The Beast House (2 page)

Dan hated pantyhose. To please him, she’d stopped wearing the things. She’d never gone back to them.

She’d never gone back to smoking pot, either.

And she still wore her hair short, the way he liked it. Makes you look like Peter Pan, he’d said. Peter Pan’s a boy, she’d reminded him, and added that perhaps the hairstyle appealed to his latent homosexuality. Oh yeah? he’d said. Come here and we’ll see if I’m a fag.

Big macho cop.

God, she missed him.

She pulled the garter belt out from under her. She slipped her panties down, and kicked them off. Then she stretched, enjoying the feel of the cool bedspread against her buttocks and legs. She could doze off right now, so easily. With a deep sigh, she sat up. She struggled with the zipper at the back of her dress, pulled the dress over her head, and removed her bra. She climbed off the bed and started to gather her clothes.

While she’d kept her hair the same, stayed away from pantyhose and pot, changed very little about herself since leaving Dan, there was one major difference. She’d been chubby, then. In her first term at UCLA, she’d dropped fifteen pounds. As if she’d left her appetite with Dan. Though the appetite had eventually returned, she’d had no trouble keeping the weight off.

She took her nightgown from the suitcase, but didn’t put it on. She stepped in front of the mirror. Her eyes looked a little funny. That was the booze. She drew a forefinger over her cheekbone. For all Dan knew, she didn’t have cheekbones. Or a waist. Or hipbones.

She grinned at the Tyler Moran he’d never seen.

He’ll go ape, she thought.

Her heart started thudding, for she suddenly realized she would be making that trip tomorrow. No matter the pain no matter the outcome. If she didn’t, she would always wonder about Dan, about the second chance thrown away and she would never stop regretting it.

Her racing heart made her head throb.

She put the nightgown on. In the bathroom, she took three aspirin and drank three full tumblers of cold water.

Then she went to bed.

She lay in the darkness, remembering the look and feel and voice of Dan Jenson, wondering how he might have changed, worrying about what she might find tomorrow in Mill Valley, hoping.

Tyler smiled the next morning when she saw the Mill Valley bus depot through her windshield. “That used to be the best place for paperbacks in the whole town,” she said. “Wish I had a buck for every hour I spent in there.”

“How’re the nerves?” Nora asked, grinning at her from the passenger seat.

“Holding out. But just barely.” She wiped her sweaty hands on the legs of her corduroys. The nerves, in fact, were not good. Her heart was beating fast, her mouth was dry, and the armpits of her blouse felt sodden.

“A quaint little burg,” Nora said.

“It used to be quainter.” She drove slowly along Throckmorton, past brightly painted shops. The road curved. To the left was a wooded area. “Here’s where the old mill used to be. The Dipsey Trail starts over there.”

“The famous Dipsey Trail.”

She turned right onto a sideroad, and stopped at the curb.

“This it?”

“This is it,” Tyler said. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “It’s that apartment house across the street.”

Ducking, Nora looked out of the window. “Rustic,” she said.

“Quaint and rustic.”

“Can you hack it?”

“We came this far,” Tyler told her, and tried very hard to smile.

“Do you want me to wait here?”

“Are you kidding?”

They climbed from the car. While Tyler waited, Nora took her sweater off and tossed it on her seat. “Won’t be needing that,” she said. She stepped around the rear of the car. She was wearing short culottes and tennis shoes, and without the sweater it was plain that she wore no bra. The powder blue T-shirt clung to her breasts. Her nipples made the fabric jut as if fingers were pushing it out. Tyler wished Nora had kept the sweater on, and she had second thoughts about her friend coming along.

What if Dan…? No, that’s ridiculous.

He probably doesn’t even live here anymore.

They crossed the street and climbed a slanted walkway toward the weathered wood-frame apartment house. Nora’s breasts jiggled slightly with each step.

Dan won’t notice. Of course he will.

Even dressed modestly, Nora drew men like iron filings to a magnet. Her size must be part of it. She was five eleven barefoot. She dwarfed most other women, Tyler included. She was slender, but not at all gawky. Though her face was a bit too long, her teeth too prominent, her chin not quite prominent enough for real beauty, her blue eyes had an intensity that made the imperfections less noticeable. And there was something erotic about her wide mouth, her full lips.

Nora radiated sexuality. Not only men noticed it. So did women, and many seemed to resent it.

Tyler was not very happy about it herself, as they stepped into the shadowed entryway.

