He clicked the Stop button.
Monica looked at him and raised her eyebrows. “Done?” she asked.
He nodded.
“Are you sure you don’t want to rewind? Maybe you missed a word or two.”
“It’s fine,” he said. He turned around and started across the room.
Already picturing the tall, beautiful guide.
Get a good look at her, this time.
When he reached the doorway, he stepped aside and gestured for Monica to precede him. “Ladies first,” he said.
She gave him a look as if she knew exactly why he wanted her ahead of him. With a smirk, she halted and said, “Age before beauty. You go first.”
He shrugged. He smiled. “Okay. Just thought I should offer to protect your rear.”
“My rear’s fine.”
“The beast likes to jump people from behind.”
“Sure.”
He stepped past Monica, turned right in the corridor, and walked slowly.
Slowly so she wouldn’t sense his eagerness.
Slowly to give himself plenty of time for his inspection of the guide.
Already, his mouth was dry, his face hot, his heart pounding hard and fast.
He could see the attic door up ahead.
But so far, the guide was still out of sight. Too many people clutteced the hallway.
Why can’t I spot her? She’s taller than most of them.
No she isn’t, he thought when he spied the pretty, young guide who was standing near the attic door. She isn’t that tall or that beautiful.
How the hell did I...?
After a moment of shocked perplexity, he realized that this was not the same guide he’d seen earlier.
He felt a surge of relief.
Mixed with disappointment.
Where is she? Where’d she go? Maybe went on a break. Maybe she’s gone for lunch.
What if I don’t get to see her again?
As he approached the replacement, he heard her talking to a small group of people who were gathered near the open attic door. “The attic’s never been part of the regular tour.”
He stopped to listen.
“It’s just not very safe. I do take people up there during the Midnight Tour every Saturday night. But that’s a small, carefully supervised group. We can’t leave it open for the general public. There aren’t floorboards everywhere. Also, there’s a lot of clutter. Too many places where the beast might be lurking.” She grinned.
According to the nametag on her chest, she was LYNN.
“We don’t want to lose anybody,” she said.
Owen wanted to ask where the other guide had gone, but he didn’t dare.
Monica would flip out.
“If we wait here long enough,” Monica whispered, “maybe she’ll turn into the beauty queen.”
“Very funny,” Owen told her.
He started walking again.
Where is she?
He stopped at Station Five, in the corridor a few feet beyond the top of the stairs.
Monica, stopping beside him, thumbed the Play button on her player.
Owen started his tape.
What if she’s gone for the day? What if I never see her again?
I can’t let that happen, he told himself.
“We lived sixteen nights in this house,” Maggie said, “before the beast struck.”
Chapter Eleven
SANDY’S STORY—August, 1980
Sandy carried Eric down the wobbly stairs in his travel basket—a wicker bassinet with a closed lid and handles at both ends. Worried about the slippery steps, she moved slowly and carefully. She sighed with relief when her feet met the ground. She set down the basket.
Together, she and Lib lifted the stairway and shoved it inside her trailer. Lib stepped out of the way. Sandy swung the door shut.
Turning around, she found her new friend picking up Eric’s basket by its two handles.
“We gonna keep him in dis?” Lib asked.
“We’d better. In case we get stopped.”
“Poor little pucker.”
“I don’t think he minds. It seems pretty nice and cozy in there. And he’s got his favorite dolls.”
“Can he breet okay?”
“Sure. All kinds of air gets in. He’ll be fine. Let’s just put him in the back seat.”
Sandy hurried ahead and opened the back door. Then she took the basket from Lib and lowered it onto the floor in front of the seat. It was a fairly tight squeeze. The wicker made dry, crackling sounds. Sandy figured that the tightness was good for Eric’s safety in case of a crash.
She stepped back and shut the door.
“I guess I’ll drive,” she said.
“How come?” asked Lib.
“You’re drunk as a skunk.”
“Well, dat ain’t nebber stopped me.”
“You polished off the whole bottle.”
“It weren’t pull in da pirst place.”
“Anyway, you aren’t in any shape to drive. Even if you weren’t polluted, you just got the crap pounded out of you and half your teeth knocked out.”
“Hap ob ’em? Nah. Lots, dough.”
“Go on and get in. You can drive later if you feel like it.”
“Who says I wanta?”
Sandy shrugged, then opened the passenger door. When Lib was in, she shut the door and hurried around the front. She climbed into the driver’s seat.
“Ya ebber towed sometin’?” Lib asked.
“No,” Sandy said, and started the engine.
“Here.” Reaching over, Lib pulled the shift lever backward from Park to Low. “Try dis. And go slow.”
Sandy put on the headlight, then eased down on the gas pedal. Engine racing, the car began to move forward. She could feel the weight of the trailer and hear the rattling sounds it made as it bumped over the ground behind them.
She pictured Slade’s body rolling and sliding around in the back bedroom, spreading his mess like a blood-soaked mop.
Maybe they should’ve done something with it.
At least, maybe, tied it down or thrown it into the shower stall.
But they’d both been clean and wearing their Blazing Babes shirts by the time Lib had said, “Ya gonna let me get a look at yer stip?”
“My what?” Sandy asked.
“Yer stip. Dat guy ya killed.”
“You want to see him?”
“Sure. Where’s he at?”
“Why don’t we just get going?”
Lib’s puffy eyes narrowed. “How I know ya really got a stip?”
Sandy suddenly understood: Lib needed to see the body, needed to know for certain that she hadn’t lied about killing Slade.
We’ve both got to be killers, That’s what makes us partners.
“Okay,” Sandy said. “You wanta see him, you can see him. Come on.” She lowered Eric into his travel basket, then hurried down the hallway. Lib followed, bottle in hand.
Sandy slid open her bedroom door, flicked the light switch, then stepped back. “Help yourself,” she said. “But be careful not to step in any blood.”
Lib took a step into the room. A moment later, she spotted the body on the floor to her left. Sandy saw her back straighten. Then Lib crouched down. Her head shook slowly from side to side.
“Dis guy’s massacerated.”
“Huh?”
“What’d he do to ya?” ,
“For one thing, he threw Eric across the room. And he tried to rape me.”
“Dis guy’s deader ’n fried shit.”
“Yeah.”
She looked over her shoulder at Sandy, and smiled. “Yer a mighty bad little dude, Chany.”
“He had it coming.”
“What’re we gonna do wid him?”