The Midnight Tour (24 page)

“Mom!” Sandy cried out. “Stop that!”

“Leab us alone, dear.”

“Let go, Bambi,” Harry pleaded. “Come on. Please. This isn’t the time or the place.”

“Good as any,” she said, and slid down his body until Sandy could only see her head and hands. Her hands started unfastening Harry’s belt.

“Quit it, Mom.”

“Go away. Less ya wanta come in and join us.”

“Hey,” Harry said. “That’s not...”

“Not enup room por tree ob us, anyhow.”

Harry grimaced up at Sandy. “I’m sorry about this.”

“It’s not your fault. It’s...”

“Mine!”
Lib cried out, and jerked his trousers down.

“Hey!” Harry gasped. “Don’t!” But he didn’t try to stop her. He just stood there, naked down as far as the hole’s edge allowed Sandy to see.

She saw plenty.

“Niiiiice!”
Lib said.

Though Harry scowled and shook his head, he made no attempt to cover himself. To Sandy, he said, “You really shouldn’t be watching this.”

“Aren’t you gonna stop her?”

Lib let out a laugh.

“I don’t know how I can stop her without...”

He gasped and arched his back as Lib’s fingers slid around him.

“...hurting her,” he finished.

“Hurt me wit dis, big boy.”

“What about the hole?” Sandy asked.

“Mine comes pirst!” Lib cried out, and laughed. Harry laughed, too.

“Great,” Sandy muttered. Then she turned her back on them.

Through the hiss of the lantem, Sandy heard Harry moan.

“How’s dat peel?”

“Mmm.”

“Come on down here.” A short while later, Lib said, “Get dese opp me, homey.”

“My pleasure,” said Harry.

Lib grunted a couple of times, then said, “Yeah, dat’s good. Mmmm. Nice and cool.”

Then came lots of moaning and sighing. Sandy stood there.

She thought about walking away. But she stayed. She
wanted
to listen. It was embarrassing to hear such things. But the sounds excited her, too. She could so easily picture what was happening—easily feel Harry’s body on top of her.

It could be me down there. I’m ten times better looking than Lib.

Shit, she’s ugly as sin with her mouth all busted up that way.

How can be even stand to touch ber?

So who’d wanta make it with that jerk, anyway? He’s that damn eager to screw anything that moves ... The hell with him.

The hell with Lib, too. What is she, some kind of nympho? She doesn’t even know the guy.

Lib suddenly cried out, “No. Stop! Yeeee! Dare’s sometin’ squirmy under me! Shit! Get opp! Get opp!”

Sorry, sonny What is it?”

“I dont know!”

“Probably just a worm or something,” Harry said.

“What do you expect?” Sandy called. “Scmwing in a grave?”

“Shut da puck up! Get down here, Harry. You get on da bottom,’n I’ll take da top. Okay?”

“Sure.”

“That way,” Sandy called, “you get the worms, Harry.”

“What are you, standing right there?”

“Sort of. But I’m not watching.”

“Why don’t you take a little walk?”

“I’m fine right here.”

“Den just shut up,” Lib said.

“It’s a free country.”

“You’d better go away, Charly.”

“Mom, don’t you think you’d better warn him?”

“Wam me about what?” Harry asked.

“The
diseases
.”

, “You’re cruisin’ por a bruisin’, bitch.”

“What diseases?” Harry asked.

“She’s lyin’. I ain’t got nuttin’.”

“You name it, she’s got it. If I had a whang, I wouldn’t let her anywhere near it.”

“Don’t listen to her,” Lib said. “She don’t know what she’s talkin’ about. She ain’t my daughter, por one ting.”

“Mom!”

“She don’t hardly eben
know
me. She’s just sayin’ dat shit ’cause she wants to stop you and me. She’s jealous.
She
wants you. She’s up dare all hot an boddered, creamin’ her pants.”

“Like hell,” Sandy said.

“She’s
not
your daughter?” Harry asked.

Shut up, Mom!”.

“I only just met her tonight.”

“So who’s the dead guy?”

“Some puckin’ movie director.”

“
Lib!
”

“He’s
not
her father?”

“Nah.”

“You’ve both been handing me a pack of lies?”

“I’ll tell you all ‘bout da trute apter we...”

