April Fool's Day
Author: Jeff Rovin
Date: 1986-01-01 08:00:00+00:00
Keywords: General; Horror; Fiction
Description: Jokes aren't so funny when they end in murder! — Eight good friends, ready to celebrate spring break, gather at a remote summer home, an isolated island for the very rich. They're all ready to party, to pull a few pranks, a few April Fool's jokes. But suddenly the jokes are all too real. And the bodies start turning up... in the bushes, in the bedroom, bobbing in the water. Someone is on the island, someone with an evil thirst for death. As twilight descends, the vacation retreat becomes a deathtrap with no escape from the deadly tricks of... APRIL FOOL'S DAY.
Publisher: Pocket
Rights: Copyrights as per source stories

CHAPTER

1

The island was alive with more than the creatures of night. Even in her sleep, Muffy could feel the hot breath of evil; she felt it rushing across the bed on the gentle night wind, brushing her cheek, crawling across her throat.

Outside, the evil had human form as the white-smocked figure stalked along the beach, its pale face turned toward the open French windows of the bedroom, its arms swaying slowly at its side.

The white shingles of the summer house shone brightly in the moonlight, giving the old, two-story structure a spectral appearance. Here and there, dark shapes crept across the face of the house, shadows cast by leaves as they shifted in the delicate breeze, blocking the moonlight. The quiet winds also stirred the water of the lake, small waves sloshing on the shore and against the pilings of the short, weather-beaten pier. The figure was oblivious to the sights and to the sound; it did not feel the breeze as it glided from the beach to the creaking wooden steps and then across the porch to the screen door. A spindly hand reached for the handle and pulled it open.

Upstairs, Muffy turned restlessly on the bed, a troubled sigh escaping her lips. The collar of the white Brooks Brothers shirt she'd found in her father's closet was wet with perspiration, as was her long, auburn hair; she shifted her legs, pushing the top sheet to the floor. She felt cooler now and relaxed, failing to hear the floorboards in the living room as they groaned under the tread of the wraithlike figure. It made for the stairs and then slowly ascended, its face turned toward the rooms above.

As the intruder reached the second floor landing, a wan hand reached into the folds of the smock and emerged with a carving knife. The figure held it waist-high, the razor-sharp blade facing out. The tip of the knife caught a glint of moonlight from the open bedroom window at the end of the corridor; the figure proceeded soundlessly in that direction, listening to the slow, regular breathing of the girl.

The air wafting through Muffy's window caused the white curtain to billow. It blew gently across her bare legs, chilling the perspiration; she shivered, feeling blindly about her for the cover. The wind blew again and, opening her eyes, Muffy vaguely saw the white sheet on the floor beside her. She turned on her side, shut her eyes, and tried not to let the loathsome squeak of the crickets and the occasional hoot of an owl bring her back to reality. She stretched out her hand in the dark, toward the floor, toward the heap of fabric. She felt it, hooked it with two fingers, drew it toward her, and tried to crawl back into the dream she was having. The sheet snagged.

"Oh c'mon..." she complained drowsily and opened her eyes.

The cloth she held was not a top sheet but a shirt, like hers. It hung just above two pale, bare legs, and there was something glistening by the side of it, something metallic—

Muffy released the shirttails and jumped back, looking up at the face that was turned toward hers. Even in the shadows she could make out the features, though her mind rejected what she saw: the cheeks were more hollow, the eyes terribly sunken, the thin lips pulled tight in a wicked grimace. But the face was her own, and the knife rising beside it was also hers, the largest in a set she'd given her parents for their anniversary years before.

She screamed inside, but her mouth wouldn't open. Paralyzed with fear, it took all of Muffy's strength to pull in her legs and clutch the pillow to her as she watched the hand with the knife rise higher and higher. It poised beside the head for a heart-stopping instant, then plunged. Muffy felt the punch of the blade against her chest, felt the hot spray of blood as it coated her cheek and arms and splattered over the white sheets and pillowcase. The knife twisted, screeching horribly as it scraped slowly against bone. A cry bubbled in her throat and with great effort she managed to push it past her lips, to scream, finally to scream....

Muffy was sitting up in bed, staring down at the pillow bundled in her arms. It was gleaming white, radiant and clean in the morning sunlight. She blinked several times, then looked around the room. The curtains were still, the old paneling unusually bright, the birds singing gloriously outside the window.

"A dream." She laughed nervously. She let her face fall into the pillow. "Just a goddamn dream."

She released the pillow and it plopped down on the top sheet, which lay on the floor beside her night table. Swinging her legs from the bed, she was surprised to find them trembling; Muffy planted them hard on the floor. Then she ground the heels of palms into her eyes.

"Okay, so you had a nightmare. No big deal. Now grab a hold of yourself, 'cause the day hasn't even begun."

She threw back her head and reached for the brush on her night table. As she began to run it through her hair, she heard a creaking on the steps.

"Clara?"

There was no answer, and she felt a nervous boiling in the bottom of her stomach.

"Clara, is that you?"

The voice that came back was tired from the climb. "Yes, it's me. Who'd you think it was, the bogeyman?"

Muffy relaxed and resumed brushing her hair. "That's bogeyperson, Clara. You're behind the times."

"Only one thing I'm behind in," she complained, "and that's the laundry. Otherwise, I'm just where I want to be." The lanky black woman came to the door, her arms full of neatly folded hand towels. "I tried to come up quiet, so I wouldn't wake you, but I guess I didn't do too good a job."

"You didn't wake me," Muffy assured her. "I was already up."

Clara scowled, then turned and began stacking towels in an adjoining linen closet.

"It's no news to me that you're up. What would be news, young lady, is if you ever slept for more than two or three hours a night. You're gonna grow up to be a tired thing like your poor ma was, and then there'll be no catchin' up on lost sleep."

Muffy lay the brush aside and stood, doubling over into a series of spine stretches.

"Vacation's too short to waste on sleep," she said between pants. "I'll sleep when I'm old, Clara—like you."

A smile grew on the wrinkled face. "As I just said, Miss Muffet, you ain't gonna live that long if you don't get your rest."

Muffy dropped her hands to the floor, thrust her buttocks in the air, and did a round of tendon stretches. "You know what I think? That rest is overrated. Sex is the only thing worth doing in bed."

"Hush!" The woman croaked, shooting Muffy a stern look. "If your mother or father heard you talk like that—"

"But they're not here, so I don't have to pretend that I'm still their little virgin daughter. I'm all grown up." She bounced on her left heel, counting to four. "And this weekend I'm going to act like it."

Clara shook her head and smiled. A whole weekend with Muffy and her friends. No matter what the twenty-year-old said, Clara knew that come Monday, she was one housekeeper who wasn't going to move from bed except to switch on the TV, eat, and pee.

***

He was looking at her breasts.

Chaz was awed. Stretched over the edge of the left one, the crocodile on her chemise shirt looked like a dinosaur. He'd been too discreet to stare before, but now he thanked God for zoom lenses and pushed it to the limit.

"You ready?" she asked.

Chaz sighed. "Just a second."

Reluctantly, he pulled the lens all the way back. The auto-eye quickly readjusted, bringing the whole of the girl into sharp focus, and he took a moment to admire her shapely legs beneath the strawberry red wrap.

"Yeah," he said, "just about. Move over a little, though, so I can get the house in, too."

The girl shook her head and took a giant step to the right.

"This okay?"

Now he had the girl, the house, and most of the island in view. "Perfecto," he said, and tilted the video camera down a few degrees to cut the glare of the water. "Okay, we roll on the count of three. One... two… go!"

The girl sucked in her round cheeks and said gravely, "This is Babwa Wawaws. I'm here at—"

"Give it up!" yelled Arch, who stood off to the side with a group of her friends. "It bites it!"

The others pinched their noses and booed; the girl stuck out her tongue. Cupping her hands behind her back, she smiled sweetly and started over.

"My name is Mary O'Reilly O'Toole O'Shea, and right behind me is the island my friend Muffy St. John owns. It's spring break and she's invited us over for the weekend. Right now, we're waiting for the ferry to take us over there, and"—she paused, stared wide-eyed into the camera, and threw her hands up "th-th-that's all, f-folks!"

Chaz kept shooting. "Why don't you tell us something about yourself?"

"Something about myself? Oh, gee…" The girl scratched absently at her pageboy. Then, with a flash of inspiration, she adjusted her headband and said in a voice like a Miss America candidate, "Well, I want to work with handicapped children when I graduate; my parents are my best friends; next semester I start convent school; and," she added with a grin, "I... fuck on the first date."

Chaz burst out laughing and had to struggle to keep the camera steady and his eye to the rubber eyepiece. The girl flashed a big, wet wink in his direction.

"April Fool!" she cooed.

"Whoo!" Chaz declared, punching the pause button of the portable recorder, "Nikki Brashears, you are one very outrageous woman. No shit, you're my kind o' gal!"

A few yards away, their friends were also laughing and Chaz flicked on the recorder, panning over to them.

"Okay, Kit, now it's your turn."

The slender girl urged him on with a wave of her shapely hand. "I pass…."

"Chicken. How about you, Arch? Skip?"

The camera zoomed in on Arch, whose broad shoulders shifted beneath his tight rugby shirt. He stroked his cleft chin and shrugged. "Yeah, sure, I fuck on the first date."

Beside him, Skip St. John doubled over with laughter, Chaz following him as he choked on the hit he'd taken from his joint.

"Shut it," Skip said, gagging, "this isn't... isn't… funn-nn…" His voice trailed off in a paroxysm of coughing.

"Ladies and gentlemen," said Chaz in a passable impression of Howard Cosell, "don't be fooled by that young man in the seersucker suit. Muffy's cousin may look natty and clean-cut, but what we're witnessing here is the endangerment and collapse of a prep school youth because of the evils of marijuana."

Arch put in, "Just don't toss your tacos on-camera. Nobody'll want to watch this if you do."

Still coughing, Skip flung him the finger, Chaz zooming in tight on the extended digit. Pulling back, he panned the camera from Skip back to Kit, moving in close on her face.

"So," he said, "now that we've heard from the intellectuals of the group, let's talk to the lovers. Oops, my mistake. Rob's not here yet? Where, oh where, can that little boy be?"

Kit's blue eyes narrowed. "You know he was hitching here. Give him time." She thrust her hand in front of her face, her fingers splayed. "And give me some room, will you? Go film a skunk or something?"

"I would, lovely lady, but Robbo's not here."

Kit sneered and turned her back, staring hotly across the lake. She barely listened as Chaz walked over to the others and muttered something about building a human pyramid while they waited for Rob. The gentle water calmed her; she didn't know why she let Chaz get to her where Rob was concerned. He teased Rob because Rob had no money; character and ethics didn't matter to them, it was all status and cliques. After three years of college, their snobbish attitude still grated on her; she was getting better at dealing with it, but there were times when Chaz, in particular, got through to her with the sheer relentlessness of his attack.

"Rob may not be rich," she said under her breath, glancing back at the group as they struggled to climb one atop the other—Chaz directing, as usual. "But he's better than the rest of you put together and squared."

She looked back at the lake and tried to imagine Rob, bedraggled and beat, slowly making his way from Route 6 to 184 to Route 44 to be at her side….

***

"Here'll be fine, thanks."

The Volvo wagon pulled onto the shoulder and Rob Ferris stepped out. The driver, watching him, wrapped her necklace around a finger, gently biting one of the pearls as her hazel eyes lingered on the seat of his tight jeans.

"Do you really have to run?" she asked in a low, seductive voice. "I've a blanket in back, and there're the loveliest little woods nearby."

"I'm sorry," Rob said as he brushed back his long, blond hair, "but I'm a bedroom kind of guy."

"So I noticed."

Rob smiled sheepishly. "Yeah, well... thanks for picking up the motel tab and also for picking me up." He reddened adding quickly, "I mean, thanks for the lift."

"It was a real lift for me too, hon. Hey—call me if you're in the neighborhood." She touched his hand lightly as he reached in for his day pack. "It's the only Mrs. J. Kelleher in the book."

"I'll remember that," he said, winking as he stepped back.

Rob shut the door and the young woman blew him a kiss as she drove off. He felt a wave of guilt as he thought of Kit, but he reminded himself that it was Kit who was always pushing for monogamy. Ever since they'd met as camp counselors two years before, she'd been the one chasing him and not vice versa. Besides, this had been the lousiest day of his college career, what with the ill-advised visit to his adviser; he'd needed the diversion to keep from stewing in depression, not only about what had happened but about what this weekend would be.

Rob rubbed his chest with self-satisfaction as he thought about the losers he'd be spending time with this weekend, the ones who couldn't get women despite their fancy cars and expensive clothes. The trick was to let them pick you up, and that wasn't much of a trick if you did Nautilus and wore designer jeans and a blazer and shaved every other day so you had that slightly scruffy Don Johnson look the women loved so well. He used what he had like a pro; no wonder the other guys razzed him. All they had were big bucks.

Hitching up his bag, he noticed a red Corvette slowing at the right-hand turn that accessed the highway. Running ahead, he stuck up his thumb and the car waited. Hopping in, he was glad to see a man in the driver's seat. Another lady like Mrs. Kelleher and he would never get to the island by ten o'clock, let alone have anything left for Kit at the end of the day.

CHAPTER

2

"You sure?"

"One hundred percent. Really, Clara, I can handle this place all by my stupid, young self."

The older woman frowned. "I never said you were stupid, girl. Headstrong maybe, but stupid—"She left the thought unfinished and pursed her lips suspiciously. "Now Muffy, you know I'm not overworked. There's nothing to do here all summer, 'cept on weekends. No, old behind-the-times Clara suspects that what you really want is to get rid of her, just brush her out of your hair. Admit it, child, is that the truth?"

"Look," Muffy said defensively, "all we're going to do is eat, watch MTV, smoke a little dope, and some of us may even sleep together. And we're going to do it whether you're here or not, so you might as well go off somewhere and enjoy yourself."

"MTV?" The woman winced. "Lord, don't you know that stuff is bad for you?"

"I promise to cleanse myself with your Ella Fitzgerald and Nat King Cole records when my company's gone."

