“Post-coital depression.”
She laughed. “How long do you expect it to last?”
“Probably till we coit again.”
“Can it wait till after lunch?”
“If it must,” he said. He turned onto Beach Lane.
At the end of the dirt road, parked next to a pickup truck, was a long, gray Mercedes.
“That looks like Hardy’s,” Tyler said. “I wonder what Mr. Wonderful’s doing at the beach.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
“My father, he’d been living with the guilt more than thirty years, and he told me he couldn’t abide it any longer.” Captain Frank raised the can of Bud to his mouth. He shut his eyes against the sun as he gulped.
Gorman took another can from the six-pack he’d brought along to lubricate the old man’s tongue, and popped open its top. Captain Frank mashed his empty and tossed it. Gorman watched it drop a long way to the ground.
“It was then he told me, for the first time, all about Bobo and how Bobo must still be alive and murdering.”
“Have another,” Gorman said.
Captain Frank accepted the fresh can. “Much obliged.” He settled back in his lawn chair and took a long drink. “Well, I begged my father to let me go with him, but he’d have none of that. Wanted me to stay behind and look after Mother. It was as if he knew he’d never come back, and he didn’t. He was a mighty fine shot with that Winchester of his. I ‘spect Bobo must’ve snuck up on him, caught him from behind.” With his free hand, the old man savagely clawed the air. “Just like that.”
“Was your father’s body ever found?” Gorman asked.
“No, sir. I ‘spect it’s buried over yonder, more than likely in the cellar.”
“The cellar of Beast House?”
“That’s what I figure.”
“If the beast actually killed him, as you believe, wouldn’t the Kutch woman have put a replica of your father on display for the tour.”
“Could’ve, but she didn’t. You ask me, the old bat’s mighty careful who she exhibits. You look at who’s in there. Take the Bagley kid, for instance. His friend, Maywood, got out alive and went running to the cops. Now how’s she gonna deny the killing? She doesn’t. She turned it to the good by having dummies made up. Same goes for the three last year. One’s Danny Jenson, the cop. How’s she gonna pretend it never happened? But let me tell you.” He squinted an eye at Gorman. “There’s plenty of folks just up and disappear. I figure Bobo got most of them. But old Maggie, she’s not gonna put them on display when she’s got a way to cover up. She’d have a whole house full, and how’d that look?” He took a long drink of beer.
“Four people disappeared last night,” Gorman said. “The Crogans, who run the Welcome Inn…”
“Oh, dear Lord.”
“And a friend of mine.”
Captain Frank scowled at the top of his beer can.
“The Crogans’ car was found abandoned this morning on the road to the highway.”
“Well, it got them. I was you, I wouldn’t count on seeing my friend again. Or the Crogans, either. Their girl, she gone too?”
“Yes.”
He let out a long sigh. “She was such a cute thing. Used to see her down at the beach. Always had a kind word. Goddamn, they should’ve known better. You just don’t go near that house, not after dark, not unless you’re looking to get yourself killed. They should’ve known that.”
“Does the beast actually leave the house?”
“Sure does. Unless Wick or Maggie are grabbing folks. One look at that pair, you know they’d be hard put to get away with it. Bobo’s gotta be prowling around. In the hills back of the house. Down on the beach. Some twelve years back, we even had a gal disappear from the cabin next door.” He nodded to the right. “Ry, that’s her husband, he come home late from the Last Chance and she was gone. Folks all said she’d run off ‘cause he was always whumping on her. But I knew different and told him so. He called me a screwy old fart and said to stay out of his business.”
He peered at Gorman and raised a thick white eyebrow. “
“Not at all,” Gorman assured him.
“Well, lots of folks do. They’ll change their tune one of these days when I hand over Bobo’s body.”
“You plan to kill it?”
“I’ll get Bobo, or it’ll get me.”
“Have you ever gone after it?”
“Why, sure. I’ve gone and laid ambush for it—oh, more times than I can count. But it’s never showed up.”
“You’ve never seen it?”
“Not a once.”
“Have you ever gone into the house after it?”
“Now, that’d be trespassing.”
Gorman controlled his urge to smile. Obviously, the old man was afraid to enter Beast House. “It seems,” he said, “as if the house would be the best place to hunt it.”
Captain Frank squeezed his beer can and hurled it from the bus top. It hit a low-hanging tree branch and fell to the ground. “Say, young man, how’d you like to take a look at my book?”
“What book?”
“I been keeping track. Yes, indeed. You’d be surprised.”
“I’d like very much to see it.”
The old man winked. “Thought you might. You’re a lot curiouser than most.” He pushed himself out of the lawn chair, and walked unsteadily along the top of the bus. “Bring the beer along,” he said.
Gorman got to his knees and watched Captain Frank descend the wooden ladder. The moment the man was out of sight, he pulled out his pocket recorder. The tape was still running, but it must be near its end. The old geezer had talked for the better part of an hour—and what a story he’d told! Gorman couldn’t have been more delighted. Everything was going his way. Everything! His fingers trembled with excitement as he ejected the tape’s tiny cartridge, flipped it over, and slid it back into place. He returned the recorder to his jacket pocket. He grabbed an empty plastic ring of the six-pack. The two remaining cans clanked together at his side as he walked carefully toward the ladder.
He approached it with growing alarm. The ascent had been bad enough, but he suspected the descent would prove worse. The ladder was simply propped against the end of the bus, its highest rung level with his waist. What if it should tip over as he attempted to clamber on?
Gorman Hardy, noted author of
Captain Frank was down below, gazing up at him.
“Would you mind holding the ladder for me?”
The old man shook his head as if he pitied Gorman, then stepped under the ladder and clutched its uprights.
If you’re such a stalwart fellow, Gorman thought, why are you terrified of going after the beast? A screwy old fart, all right. And a coward. But his story was gold, and Gorman’s fear subsided as he wondered about the man’s book. Carefully, he mounted the ladder. It wobbled slightly. The rungs creaked under his weight. His legs felt weak and shaky, but finally he planted a foot on the solid ground.
“And you’re still in one piece,” said Captain Frank.
Gorman forced a smile. He followed the man through a litter of beer cans alongside the painted bus. “Did you paint this mural?”
“That I did.”