“Maybe you oughta get off me,” Harry said. “I think we’d better...”

“You want
her?”
Lib asked. “You want
Charly?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Me pirst. You can hab her apter you get done wit me. I promise. She gibs you any shit, I’ll eben hold her down por you.”

“But...”

“Less you don’t
want
her.”

“I don’t know. She’s just a kid.”

“Dat don’t matter.”

“I don’t know what’s going on, here. Let’s just stop so I can try to figure...” He stopped talking and moaned.

“Yesssss,” Lib said.

“Uh. God. Oh.”

“All de waaaayyy.”

“Mmmmm.”

“You like?”

“Oh. Yeah. God.”

Sandy stepped to the edge of the grave with the lantern. All she could see of Harry were his legs. He seemed to be stretched out on the bottom of the grave, his trousers around his ankles. Lib’s jeans and shoes were down there, too. She was naked and on her knees, hunched over him, gasping and groaning as she moved up and down. Her back and buttocks were dirty.

Sandy set down the lantem.

She raised the shovel high and swung it down hard.

Striking the back of Lib’s head, it rang out like a bell.

Lib flopped down on Harry.

“Hey!” Harry gasped. “What’s going on? Bambi? Bambi? What the matter?”

“I think the shovel hit her,” Sandy said.

“What?”

“I hit her with your shovel.”

“Are you nuts?”

“Who, me?”

“My God, Charly!”

Harry’s hands came out from under Lib. Grabbing her by the upper arms, he tried to push her up.

Sandy tossed aside the shovel and leaped off the edge of the grave. She landed with both feet in the middle of Lib’s back.

Harry grunted.

“You all right?” Sandy asked.

“Uh!”

“You
won’t
be!” Arms out for balance, she jumped up and down on Lib’s back. Each time she landed, Harry let out a noise as if he’d been kicked in the stomach.

After five or six jumps, Sandy bent her knees and sat down on the edge of the grave, her shoes still planted in the middle of Lib’s back.

“How are you doing, Harry?” .

He moaned.

Leaning forward, Sandy stared down into the hole. She could see the back of Lib’s head. She supposed that Harry’s face must be directly under Lib’s face, but the light didn’t reach down that far.

“How was she, Harry? Was she to die for?”

He didn’t answer.

Standing again, Sandy put her weight onto her right foot. With her left foot, she stomped the back of Lib’s head. She felt the collision with Harry’s face. She heard it, too.

“Did that hurt?” she asked.

Nothing.

She turned, stepped on Lib’s buttocks, then on the backs of her legs. At the foot of the grave, she squatted over Harry’s trousers. She found his pistol in one pocket, his wallet in another. She stuffed them into the pockets of her shorts, then climbed out.

Leaving the lantern, shovel and pick by the side of the grave, she hurried over to the body of Marlon Slade.

She bent over, grabbed his ankles, raised his legs, and dragged him across the clearing. It was tough work. By the time she reached the edge of the grave, she was sweaty and huffing for air.

She dropped his feet.

Then she picked up the lantern and crouched over the grave.

Harry’s legs were still stretched out between Lib’s legs.

She was still on top of him, hiding most of his body. By lowering the lantern into the hole, however, Sandy could see more. Harry’s right arm lay against the bottom of the hole at an angle away from his body. Lib’s left breast drooped between his arm and his side just under his armpit. Her face was pressed against the side of his head.

Sandy could see a little of Harry’s face.

His left eye, the profile of his nose, his lips and chin.

There was a lot of blood.

As she stared down at Harry, his eye blinked.

“Hello, Hany,” Sandy said.

He groaned.

“You still in her?”

His lips moved slightly, but he said nothing.

“Was she worth it?”

He said, “Uhhh.”

“You two belong together.”

“Heh...”

“What?”

“Help,” he murmured.

“Maybe
Bambi’ll
help you. She’s very accomodating.”

With that, Sandy stood up. She stepped away from the grave, set down the lantern, then squatted beside the body of Marlon Slade.

“Char... ?”

She tumbled Slade into the grave.

Then she filled it in.

Chapter Seventeen

NO-SHOWS

When Dana saw Warren striding toward her across the front lawn of Beast House, she hopped off the stool and raised a hand in greeting. Her heart was pounding fast.

