some kid. I wouldn’t know.”
“After reading the diary, what did you do?”
“Nothing. I kept it hidden. I thought a lot about throwing it away. It made me nervous just having it around. But then I got to thinking it might be valuable. When I read your book last March, that’s when I realized there might be a book in it. That’s when I decided to write you a letter.”
Leaning forward, Gorman picked up the recorder. “Is there anything else you’d like to add?”
“That’s about all, I think.”
He switched it off.
Janice drank the remains of her martini. She set the empty glass on the bedspread. “What now?” she asked.
“Now,” Gorman said, “I shall read the diary. Tomorrow, we’ll take the tour. Would you care to join us?”
“I don’t think so. I don’t know. Maybe. I’ll think about it.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Pacific Coast Highway had curved inland soon after they left the Lighthouse Inn. Now they were passing through an area of wooded hills. The briny, fresh smell of the ocean was gone, replaced by a sweet scent of pine. The blue Mustang vanished as they rounded a bend. Tyler eased off the gas until it reappeared in the rearview mirror.
“There,” Nora said.
A sign reading malcasa point, 3 mi, pointed at a side road to the left. Tyler slowed and signaled the turn, and swung sharply across the empty lane.
“Wait for ’em,” Nora said.
She slowed to a crawl until the Mustang made the turn, then picked up speed again. The road curved along a shadowy hillside, sloping gradually downward. Not far ahead, a squirrel scampered over the pavement, bushy tail up like a question mark. Tyler touched the brake. The squirrel finished its crossing in plenty of time.
As the hill to the left fell away, she glimpsed the ocean through the trees along its crest. The breeze coming in her window suddenly turned slightly cool and smelled again of the sea.
“Almost there,” Nora said.
Tyler’s stomach lurched. Almost there. Her hands were slippery on the wheel. She rubbed them, one at a time, on the legs of her corduroys. “Let’s find a place to stay before hunting Dan up,” she said.
Nora agreed.
At the foot of the hill, the road curved to the right. A sign by the ditch read welcome to malcasa point. pop. 400. drive with care. Tyler took a deep breath. Her lungs seemed to tremble.
She gazed ahead. The road led flat and straight through the center of town. The town ahead was small, no more than a few blocks long, with shops lining both sides of the street before the road turned in the distance and vanished into the woods.
“The sticks, all right,” Nora said. “I hope it does have a motel. And I hope that isn’t it,” she added, looking to the right.
Tyler glanced that way. Through the bars of a wrought-iron fence beside the road, she saw a two-story Victorian house with weathered sides, bay windows, a peaked tower.
Nora said, “Here, we thought the Bates house was at Universal Studios.”
“Maybe they moved it.”
“Gee, should we stop for the tour?”
“That’s just what I’d like to do,” Tyler said, and kept on driving. The Mustang stayed a short distance behind them as they moved through town.
Nora, leaning toward the windshield, studied the roadside businesses. “Where’s the Holiday Inn?” she asked. “Where’s the Howard Johnson, the Hyatt?”
“There’s gotta be some kind of motel.”
“I sure don’t see one. Maybe you’d better pull in at this gas station and we’ll ask.”
“We can use a fill-up anyway,” Tyler said. She signaled well in advance, then swung over and eased the car up beside the row of full service pumps. Killing the engine, she looked over her shoulder. The Mustang stopped at the self-service island, and Abe climbed out. He nodded a greeting, then turned away to open his gas tank.
Tyler pulled her hood release as a lean, sour-looking man stepped around the front of her car. He crouched by her window. The name patch on his shirt read
“After reading the diary, what did you do?”
“Nothing. I kept it hidden. I thought a lot about throwing it away. It made me nervous just having it around. But then I got to thinking it might be valuable. When I read your book last March, that’s when I realized there might be a book in it. That’s when I decided to write you a letter.”
Leaning forward, Gorman picked up the recorder. “Is there anything else you’d like to add?”
“That’s about all, I think.”
He switched it off.
Janice drank the remains of her martini. She set the empty glass on the bedspread. “What now?” she asked.
“Now,” Gorman said, “I shall read the diary. Tomorrow, we’ll take the tour. Would you care to join us?”
“I don’t think so. I don’t know. Maybe. I’ll think about it.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Pacific Coast Highway had curved inland soon after they left the Lighthouse Inn. Now they were passing through an area of wooded hills. The briny, fresh smell of the ocean was gone, replaced by a sweet scent of pine. The blue Mustang vanished as they rounded a bend. Tyler eased off the gas until it reappeared in the rearview mirror.
“There,” Nora said.
A sign reading malcasa point, 3 mi, pointed at a side road to the left. Tyler slowed and signaled the turn, and swung sharply across the empty lane.
“Wait for ’em,” Nora said.
She slowed to a crawl until the Mustang made the turn, then picked up speed again. The road curved along a shadowy hillside, sloping gradually downward. Not far ahead, a squirrel scampered over the pavement, bushy tail up like a question mark. Tyler touched the brake. The squirrel finished its crossing in plenty of time.
As the hill to the left fell away, she glimpsed the ocean through the trees along its crest. The breeze coming in her window suddenly turned slightly cool and smelled again of the sea.
“Almost there,” Nora said.
Tyler’s stomach lurched. Almost there. Her hands were slippery on the wheel. She rubbed them, one at a time, on the legs of her corduroys. “Let’s find a place to stay before hunting Dan up,” she said.
Nora agreed.
At the foot of the hill, the road curved to the right. A sign by the ditch read welcome to malcasa point. pop. 400. drive with care. Tyler took a deep breath. Her lungs seemed to tremble.
She gazed ahead. The road led flat and straight through the center of town. The town ahead was small, no more than a few blocks long, with shops lining both sides of the street before the road turned in the distance and vanished into the woods.
“The sticks, all right,” Nora said. “I hope it does have a motel. And I hope that isn’t it,” she added, looking to the right.
Tyler glanced that way. Through the bars of a wrought-iron fence beside the road, she saw a two-story Victorian house with weathered sides, bay windows, a peaked tower.
Nora said, “Here, we thought the Bates house was at Universal Studios.”
“Maybe they moved it.”
“Gee, should we stop for the tour?”
“That’s just what I’d like to do,” Tyler said, and kept on driving. The Mustang stayed a short distance behind them as they moved through town.
Nora, leaning toward the windshield, studied the roadside businesses. “Where’s the Holiday Inn?” she asked. “Where’s the Howard Johnson, the Hyatt?”
“There’s gotta be some kind of motel.”
“I sure don’t see one. Maybe you’d better pull in at this gas station and we’ll ask.”
“We can use a fill-up anyway,” Tyler said. She signaled well in advance, then swung over and eased the car up beside the row of full service pumps. Killing the engine, she looked over her shoulder. The Mustang stopped at the self-service island, and Abe climbed out. He nodded a greeting, then turned away to open his gas tank.
Tyler pulled her hood release as a lean, sour-looking man stepped around the front of her car. He crouched by her window. The name patch on his shirt read
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