed to have so many: a bay window directly across the yard from him, a casement farther along the side, three sets on the second story, a single high attic window just below the peak of the roof, a pair beneath the tower’s cap. All were moonless and black. Malevolent eyes, he thought, recalling the words he’d spoken into his recorder that afternoon. He’d been waxing eloquent, then—spewing drivel. But now it was three o’clock in the morning and he suddenly wished he were back at the inn, snug in bed, because the windows did, in fact, seem to be watching him.
He forced himself to look away from them. He stared at the weeds ahead of his feet, at Claire’s back, at the beam of Marty’s flashlight sweeping over bushes and rocks and trees on the slope. And he felt like a man walking down a dark street, stalked by stealthy footsteps, afraid of what he might find sneaking up on him if he should dare to glance over his shoulder. He had to look. He searched the windows. Though nothing showed through their blackness, his skin went tight and crawly.
Tomorrow, if he took the tour, he would have to go inside. The thought of it chilled him. Perhaps he should forget about it, simply abandon the project. After all, tonight’s disaster had diminished his and Brian’s possible returns by half.
Half of a gold mine, he told himself, is considerably better than no gold mine at all. The book would be a winner, he had no doubt of that. After Horror, his reputation alone would insure tremendous sales. But the Beast House story had tremendous potential. It could easily surpass the success of Horror. He was a fool to consider giving it up. He would simply have to keep a stiff upper lip and take the tour.
In daylight, the house wouldn’t seem quite so forbidding. Besides, Brian would be along. Probably several sightseers, as well. And certainly there couldn’t be any danger involved.
“Marty!” Claire gasped.