“You made it through your first day,” he called, still a distance away.

“Pretty much.”

“How’d it go?”

“Lunch went great.”

He grinned. “Mine, too.” He stopped in front of her. Looking a little embarrassed, he pushed his hands into the front pockets. of his shorts and tilted his head to one side. “Anyway, it was sure nice to meet you.”

“Same here.”

“A fellow Southern Californian.”

“I’m no fellow,” Dana pointed out.

His grin widened and he blushed. “No, you’re sure not. Anyway, I’ll probably be seeing you around.”

“Probably at the snack stand tomorrow.”

“Hope so.”

Looks like he’s not gonna ask me out. Okay.

“Well,” he said, “I guess I’d better get going.”

“Okay. You walking?”

“Yeah. My place is just over there.” He pointed across the street toward the wooded area just north of the old brick Kutch house.

“Your cabin’s in the trees there?” Dana asked.

“Yep.”

“Do you have an ocean view?”

“Not much of one. You can see just a little water through the trees.”

“Sounds neat.”

“It’s not bad.”

You’re not much of a hint-taker, pal.

“Anyway,” he said, “I guess I’d better get going.”

“Okay. See you tomorrow.”

“See you.” He turned away and opened the iron gate next to the turnstile. On the other side of it, he glanced back and smiled again. “Take it easy, Dana.”

“Thanks.”

He started walking away.

“Hey, Warren?”

He stopped and turned toward her.

“You wouldn’t want to stick around for a few minutes, would you? I might have to look through the house. We’ve got some no-shows.”

He stared at her, frowning slightly.

“Three players didn’t get returned,” she explained.

“You’re kidding.”

“I wish.”

He lifted an arm and checked his wristwatch. “It’s only ten after. They’ll probably turn up. Some people don’t pay much attention to what time it is.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“Lynn’s still here, isn’t she?”

“She’d better be. She’s my ride.”

“Anyone else?”

“I guess Rhonda’s still around. Clyde took off at five, and Sharon left a few minutes ago.”

Nodding, Warren scowled toward the house. “I guess I can wait a while...at least till...oh, here comes Lynn.”

Dana looked over her shoulder and saw Tuck trotting down the front porch stairs.

“So,” Warren said, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Dana swung her head around in time to see him smile, wave, and turn away. Trying not to let her surprise and disappointment show, she smiled back at him. “Okay,” she called. “See you tomorrow. Bye.”

“Bye.”

She watched him walk to the edge of Front Street. His head swung from side to side as he checked for traffic. Nothing seemed to be coming. He ran across the street, then turned to the right and walked quickly along the dirt shoulder. With each stride, pale puffs of dust drifted up behind his shoes.

“You met Warren,” Tuck said.

Dana turned around. “Yeah.”

She felt herself tighten inside.

Don’t ask.

“We’ve still got three tape players out,” she said.

“Three?” Tuck wrinkled her nose, pivoted and stepped closer to the shelves. Standing in front of them, she planted her hands on her hips. The breeze fluttered her shorts and blouse, and swept her long hair sideways. Streamers of hair blew across her face, but she made no attempt to brush them away.

What’s taking her so long? Dana wondered.

The edges of the shelves were marked with red numbers spaced six or seven inches apart. Above each number, there was room for one cassette player and headphone set.

Returning the used ones, Dana had been careful to fill each place in order.

There were spaces for 150 of the listening machines.

All the shelves except one were completely loaded. But that final shelf was empty above 148, 149 and 150.

It shouldn’t take a major study to figure out that three players were still out.

“Tuck?”

She turned around, frowning at Dana through her blowing blond hair. “Looks like we’ve got a problem,” she said.

“You look worried,” Dana told her.

“I was just inside. I thought everybody’d cleared out. If three people are still in there, they must be hiding.”

“Doesn’t this sort of thing happen all the time?”

“Not exactly
all
the time. And I’m particularly not thrilled that it’s happening on top of the Ethel situation.”

For a moment, Dana didn’t know what Tuck meant. Then she remembered how they’d found the Ethel that morning—the gown ripped where it wasn’t supposed to be ripped, the mannequin’s breasts and vagina exposed.

“You think there might be a connection?” she asked.