“Interview?” Hardy asked.
“He claims his father found the beast on some island and brought it here.”
“The beast?”
She nodded toward the old house.
“That beast?” Hardy asked.
“Yeah. He’s full of all kinds of disgusting details.”
“Why should I be interested?”
“For your book.”
He stared at her, looking as if he might decide to smile. “I believe I explained, last evening, that I have no intention of writing about Beast House.”
“That’s right!” Nora snapped her fingers and looked very annoyed with herself for forgetting. “You did say that. I remember.” Suddenly grinning, she shook a finger at him. “You’d better interview Captain Frank for the book you’re not going to write.”
Hardy chuckled.
“Now don’t worry about us. We won’t breathe a word to a living soul that you’re not doing a book on Beast House. Mum’s the word, right, everyone? Your secret is safe with us.”
Tyler looked around and saw that the line was moving toward the ticket booth. A tight, sick feeling seized her stomach. Calm down, she told herself. It’s nothing to get crazy about. Maybe Dan won’t be here, after all.
But if he is?
She could wait outside, avoid him.
That wouldn’t be right.
She fumbled with the catch of her purse.
“I’ll get it,” Abe said.
“No, you’ve already…”
But he stepped ahead of her and purchased two tickets from the smiling blond girl at the window. They stepped aside to wait for the others.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Are you all right?”
“Not very.”
“I’m sure Dan’ll be glad to see you.”
“It’ll be easier if he’s not.”
Abe’s eyes looked solemn. He rubbed her shoulder lightly, and let his hand fall away as Nora and Jack approached.
Nora frowned with concern. “Are you sure you want to go ahead with this?” she asked.
“No. But I will.”
“Is there a problem?” Hardy asked.
“Tyler’s old boyfriend is supposed to be…”
“Nothing’s wrong,” Tyler said, annoyed with Nora for broadcasting her private business to the man. She turned away quickly and stepped through the turnstile.
Abe joined her on the other side, and took hold of her hand. Tyler looked up at him. “She’s got a real mouth, sometimes.”
“I take it you don’t care much for Gorman.”
“I think he’s a sleaze.”
“I’d be inclined to agree with you.”
“I thought you were a big fan.”
“I’ve enjoyed some of his books. That’s not the same as liking the guy who wrote them.”
They stopped behind the small group gathered in front of the porch. Nora and Jack came up next to them.
“What do we do, just walk in?” Nora asked.
“I’m sure there’s a guide,” Abe said.
A guide. Dan? Tyler’s heart gave a lurch. She squeezed Abe’s hand more tightly, and stared at the shadowed door. She flinched as it swung open.
The person in the entryway wasn’t Dan. She let out a deep, trembling breath as a gawky man stepped out. He looked about sixty, and walked with a stiffness as if he was in pain. Coming down the porch stairs, he held onto the railing. “Tickets,” he said in a voice that sounded remarkably strong for a man of such frail appearance.
A couple of kids near the front backed out of his way.
Tyler heard a quiet click. She glanced sideways at Hardy, and was surprised not to find the camera at his eye. One hand was inside a pocket of his jacket. He gave her a quick smile, and took his hand out.
He’s got a recorder in there, she thought. He’s going to tape the tour.
Without asking permission? Of course, or he wouldn’t be acting so sneaky. Illegal as hell, but that wouldn’t bother Gorman Hardy.
It confirmed her opinion of the man.
Sleazy bastard, she thought.
Finished gathering the tickets, the bony man made his way up the porch stairs. He turned around and wiped his mouth with the back of a hand. “Ladies and gents,” he proclaimed, “it’s now my honor to introduce you to the owner of Beast House, a gallant woman who passed through the purifyin’ fire of tragedy and came out the stronger for it—Maggie Kutch, your personal guide for today’s tour.” Like a tired ringmaster, he swept an arm toward the door and shuffled backwards to get out of the way.
An old woman waddled out of the house, bracing herself with an ebony cane. She looked old enough to be the man’s mother but, in spite of the cane, she seemed to radiate strength. She was a big woman, broad-hipped, with a massive bosom swaying the entire front of her faded print dress as she limped to the edge of the porch. To Tyler, she looked like a rather stern grandmother. She wore tan support hose, and clunky black shoes with laces. As if to perk up her drab appearance, a bright red silken scarf wrapped her neck. Her face looked sour until she smiled. The smile wasn’t particularly cheerful. It was almost a smirk.
“Welcome to Beast House,” she said. Her eyes roamed the group. Tyler felt a tingle of dread as the woman’s gaze fell upon her. “My name’s Maggie Kutch, just like Wick told you, and it’s my house.” She paused as if challenging someone to disagree with her. Not a sound came from the audience. Several people were scanning the house front or staring at their feet, apparently reluctant to look at her.
“I started showing my house to visitors all the way back in ‘31, not long after the beast took the lives of my husband and three children. Yes, the beast. Not a knife-toting maniac like some folks’d want you to believe. If you don’t think so, take a gander at this.” She plucked the scarf. As it slipped away from her neck, someone groaned. Maggie’s fingers traced the puffy seams of scar tissue streaking her throat. “No man did this to me. It was a beast with fangs and claws.” Her eyes gleamed as if she was proud of the marks. “It was the same beast as killed ten people in this house, including my own husband and children.
“Now, you might be wondering why a gal’d want to take folks through her home that was a scene of such personal tragedy. It’s an easy answer: M-O-N-E-Y.”
Tyler heard quiet laughter from Gorman.
The old woman swung up her cane and waved it toward a beam supporting the porch roof. “Right here’s where they lynched Gus Goucher. He was a lad of eighteen. He was passing through town, back in August of 1903, on his way to San Francisco where he aimed to work at the Sutro Baths, but he stopped here and asked to do some odd jobs in exchange for a meal. Lilly Thorn lived here back then with her two children. She was the widow of the famous bank robber, Lyle Thorn, and I always say she built this house with blood money. Blood comes of blood, I say. Anyway, Gus came along and she had him split up some firewood for her. He did his chore, took his meal for payment, and went on his way.
“That night, the beast came. It struck down Lilly’s sister, who was visiting, and her children. Only just Lilly survived the attack, and they found her running down the road jabbering like a lunatic.
“Right off the bat, the house was searched from attic to cellar. They found no living creature inside, but only the torn, chewed bodies of the victims. A posse was got up. Over in the hills yonder, it came on Gus Goucher where he’d bedded down for the night. Him being a stranger, he was doomed from the start.
“He was given a proper trial. Some town folks had seen him at the Thorn place the day of the killings, and there weren’t no witnesses to the slaughter with everyone dead but Lilly, and her raving. Quick as a flash, they judged him guilty. The night after the verdict came in, a mob busted him out of jail. They dragged the lad to this very spot, tossed the rope over this beam, and strung him up.
“Being amateurs, they done a poor job of it. Didn’t think to tie him, but just hoisted him up. They say he hung here, flapping and kicking like a spastic for quite a good spell while he strangled.”