“Shootouts.”
“What?”
Tuck laughed. “Naw. But any time you’ve got large numbers of people, things’ll go wrong. A fight might break out. It’s rare, but it happens. More often, we’ll have somebody get indignant or outraged about the exhibits. I guess they didn’t know what they were getting themselves into. They might need to be calmed down or escorted out. Also, we’ve had people sort of flip out once in a while.”
“Oh, great.”
“We call them flippers.”
“Cute.”
“I guess they’re having what you might call panic attacks. It’s an old place and smells a little musty. The hallways are sort of long and narrow. The exhibits are gory. The people are listening to some creepy, nasty stuff on their earphones. It apparently just overwhelms some of them, especially on a busy day when there might be some conjestion in the rooms and hallways. You’ll have flippers, fainters and barfers every so often.”
“It’s sounding more fun all the time.”
“Not as much fun as the heart attacks.”
“You get heart attacks?”
“I don’t, they do. Not often, though.”
“God almighty.”
“Where’s the sweat,
“I never thought I’d have to be giving CPR in a tourist attraction.”
“Think of Beast House as a big, dry swimming pool. Mostly, people just have fun. But we do have our emergencies from time to time. The trick is, get to the problem people before they go over the edge. They’re easy to spot. Pale, sweaty faces, glassy eyes. Or instead of pale, they might be really flushed. Heavy breathing—that could mean trouble, too. When you spot somebody like that, lead him outside. They’re usually fine as soon as they get into the fresh air. But don’t be afraid to use the walkie-talkie. I’ll be on the other end. If the problem is more than we can handle, I’ll call for an ambulance or the cops or whatever we might need. They usually get here fast.”
Dana nodded.
“When there aren’t problems,” Tuck went on, “things can be a little dull for the floor monitors. The visitors will be getting the tour information through their headsets, so you don’t have any sort of spiel. You’ll just need to field questions.”
“Like ‘where’s the bathroom?’”
“That’s the most frequently asked question. You remember where they are?”
“Out behind the house in the snack shop area. Can’t miss them.”
“Excellent!”
“You ain’t dealing with a chimp.”
“Perhaps a moose...”
“Hey hey hey. Good thing I’m not sensitive about my size.”
“Hell, you love your size.”
“Allows me to intimidate shrimps like you.”
“Can’t touch me, I’m the boss. Anyway, I’m sure you’ll be fine answering questions. Big, smart college girl like you.”
“That’s me.”
“You read both the books...”
“
“So you shouldn’t have any trouble answering questions about the beast, and so forth. They
“
“I’m all things wonderful. Any questions?”
“About your wonderfulness, or...?”
“Oh, the job.”
“I guess I’ll have plenty as things come up, but...”
“Hey, I’d better warn you about something before I forget. As guides, our official position on the beast’s weenie is that we can’t discuss it.”
“People
“All the time.”
“Oh, great.”
“Some are genuinely curious and figure we’ve got the inside scoop. But some of them just want to watch us squirm. A lot of guys think it’s a real hoot.”
“But I’m not supposed to confirm or deny?”
“Right. Suggest they either sign up for the Midnight Tour, or read the books.”
“And push the Midnight Tour?” Dana asked, grinning.
“Yes! Please! My God! At every opportunity!”
“Is it any good?”
“Can’t wait.”
“Oh, you’ll love it.”
“Sure I will.”
Tuck laughed, then asked, “Ready to go?”
“Go where?”
“This way.” She uncrossed her ankles, pushed off from the door with her rump, and headed across the foyer toward the parlor. “I always do a quick walk-through first thing in the morning before we open her up...make sure everything’s the way it ought to be. We don’t want to have any surprises.”
Dana followed her into the parlor.
“Top of the morning to you, Ethel,” Tuck greeted the body on the floor. “I hope you enjoyed a comfortable...
“Oh, man,” Dana muttered.
“See what I mean?” Tuck said, not sounding very upset. “Surprises.”
Halfway across the parlor, behind a plush red cordon, the wax figure of Ethel Hughes lay sprawled on the floor. One bare leg was propped up on the cushion of the couch. Her eyes were wide open, her face contorted as if with agony or terror. Her white nightgown, drenched and splattered with bright red blood, was ripped open to reveal her bloody, torn skin.
Not just her arms and belly and thighs.
Her breasts.
Her groin.
Yesterday, those areas had been hidden beneath the tatters of Ethel’s bloody gown.
“What happened?” Dana asked.
“I don’t know,” Tuck said, her voice hushed. She glanced over her shoulder and out the doorway.
Dana looked, too. She saw only the empty foyer.
When Tuck walked toward the body, Dana stayed close to her side. They stopped at the red cordon a few feet away from the exhibit.
“Somebody must’ve wanted to check out her anatomy,” Tuck said.
“She sure looks real.”
Frowning, nodding, Tuck muttered, “Maggie was a stickler for details. She started out with nothing but store dummies. But they weren’t good enough. She ordered the realistic wax bodies as soon as she could afford it. They were supposed to be authentic in every detail.”
