The Midnight Tour (38 page)

The hotel’s on my credit card. I left her airline ticket behind so she can fly home if she gets the urge. She has plenty of money, plus her own credit cards.

She’ll get along just fine.

Never acted like she wanted me around in the first place.

Well, now she’s got what she was asking for. Hope she’s happy.

I did you a favor, bitch.

So why do I feel so guilty about it?

Owen had gone through these matters before.

Many times.

In the cab on his way to the airport, then during the long drive back through San Francisco, over the Golden Gate Bridge and up the coast to Malcasa Point, he’d studied his actions, struggled with guilt, tried to justify what he’d done, and wondered what the consequences might be.

He supposed he must’ve spent the better part of four hours going over it all.

For a while, he’d worried that Monica might call the police. She probably
would
have called them except for one thing: his luggage had disappeared with him. Which made it fairly clear that he’d gone away on purpose.

No crime in that, as far as he knew.

After all, it wasn’t as if he’d run off and abandoned his spouse.

Owen had decided that he could stop worrying about the police.

But that still left him with plenty of other concerns.

Again and again, he’d concluded that he was definitely a jerk for ditching Monica. No question about that. A gentleman would never do such a thing. He should’ve stuck with her, no matter what.

But he was
delighted
that he hadn’t.

She had it coming. What did she think, I’d hang around and take her crap forever?

Inside the ticket booth, the plump girl slid open the window.

A big, heavy guy with glasses was first in line. He stepped up to buy his ticket.

He was one of the eight or ten people who’d arrived before Owen. He wore a black cap backwards, its bill sticking out behind his head. Though it looked like a baseball cap, it bore a Beast House logo the same as the guides wore on their uniform shirts.

Earlier, Owen had been tempted to approach him.

Say hi, introduce himself, ask where he got the neat hat.

Why not? The guy seemed to be alone. He was about the same age as Owen, and he looked friendly enough.

But maybe he didn’t want company.

Owen had decided not to bother him.

The guy stepped away from the window, clamped the ticket between his front teeth, and stuffed some bills into his wallet. Then he lifted the drooping tail of his shirt and shoved the wallet into a seat pocket of his plaid Bermuda shorts. His calves were round and pale. He wore moccasins and no socks.

Kind of a slob, Owen thought and watched him stroll around the corner of the ticket booth.

The others in line ahead of Owen seemed like ordinary tourist types. Three of them were gals, but they didn’t interest him. They couldn’t compare to Dana.

He pulled out his wallet and slipped a Visa card out of its slot in the leather.

Then he wondered if he should use cash, instead. His wallet was bulging. Here was a chance to slim it down by a hundred and fifteen dollars, especially if he paid with small bills.

But what if I get over to the Welcome Inn and find out they don’t take credit cards?

I’d better hang on to my cash, he thought. Better safe than sorry.

What if they haven’t got a vacancy?

Don’t worry about it, he told himself. Just take things as they come.

He stepped up to the ticket window.

“Good morning,” the girl said. “Welcome to Beast House.”

“Thanks.” He smiled in at her. The name tag on her chest read Rhonda. Though he remembered her from yesterday, he hadn’t been able to recall her name.

Does
she
remember me?

“I’d like one general admission,” he told her. “And can I also buy a ticket for tomorrow night’s Midnight Tour?”

“The Midnight Tour? Let me check for you.” She turned aside and typed something into a computer. Nodding, she faced Owen. “You’re in luck. It hasn’t sold out yet.”

“It sells out?”

“Oh, sure does. We like to keep it small and intimate, so we only allow thirteen guests.”

“Thirteen?”

“Don’t worry, you’ll just be number nine. Somebody else can be thirteen.”

“Lucky him. Or her.”

“We normally don’t
tell
whoever it is.”

“Then how do I know
I’m
not thirteen.”

Rhonda blushed. “You’ll just have to take my word for it.”

“Happy to.”

A warm smile spread across her face. “Will that be a single admission for you?”

“Right, just one.”

“That’ll be a hundred dollars. Plus fifteen for today. How would you like to pay for that?”