"Don't you touch those records, girl! They're older than you are." Clara's lips relaxed and she hesitated. "The whole weekend, huh?"

"Every minute of it."

"You know, I've been meaning to get to Yonkers and see my sister. You won't tell Mr. St. John?"

"Not a word." Muffy crossed her heart.

Clara nodded tentatively, then more vigorously. "Okay, you got yourself a deal. I'll make a final run of the place to see that everything's in order, then I'll catch the eleven o'clock bus to New York."

"You won't be sorry," Muffy said, heading toward the basement steps while Clara went upstairs. The young girl paused by the open pantry door and pulled "March" off the Ogan Fuel wall calendar; she smiled as she stared at the fresh page.

"April first," she muttered. "I'll bet my CD player it's Chaz Vyshinsky's favorite day of the year." She shook her head. He was the only one she'd thought twice about inviting. Muffy liked sex and pranks as much as the next healthy American girl, but those and his video camera were all Chaz had on his mind.

"Well," she told herself, "there are the other kids to help share the misery, and even if it won't be the most relaxing weekend of my life, at least it won't be dull."

Walking through the pantry, Muffy turned on the light, pulled a kerchief from the pegboard hanging beside the switch, and hurried down the wooden steps, her penny loafers clip-clopping as she descended into the dusty cellar.

***

Clara straightened her pillbox hat in the hall mirror, then walked into the kitchen. Seeing that the basement door was open, she leaned in.

"Muffy, are you there?"

The young girl answered with a muffled "Yo!"

"Do you need any help?"

"No thanks. Got everything under control."

Clara stood up, frowning as she scuffed her black handbag on the handrail. She used a fingertip and saliva to wipe it clean. "The rooms are all in order, double—and triple-checked, and I'm on my way."

"Have a great time."

The woman tapped her shoe on the ceramic tiles. "Muffy, are you sure—"

"Yes," she yelled, "I'm sure. And listen, make sure you give Elizabeth and the kids my—shit!"

The oath followed a loud snap, and Clara ducked her head back into the stairwell.

"Muffy, what happened?"

"Nothing. Just broke an arm."

"What?"

"Not mine," she added quickly. "This mannequin's arm."

"Mannequin? The one from your uncle's clothing store?"

"That's the lady."

"What are you doing digging around in that old junk?"

"Getting ready for the party."

Clara went halfway down the steps. "Muffy, are you sure you don't need help down here?"

Clara peered through the dim light. She saw Muffy standing over the dummy, its severed arm in hand. The girl looked back and grinned.

"No, Clara, thanks. I'm just doing some last-minute straightening up, that's all." Muffy laughed and dragged her sleeve across her forehead. "Besides, it's good for me. I don't think I've ever worked so hard in my life."

"And what are you gonna do if something happens before your friends get here? Or if they don't get here at all? There's nobody gonna be around here to help till the first ferry on Monday, and—"

"You're a peach, Clara," Muffy interrupted, "but this one's mine. Look, the truth is I told my father I could handle this alone, and I will. My way. I'm sick of hearing that I'm too young or too irresponsible. I've got to do this for me."

Clara nodded thoughtfully. "And you really think you can manage a houseful of your crazy friends."

"Yes, I do."

More to herself than to Muffy, Clara said, "You know, I've been like a second mother to you since you were a baby. But there comes time when you've gotta let go, so—" She turned and began trudging up the steps. "Color me 'gone.' Have a nice party."

"Nice?" Muffy called after her. "It's gotta be better than nice. It has to be unforgettable!"

"Then have an unforgettable party," Clara yelled down, waving from the stairs. "Just don't do anything too wild."

Still holding the arm, Muffy poked it up the stairs and waved it like a flagstaff. "Thanks, Clara. See you Monday."

The young woman heard the kitchen screen door slam and listened as Clara's clunky old shoes thump-thumped on the slate walk. They sounded so far away; even the singing of the birds was muted down here. The only noise she heard clearly came from the corner of the cellar, just beside the washroom: the furnace sat there like a sleeping dragon, the gate of the flue clattering as it pivoted gently in the breeze sweeping down from the outside. The combination of sounds was almost like snoring, and Muffy warned herself not to let her imagination get the best of her.

"One nightmare a week is enough, thank you," she muttered as, laying the arm aside, she bent and dragged the mannequin from beneath bundled stacks of dusty, crumbling newspapers.

Sitting the figure on a stack of blankets, Muffy climbed beside it in order to reach the basement's one window, a ground-level transom hinged at the top. She threw the latch and was about to brush away some cobwebs when she heard a hollow tapping behind her. Easing back down, Muffy cocked an ear toward the steps and listened.

It sounded like dripping and it was coming from the washroom. Why it should start just then she had no idea, nor was she sure she wanted to know. The dream was still vivid and, as Clara had so carelessly pointed out, she was alone.

Muffy shook her head. "You're being a real asshole, you know that? Clara probably filled the mop bucket and didn't shut the tap tightly enough. All you've got to do is go in and give it a turn and it'll stop."

A turn, she thought suddenly. A twist, like the knife.

With formless fear building inside her, Muffy picked up the mannequin's arm and held it like a baseball bat. She walked slowly toward the washroom, the oblong, black hole in the wall that was like the cave beside the dragon. Reaching it, she stood by the jamb and extended her hand.

Reaching in the dark, just like in the dream.

She groped to the left and to the right, where she knew the light chain must be. There was nothing. She took a tentative step in, stretched her hand ahead, and listened to the dripping.

Is it water or is it blood? she wondered. The chain, where's the damn chain?

Her thumb brushed something sharp and she jumped back; as she did so, her arm swatted the chain and she grabbed it, giving a tug. The bare lightbulb flared to life, casting the small room in a dull orange glow. She looked around, her heart drumming in her throat.

The water was really water, and it was sweating from an overhead pipe. Clara had probably used the hot water earlier, and now the steam was condensing on the cool pipe and dripping into the wide, enamel sink below. The huge basin was black where the water was falling, worn through by years of this cycle. That's what you get for not knowing your own home because you have a housekeeper and never do a lick of work, Muffy told herself. As for the sharp object, it was a poker lying on the top of the incinerator.

Feeling like an idiot, Muffy yanked down on the chain and walked back toward the window, realizing just how ineffective the plastic arm would have been if someone had come at her with the poker or a knife.

Upstairs, the kitchen door suddenly screeched on its hinges. Muffy stopped and listened.

"Hello?"

There was no answer, no tapping of feet on the tiles, no sound of any kind.

"Anybody there?"

The silence was absolute and, deciding that it was the wind, Muffy stepped up to the window, using the plastic arm to push away the cobwebs and then prop it open. But after she'd done so, she walked briskly back to the washroom. Grabbing the poker, she lay it within easy reach as she went about her other chores in the cellar.

***

Chaz sat on the hood of his golden Trans Am, the video camera perched on his lap. He yawned, wondering why in hell he'd had to get up at six in the morning just to sit around and wait for the ferry.

"Because Muffy is Muffy," he complained quietly, blowing dust from the lens. "That's why."

He'd known Muffy since freshman year and he, like everyone, thought she was a gas—except when it came to things like parties and dances. If she couldn't set the time and make the arrangements and be the official hostess, she'd sit around with such a long, sour puss that everyone else mellowed out flat. It was easier just to do what she said and have a good time. But he still didn't like being told what to do, not by Muffy or any woman. Arch had once described women as Rambos in miniskirts, and he was right. All they knew how to do was take away a guy's space.

Chaz dragged his hand along the top of his short-cropped black hair, down the neck curl that hung well past his collar. He checked his quartz chronograph Seiko. The ferry was late. He didn't imagine they took schedules to heart in the boonies and was about to rewind the tape to Nikki's tits and watch them on the viewfinder when a flat, dark shape in the lake caught his eye. He looked across the water and watched as the large raft came chugging slowly around the island, two figures standing stiffly up front and a third in the back, by the engine.

"It's about fucking time," he grumbled, then turned and yelled across the rooftops of the other three cars. "Here she comes! Our Ferry Godmother has arrived!"

Skip and Arch left the latter's pickup where they'd been listening to Led Zeppelin; Nikki and Kit remained by the boat shack just beyond the cars. They were taking in the sun, which had finally risen above the pine trees, Nikki standing with her head against the wall and her eyes shut, Kit gnawing her lower lip and staring forlornly down the road.

"I bet I could fall asleep standing here," Nikki said dreamily. "I once went out with a guy who could fall asleep while he was taking a shower. Now that I think of it"—her nose crinkled—"I've gone out with a lot of weird guys. Chaz is pretty normal compared to some of them, an Ivy Leaguer in punk clothing."

"His libido seems normal enough," Kit commented, perking as she heard the low growl of a car engine. She gazed past the rock wall and trees that set off the lot from Route 44, and she shielded her eyes from the sun as a green Lincoln spun around a curve.

"That's got to be him," she said hopefully, walking slowly down the ramp. As she reached the foot of the ramp, she noticed Chaz fumble with the camera and turn his lens on her. She could just imagine what he was taping, but it didn't matter. She'd worn the tight, boy-cut bathing suit for Rob, and all that mattered was that he notice and care and get turned on.

The Lincoln hesitated by the white posts that marked the mouth of the parking lot, and then the car turned in. Kit's expression soured as the Lincoln rolled toward the boathouse. There was only one person inside, and it was a girl. Kicking hard at the gravel, Kit stalked back toward the shack, Nikki meeting her there with a sad smile on her full red lips.

The gleaming Lincoln pulled to a stop beside the ramp and a tall girl slid out. After straightening the fat leather belt of her khaki hiking shorts and tucking in the back of her blue button-down shirt—with a bold NY monogram on the pocket—she held up her hand and smiled broadly.

"Hi. Is this the ferry to the St. John house?"

"Any second now," Nikki said as she studied the willowy newcomer. She looked toward the lake and noticed Chaz eyeing her as well.

"Oh, thank goodness!" the girl gushed as she ducked into the car. With a loud grunt she hauled out her overstuffed suitcase. "I didn't know if I was on the right road, and when I finally found a service station and pulled in, the guy was reading Field and Stream with a funny look on his face so I got out of there real quick. Then I couldn't find another service station and I'm terrible with maps. Can't read them, can't fold them, couldn't even draw them in social studies. But I made it," she said proudly. "Like the saying goes, ‘There's nothing to fear but fear and self.’"

Kit and Nikki exchanged glances. From the corner of her mouth, Nikki said, "If one of us doesn't help this banana bean, she may lose her way to the dock."

Kit burst out laughing and, striding toward the ramp, met the struggling girl halfway. She picked up the suitcase strap.

"Oh, thanks ever so much."

"I'm Katherine Graham," Kit said, "Kit for short."

"Nan Youngblood." The girl smiled her cheek-splitting grin.

"And I'm Nikki Brashears." Nikki waved her fingers half-heartedly.

"Planning on staying awhile?" Kit asked. She tugged the valise as Nan lifted.

"Oh, no... it's mostly books and papers. I've got finals when we get back, and you don't know how far behind I am."

"I can guess," Kit said dryly.

Nikki watched as Chaz hopped from the car and scurried over, bumping into Arch as they tried to squeeze up the ramp. The brawnier youth scowled, muscling ahead.

"Hi, I'm Arch Cummings," he said, taking the bag from the girls. He hefted it effortlessly and looked down at Nan. "I've seen you around Saxon Hall. You're—?"

"Nan Youngblood. And I've seen you play rugby. You're very good."

"But only at rugby," Chaz put in, squeezing past Arch. His blue eyes were wide and glassy as he looked the girl over. He didn't even see Nikki walk up. "I'm Chaz Vyshinsky, and I've seen you, too—in my dreams. You've got great legs."

Nikki and Arch both shot him angry glances.

"Chaz," said Nikki through her teeth, "Arch already has her bag. You're not needed."

If Chaz heard her, he made no sign, nor did he react when Nikki made a point of turning her back on him. He continued to stare as the others walked off toward the dock, where the chug of the ferry engine had grown louder. He snapped from his reverie only when the ferryman barked "Stand clear!" and the raft's thick rubber bumper nudged the pier. Chaz hurried back to the car to get the camera, catching up with Skip as he made for the boat.

"She's perfecto," Chaz sighed, "utterly perfecto. Great legs, no bra, and probably no undies."

"A kangaroo's got all that," Skip pointed out, "and probably a higher IQ. Nan Youngblood would never have made it into college if her grandfather weren't Junius Saxon. He practically built the place."

Chaz followed him up the ramp. "No bra…" he muttered, oblivious to Skip's observations, to the daggers coming at him from Nikki's narrowed eyes, oblivious to everything but the fact that it was going to be one hell of a weekend for the eyes and, if the stars were right and luck was with him, for other portions of his anatomy.

CHAPTER

3

Clara walked through the wooden stile of the boat, pausing on the dock to study the half-circle of teenagers. She shook her head, allowing her eyes to linger on Skip.

"I want you to watch out for her," she said with a vague sense of menace. "Muffy's blood to you, and I don't want you to let anyone get too wild out there."

Skip was a snide youth with a square jaw and humorless eyes. He gave her a mock salute. "Yes, Frau General. The first person that gets out of line, I'll have them shot."

"Shot, shmot," Clara rejoined, looking around the group. "You just behave yourselves, all of you." Her gaze returned to Skip. "And especially you. I smell those funny cigarettes on your clothes. And I know why you smoke 'em too, Evelyn St. John."

Skip flushed when she said his real name, and his mouth twisted unhappily.

"It's because of your parents. I know they're hard on you, but if you took your studies a little more seriously, showed them you've got as much smarts as Muffy, then maybe they'd trust you, give you more responsibility. Then you wouldn't have to hide behind this." She took a few quick tokes from an imaginary joint.

Arch and Chaz laughed at her charade and Skip fired them an angry glance. He looked back at Clara, and after a long moment he withdrew his wallet. He fingered through the bills, selecting a fifty.

"And will this cover your professional services, Doctor?"