Don’t worry, she told herself. I’m the one Dan loved. Besides, Nora won’t try anything. She’s my best friend. She knows how I feel.

Yeah. Outclassed.

Forget it.

Tyler stepped close to the panel of mailboxes. “He was in number four,” she said.

The name, embossed on a strip of red plastic above the mail slot, was B. Lawrence. They checked the other labels. “No Jenson,” Nora said. “You sure you’ve got the right building?”

“Positive.” She felt a tug of disappointment, but it was mixed with relief. Her voice sounded shaky as she said, “I knew it’d be a waste of time.”

Nora squeezed her shoulder. She looked determined. “It’s not over yet, hon. You’re with Nora Branson, ace reference librarian. What I don’t know, I find out. Just a matter of research. First we check on B. Lawrence, then the manager. If they don’t pan out, there’s the telephone directory. If that doesn’t work, we’ll pay a visit to the local constabulary. If Dan’s not with them anymore, they’ll probably know where he went. He’ll have friends in the department, not to mention a personnel file that’ll tell where they sent his references.”

“Maybe we should just forget it.”

“No way. This is your life we’re talking about. You obviously love the guy. One way or another, we’re gonna find him for you. Where’s number four?”

Tyler sighed. “Upstairs.”

She followed Nora up the wooden stairway to a balcony that stretched the length of the building front. They stopped at the first door to the right. Five years ago, it had been stained wood. Since then, someone had applied bright, lime green paint. The trim was orange. A windchime of clay pipes, suspended just above the door, clinked softly in the breeze.

Tyler knew that Dan didn’t live here anymore, but her heart thudded wildly when Nora rang the doorbell. She took deep breaths, trying to calm herself.

The door opened. A short, chubby woman in a muumuu and curlers smiled out at them. “Greetings,” she said. “What can I do for you?”

Before Tyler could answer, Nora said, “We’re looking for Dan Jenson. Apparently he used to live here.”

“Righto. Steely Dan the cop. My old bud. You friends of his?”

Nora darted a thumb at Tyler. “They’re old buds.”

“Ah ha!” Nodding, she studied Tyler with one eye half shut, and shook a forefinger at her. “I knew it, knew I’d seen your face. Knew it the minute I looked at you. You’re the girl in the picture. That eight by five he kept over the fireplace. Sure. That was you, wasn’t it?”

Tyler shrugged. She didn’t know the picture, but Dan had always been snapping photos of her. He liked to catch her unaware—for the “natural look,” as he called it. He’d even taken a shot, once, as she stepped out of the shower. She blushed at the memory. Obviously, that hadn’t been the picture he’d blown up for the mantel.

“The girl he called Tippy, am I right?”

Tyler nodded.

“Tippy?” Nora asked.

“Short for Tippecanoe,” she explained. “Tippecanoe and Tyler, too.”

“That’s Dan. Always one for the nicknames. I was always Barbie Doll. I lived down in number one, back when he was here. He used to have me up for pizza. Oh, he made luscious pizza.”

“My recipe,” Tyler muttered. She felt an ache like homesickness. “I showed him how to make it.”

“Oh, I’m drooling at the thought of it. How I miss his pizza.”

“I could send you the recipe.”

“Would you?” She snatched Tyler’s hand and squeezed it. “You’re such a dear. It’s no wonder at all Dan was that stuck on you. He’ll be tickled to death to see you again. You will be…?”

“Then you know where he is?” Nora asked.

“Why, sure.”

Tyler’s heart lurched.

“He left here…oh, better than two years ago. I moved right in. My old apartment was so cramped, it was like living in a closet. This is two bedrooms, you know. Gives me some space to spread out. A girl needs her elbow room.”

“Is Dan still in Mill Valley?” Nora persisted.

“Oh no. He took a job on the force up at Malcasa Point. Said he wanted to get out of the Bay Area, though I can’t imagine why. You know Malcasa? No? Let me tell you, it’s the sticks. I can’t feature anyone living there. But different strokes, am I right? Not even a decent restaurant, much less a movie theater. I doubt there’s a shopping mall within fifty miles. When I say sticks, I mean sticks. But that’s what he wanted and that’s what he got.”

“Malcasa Point?” Nora asked.