“I guess I’ll have you put it on this.” He pushed the Visa card across the counter.

After signing for the charge, he was given a receipt, his ticket for the daytime audio tour, and a large red ticket.

“Both tickets have coupons for discounts at the snack stand, gift shop and museum.”

“Right.”

“The red one, that’s your ticket for the Midnight Tour. It’ll be your admission to the picnic which takes place here on the grounds tomorrow night at eight. After the picnic, there’ll be a special ten o’clock showing of
The Horror
at the theater up the street. Then comes the tour itself.”

“At midnight?”

“On the dot. The guide will lead you over to Beast House after the movie ends. Anyway, all the details are written out for you on the back of the ticket. But if you have any questions, just ask. I’ll be here all day today and tomorrow.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

“Enjoy yourself, Owen.”

“Thanks.”

He almost added “Rhonda” to show that he’d noticed her name, too. But he stopped himself and stepped away from the window.

She’d seemed a little bit too friendly. Owen didn’t want to encourage her.

If I get involved with
anyone
around here, it isn’t going to be Rhonda.

Standing near the corner of the booth, he slipped the red ticket into his shirt pocket. It protruded a couple of inches.

What if it falls out and I lose it?

He considered folding the ticket in half.

Nah. It’ll be all right. Long as I don’t bend over too far, or something.

He put away his credit card, returned his wallet to the back pocket of his trousers, and stepped around the corner.

“Morning,” said another guide he recognized from yesterday. A blonde with a deep tan and pale blue eyes—a real beauty, but so athletic and tough-looking that Owen found her somewhat frightening. She looked like she ought to be a skiing instructor somewhere in the high Sierras. Or the Alps. According to the tag above her jutting right breast, her name was Sharon.

“Good morning,” Owen said, and gave her the ticket for today’s tour.

She tore it. “You know about the discounts, right?”

“Yep.”

She handed the stub to him, then turned away and stepped over to the cupboard where the audio players were stored. She reached up and pulled one down. “It’s all rewound and ready to go,” she said, coming toward Owen. “You wear it around your neck like this.”

She put it on him, leaning in close and raising her arms to lift the strap over his head. He smelled cigarette smoke and perfume and spearmint chewing gum.

He began to feel a little breathless and trembly.

“Thanks,” he said.

“I saw you here yesterday, didn’t I?”

Heat rushed to his face. “Yeah. But I didn’t get to see everything. My girlfriend got sick and we had to leave.”

“Well, glad you could make it back. I guess you already know how the tour works.”

“Right.”

“Hope it goes better for you today.”

“Thanks. I’m sure it will.”

Turning toward the house, Owen put his headphones on.

Some of those who’d preceded him through the ticket line were gathered in front of the porch, eyes on the hanging body of Gus Goucher. The big guy with the Beast House cap was snapping photos of Gus.

As Owen approached, the others climbed the porch stairs and went into the house. The big guy stayed, ducking and bobbing with the big black camera at his eye.

One of the guides seemed to be watching him.

She was the small, cute blonde who’d given Dana a ride to work in her Jeep. The same one who’d briefly gone into Beast House with her. She stood at the top of the porch stairs, leaning back against a support post, one ankle resting across the other, arms folded across her chest.

She frowned slightly as she stared at the camera-happy fat guy.

She didn’t even glance at Owen.

He felt like an intruder as he walked toward them.

He wondered if he should just keep moving. After all, he’d done Station One yesterday. He didn’t really need to stop and listen to it all over again.

But if I don’t stop, she’ll think I goofed. She’ll point out my mistake.

Besides, Owen really
wanted
to start from scratch. This time, with no Monica moaning and smirking by his side, he might be able to concentrate on the tour and really enjoy it.

He stopped a few paces away from the foot of the stairs, lifted the player to take a look at its control buttons, and was about to press Start when the big guy waved at him and called out, “Hey, buddy?”

Owen raised his eyebrows and pointed to himself.

“Yeah, you. Wanta do me a big favor?”

Up on the porch, the guide uncrossed her arms and stood up straight.