Clara waved him away. "Always playing games, not taking anything seriously. I'm only tryin' to help you, boy. What you do with my good advice is your business."

Turning to the ramp, Clara started down, stopping when Skip called after her.

"Maybe you won't take it because the trainman will think you stole it!"

Clara straightened, then turned slowly. Her eyes were angry slits, her mouth a rigid line. She said nothing, only stared. When Skip finally turned away she walked off, her overnight bag swaying at her side.

"Now what was that all about?" Chaz asked. "She work for your family, too?"

Skip didn't answer; he just gazed down at the water washing against the old pilings.

Having secured the raft, the large, rawboned ferryman walked over. "She's a tough old bird, that Clara. I offered to drive her the two miles to the bus stop, but she insisted on walking."

Replacing his wallet, Skip defiantly plucked a joint from his jacket pocket and lit it.

"She's a tough old bitch," he corrected, storming onto the raft.

The ferryman shook his gray-maned head. "That too," he agreed, then clapped his hands. "Okay, kids, I'm doing this special for Muffy and I want to get home, so let's go." Holding the stile open while the others got on single file, the ferryman added, "Go to the rear and stay outta the operator's way. That motor's on its last legs and he has to pay attention to what he's doing."

Hurrying onto the raft, Nikki caught up to Skip and took a hit from him. When she was sure Chaz was watching, she slid her arm through Skip's.

"So this is it?" She glanced toward the distant house. "No going back? No way off? Trapped for days on an island where men are men and the women oughta know better?"

Chaz stepped aboard and, sauntering over to Nikki, put his arm possessively around her waist. She smiled and let go of Skip.

"Control yourself, Sister Mary O'Toole. You'll only have one man to worry about this weekend—me."

Nikki let out a playful snarl and bit his cheek. Chaz kissed her and noticed the ferryman's young assistant watching her, his mouth hanging open.

"What're you looking at, dork?"

"Nothin'," the freckle-faced youth protested. He looked away, pushing his baseball cap back on his thatch of red hair and pretending to fuss with the engine.

"What's your name?"

"Buck."

"Well, Buck, I hate to say it, but your fly's open and your Hostess Twinkie's hanging out."

Buck's mouth slammed shut and he groped at his zipper. Finding it closed, he looked up with a half-baked smile.

"Sheeeeeit."

"Hey," Chaz said innocently, "that's why my folks send me to an expensive school. So I can learn neat tricks like that."

Nikki frowned. "Bullfeathers, Mr. Vyshinsky. I'll bet you've been doing that trick since you were six."

"Not the Hostess Twinkies part. Arch taught me that. I used to call it a salami."

Nikki turned to face the sun and noticed Kit loitering anxiously on the dock. She called out, "Any sign?"

Kit shook her head. Once Arch and Nan had climbed aboard, the ferryman urged Kit to do the same.

"Excuse me," she said urgently, "but we're still waiting for somebody."

"You may be," he said gruffly, "but I'm not. It's Friday, my last run o' the week. I don't get paid overtime, y'know."

"But you've got to wait! It's the only way over. If he misses this—"

Just then, Arch whistled loudly from the back of the raft and pointed toward the shore. Kit looked out through the trees and saw a red Corvette zooming down the road. It swung into the lot and, even before it stopped, Rob had opened the passenger's door and leaned out, waving to Kit. The instant the car pulled up beside Nan's, Rob bound from within and ran forward. The group on the boat applauded, Kit shutting her eyes with relief. Rob hurried up the ramp, swept the girl to him, and kissed her.

"Suffer ye of little faith!" he teased and kissed her again.

Kit broke off the kiss and frowned. "I was worried, Rob. What in the world happened?"

"Sorry," he addressed the group as he and Kit walked hand-in-hand onto the raft, "but one of my rides got a flat. I had to stay and help her."

"Always said you had a talent for jacking," Chaz quipped with an up-and-down motion of his fist.

Kit ignored Chaz and proudly walked Rob over to Nan when the driver of the Corvette called up.

"Hold the introductions, crew, or you'll only have to start all over."

"Who's he?" Kit asked.

"Hell of a nice guy," said Rob. "Told me he never picks up hitchers, but stopped when he saw me back on eighty-four. Said he had a feeling we were going to the same place."

"Must've been your dong hangin' out in anticipation," Arch said.

Chaz moaned. "Y'mean this rube's invited, too?"

The rangy youth came along at his own pace, carefully locking the car door and trying the handle, whistling as he strolled over to the trunk. He tied a crew-neck sweater around his neck, perched a tennis hat on his head, grabbed his duffel bag, then lightly shut the trunk. He walked over, still whistling and ignoring the ferryman's pointed scowl.

"Hurry it up," the ferryman shouted after the youth paused to slip on his sunglasses, "or you'll have to swim!"

Smiling as he vaulted the stile, the young man plunked down his bag. "Sorry, Mr. Pilot. You may get under way." He faced the others. "Good morning to you all. I'm Harvey 'Hal' Edison, Jr. But please call me Hal. Only my folks call me Harve... and I can't stand it." He looked past the faces that were gazing at him. "Boy, this sure is a pretty spot, isn't it?"

Chaz shivered as though ants were crawling along his spine. He said, "Not that you aren't welcome, Hal, but just to make sure—how do you know Muffy St. John?"

"From Ec. one hundred. We sit together. She invited me when I broke my long-standing rule against cheating by letting her copy my marginal utility curves."

"Why," Arch said with a snicker, "is something the matter with hers?"

Skip walked over, his eyes lighting briefly on a Bruce Springsteen badge pinned to the brim of Hal's hat.

"You like Bruce?" he asked.

"Springsteen? Yeah, he's still the boss."

"Harve, is it?" Skip asked after drawing hard on the joint.

"No, Hal."

"Like a toke, Harve?"

"No... no thanks."

Hal looked from Skip to the others and decided that he liked the fishy smell of the pilings better than the lot of them combined—with the possible exception of Rob. He'd found Rob remarkably unpretentious for a northeasterner. Without exception, however, none of the guys he'd met since coming to school in New England was as considerate or easygoing as the folks back in Tennessee.

"So," Hal said, studying the group and putting on a pleasant front, "you all buddies?"

Nikki said, "Except for Skip and Nan. Them we just met."

Kit added amiably, "But we'll all be friends by the end of the weekend."

"Provided we don't tear out each other's throats," Arch said with a laugh.

Behind them, the ferryman put his huge hands to one of the posts and pushed off. Buck simultaneously revved the idling engine, but it stalled; swearing, the ferryman went over.

While they were waiting, Chaz shouldered his camera.

"Just for the record," he said into the microphone, "we've now been joined by Nan Youngblood, Hal Edison, Jr.—any relation to Thomas?" Hal shook his head at the lens and Chaz continued, "And our long-lost, scholarship-packing pal from an inferior school, Rob Ferris."

Rob mouthed "up yours" into the camera, tapping his temple to show where the brains of the group lay. Chaz then turned the lens on Skip, who was sulking with Buck by the engine and finishing his joint.

Chaz said in a stage whisper loud enough for Skip to hear, "We've also got one very p-o'd Skip St. John who, since our last adventure, got reamed out by the household help. We don't blame him for being pissed, and we still like him even if it turns out he is a bum."

Nikki said defensively, "You know, I don't think Clara meant any harm. She probably didn't think twice about us being around, just said what was in her heart."

"I think you're right," Kit added. "It was a new experience for her to be around a St. John and St. John friends."

"Why?" asked Hal.

Because Muffy usually doesn't mix family with friends. I don't know why, but she just hasn't for as long as I've known her." She smiled. "Probably to protect her family."

Arch added, "Or to keep her friends."

Skip stood as the engine roared to life. He placed the roach on his tongue and swallowed, putting his hands in his jacket.

"That was real funny," he said, ambling over to Arch. "You're pretty clever when it comes to repartee, aren't you?"

"I like to laugh," he said.

"Who doesn't? The quick comeback, the wise remark are always good for that. And I'll bet you're as good with your hands as you are with your mouth."

Arch shrugged modestly. "Only when it comes to sports and girls. I'm not so good when it comes to knitting and baking."

Chaz laughed and even Skip grinned. Skip poked his tongue in his cheek, said, "Forget the jokes for a minute, Arch. I've got a proposition."

"Oh?"

Skip reached into his pocket and pulled out a jackknife, offering it to Arch. "Choose your weapon."

Rob laughed nervously. "Hey, what's this?"

Arch stared at the blade and nodded knowingly. "Knife-toss."

"A challenge to make grown men weep," said Skip, "a game of raw courage."

"And even better eyesight," Arch said, deadpan, taking the knife and examining it. "You good at this?"

"I've played some."

"What's the target?"

Skip put his pinky in his mouth, wet it, and slid off his signet ring. He laid it on the raft. "Center of the ring, five paces."

Arch's low brow furrowed. "And the stakes?"

"In deference to the fact that your folks aren't as rich as mine, I'll condescend to make it a buck a throw."

Arch considered this for a moment, then thrust up his thumb. "You're on."

The two youths shook on it, then flipped a coin to see who would go first. Arch won and, after taking five steps back, glanced at Chaz.

"Hey, Beta-brain, you getting this all on film?"

"It's tape, creep, and yes, I'm rolling. In case of a dispute, we can even have an instant replay."

"There won't be any disputes," Arch said. He thrust his chin toward Skip. "I'm gonna stretch this sucker out."

Chaz shifted the camera to Skip and said, "Before you start, I just want you to know something."

"What?"

"Your fly is open."

"Eat it," Skip said easily, then stood off to one side for Arch's throw.

Chaz stepped back and happened to catch Rob in the picture. "Hey, Ferris Wheel, guess what—your fly is open."

"Sure," said Rob, shaking his head.

"Okay," said Chaz as he turned the camera back to Arch, "so don't believe me."

As he watched Arch open the knife and pinch the tip between his thumb and forefinger, Rob felt a chill along his leg. He told himself it was the power of suggestion and let it go at that—until he thought back to his morning rendezvous. He'd left the motel room in a hurry; otherwise, Mrs. Kelleher would have taken him for a third time. It was possible, he conceded, stealing a quick glance at his crotch. To his dismay, he saw that the son-of-a-bitch was right. His fly was open.

Reaching down casually so that no one would notice, Rob began pulling up the zipper. But Chaz had been watching from the corner of his eye, and as soon as Rob made his move he swung the camera around.

"Ta-taaaa!" Chaz beamed. "Caught in the act of putting Mr. Snake to bed!"

"You shit!" Rob snarled as he finished zipping his fly; Kit looked down, and her brow arched questioningly. "Hey," Rob said, "don't give me the hairy eyeball. I took a leak at a Howard Johnson's and forgot to zip it, that's all."

"At Howard Johnson's? There isn't one between here and school."

"Well, it was one of those places with melted ice cream all over the parking lot and perverts in the bathrooms."

"But how could you just—forget?"

"Because I was worried about how late I was," Rob lied. "Christ, Kit, it's just my goddamn fly!"

"And there you have it, sports fans," Chaz said, slipping back into his Howard Cosell impression, "an unpeeled banana planting the first seed of doubt in what has hitherto been the most solid, most enduring romance in this reporter's experience."

As one, Kit and Rob flipped Chaz the bird; chuckling, he panned back to Arch just in time to record his toss. It was a high, slick throw that landed six inches beyond the ring; Arch applauded himself vigorously, then folded his arms while his opponent retrieved the blade.

Blowing a few splinters of wood from the knife, Skip walked to where Arch was standing and, barely aiming, sent the knife flying with a gentle flick of his wrist. The jackknife landed virtually perpendicular, falling short of the ring by less than three inches. Arch sucked in a big gulp of air as Skip hooted triumphantly.

"First round's mine!"

"Dumb luck!" Arch concluded. "Okay, one—zip, yours... but only for the next few seconds."

Running over to retrieve the knife, Arch was oblivious to the ferryman, who went back to the pilings and pushed off again. This time the engine kept running, and the boat glided smoothly into the still, sparkling water.

"We're off!" Rob cheered, feeling another flash of guilt as Kit hugged him closely and smiled, more content than he had ever seen her. He resolved, then, either to settle down or break it off with Kit this weekend. He only hoped that either way he would avoid having to hurt her.

***

The woman hummed as she looked down at the toys.

All around her the tower room was shrouded in dust. The sheets covering the antique furniture were thick with it, and there was a gray film that spread from the old chest to the bundled rug folded against the wall to the chipped ginger-jar lamp beside it.

But the toys were new, and she savored them. Spread out before her on a tabletop were a large lake painted on plywood and a papier-mâché duplicate of the island, complete with toy trees, sandy beaches, and a scale model of the house. Off to one side, at the outer fringe of the lake, was a model of the ferry; on its flat deck were meticulously detailed die-cast figures, seven male and three female.

The woman looked out through the dusty window high in the house. She watched patiently, humming all the while, until she saw the ferry finally push off from shore. When it did, she gently lifted the model and moved it carefully to the middle of the lake. Then, ever so gently, she reached out and took a metal figure—one of the men. Still humming, she rapped the base gently against another male figure. The second one fell backward from the deck of the ship and landed with a thud on the wooden lake.

She stopped humming. Slowly, the silence became low breathing and the breathing became a laugh and the laugh became an angry shout. The shout became a scream and then, as quickly as it had come, the screaming stopped.

It was time, and she was ready.

Finally, it was time.

CHAPTER

4

The water slapped gently at the bargelike raft as it coasted along the lake. Almost at once, the passengers had broken into two groups: those watching the knife-toss and those taking in the sights.

Nan was part of the latter group, and she said exuberantly, "You know, I really think we're going to have a terrific time this weekend. Muffy is such a neat person. I only met her this term in drama society, but she really tries hard to make people feel comfortable when they're around her."

Chaz rolled his eyes and Nikki suppressed a laugh. Hal stood slightly aside, constantly shifting his attention from the group to the lake.

"And she's such a talented actress," Nan went on. "Did any of you see her in Ghosts?"

"She was in Ghostbusters?" Chaz teased.