“Hang on a sec, I’ll get the address.” As she stepped over to a lamp table, she kept talking over her shoulder. “I’ll admit, now, I haven’t heard from him in a year or better. Got a card from him last Christmas—no, that was two Christmases ago, not long after he moved. Seemed to like it fine up there.” She took an address book from the lamp-table drawer, and came back. “I sent him a postcard from Naples this past December. Spent the holidays there. Oh, a marvelous city, Naples.” She flipped through the pages of her book. “Ah, here we be. Jenson, Dan. Ten Seaside Lane, Malcasa Point.”

Tyler’s hand trembled badly as she scribbled the information on a notepad. “Why don’t you give me your name? Is it Lawrence?”

“Righto. Barbara Lawrence. That’s Barbara with three a’s, not like Streisand. Can you imagine, Barbra? Sounds like a steel brassière, am I right?”

“When Dan wrote to you,” Nora said, “did he say anything about being married?”

“Not a word. Single, far as I know.” She winked at Tyler. “Now you will send me that recipe, won’t you?”

“Absolutely.”

“How far is this Malcasa Point?” Nora asked.

“Oh, you can make it in, I’d say, maybe three hours. That’s if you don’t dawdle. You go straight up the Coast Highway, on a good piece past Bodega. You have a map?”

“In the car.”

“Well, you can’t miss it. Now, make sure you give Dan regards from Barbie Doll.”

“We’ll do that,” Tyler assured her.

“And for the love of Mike, whatever you do up there, don’t miss the Beast House tour. Tacky tacky. You’ll love it. It’s a scream.”

After five minutes on the narrow, twisting Coast Highway with its cliff only yards away and the ocean far below, Tyler fastened her seat belt.

“Might be better off without it,” Nora told her.

“You’re right.” She opened the buckle. “It’d hinder my leap.”

“I’m just glad we’re on the inside lane.”

“We won’t be, coming back.”

“Let’s take an inland route.” Nora picked up the map and studied it for two or three minutes. “Maybe take one-twenty-eight over to one-oh-one.”

“Whatever,” Tyler said. “We can worry about it when the times comes.”

“I think we’d better plan on spending the night in Malcasa. It’ll be mid-afternoon by the time we get there.”

“Let’s just play it by ear.”

“Wonder what it’s got in the way of motels.” She opened the glove compartment and pulled out the Automobile Club tour guide for California and Nevada. “Let’s see here. We already know there’re no decent restaurants, much less a movie theater.” She flipped through the pages. “Here we go. Los Gatos, Madera, Mommoth Lakes. Whoops, no Malcasa Point. Maybe we won’t spend the night.”

“Every town has a motel. There must be at least one.”

“I hope so. Nothing Triple-A-approved, though. Maybe a fleabag or two. Let’s see what the little burg’s got in the way of attractions.” She turned toward the front of the book. “Malcasa, Malcasa,” she mumbled as she searched. “Ah-ha! It’s actually here, can you believe it? Malcasa Point, altitude thirty-four feet. Such height! Hope I don’t get nosebleeds. Only one entry for the place. Beast House. Not to be confused with Animal House.” She chuckled at her little joke, then began to read aloud from the guide book. “Beast House, 10 Front Street. Claimed to be the scene of several grisly murders, this Victorian relic was built in 1902 by the widow of the notorious outlaw, Lyle Thorn. Featured are displays of the murder scenes with lifelike wax figures depicting the victims. Tours daily ten till four; closed holidays. Adults four dollars, under twelve, two dollars.’ Maybe we can take it in while we’re there.”

“Barbie Doll thought highly of it,” Tyler said.

“Right. Tacky tacky.”

In the rearview mirror, Tyler saw a Porsche closing in fast. She held her breath as it swung out and roared alongside. It shot by. It swerved back into the lane, missing their front bumper by inches, just in time to avoid a head-on with an approaching station wagon.

“Asshole,” Nora muttered. “Porsches, VW bugs, and pickup trucks. Gotta watch out for ’em. They’ve all got maniacs behind the wheel.”

“Not to mention the big rigs,” Tyler said. “At least there’s none of them along here. Nothing like an eighteen-wheeler tailgating you.”

“They’re murder. Somebody ought to build a truckers museum and fill it with wax figures depicting their victims.”

“Call it Peterbilt House.”

They stopped for lunch at a restaurant overlooking the water of Bodega Bay. Nora drank Dos Equiis with her plate of fried clams. Tyler, nervous about the twisting road ahead, had a glass of Pepsi with her cheeseburger.

“Look familiar?” she asked, nodding at the expanse of glinting water beyond the window.

“Should it?” Nora asked.

“Remember The Birds?”

“The film?”