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.”
“Lovely,” Nora whispered.
“Poor Gus Goucher never killed nobody. It was the beast done it all.” She thumped her cane twice on the porch floor. “Let’s go in.”
As she turned away, Tyler looked up at Abe. He shook his head as if he found the situation grimly amusing.
“Barbie Doll was right,” Nora whispered. “Tacky tacky.”
Climbing the porch stairs, Tyler released Abe’s hand long enough to rub her sweaty palm on her corduroys. She had a leaden, sickish feeling in her stomach.
The group halted in the foyer. After the sunlight outside, the house seemed dark and cool. Tyler scanned the gloom, half expecting to spot Dan, in uniform, standing guard.
“Yuck,” said a girl near the front.
Smiling, Maggie pointed her cane at a stuffed monkey. It stood beside a wall, mouth frozen wide, teeth bared. “Umbrella stand,” she said, and dropped her cane through the circle of its shaggy arms. “Lilly was partial to monkeys.” She snatched up her cane and thumped the creature’s head, bringing up a puff of dust.
“The first attack,” she said, “came in the parlor. Right this way.”
Gorman jostled Tyler. “Excuse me, dear,” he said, and made his way forward, pressing through the small group of people. He reached the door ahead of the rest, and followed Maggie through.
“A real go-getter,” Abe muttered.
“A creep,” Tyler said.
They entered the parlor. The group spread out along the length of a plush cordon. Just beyond the barrier bright red curtains hung from the ceiling to the floor, closed to conceal most of the room. Maggie, on the other side of the cordon, waited by a wall and caressed a fold of the velvety curtain. “These are new,” she said. “We just put ‘em in. Gives a touch of class, don’t you think?” She gripped a cord.
“Ethel Hughes, Lilly’s sister, was in this room the night of August second, 1903. She’d come down for Lilly’s wedding, which would’ve been the next week if tragedy hadn’t struck and put an end to it all. The beast come in through there.” She nodded toward the door behind Tyler. “It took Ethel unawares.”
She gave the cord a yank. The curtains skidded open. Tyler heard a few gasps. A girl in front of her backed up quickly, stepping on her toes. A red-haired woman turned her face away. A boy in a cowboy suit leaned over the cordon for a closer look. Gorman raised his camera. Maggie bounced her cane off the floor. “No pictures,” she warned. “Anybody wants a memento of the tour, he can pick up one of our souvenir guidebooks in the gift shop for six ninety-five.” Gorman lowered the camera and shook his head as if disgusted.
“Sure did a number on that babe,” whispered a man to Tyler’s left.
Reluctantly, Tyler lowered her eyes to the form of Ethel Hughes. The wax body was sprawled on the floor, one leg up and resting on the cushion of a couch. Its wide eyes gazed toward the ceiling. Its face was contorted