"No, silly, Ibsen's Ghosts. And she was wonderful! She played Mrs. Alving. There were so many exceptional scenes with Vinnie Papa, who played her son Oswald. He was going insane from hereditary syphilis."

"To tell you the truth," Chaz told Nan, "Ghostbusters sounds more interesting. Besides, I'll take Sigourney Weaver over Muffy any day."

Hal looked over and shook his head. "Ibsen's play has real substance—for instance, the ghosts of the title. They aren't really ghosts, you know, but the dead conventions of the past. We're talking here about fluff versus art."

"Hey," Chaz shot back, "did you see Ghostbusters?"

"No, I rarely go to the—"

"Then back off, the thing's a masterpiece. I got the Dolby cassette last Halloween. Hooked it up to my stereo amp, threw it on the projection TV, watched it three times in a row. I find something new in it each time. Who cares about dead conventions and hereditary syphilis? Bill Murray makes me piss in my pants."

Hal nodded slowly and sucked on his upper lip. "In that case, remind me never to sit next to you at the theater." He looked over at Nikki. "Did you see Muffy's Mrs. Alving?"

She looked embarrassed. "Fraid not. I took a course in nineteenth-century European theater first semester. I thought we might get to go there for a field trip or something. But then we started reading Ibsen's—oh Christ, what was it called? Lady Unger or Inger of something-or-other—"

"Lady Inger of Ostrat."

"That's the one. Well, one session of that and I transferred out. It was just too heavy. I took American Cinema One-oh-one, instead; that's where I met Chaz, in fact."

"Darn!" Nan exploded. She flopped her suitcase down and unzipped the flap. "Sorry, but I totally forgot to do my reading this morning. And if I don't keep to my schedule, I'll never get done!"

Fishing out a hardcover book, she shut the suitcase and curled up on top of it, bent low over the volume. Hal watched her for a moment as she followed the words with her finger; he told himself that at least she was reading a book instead of Cliff's notes; that accounted for something.

Nikki threw back her head and let the wind blow through her hair. "Maybe I'll try Ibsen again next year. But right now I don't want to think about it. All I want to do is relax. Muffy knew what she was doing when she invited us."

"You know what I find amazing?" Hal said to Nikki, pointedly ignoring Chaz, "Muffy's her real name. I mean, I'm Harvey, but they call me Hal, so I thought... 'Muffy,' it must stand for something. Like Muffin or Mead or Murchison. But nosiree! That's her name." He glanced at the girl over the top of his sunglasses. "I bet you're her oldest friend."

"Well, actually, she's three months older than I am."

Hal continued to stare, then laughed politely. "You know what I mean," he said hopefully.

Nikki grinned and nodded. "We've gone to the same schools since nursery school. Say, Harvey, mind if I ask you something?"

"Not at all."

"Are you planning a career in politics when you grow up?"

"Yes," he said, beaming. "How'd you know?"

"Oh," she said, thinking about the phony laugh, the correctness of his clothes, "just a hunch."

"First, though, I'm hoping to interview with Muffy's dad at his company, for Southern regional sales. You know, he's worth more than fifty million over the counter." He paused, then said importantly, "I've been wondering if that's the reason Muffy invited me."

"If what's the reason?"

"To plan for her future. Can I confide in you?"

Nikki nodded, crossing her fingers behind her.

"My thinking is, I join the firm, her dad retires in a few years, the company goes to her; at the same time, she goes to me. That way, she gets her cake and eats it, too."

"Aren't you forgetting someone?"

"Who?"

"Skip. Way I understand it, her uncle's a partner or manager or something and Skip, as her cousin, is entitled to a chunk, too."

Hal looked over at the knife-throwing youth and shook his head slowly. "He won't be any trouble," he said vaguely. "No trouble at all."

Nikki stared at Hal in amazement, seeking Chaz, who'd wandered off. She found him curled up on the deck in front of Nan. She was totally engrossed in her book; Chaz, who had pulled a magazine from his video bag and folded back the cover, was totally engrossed in Nan. Nikki looked out at the water but edged closer to the pair.

"Whatcha readin'?" Chaz asked.

Nan finished the sentence and looked up. "Milton. Paradise Lost. For Professor Hansell's course on the English epic. It's a shame—it's a dying form. Not too many people read it nowadays, even in college."

"Hey, don't say that. I've read Milton."

"You have?"

"Yeah, Milton the Monster, and his goblin friends on Horrible Hill. Great show, but an even greater comic book."

Nan hid behind a confused smile; she regarded the magazine. "What're you reading, something for journalism?"

Chaz handed her the glossy publication. "No, suck and fuck."

Nan's lips parted slowly and her brown eyes widened.

"It's a mail-order video club called Post Office Boxes. For three hundred smackers a year you can borrow as many flicks as you want. But the great thing is, I've got two machines that I hook together so I can copy 'em. With an enhancer between them, I can actually improve the image. Focus it to a hair… if you get my meaning."

"I-I think so," Nan said, closing the magazine and handing it back to Chaz. His expression grew dark with something resembling intelligence.

"Yes, I'm studying the origins of the American pornographic film. I'm taking independent study this term. My adviser agrees with me—we're not gonna be sheltered college kids all our lives. Someday I'm gonna have kids—you're gonna have kids—and someday that kid's gonna come up to me and say, 'God, Dad, video porn's really a major part of our lives. You were there, how'd it get started?" He spoke in a self-sacrificing voice. "I wanna be able to answer their questions. Besides, it's research I can do by myself. I don't have to deal with geek librarians or pages of old books stuck together with someone's boogers."

"Good God," Hal complained, taking a few steps toward the stern; Chaz made a face at his back.

Her smile fading, Nan returned to her book, her voice low and toneless as she read, "’Who first seduc'd them to that foul revolt? Th' infernal Serpent; he it was, whose guile stirr'd up with Envy and Revenge....’"

"Yeah." Chaz sighed, rolling up the magazine and swatting his hand. "Blame it on the snake. Everyone's so afraid of sex they take it out on that poor mother."

Rising, he saw Nikki glaring at him from the corner of her eye and he went over to cuddle her. Looking across the deck, he happened to see Rob and Kit involved in an animated discussion. Grinning wickedly, he crouched and, popping the microphone of his video camera into a small parabolic amplifier, he turned the dish and lens on the couple.

"... that's not my point," Kit was saying hotly.

"I know what the point is," Rob answered. "You don't want me to hitch, you want me to buy a car. Okay, but I'm a state university boy. I don't have the perks like some of you private college kids do. Christ, do you know what it was like in high school, playing baseball or rugby against Arch or Chaz and watching them drive off in their fancy cars while I got on my fucking ten-speed bicycle?"

"I'm not talking about hitchhiking," she protested. "I'm not even talking about money. I'm talking about your attitude toward me."

"Oh, Kit, come on—"

"No, really! I'm not asking you to get married, I'm just asking for a show of concern, a minimum commitment. And not leaving me waiting at places is part of that."

"It's the bullshit part.

"Wrong, it's courtesy! And after keeping company and making love for nearly two years, I just don't think it's a lot to ask."

Arch called over, "Excuse me, is quiet a lot to ask? Nothing personal, folks, but I'm down a sawbuck and not in the best of moods."

"That makes two of us," Kit shot back, turning from Rob and walking over to Nikki; she flushed with anger and embarrassment when she saw what Chaz was doing.

"Look," Arch said, pointing the knife at his opponent, "I think I'm gonna call it quits. You're a friggin' Jim Bowie and you set me up."

"Come on," Skip urged, "just one more."

"No, enough's enough," Arch replied, slapping the knife hilt in Skip's open palm.

Skip flipped the knife back to Arch, who bobbled and caught it. "One more try, double or nothing."

"Give it a rest!" Arch yelled, turning and tossing the knife back at the same time. There was a muffled pop and then a moan; Arch spun just as Skip staggered back, the hilt of the knife protruding from his chest.

"Ohhh... God…" Skip gasped, his hands closing around the hilt.

Blood was beginning to stain his shirt and seep through his fingers. Nan screamed and her cries triggered a similar reaction in Nikki; Chaz continued to run tape.

Skip gasped for breath and stumbled to the edge of the raft; Rob started toward him just as he toppled over backward, sinking quickly and silently below the glassy surface.

"I don't believe this!" Chaz mumbled. "I'm a fuckin' Abraham Zapruder!"

Tearing off his Reeboks, Arch screamed, "I'll get him, I'll get him!" as Skip vanished; at the ferryman's urging, the stunned Buck slowed the engine.

Arch paused suddenly, his shoes in his hands. "Hey, wait—I can't swim!"

"Shit," Rob swore, pushing past him; Chaz laid down his camera and also ran over. But before either of them could jump in, Buck had collected his wits and, tossing off his cap, made a flying dive from the raft. As he leapt, he knocked over the tool kit that the ferryman made a futile effort to grab; he swore as Buck and the metal box simultaneously disappeared into the lake.

The silence on the raft was oppressive, broken only by Nan's sobs and the coughs of the heavily idling engine.

"Shit," Rob said again as the seconds dragged on. "I'd better go in."

Pulling off his shoes, Rob jumped in while Chaz prepared to do the same. Rob cut the surface cleanly and was quickly swallowed by the murky waters.

Their eyes were on the leeward side, away from the engine; no one saw nor heard the water break quietly behind the swaying raft. Nor did they see the pair of hands wrap themselves around the rubber bumper and pull the dripping body onto the deck, or the figure rising slowly, silently, and walking toward them. Only when it spoke did they become aware of its presence.

"Hi," came a chipper voice. "Is this what you're looking for?"

Everyone turned in unison. Skip stood in mid-deck, tossing the knife end over end in his right hand; in his left hand he held half of a football shoulder pad. He was grinning from ear to ear. Behind the group, Arch suddenly shouted and jumped into the air.

"We got 'em! Whoo-ee, did we nail 'em!"

"You maniacs!" Nikki screamed. "You planned this?"

"Jesus." Chaz's hand was on his chest. "You almost gave me a heart attack."

Rob and Buck surfaced behind Arch and saw Skip as they tread water. Skip threw the pad at the duo, the broken sack of theatrical blood still taped to the front.

"A memento, from me to you," Skip said, folding the jackknife into his pocket. "I'm only sorry that Clara missed it. I wonder what she would have had to say about our little theatrical masterpiece."

"That you're both crazy idiots," Rob snapped, spitting out water and swimming for the raft. "Spoiled goddamn bastards with nothing better to do."

"Why Mr. Ferris," Skip said, "I do believe you've quite failed to get into the spirit of the day!"

Chaz frowned and ground his palm to his forehead. "Of course. April fools... you crazy jerks. You dumb, selfish jerks. Somebody could've got seriously killed out there!"

Arch seemed hurt. "Aw, c'mon Chaz, you'd've done it if you'd thought of it. We set this up in the car, played it out beautifully, I thought. Hey," he said, "at least we don't go in for this your-shoelace-is-untied garbage!"

Rob pulled himself aboard and stood with his face inches from Arch's. "I owe you one," he said grimly, then turned to Skip. "As for you, Evelyn, Clara was dead-on. You're a major dipstick."

Skip laughed while behind them, doing a dog paddle, Buck just now realized what had happened. His thin lips, purple with cold, pulled into a tight smile.

"Sheeeeit," he declared gleefully, "we been had!"

"Hook, line, and sinker," Arch pointed out.

Skip bent over the side. "How's it going out there?"

"More or less fine. I'm a bit wet, though."

"I gotta tell ya, Buck, I'm sorry about this." He extended his hand to the grinning youth and helped him up. "I really was counting on these other turkeys to save me. You're a good sport though, Buckaroo, and I really appreciate it."

Pushing through his passengers, the ferryman walked over and scowled at his assistant.

"Okay, Buck, party's over."

"Yessir." Buck paused to wring the water from his cap; as he did so, the engine died.

"God damn it," the ferryman barked. "We lost the tool kit because you're an effin' clod, and now this. We're screwed, you know that?"

Buck swatted the cap on his leg, then flopped it on his head. "It's okay, Cal, I think I can fix it." He turned to Skip. "Borrow the knife?"

"Sure." Taking it from his pocket, he handed it over. Buck pulled out the blade and scrutinized it for a moment.

"Yeah, this should do it. Just give me a minute."

Walking to the outboard, he unfastened the cowling with the edge of the blade, then used the point to push the frayed starter rope back in its casing. Tugging once, he was able to start the engine. Chaz, Nikki, and Rob applauded, and Buck smiled; signaling the ferryman that all was well, he replaced the cowling and squatted beside the engine. Skip had gone over to chat with Arch; everyone else had returned to their business. Buck laid the handsome Hoffritz blade aside, then casually laid his T-shirt out in the sun to dry.

CHAPTER

5

The ferryman held the rudder tightly, using short, deft turns to guide the raft toward the landing dock. They were close enough so that the throaty roar of the engine echoed back at them from the hollow beneath the dock. Hearing such a sea beast awaken beneath them, the birds on the pier rose and flew inland amidst a chorus of yells and whoops.

Buck was beside the ferryman, glancing now and then from his bare feet to the youths who were gathered in groups of two and three. His eyes were on his feet when Skip called to him.

"Hey Buck—c'mere, quick!"

Buck started and glanced at the side of the raft. Skip was looking back and motioning him over urgently while Arch peered into the water. Buck stood and went over.

"What now, Skip, y'see a mermaid?"

"No, this is serious. How deep is this lake?"

Buck thought for a second. "This close to shore? I'd guess ten, maybe eleven feet."

"That's not bad."

"For what?"

Skip reached into his wallet, retrieved two fifties, and held them up to Buck's face. "For someone to go to the bottom."

"Why?"

"Because numbnuts here," he said, pointing to the embarrassed Arch, "was looking at my signet ring and dropped it. This is yours if you can find it."

Buck stared at the money. "A hundred bucks?"

"All of it. That ring's been in my family for over a hundred years and it means a lot to me."

"You're on!"

Buck looked out over the lake and did some rapid calculations. "Let's see, we've gone about ten feet. Yeah, I can make it."

Throwing off his cap, he ran and jumped mightily into the raft's wake. He landed a good three yards from the ship and, as soon as he was gone, Skip and Arch fell against each other, laughing.