“Could I get you to take my picture with poor old Gus here? Okay? You mind?”

“No. that’d be fine.”

The guy hurried toward him, smiling and nodding, reaching out with the camera.

Owen took it.

“It’s all automatic. Just push this right here.”

“Got it.”

The big guy rushed up the porch stairs to Gus, stood close to the dangling legs, put an arm around them and smiled.

“Ready?” Owen asked.

“Just a sec.” He turned his head toward the guide. “Why don’t you come over and be in the picture, too?” he asked.

“Aaaa, you don’t want me in it.”

“Sure, I do. Are you kidding?”

“You don’t even know me.”

“I’m John,” he said. “John Cromwell.”

“Nice to meet you, John.” She turned toward Owen. “And you are?”

“Owen.”

“Hi, Owen.”

“Hi.”

“I’m Lynn,” she said, more to Owen than to John.

“Now we all know each other,” John said. “Hop on over and join me in the picture.”

“Well, if you’re sure...”

“Come on.”

Walking toward him, Lynn said, “We’d better hurry, though. We don’t want to be in the way of these people.”

Owen glanced back and saw a family of five strolling toward them. Earlier, they’d been directly behind him in the line. They’d seemed like nice people, the kids quiet and well-behaved.

When he returned his attention to the porch, he found John standing between Lynn and the lynched dummy—arms around both.

And Lynn seemed to have an arm around John.

Boy! How’d John manage that?

“Better take it,” Lynn said.

He snapped the photo.

John said, “Take a second one, just in...” and squeezed Lynn in against his side.

She yelped and laughed as Owen took the second shot. Then she escaped and swatted John on his butt.

“Spank me again,” he told her. “Please.”

Laughing, she shook her head. “That’s more than enough, Johnny boy.”

Owen climbed the porch stairs, ready to return John’s camera.

“Thanks for the help,” John told him.

“No problem.”

Lynn glanced at Owen’s chest. “Ah, ha! I see you’ve bought a ticket for the Midnight Tour!”

He blushed and smiled. “Yeah. I can’t wait.”

“Doing it tomorrow night?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“Me, too,” she said. “I’ll be your guide.”

“Really? Great!”

She turned to John. “You coming on it, too?”

The big guy’s mouth fell open. He blinked a few times. Then he said,
“You’re
the guide?”

“I’m
always
the guide. It’s my tour. I originated it.”

“Wow,” John said. He looked awestruck.

“So, are you gonna be there?”

“Uh... Gosh... I guess I’d sure
like
to. But it’s like a hundred bucks, isn’t it?”

“It
is
a hundred bucks.”

He grimaced. “That’s a lot of money.”

“Worth every nickle.”

“Bet it is,” he mumbled, shaking his head. “But I don’t know.”

“Well, I hope you decide to join us. I think there’re still a few openings.”

“I just got number nine,” Owen said.

“That only leaves four,” Lynn said. Reaching out, she patted John’s arm. “Better make up your mind soon, pal.”

“I might just do it,” he said.

“I’ve gotta go.” Lynn started down the porch stairs. “So long, Owen. So long, John. Hope I see you
both
tomorrow night.”

“Bye,” Owen called after her.

“See ya,” John called.

In front of the porch, Lynn made her way around the cluster of tourists at Station One and headed off to the side.

“What a bitchin’ babe,” John said.

“Yeah,” said Owen, and gave him the camera.

“Wouldn’t kick
her
outa bed. Know what I mean?”

“I know.”

“Man, I
gotta
go on that Midnight Tour.”

“It should be pretty cool.”

“I need me a hundred bucks.”

Uh-oh.

“They take credit cards,” Owen explained, starting to feel embarrassed and guilty.

“Who’s got credit cards?”

Everybody I know, Owen thought.

This guy
hasn’t
got credit cards?

“I maxed ’em all out,” John explained.

Brilliant, Owen thought.

John reached under the loose tail of his shirt and hauled out his wallet. He opened it. Owen caught a glimpse inside the bill compartment and looked away quickly.