“‘After the beast got done murdering Ethel,‘” Maggie said, “‘it went on a rampage around the room. It knocked over this bust of Caesar, breaking off his nose. See, there’s his nose on the mantle.”‘Owen spotted the nose. Though it was out of reach beyond the cordon, it looked dirty, as if it had been handled too often by people with grimy fingers. He was surprised that nobody had stolen it.
“‘The beast just run amok for a while, dashing some figurines in the fireplace, turning over chairs. See this rosewood pedestal table? The beast threw it out the bay window over there. Must’ve made a mighty loud noise, all that glass getting smashed to smithereens.
“‘I reckon the racket likely woke up everybody in the house. Lilly’s room was right above us. Maybe she got out of bed, and the beast heard her. It scooted out of here and went running for the stain.’”
Owen heard a click as Monica hit the Stop button of her player. His own player hissed quietly for a moment before he shut it off.
He and Monica had eased their way closer and closer to the cordon as those ahead of them finished listening and wandered off. Now, they stood at the rope.
Owen had been able to see Ethel all along, but this was as near to her as he could hope to get. Without stepping over the cordon.
He stared at her.
And tried to imagine her real. Tried, in his mind, to transform her like Pygmalion or Pinnochio into a human with soft, smooth skin.
But he couldn’t make it happen.
Too many distractions. The other people in the room, especially Monica. And how Ethel’s gown barely covered her.
Owen wished a breeze would come along and blow some of those tatters aside.
Instead of making Ethel turn real in his mind, he pictured himself climbing over the cordon, kneeling over her, and peeking underneath the loose shreds of her gown.
Get off it, he told himself. She’s a dummy.
Even so...
Monica nudged him with her elbow and whispered, “Let’s go, Owie.”
He followed her to the door. They stepped aside to make room for a couple of people trying to come in, then headed for the stairway.
Sharon, some distance away, was greeting new visitors. She had her back to Owen and Monica. Her blond hair hung down in a thick braid.
“That was certainly tacky,” Monica said.
“What was?”
“What do you think? Ethel. Good God. I didn’t know this was going to be a peepshow. No wonder you were so eager to come here.”
They started to climb the stairs.
“Nothing you couldn’t see on any beach,” Owen pointed out.
“In France, maybe.”
“Anyway, she’s just a dummy.”
“It’s pretty funny, they give all that lip service about keeping the dirty stuff out of the tour, then they show us something like that.”
“I didn’t think it was that bad.”
“You wouldn’t.”
At the top of the stairs, a sign on the wall read Station Three. “Here we go again,” Monica muttered, starting her player.
Owen thumbed down the Play button on his machine, and heard Janice’s voice.
“After finishing its brutal attack on Ethel, the beast ran out of the parlor and scurried up the stairs, leaving a trail of blood to mark his way. Ethel’s blood. Look down, and you’ll see stains on the floor. They’ve been copied from crime scene photos, and match the stains found on the hardwood floor the night of murder. Follow them to Lilly’s bedroom and listen to what Maggie had to say.”
Monica, head down, followed the red stains. Owen walked behind her. His tape hissed, wordless for the few seconds that it took to reach the doorway of a bedroom.
“‘We’re just above the parlor here,’” Maggie explained. “This is Lilly Thorn’s bedroom. That’s her on the bed.’”
He entered the room behind Monica.
Only a few tourists were here. They were scattered along the length of the cordon, so Owen had a fine view of the bed.
Sitting upright on it was the figure of a young woman dressed in a pink nightgown. Eyes wide, mouth agape, hand to her mouth, she looked to Owen like a star of the silent screen demonstrating terror.
“‘All that commotion from downstairs woke Lilly up,‘” Maggie continued. “‘She must’ve known something mighty awful was going on. Must’ve known she and her boys were in danger. But instead of running to save the kids, she climbed out of bed and shut her door. See that dressing table there? She dragged it over in front of the door so the intruder couldn’t barge in. Then she climbed out her window. It would’ve been a long fall to the ground, but there’s a bay window just below this one, and she dropped down on top of it. From there, it was an easy jump. She landed on her lawn and run away into the night.’
“Lilly made good her escape,” Janice said, her smooth voice replacing Maggie’s gruffness. “She escaped with her life, but not with her sanity. The wax figure that you see on the bed, done by Dubois, was based on a photograph that had been taken of Lilly at the time of her marriage to Lyle Thom, the outlaw, several years earlier. This nightgown is an exact replica of the one she...”
“And the original can be found at the Beast House Museum,” Monica said in a sing-song, mocking voice that interferred with whatever Janice was saying on Owen’s tape.
She pushed her Stop button.
Owen frowned at her.
He looked around. Though some people were entering the room, nobody stood nearby. Monica’s mimickry had probably disturbed nobody but Owen.
“Cut it out,” he whispered.
She flashed her teeth at him.
Owen stopped his machine. He studied it, found the Rewind button, and pressed it.
“You’re not going back?”
“Yeah, I am.”
“That was the end.”
“I wasn’t to the end yet when you interrupted. You made me miss stuff.”
She rolled her eyes and muttered, “You’re kidding.”
Owen thumbed Play. Maggie said, “‘from downstairs woke Lilly up. She must’ve known something mighty awful was going on.’”
He’d rewound way too far.
As Maggie went on, he thought about hitting the fast-forward.
Don’t, he told himself. Just listen to it all again. So what if it takes a while? Monica can just wait. She should’ve kept her mouth shut.
He met her eyes.
She frowned.
“I rewound too far,” he explained.
“Good going.”
“This may take a minute.”
“Wonderful.”
“Shhhh. I’m trying to listen.”
“Cute move.”
“You don’t have to wait for me.”
“You can really be a pain sometimes, do you know that?”
“You’re going to make me miss stuff again. Then I’ll have to rewind.”
She clamped her lips shut and glared at him.
Owen wished she would leave. He wanted to concentrate on the tour without any distractions—especially without the negative distractions provided by Monica. She was ruining it for him.
His tape reached the part that he’d missed.
As Monica had already told him, the original nightgown worn by Lilly on the night of the attack was on display at the Beast House museum.
“You may now go down the hallway, and resume listening when you come to Station Four.”
He stopped the tape.
“All done?” Monica asked.
“Yep.”
“You’re sure you didn’t miss a single precious word?”
“I think that’ll do it.”
This time, he led the way. Though he walked slowly toward the door, he didn’t look back to make sure that Monica was staying with him. It made him feel rude, but he didn’t care.