Nikki, standing nearest the two, broke from a long kiss with Chaz. "Now what'd you do, you infants?"

"Got him again." Skip laughed, pulling the ring from his jacket pocket. "What an a-hole!" He slipped it onto his finger and sobered quickly when Buck came up for air. The helmsman swam energetically with one hand to catch the boat; the other hand was in the water, holding up his pants.

"I couldn't see it," he said breathlessly, reaching the bumper, "so I left my belt down there as a marker." Skip reached down to help him out. "I'll come back later and—"

Buck saw the ring on Skip's finger and bit off the rest of the sentence. His eyes went up, only this time they weren't laughing.

"You prick."

"Not so!" Skip declared. "This li'l fish scooped it up in his tiny fish lips and brought it back while you were gone."

"It was Charlie the Tuna," added Arch. "Or maybe it was Flipper. I get them confused."

"You're both pricks," Buck complained.

"Aw c'mon, Buck, it was just a joke." Skip wiggled his fingers, urged Buck to take them.

The ferryman craned around. "Hey, Buck, what the hell're you doing'? I'm gonna need help here!"

Buck said, "I'll come around under the raft," and, with a final disdainful look, ducked beneath the ferry.

Arch turned glumly to his bemused companion. "Gee, Skip, I thought ole Buck'd take it better than that."

Skip snorted. "He's just pissed because of the c-note. I'll give it to him anyway-it was worth it."

Suddenly, there was a sickening thump beneath the raft and it rocked slightly; seconds later, Buck bobbed up dazed on the other side.

"Buck! Buck, you okay?" The ferryman left the rudder and ran over.

Barely treading water between the approaching boat and the pilings, the youth burbled, "Head... hurts...." His head lolled back and he went under, reviving when the cold water struck his face. He thrashed briefly and then sank back again.

"Here!" yelled the ferryman, dropping to his belly and reaching out. "Take my hand!"

With no one at the rudder, the ferry began to twist slowly like a pinwheel; it narrowly avoided the only other boat moored to the dock, and the ferryman yelled for someone to steady the helm. Rob ran over and, pushing hard against the current, slowly stopped the craft from spinning. But the corner of the raft was plowing directly toward Buck, and there was no chance to turn it.

"Buck," the ferryman cried feverishly, "look out!"

"Oh, Jesus-" Rob muttered, leaning hard into the rudder. The raft swung around but not enough. The ferryman jumped back to help, but he was not in time as the edge of the vessel drove flush into Buck's chin, pushing him back. Buck screamed as his face was pressed between the boat and one of the algae-encrusted columns, the raft dragging him helplessly back until the ferryman could kill the engine. When it sputtered and died, the big man rushed forward.

"Christ," he choked as he bent over Buck, offering hasty words of encouragement while the youth shrieked horribly.

Kit walked up to Rob and gripped his arm, while Nikki hugged Chaz; the others just stared in dumb horror. The ferryman's body blocked their view, but no one could miss the way the water lapped the edges of the raft, leaving smears of red on the rubber. Nan turned, Hal standing dutifully beside her while she vomited over the side.

"Oh, God!" Kit murmured as the ferryman slid into the water. They could see Buck clearly now. There were hideous gouges in the right side of his face and in his shoulder; torn muscle and broken pieces of bone jutted from the wounds, blood coating it all a vivid red.

Snapping from their stupor, Hal and Chaz hurried over to grab the posts and secure the raft, the two of them grunting as they guided the dead vessel in. While they did so, the ferryman dragged the thrashing Buck ashore, stealing a quick glance at Skip and Arch as they stood huddled at the rear of the deck. His expression was one of searing contempt, and even the unflappable Skip was chilled to the bone….

***

Down the beach on the other side of a long sandbar, Constable Sam Potter heard Buck's screams. The beefy man turned from the St. John estate and set the binoculars on the seat.

"Now what in the hell could that be?"

Slipping on his sunglasses, he started up the outboard and pushed down on the throttle, racing the boat toward the dock. He rounded the sandbar just as three young men jumped from the raft and went to where Cal was stooped over someone kicking wildly in the sand. Potter's fleshy jowls wriggled as he shifted the throttle to maximum, and the boat slapped swiftly across the lake.

Rob was the first one to reach Cal's side. "Listen, I used to be a camp counselor. I know first aid and can maybe—"

"You know shit!" the boatman snarled, gently holding Buck's head so that the deep gashes didn't roll in the sand. "You kids tore off half his face, so just stay away!"

"It was an accident," Arch said in vain. "No one wanted this to happen."

Buck was groaning and rocking back and forth. "They did it, them! They did it… oh God, it hurts…."

"Easy, Buck, it's okay. . . okay," the ferryman soothed. "There's time for that later."

The three young men gathered round and looked down helplessly just as Constable Potter's boat swung around the raft. Potter snapped off the engine and, tossing the line around the mooring, ran ashore.

"Mother of God, what happened?"

Chaz said, "It was an accident. He was in the water—"

"They sent him in and got him hurt," the ferryman cut in.

"No," Arch protested, "it wasn't like that! We didn't mean—"

Potter held up his thick hands. "Never mind. I'll take statements later. Cal, you've got to get him to a hospital on the mainland. Take my boat, it'll be faster."

The ferryman nodded. Potter sloshed back to the motorboat and threw him a towel. While the constable moved his gear from the raft, the ferryman knotted the cloth gently around Buck's head. The fabric rested diagonally across his face, covering one eye but leaving the other open and glaring madly at the group.

"I'll get you," he muttered. "I'll get you all!"

Wading back to shore, Potter drawled, "There's only room for two. You take him, I'll get back some other way."

Cal nodded again as he slid his brawny arms under the youth and bore him easily to the boat. Propping his head on one seat and bracing his legs beneath the other seat, the ferryman sped off without looking back. The last thing the group saw was the fabric of the sky blue towel staining quickly with blood.

Raising each foot in turn and shaking the water from his Frye boots, Potter turned to the silent teenagers. He removed his sunglasses and wiped the water-flecked lenses with his tie. "I'm the constable for this township, and if that man survives he'll be lucky I just happened to be by here. Now," he said, putting the sunglasses back on, "what the hell happened?"

Rob and Arch looked out to the raft at Skip, who turned away; Arch sighed and began a halting explanation, starting with the knife-toss. Potter listened, taking notes on a small pad.

As he wrote, a Dodge Caravan, preceded by the strains of the Rolling Stones, came bouncing over the grassy dunes that led to the beach. The van slowed as the driver saw the constable; it rolled to a stop beside an old pickup parked behind the dock. The emergency brake groaned, the door flung open, and Muffy hopped out.

"What's going on, Sam? What's wrong?"

The constable exhaled loudly. "Tricks, pranks. Better ask your friends, I've heard enough." He folded away his pad. "Buck's been hurt, but the fact is no one broke the law. Cal just took him on over to the mainland. He's lucky I was here."

Muffy looked from the boys onshore to the raft. Her angry gaze settled on Skip's back.

"Anyway," Potter continued, "reason I was here was to check on a report of some unauthorized activity in the area."

"A report?" said Muffy, pushing her hair from her face. "A report from whom?"

Potter didn't answer. Instead, taking a quick glance at the drained and anxious faces of the youths, he asked Muffy, "Your folks around, Muffy?"

"No, why should they be?"

"I'll ask the questions. No word from them or anybody else?"

"No, Sam. Come on, what is it?"

The constable still didn't answer. He just walked over to the raft and, climbing aboard, knelt beside the engine.

"Just like I thought. Burned out, worthless." He looked over at the boat rocking gently where the dock met the shore. "Muffy, I'll have to borrow your outboard to get back to shore."

"Sure. We keep all the keys on the board in the kitchen, but I think there's an extra one underneath the cushion there."

Potter checked. Looking on, Skip asked, "And what if one of us has to get back to shore?"

The constable said, "You're a smart kid. You figure out a way."

"Yeah? Well, fuck you too."

Potter's eyes shrank to black slits and slowly he inflated. He hitched up his gunbelt. "So... we've got a wiseass, have we? I can fix that little problem of yours, boy. I can put this boot of mine way up that smart ass and knock some sense into it."

Muffy moved between them. "Sam, let him be. My cousin's got a bit of a chip on his shoulder."

"Your cousin? I thought I smelled your Uncle Frank on him. Well, keep his nose clean or I'll be de-lighted to come back and clean it for him. Y'hear, little boy?" he yelled to Skip.

Skip fluttered his hand from side to side. "I'm tremblin' in my boots, Ironside. Or should I say Iron gut?"

Before Potter could respond, Nan walked toward the boat, Hal trailing her protectively.

"Excuse me, Constable, but really, I-I'd like to know what to do if we need something."

With a final leer at Skip, Potter pushed his hand under the plastic cushion and withdrew the key. "What you do, little girl, is call and I'll come and get you. Otherwise, I want you to stay put, all of you. If there's anything else, or anything happens to Buck, I want to know where to find you."

Muffy asked, "What about those reports you mentioned?"

"What about 'em?"

"You said something about unauthorized activity. What did you mean?"

The constable regarded Muffy with a half-smile. "Probably nothing. A prank, just like the kind your friends here have been pulling. If I find out it's anything different, I'll let you know."

With that, Potter collected his binoculars, spare can of fuel, map, and lunch box and started the motorboat. It hummed quietly and he flopped into the seat, cutting the wheel hard and turning from the dock.

As he sped off, Nikki stepped from the raft, and sidled up to Chaz.

"I know this is gonna sound crazy, but why do I feel safer now that he's gone?"

Chaz watched him go. "Cause he's an underpaid civil servant who'd just as soon spit at rich kids as help 'em." He looked over at Muffy, then snickered. "Well, Muffy, guess what? We're here."

Muffy looked down and noticed the ferryman's footprints in the sand. Remembering her dream, she turned and said abruptly, "Get your stuff and let's go."

Her guests quietly collected their luggage and followed her up the beach, Hal bringing up the rear. As he watched them, he realized how scared they were, how vulnerable. And he couldn't help but wonder how much it would take to make a bigshot preppy sweat….

CHAPTER

6

The pickup hopped and lurched along the road, Rob struggling to keep up with Muffy. Having quickly recovered her high spirits, she had taken the van with Nan, Hal, Nikki, and Chaz; Rob volunteered to drive the others in the truck.

Kit reached over and pushed back the wet locks of hair that kept slipping in front of Rob's eyes. She didn't want him to take his hands off the wheel; it was all he could do to stay on the narrow, curving road, let alone worry about his hair. Beside Kit, Skip was staring into the space the radio had once occupied, while Arch was crouched on the floor, leaning on the door and straddling a gaping hole.

Skip stared blankly at the rectangular opening in the dashboard. There were things hovering deep inside the void, tendrils connected to nothing, red and white shapes hanging in a dead, useless tangle. It reminded him of Buck, and he finally tore his eyes away.

"What's the matter?" Arch asked. "You grieving for the radio?"

Skip shook his head. "Buck's not going to make it, is he? He's not going to survive. Did you see his face?"

Kit looked to her right and patted the back of Skip's hand. "It was an accident, Skip. You didn't know—"

"No, my father's right. I'm less than worthless. The degeneration of the family line has finally reached its peak of perfection in me."

Kit stole a look at Rob, who shook his head once. Arch stared down, watching the road speed by beneath him. The three of them were at once embarrassed for Skip and frustrated because there was nothing they could do to help.

Looking for something to break the uncomfortable silence, Kit pushed back another long strand of Rob's hair and said, "Maybe it'd dry faster if you opened the window."

"You want me to catch a cold?"

"It has to be chilly air for you to get sick."

Rob arched a brow. "Really?"

"Learned it on Jeopardy. It was about seventy back at the shore, so you're safe."

Shrugging, Rob reached for the handle; it dropped off in his hand and he stared dumbly at the metal piece. "Well, gang, my secret's out. Mild-mannered Rob Ferris is really Captain Marvel!"

Skip snickered. "They don't go down. These goddamn windows have never been fixed. The St. John attitude is 'Why bother?' If something doesn't work, give it the heave-ho. If it bleeds, send it to the doctor and let him worry about it. If it dies, bury it." He looked out at the van. Even through the closed windows the sounds of Jerry Lee Lewis reached them from Muffy's portable CD player. He said bitterly, "Except for kids. If your son's a wreck you're stuck with him, no refunds, no exchanges. But at least there's Muffy—sweet little Muffy. Nothing bad ever gets to her."

"Please, lighten up," Kit implored. "You're with friends now, so forget your father. None of us is judging you."

Skip smiled once in appreciation and then fell silent.

Having negotiated a winding course through two long, towering road cuts, the van tore away from the pickup and sped along the final straight stretch of road. It pulled into the long, sloping driveway that ended near a small carriage house. Muffy jumped out.

"There it is: the Garage Mahal, where my dad keeps the Peugeot whenever he ferries it over. That's the only car that goes in there. The others," she said, "we leave to the inchworms or bird-doo."

Muffy took a few steps from the car and sucked in the crisp morning air. She did a roll-up and stretch, then looked over her shoulder. "Hey, you guys going to sit there all day?"

Chaz looked at Nikki and they slid slowly from the front seat; behind them, Hal opened the back door and turned to Nan, whose face was deep in her book.

"You coming?"

"In a minute," she said. Hal saw that her expression was dour, her eyes moist.

"You weren't really reading during the ride, were you?"

Nan shook her head. "I-I was thinking about poor Buck."

Overhearing, Muffy strode over. "Look, Nan, we're all upset. But Buck's going to get the best medical care available, so let's try to remember why we're here and have some fun, okay?"

Nan put on a weak smile. "’Think only good thoughts to play a happy scene.’"

Muffy put her hand on her heart and said reverently, "Drama coach Joseph Vetoe, September 1985. Acting in a comedy."

Muffy helped Nan out, and for the first time she looked over at the stately mansion. The visitor's eyes brightened. "Oh, Muffy... it's magnificent!"

"Thanks."

"Boy, you're not kidding," said Hal. "It must have been built, what, a century ago?"

"Close. It's ninety-four years old. My great-grandfather bought this island and built the house with his first million."

Chaz looked nervously at the wide wooden shutters. "Say, you got bats here?"

"Sometimes. Why, you afraid of them?"

"Afraid? Even Batman makes me piss in my pants."

"The boy's got a real bladder problem," Hal noted.

"So says Mr. Big Deal," Chaz rejoined. "Listen, it isn't funny. We had a bat get in the living room when I was little, an' all I remember is this thing whipping around the ceiling and my mom screaming her lungs out. It gave me a phobia."

Muffy laughed, starting toward the house. "Well don't worry, they're only here during the summer. I've no idea where they spend the rest of the year, but it isn't here."

"They probably fly south," Nan offered, "like birds."

Hal hoisted Nan's bag from the back of the van, then claimed his own. "I don't think so. Bats are mammals, you know. More than likely they hibernate, like bears."

The young man looked over to see if Muffy was impressed with his show of knowledge; she didn't seem to have heard and, annoyed that he'd lost a chance to score some points, he and Nan hurried after the others. They were just passing a neatly kept garden in front of the house when the pickup came rumbling up the driveway.

Struck by inspiration, Chaz ran back to greet the newcomers and Arch was the first one out—helped along by Chaz, who snuck alongside the pickup and yanked open the door. Arch tumbled backward, and while Chaz helped his friend up, the others collected their bags from Muffy's van and went over to the garden. Chaz and Arch followed, disagreeing about whether physical pain qualified as an April Fool's gag. When they were all together, the group trudged up to the double doors. Muffy hadn't locked them and they walked right in, marching along the entry hall to the short flight of steps that led to the sunken living room.

Muffy held out her arms. "This is it: welcome to Muffy Manor! It needs a little work, but—"

"Wait a minute," Arch said, turning a full circle as he took in the sprawling room and its panoramic view of the lake. "You mean to say you own this place?"

"Peut etre." Muffy crossed her fingers. "Next month, if all goes well. When I turn twenty-one. It's my first-stage inheritance."

Hal whistled. "I'm afraid to ask, but what's your second-stage?"

"You might be talking to your future boss, Harve," teased Nikki.

A satisfied smile settled on the young man's face as the others went with Muffy to the bay windows.

"That's the mainland over there," she said. "We used to spend our summers here before my mother died. Now Skip and I are the only ones who visit regularly. Dad spends most of his time at the yacht club. He only comes here when he wants to impress some lady friend."

"This'd do the trick," Kit said, wrapping her fingers around Rob's hand. "Talk about old money."

Muffy grinned. "On a clear day you can see the Kennedys."

Chaz had wandered away from the group and called suddenly from the dining room. "Wow! What a hoot!"

Muffy smiled knowingly and motioned the others past a mahogany recamier sofa, which was upholstered in the same off-white as the drapes and mahogany armchairs. She led her guests into the dining room, where Chaz was standing beside a highly polished oval table.

"Believe it or not, Chaz, I was thinking of you when I had Clara set this up."

On the table were eight place settings. In keeping with the party atmosphere, the plates, cups, and napkins were all paper, the utensils plastic. However, what had caught Chaz's eye was the way each setting had a name card poised in the lap of either a Ken or Barbie doll.

"Look at this," Chaz enthused as Skip, unamused as he lit a fresh joint, brought up the rear. "Our very own place settings with our very own place cards and a Ken or Barbie. Outasight!"

Each doll was superficially dressed to resemble the guests, Hal's with a small sweater knotted around its neck, Chaz's with a length of crepe hair added to the back of Ken's crew cut. Skip's had a sliver of E-Z wide paper poked in its mouth.

Everyone walked to their setting. Nan giggled. "Wow, it's just like in Agatha Christie!"

Hal snapped his fingers. "You're right! And Then There Were None, wasn't it? All those people in an old house on the island…."

"Yeah, that's the one," Chaz agreed as he unzipped his camera case. "I rented the tape and it was awesome."

Arch picked up a plastic spoon with prongs on the end. "Talk about your basic awesome. Lookit—sporks! And napkins with little Hallmark bunnies! Shit, Muff, you really spared no expense."

"Why not?"

"Sure," Nikki said, "you don't win friends and influence people by being cheap. You've got to spend it to make it."

"How do you think my father made all his money?"

"The old-fashioned way," Nikki said, bending over her Barbie doll. "He inherited it." She looked at the figurine, which had blond hair and a touch of red paint for lipstick. "God, do I look like that?"

Chaz whipped out his camera and boomed in a stentorian voice, "All right, don't anybody move!" He panned once around the table, pausing briefly on each person as they stood behind their setting. "One of us in this room," he said mysteriously, ending his pan on Arch "… pulls his wang!"

Arch held up both middle fingers; undaunted, Chaz moved the camera back one place to Muffy.

"Her wang?"

Muffy stuck out her tongue and said, "Come on. There are eight bedrooms upstairs, and the first couple up has their pick!"

***

After her guests had selected their rooms, Muffy left them to their own devices while she prepared a picnic table at the shore. Promptly at noon, she summoned everyone to the beach where they lunched on Ry-Krisps spread with Jarlsberg, Bonbel, and Brie. Afterwards, everyone but Skip went swimming in the lake; the brooding young man went off to begin a feast of drink and smoke that left him well lit long before dinner. He returned later in the afternoon to help Muffy get a fire going in the barbecue pit and watched the hamburgers while she shuttled between the kitchen and dining room, setting out potato chips, buns, condiments, and drinks. Everyone else played volleyball until dusk, when they retired to the dining room.

Now the chandelier had been turned down low, and everyone sat around the table, tired but contented. Outside, the fiery ripples dwindled and then disappeared from the lake as the sun began dropping behind the house; when it was nearly gone, the crickets began their nightly symphony joined, in time, by the owls. Inside the dining room, Chaz listened attentively for the telltale screeching of a bat. When he heard none, he settled back into the cushion of the nineteenth-century side chair and picked at Nikki's unfinished pecan pie. Only Skip had left the table, having dined briefly on Scotch before staggering off into the living room where he curled behind his bong and stared out the window.

"Well," Arch said, downing the last of his wine and belching, "Harvey's got his job interview all figured out, but what about the rest of us? Anybody know what they're going to be doing next year after graduation?"

"Oh God," Nikki said, "don't remind me."

"I can't decide," Nan offered thoughtfully. "I'd like to go to graduate school in English, but I don't think there's any future in it."

Chaz said, "Anyone who goes into teaching is a flamer. You know what teachers get paid these days?"

"Squat!" contributed Nikki.

"Not that you have to worry, Nikki." Muffy winked at her. "You can always get married."

"Oh, some option. With how many kids?"

Muffy turned to Chaz. "Well?"

"Well what?"

"Answer the woman! How many kids do you want?"

Chaz stood his fork in Nikki's pie. "Don't look at me, ladies. I plan to direct."

Nikki frowned. "And just what does that mean?"

Chaz recognized the tone of voice and knew that if he didn't tell her what she wanted to hear it would take at least an extra hour to warm her up later. He stroked her arm and said in a W. C. Fields voice, "It means, my darling girl, that we'll have to hold off having kids until I've got a few features under my belt. Then we can have a dozen if you want."

That was the right answer, and Nikki's expression softened; Chaz sighed quietly with relief.

"You know," Arch said, "it's really incredible. Look at us. Here we are, privileged, independent, on the threshold of maturity... and most of us still don't know what we're going to do with our lives."

"Rob knows," Kit announced proudly. "He's going to medical school."

Chaz cast an excited look down the table. "Hey, no shit? You got early acceptance?"

Rob looked up from his napkin, which he'd been folding into a paper airplane. "Uh—yeah, I applied for early acceptance." He turned to Kit and said softly, "Listen, can we talk about this some other time?"

"Why? You had your meeting with your counselor, didn't you?"

"Yeah."

"Then—"

Sensing Rob's discomfort, Muffy said, "Kit, I get the feeling Rob doesn't really want to talk about it in front of everybody."

"No," he said unconvincingly, "I don't mind."

"Sure, why should he mind? We're all friends."

"Well, sorta," Nikki contributed with a hidden glance at Hal.

All eyes returned to Rob. After a long moment, he crumpled the half-finished plane and tossed it on his plate. "Mr. Douglas Dickface Scott said to forget it."

"What!?" Kit and Arch both exclaimed.

"You've got to be kidding!" added Chaz.

Rob went on with obvious difficulty. "I wish I were. He said my grades might be okay, but basically I possess 'an essential lack of seriousness.’"

"Oh, shit, him too?" said Arch. "That's what my guy said! I told the dude, 'You're kidding! How can anybody be serious about anything when some moron can steal a bomb or push a button and blow the rest of us to smithereens!"" Arch's shoulders drooped. "I was really into that little speech, but he wasn't impressed."

"That's because he happens to be right," Rob said. "What you just said is bullshit on parade."

"Huh?"

"You heard me, it's true! We don't take things seriously because it's easier not to. That's what Clara was saying before, and not just to Skip but to all of us. It's easier to have fun and run away." He turned to Kit. "I don't blame him for turning me down. I've still got time to get my act together, and I will. I hope we all will."

Arch spat out a hostile "Well, forget you!" and then settled back in his chair.

Chaz nodded portentously. "Fuck 'em all. It's easy to be serious when you're halfway to being dead like the old farts who pass judgment on us. They don't have to worry about being cut down in their prime, they're past it."

"Well," Muffy said, closing one eye and making a sock-in-the-chin sweep in Rob's direction, "now that we've gotten our blood pressure up, not to mention having pigged out on delicious junk food, anyone mind if we do something good for our bodies?"

"Now you're cookin'!" said Chaz, coming to attention.

"No, porn-brain," Muffy reached behind her, "I mean this."

Retrieving a bowl of fruit from a tray-top table, she set it before Chaz.

"You like McIntosh, as I recall?"

Chaz smacked his lips and reached for a large red apple. "Clean the dorm vending machine out every other day," he boasted and bit down greedily; his face immediately contorted and he spat several times quickly, pieces of the apple splatting in his plate. He looked up to find Hal holding the video camera on him and Muffy tittering behind her hand.

"Well," she went on, as though she'd been interrupted, "these aren't McIntoshes. They're wax. April Fool…."

Chaz silently began wiping bits of plastic from his lips. Even Rob and Arch began to chuckle; only Kit sat reflective and silent, sadly stroking the back of Rob's neck.

As Muffy fell to apologizing to Chaz, the kitchen door slammed. She craned around.

"Skip?"

There was no reply, and Arch glanced into the living room.

"Yeah, he's gone. I wonder where to?"

Rob said, "Maybe we ought to follow him. If he tries to drive or swim in his condition—"

"He won't," Muffy said. "He doesn't like to do either. He's probably taking the back path to the boat house on the other end of the island. That's where we keep the boat during the winter, and it's also where he keeps his garden."

"His garden?" said Nan.

"His plants. Y'know, his dope. I didn't lay in any grass and he probably went to get some."

Chaz raised his glass. "Here's to Skip and his priorities."

"Hey," Nan said, recovering from her confusion, "that's something we forgot to do! Can I make a toast?"

"Sure," said Muffy. She passed the wine around the table, and after everyone had taken a short spill Nan raised her paper cup.

"Someone once said to me, 'Cherish the friends you make in college—'"

Arch murmured, "I cherish any friend I can make, especially the women."

"—because they'll be the friends you cherish most the rest of your life. So... well, here's to us and here's to my life, because I'm very glad to be here, and to be a part of all of you."

The toast was made unanimous, after which the contented diners began to disperse. Outside, the sun finally had set and the full moon rose over the lake. Looking at it, Muffy wondered if she would dream as she had the night before. The vivid nightmare was frightening enough, but what worried her more was something her psych professor had said during one of her lectures: "Dreams are the rudiments of what is to come. What we dream is what will be."

CHAPTER

7

The moonlight glittered on the glass-framed hunting prints that lined the steps to the second floor.

Carrying Nikki's suitcase, Muffy gave her a brief history of the pictures they came from the palace of King Olaf of Sweden—while they ascended. The other guests were either in their rooms or using one of the three bathrooms upstairs. Muffy showed Nikki to a small room at the end of the hall and popped the door open with her elbow; Nikki looked in at the sparsely furnished room, her eyes lingering sadly on the single bed.

"Oh great, quarantine."

Muffy plunked down the suitcase. "I told you it was first come, first served. If you and Chaz hadn't been dawdling downstairs—"

"He cornered me. You know what that's like."

"I do indeed." Muffy pressed her cheek to Nikki's and kissed the air. "But c'est la vie. Just holler if you need anything."

"Another room," Nikki groaned. "On the other hand, between the sun, fun, and wine, I guess we could all do with a good night's sleep."

Muffy turned to go, but Nikki—after hesitating a moment—grabbed her hand.

"Hey Muffy, got a sec?"

"Sure. Is something wrong?"

"I hope not, but... well, I'm worried."

"About what?"

"You. I know that sounds terrible, but I know you and Arch had something going before I met him." She laughed uneasily. "You always seem to get there first. But Muff this time Chaz is mine, okay?"

Muffy seemed surprised, then nodded sweetly. "Believe it or not, Nikki, I did notice. You don't exactly have him on a long leash."

Nikki flushed. "It's that obvious, huh? Well, the pickin's aren't great out there, and for all his faults I really dig Chaz—"

"Say no more," Muffy assured her, "I'll be good."

"Thanks. I mean that, Muff."

Muffy tapped her delicately cleft chin. "I have been curious, though. How does Arch feel when he sees you hanging all over his best friend?"

"Oh, Arch is good people. And just between us, I, uh... still lend a helping hand when he needs it—if you get my meaning."

Muffy nodded knowingly. "Mother Fist and her Five Daughters. God, if only he weren't such a lousy lay. Which," Muffy said wistfully, "leaves me with Harvey. Sure we can't work out a trade, just for the night?"

"For Harvey? Mr. Junior Achievement? Oh, please!"

"Yeah, talk about bad calls. I thought he'd be fun to have around you know, someone to have on my team in case we broke out the Trivial Pursuit."

"Wrong!"

Muffy sighed. "Mais oui."

Hugging her friend, Nikki shut the door and locked it, and Muffy proceeded downstairs.

As she neared the battle zone—the dining room—Muffy admitted to herself that despite what she'd told Clara about the virtues of work, there was nothing she hated more than cleaning up after a big meal. She hoped, at least, that Clara was having a good time. Muffy still found it difficult to believe that her confidante and friend had that trouble shortly after they'd moved to Darien. Her father always said that Clara had a violent temper when anyone cast aspersions on her integrity, but the thought of her having spent two years in prison still seemed incredible. The dispute at the drug store had been over a fifty-dollar bill and the pharmacist's refusing to take it. Clara insisted that he'd reached for the scissors first, but they ended up in his side just the same; the judge would have been even harder on her if Muffy's father hadn't interceded through the good-old-boy network.

"And here we are worrying about who's sleeping with whom," Muffy reflected as she plucked a Hefty bag from the pantry and began clearing away the disposable plates and utensils. Picking up the plastic knife they'd used to spread on the ketchup, she wondered if she could ever get mad enough to stab someone. Deciding that such questions were the surest way to bring on a nightmare, she pitched the knife in the bag and went efficiently about her work.

***

In the first room after the landing, Arch rubbed his hands expectantly. That morning, he'd been the first one up the steps and had nabbed one of the two double rooms. Closing the door, he shuttled around like Groucho Marx, a smirking husk crammed with joyous thoughts.

"Hey, all right... lucky lady, whoever you are, we are gonna have some privacy!"

His eyebrows froze in a delighted arch as he checked his appearance in the mirror behind the door.

"Eat your heart out, Stallone!" Giggling, he pushed the two single beds together and ran through the math again. Assuming that Muffy ended up with Hal, Rob with Kit, and Nikki with Chaz, that left Nan bed-and-boardless. She wasn't the most buxom girl of the group, but even without whipped cream he could think of a dozen different things to do with those long, sexy legs.

He pulled off his rugby shirt, fluffed up the tuft of dark hair in the center of his broad chest, and flopped backward onto the bed, his hands behind his head, his feet bopping impatiently. He tried to imagine what Nan would be wearing. Maybe she'd dig deep into that fat suitcase and come up with a French sarong or fishnet camisole or a satin teddy with thin, fragile spaghetti straps.

"Edible straps," he mused, shivering as he pictured himself nibbling through them slowly, first one shoulder, then the other, the teddy clinging precariously to her breasts before dropping—

Kicking up and down with anticipation as he heard her coming down the hall, he decided that even flannel pajamas would be fine. He listened, holding his breath, as she turned the knob.

Chaz walked in and Arch stopped flopping, as though someone had pulled the plug.

"Evenin', Archibald."

"Oh man, you gotta be kidding."

Chaz heaved his gear on the bed. He was shirtless and, behind his frown, his teeth shone from their recent scrubbing. "It's no joke, lad. I went to Nikki's room and the damn door was locked."

"No way!"

"Yes way!"

"Well listen, pal, there've got to be other rooms and you're gonna hafta find one. Y'see, I'm expecting—"

"Tapioca, fellah. Everyone else is in bed and accounted for."

"But Chaz, how can that—"

"Hey, it's me, Arch, Mr. Libido. I just made an informal check up and down the hall. Doors are locked or rooms are empty, but no one's free."

Arch slumped back. "Pissfuck." After a moment he began scratching his head, once more the detached mathematician. "Now wait a minute. If Nikki's aione and you're here, who's got Nan?"

"I dunno. Hal, I suppose. Or maybe even Muffy."

Arch's chin fell slowly. "Muffy? Jesus, you don't think—I mean I dated her!"

"I rest my case." Chaz smiled crookedly. "Maybe Muffy knows something about us that we don't."

"What're you talkin' about?"

Chaz bent his hand limply at the wrist and blew his unwilling roommate a kiss. "What do you think, sailor?"

Arch didn't wait for an "April Fool" but was up in a flash, shoving the beds apart, pulling on his T-shirt, and hurrying into their private bathroom. He locked the door and braced himself against it, despite Chaz's reassuring laughter.

***

The humming was tuneless but melodious, like the cooing of a contented infant. The woman stood there, her shadow falling across the house and its toy occupants, enveloping all but one of the metal figures. The exception was wearing a painted tweed jacket and standing outside the house.

For a long moment the woman seemed disinterested in doing anything other than expressing her contentment as she surveyed the miniature landscape. At last, her hand came down slowly and moved the lone figure toward the boat house, dragging it awkwardly along a sandy stretch on the landscape. Then she withdrew her hand and the cooing stopped as she listened to the footsteps outside the window. They were the only sound to reach her, the only sound that penetrated a room that was otherwise as quiet and still as death itself.

***

Skip stopped, pulling himself together. He'd started up too suddenly and gotten dizzy, and now he took a few slow, deep breaths before he could continue.

The young man had no idea what time it was or how long he'd been standing by the door gazing out at the lake. All he knew was that a few moments ago he'd started to crash and that wasn't what he wanted. God, he didn't want to be sober again—ever.

Half-walking, half-tripping, he started again. He picked his way down the driveway, leaning against the van as he walked around it, then made his way to an old dirt path choked with weeds and spring grasses. In a few minutes his goal was in sight, a white wooden shack at the foot of the hill. He locked a half-shut eye on it and surged forward.

"Fort… Fort…" he sputtered, pursing his lips to push out the rest. "Fort Knox! Fort Knox! Columbia gold, my. ... p-private... vault!"

He smiled stupidly and walked on, sometimes leading with his shoulder, sometimes with his arms extended, but never taking his glazed eye from his destination, from the shack, from his haven….

***

Hal looked around the garret, his stomach roiling. Dammit, it wasn't supposed to be like this! Muffy had asked him over for a reason, yet here he was, alone, getting ready for bed, while she was just down the hall. It didn't make sense and it had to be rectified.

First, however, he considered the facts; there was too much at stake to go off half-cocked. Muffy was outgoing, but he didn't think she was forward in that way. So the question wasn't whether he should take the initiative, but when. He didn't want to be so forward that he blew his chances with her, but he also didn't want to wait a day and lose valuable time. Then there was all that talk during dinner about friends and future plans. She had to be waiting for him to make a move, and to make it tonight. Nothing else made sense.

"Yeah, go for it!" he declared, yanking off his tie and slinging it over the bedpost. "Knock her socks off."

Hal took off his jacket, deciding to be cool and informal, his charm on his sleeve. He opened the closet door, caught a quick glimpse of himself in the mirror hanging behind it, and smiled. He and Muffy were the only classy people on the island, a perfect match. It wasn't in the bag, but it was damn close; he turned, his smile collapsing as he looked ahead.

There was a faded newspaper photograph taped to the back wall of the closet. He might have missed it in the dark had it not been circled in red marker; confused, Hal switched on the closet light and moved closer, his eyes shrinking slightly as he examined the clipping.

The photograph was a vivid picture of a car crash. Peeling it free, he laid it atop the dresser to study it under the lamp light.

"It's a joke," he said nervously as he regarded the twisted metal with ghastly hints of faces and hands. "A joke," he repeated and stood back. He swept the clipping aside and, with trembling hands, hung up his jacket. He went to his open duffel bag and grabbed a handful of rolled socks and neatly folded jockey shorts. Opening the top drawer of the dresser to put them away, he stared down at a pile of clippings.

"No!" he snarled, dropping the clothes, "it isn't possible!"

Hal began rifling through the thick stack. Each was about a fatal car crash. Some had photos, some did not; all were boldly circled in red ink.

"What stinking bastard—"

There was a knock on the door and it opened a crack; Hal jammed the clippings back in the drawer, shutting it with his backside.

"Harve?"

It was Chaz. Of course, Hal told himself, it was Chaz. Chaz who did it, the April Fooler. And now he was coming to see how his gag had gone over.

"Yeah. I'm here."

"Can I come in?"

"Sure, why not?"

Donning a look of utmost composure, Hal came forward to greet him. Chaz entered and looked around enviously.

"A single, huh? You did all right."

"I guess so. I'd rather bunk with one of the chicks, but by the time I got up here the two doubles were taken."

"You shouldn't've hung back with Muffy. I mean, Muffola's got a great spread here, but the living quarters suck pond water."

Hal's laugh was contrived, and he turned to the bed, his expression sour.

"Hey," Chaz continued, "you're not planning to sack out yet, are you?"

"Why? You got some last minute April Fooling in mind?" There was a thread of anger in his voice.

"No, Arch and I were thinking of something more along the line of cards and sauce."

"Thanks, but I had enough to drink at dinner."

"Then come down and lose some money to us. I ran into Muffy and she said she might join us; she nixed fuck-rummy and strip poker, but who knows what she'll agree to with a few Bloody Marys in her?"

Hal eased slightly. "That's different. Yeah, sure, I'll play."

"Good man." Chaz slapped him on the shoulder. "See you downstairs in a bit."

"Sure, just as soon as I do some cleaning up."

Chaz left, shutting the door behind him; he hadn't caught the pointed remark, and Hal stood for a minute regarding the dresser.

He said in an angry whisper, "I don't know how you found out, Chaz, but you had to have done it. You and your shit-for-brains pal Arch. But I'm not going to cave in. If you can dish it out, I can take it; Harvey Edison, Jr. doesn't cry uncle."

Straightening himself up and facing the mirror, Hal combed his hair and put a smile on his lips, though the smile stopped far short of his eyes.

***

As Nikki unzipped her bag, she wondered if she should get it together and find Chaz. She knew that Muffy would stay away from him, but she wasn't sure about Nan. And as tired as the grapey Cabernet Sauvignon had made her, she found the inside of her thighs warming when she imagined him huddled close in her small bed.

She took out her straw makeup kit and went over to the dresser.

"Nuts," she murmured, pulling open the drawer, "we've slept in tight spots be—"

The words froze in Nikki's throat. Setting the kit aside, she reached into the drawer and lifted out an eyeless black bondage hood. Beneath it were a red mouth-bit, purse crop, leather G-string, and a pair of silver nipple clamps.

"Oh...!" she gasped in a small voice.

Grazing her fingertips up and down the length of the crop, she tried to decide whether it was Muffy, Chaz, or Arch who'd done this.

"Chaz," she concluded, sliding a finger into the slit crotch of the G-string. "From one of his damn catalogues."

It was, however, an interesting selection. The implements weren't quite as gaudy as the ones she'd see when, as a little girl, she spied on her parents. But they brought back memories of her earliest fantasies and, later, experimentation with her lover from the Village.

Now that she thought about it, she'd never mentioned any of that to Chaz. However, as her neck grew hot and flushed she realized it didn't matter who was responsible for putting these things here. Only one person could do anything about it, and with quickening breath she made for the door.

***

Arch opened his shaving bag and regarded his sour reflection in the medicine cabinet mirror.

"Cards," he snarled. "I come to a house fulla babes and I end up playing cards. Not even a hand job to relieve the horns, just—cards."

Reaching into the leather bag and fishing past the endless strips of condoms in packets boldly stamped Stimula, Arch took out his razor and can of lather and flipped open the medicine cabinet door. His face grew pallid as he looked inside.

Neatly arranged on the three glass shelves were a stack of syringes and needles, a tightly coiled length of rubber tubing, razor blades, and his own high school graduation picture.

"Holy shit."

Arch reached for the rubber tubing and regarded the rest of the paraphernalia with a mixture of nausea and disgust.

"Who—"

The words wouldn't come. He had no idea who could have done this, had no idea who knew except for Chaz. But this was beyond even Chaz's warped sense of humor. All he could think was that Chaz might have mentioned it to someone who had no scruples, someone who wanted to hurt him.

"Nikki? Muffy?"

It made no sense, but Arch couldn't think about it now. The feel of the tubing and the dry smell of it brought the agony back; dropping it, he sat heavily on the toilet seat, his face in his hands.

"Shit…" he moaned, moving his forehead onto the towel rack. "Oh Christ."

Pushing his lips around a hand towel so no one would hear him, Arch began, uncontrollably, to sob.

***

Nan stepped from the shower feeling great. While everyone else had been swimming and playing ball, she'd struggled through the rest of the thirty-eight pages of Paradise Lost, Book One, skimming the actual battle between Satan and God with the millions of flaming swords drawn from the thighs of Cherubim. She'd skimmed until she got to who won, which was all that mattered.

Wrapping herself in one of the thick towels Muffy had put out, Nan was in the midst of uncoiling the cord of her hair dryer when she heard a faint crying from somewhere outside the private bathroom. It sounded like the wailing of a newborn baby, but that didn't make any sense; Nan cocked an ear toward the door and listened carefully.

The cries died away and, shaking her head, she quickly dried her hair. Then she hurried to her room and climbed into bed, Milton propped on her knees. But she read and reread the same line as her mind drifted back to the plaintive cry. Suddenly, the wailing started again.

Nan laid the book aside, her face turning this way and that as she tried to place the source of the sound. It was coming from within the room and, climbing from bed, she looked quickly around—at the open closet, the closed window, the bookcase.

Her eyes finally settled on the large mahogany wardrobe. She hurried over.

A small tape recorder was sitting by itself in the top drawer, the tape counter moving slowly as the machine unreeled its pain. Nan pushed down the Stop/ Eject button and snapped out the cassette, gazing with startled eyes at the white piece of tape across the front. Crisp black typing read "Nan."

Her shout was low and guttural and preceded by a heartbeat her rending of the cassette. She tore at it, her long fingernails digging under the tape and ripping it out, pulling away yard after yard until she and the wardrobe were covered with it. And when her rage was spent, the sadness set in. Nan staggered back to the bed and lay on it, spilling her tears into the back of her hand, too stunned even to consider who might have done this and why.

***

For a long moment there was a pall over the entire house. And as she considered her handiwork, the figure smiled.

CHAPTER

8

Muffy sloughed off the overstuffed Hefty bag, then stood back as it rolled against the side of the incinerator.

"They're right," she said, "those suckers do hold more." Contemplating the small iron mouth of the incinerator, Muffy saw that the bag would have to be dismantled, and she decided to leave it until morning. Tugging off the light, she strode briskly toward the steps, warmed by the satisfaction of a job well done.

"Hey, Muffy!"

The voice was loud and strident and Muffy jumped back a yard. She scowled up at the top of the steps.

"Arch! You scared the daylights out of me!"

"Sorry, I was just looking for Chaz. You seen him?"

"Not since he asked me to play cards."

"Me too. Now I can't find him."

Collecting her splayed wits, Muffy hurried up the steps. "Maybe he decided to go to bed."

"Nope, I checked."

Muffy backpedaled a moment and said, "I don't mean his, dummy."

Arch frowned. "Nikki? But he said she went to sleep."

"Maybe she got up for a midnight snack." Stepping into the kitchen, Muffy checked to make sure the porch light was on for Skip and left the kitchen door unlocked. She faced Arch, studying him in the fluorescent glow of the light over the sink. "Say, are you okay?"

He looked away. "Yeah, sure. Why?"

"Your eyes are all red."

"Oh that!" He laughed. "I think it's pollen or ragweed or some shit. I must be allergic to something on your little island. Been feelin' it since I got here."

"That's too bad. Do you want something for it? Clara's a hypochondriac and Mom was diabetic, so there're all kinds of goodies in her medicine chest. She's got everything from Tylenol to hypodermics."

Arch fired Muffy a queer look but quickly regrouped. "No, I-I'll be fine. Sleep'll fix me right up." The skin crinkled around his eyes. "Say, Muffy, am I in Clara's room by any chance?"

"Uh-uh. She sleeps over at my end. Why?"

"Oh, uh, I was just curious. I noticed it's really clean."

"Clean?"

"Yeah. I figured Clara would take extra special care of her own room."

"She takes extra special care with everything." Muffy didn't understand what Arch was getting at but decided not to press it. "Well, since the card game's obviously been postponed, I guess I'll go bag some z's. It's been a long day."

Muffy bid him goodnight and started to go, but the young man caught her arm.

"Hey Muff, since we've got a minute alone there's something I've been meaning t'ask. Didja ever think about getting back together?"

Muffy regarded him sympathetically, then lightly extricated her arm. "We had fun, Arch, but I think we're both better off looking in other directions."

"Why? We laughed a lot, and sex was good."

"We laughed a lot," Muffy agreed, "but I'm looking for different things in my relationships these days."

"Like what?"

"Oh, like Keats and museums and music—"

"I like music."

"I was thinking more in terms of Cole Porter and Chopin."

Arch shifted from foot to foot. "They're good. Actually, though, I wasn't thinking of a relationship exactly, just kind of seeing each other once in a while."

Muffy gave him a knowing look. "Like tonight?"

"Tonight wouldn't be bad. I mean, I don't have any urgent appointments, do you?"

"Just one." She started to move away. "With the sandman."

"C'mon, I'm serious!"

"Me too, Arch. Do you know what time it is? I'm ninety-nine pounds of tired."

"Then you can sleep late tomorrow."

"I can't, the birds don't let me."

"I'll kill the little tweeters!"

"I like them. They eat mosquitoes."

"I'll eat the mosquitoes."

"You're sweet," she said, continuing into the living room, "but think of all the girls whose hearts I'd be breaking if I were to accept."

"They'll forgive you!" he shouted.

Waving pertly over her shoulder, Muffy ran up the stairs, Arch's eyes fastened longingly to the seat of her sweatpants. He drew a tremulous breath and slumped forward, as though holding his shoulders erect was a responsibility he no longer wished to bear.

"Shit," he declared with a flourish of pride, "what do I need her for? She's frigid anyway."

Shuffling slowly from the kitchen and marching upstairs, Arch went to his room and hesitated. He stole a look up the hallway. His brow knotted and his square jaw slid from side to side like a switch in some slow, primitive computer; at last he nodded.

"Why not? I've got nothing to lose but my boner."

Removing his shoes, he crept across the hall to the other double room. Putting his ear to the door he listened for several minutes, barely breathing; it was Kit who finally broke the silence.

"You angry with me? About dinner?"

"No."

"You sure look angry."

"I'm not."

"I never would have said anything about medical school if I thought—"

"Fuck medical school," Rob said evenly.

There was another long silence, then Kit said, "Really, Rob, I'm sorry about what happened."

"I said fuck medical school and fuck dinner. Fuck it all!"

Arch had to bite his lower lip when Kit asked in a submissive voice, "Fuck me, too?"

There was no more talking, only the rustling of clothes and the sounds of quiet lovemaking. He knew he would not be needed here; after listening a few moments longer, Arch slunk away.

Moving to Nikki's room, he wondered if he might persuade her to help him as she usually did. She was a good sport and, besides, she owed him for his giving her up without a fight. He knocked once, softly; there was no answer. He tried the knob, found that it wasn't locked, and stepped in, his hopes soaring.

The light from the corridor caught the top edge of the bed, and he saw Nikki staring up at him. She seemed angry, and as his eyes adjusted to the dark he saw why: Chaz was on top of her.

Raising an open hand in a valorous apology, Arch backed from the room and quietly closed the door. He shut his eyes tightly and sighed, grateful that he'd looked before sliding into the bed. He'd never have lived it down had he put his hand lovingly on Chaz's naked ass.

Arch turned from the door and brightened suddenly. "Hey, wait a minute! Nan wasn't with Muffy!" he whispered to himself.

Beating a path to the end of the corridor, he reached Nan's door and rapped lightly.

"Nan?"

There was no answer, though he thought he heard sobbing.

"Hey, Nan, you all right?"

The light clicked off.

"Nan, answer me! What is it? You need someone to hold you or somethin'?"

He heard the old mattress creak.

"No..." he said under his breath, frantically trying the door. It was locked.

"Nan! Nan, let me in!"

There was silence now and Arch gave her a minute, then another, to change her mind; when she didn't, he backed miserably from the door and returned to his room.

As he dragged himself down the hallway, Hal's door swung open and the young man stepped out. He was wearing a freshly pressed shirt and a silver chain; there was an unlit pipe stuck between his straight teeth.

"Hi, Arch. Where's the game?"

Arch looked up. "There isn't one."

"Why?"

"Because Chaz scored once and it was all over."

"What?"

"Figure it out yourself, smart guy. Me? I'm gonna go kill myself."

Wandering into his room, Arch slammed the door hard for everyone's benefit; confused, Hal returned to his room, just as happy to be writing an end to the long evening.

***

Down the hall, Muffy heard the doors shut and smiled. All her guests were asleep; she went to the French windows of her balcony and threw them open. She stood outside, leaning just above a trellis overgrown with vines. The moon was full and white, sharply etched against the black sky. She looked at the stars and picked out the belt of Orion slanting up from the lake. Below it hung the line of stars that formed his sword, the blade of which dangled precariously over the distant boat house. She sighed helplessly.

Skip was somewhere down there. Poor Skip, steeped in misery and getting worse. Living in the shadow of an overachiever was tough, but being Daddy's Big Disappointment was worse. If only he'd apply himself—

She'd taken him skiing in Switzerland the winter before, to get him away from the pressures of applying to college and to try and convince him to mend his irresponsible ways. But she'd failed, and things grew even worse when he was accepted at Babson. Now that the heat of getting in was off, he didn't care about anything; she was convinced that, come the fall, he'd start four years of majoring in slow self-destruction. Muffy had hoped this weekend would bring him out a little, and it distressed her that it didn't appear to be happening.

But painful as that was, the first order of business was to make this weekend work for her, to secure the house. After that, she could concentrate on school and then on the business, becoming the first St. John woman to make something of herself. Then she could turn to helping Skip.

Trying not to think of the countless accidents Skip could have roaming stoned about the estate, Muffy went inside and sat on the bed, exhausted but satisfied with the start she'd made.

***

"Victory!"

Skip emerged from a patch of overgrowth, his sleeves streaked with dirt, his shoes wet with muck. There was a chunky mosquito bite on the back of his hand and he raked at it idly as he plodded through the sand. He sidestepped a rotting skiff that lay hull-side up and partly buried with sand, did a jig to avoid a sand crab, and continued on to the shack. Dry sand poured into the sides of his shoes, mixing with the dampness to form a sticky paste; ignoring it, Skip moved around the skiff's outboard motor, which he himself had wrapped in its tarpaulin the summer before, when he'd first planted the garden.

"Victory," he repeated softly as he reached the back wall of the boat house. Dropping on his knees beside a small rectangle of shrubbery, he sifted through his pockets for a lighter, found one, and flicked it on. Anticipation fled swiftly from his face as he swept the light across the leaves.

"No, it ... it can't be!" The plants were green and young, the leaves too stout for picking. Running his hand across his mouth, Skip took a deep breath and tried to compose himself. "All right, St. John, don't panic. Don't. You'll only make yourself sober."

Becoming alert and formal, the botanist at work, he considered his options. Studying the crop, he realized there was hope among the oldest of the plants and dutifully sought these out. Gently brushing aside the topmost leaves, he found a promising plant in the back; lowering the lighter, he twisted it carefully so that its glow fell across the base of the plant. His relief was audible as there, drooping inches above the moist black soil, he saw a small tangle of brownish, brittle foliage.

"Victory…" he said again, giddily rocking his head from side to side. Jabbing the base of the lighter into the rich soil, he flexed his fingers like a pianist, then reached down to twist off the dried leaves.

Something moved behind him, near the boat. He didn't turn but continued his delicate operation. His hands were steady, moving with the sureness of a surgeon as he carefully removed each small leaf, laid it in his cupped hand, and then hugged the hand close to his chest to keep the breeze from carrying off his treasure.

When he was finished, Skip doused the lighter and, with an expression of profound thanksgiving, decided not to go back to his room but to stay at the boat house and smoke under the stars, in the sight of the God who had looked out for him.

Skip rounded the shelter and pushed against the rickety door. As he entered, something caught him around the neck from behind and tightened. Startled as he was, he recognized it as a thick, scratchy rope, the kind used for mooring boats.

His hand shot up to try and relieve the pressure on his throat. He dug his fingers beneath the rope, but it only twisted harder.

Reluctantly dropping his stash, Skip clawed at the noose with both hands. Immune to his efforts, the rope jerked him back and he gagged, his eyes bulging. He lowered his arms submissively and the rope snapped again; this time Skip flew entirely out the door, his noises dying abruptly in the darkness.

A frog croaked nearby, and the active crab scurried to the shore. All else was still until a lone figure padded from the boat house, her bare feet carrying her across the sand and grass to the back of the St. John estate. Staying wide of the porch light, she made her way to the basement window. There, her hand reached out and pulled it open; then the figure was gone, the window shutting behind her with a soft clap.

***

The scream echoed briefly down the hall and Rob's eyes snapped open. He lay still, listening intently, wondering if it had been a dream. Then he glanced at Kit, who was lying naked beside him, and saw that she too was awake.

"Rob?"

"Yeah."

"You up?"

"Sorta."

"What was that?"

"You heard it too, huh? I don't know. It must have been Nikki. Chaz is in with her."

"Uh-uh. Nikki's not a screamer."

The cry came again, and Rob threw off the covers. "That was Muffy!"

Pulling a towel around his waist, he rushed down the hallway and tried Muffy's six-panel door. It was locked, and he called her name in a hushed voice.

"Muffy? Muffy, is anything wrong?"

Muffy's voice was groggy and distant. "Who… who is it?"

"It's me, Rob. We heard a scream and thought you might've had a nightmare or hurt yourself or something.

It took Muffy a long moment to answer. "No, I'm all right."

"You sure?"

"Yes... I'm fine."

Rob stepped tentatively from the door, then leaned toward it again. "Uh... okay. Well, good night."

Muffy didn't respond and, shrugging, Rob walked slowly back to his room. On the way he bumped into Chaz, who was struggling to pull on his Jockey shorts as he rushed into the hallway. Chaz looked dazed, as though he'd been pushed from bed not entirely awake.

"Oh—Robbo. What's up? Nik heard a scream."

"It was Muffy."

"Muffy? Everything okay?"

"Seems to be. She must have had a nightmare."

"Probably about Hal," he said, his biting humor on round-the-clock alert.

"It was weird," Rob noted, not really having heard him. He was thinking about the screams, wondering why the first one hadn't been enough to wake her. "Well," he said, rubbing his stubble-shadowed face, "I'm whipped. Catch you in the morning."

"Yeah, later," Chaz said as Rob shambled past.

The two young men returned to their rooms and were quickly asleep, though Kit and Nikki slept intermittently, and even then, badly. Each was haunted by the long-simmering realization that if something did go wrong while they were here, their sole link to civilization was a grumpy constable who didn't seem to like young people very much at all, and their group even less. While they reminded themselves that things always seemed worse at night, the sixth-sense fear the women shared refused to let go, and the minutes passed more slowly than any they'd ever endured.

CHAPTER

9

The limb of the old oak was inches from the window, and the chirping of the phoebe drew Kit from a restless snippet of sleep. She opened her eyes and looked at the digital clock. It was 6:43; too early to be awake most days, but not today, not after last night. The sun was out and she looked up gratefully at the shaft of white light that threw the shadow of the window frame on the wall.

The bird's music was a welcome change to the noise of the Rupert St. traffic outside her dormitory window, and somewhere in the distance a wind chime turned delicately in the breeze. Kit wondered why she hadn't heard it the night before. She stretched, telling herself it was because she was too scared to hear anything last night but the slamming of her heart. Now the night seemed distant and surreal, and she bunched her pillow to her cheek, glad to be awake and with Rob.

"Kit... no…"

Kit looked over at Rob. He started trembling and thrashing lightly at the cover.

"The boat... I'm coming... keep swimming..."

"My hero," she said admiringly and leaned over. "Brringgg!" Her breath stirred the long blond locks that hung over his ears. "Time to wake up!"

"... coming… coming…"

She nudged him. "Rob, wake up."

The young man's eyes peeled open, though it was several seconds before he realized he was awake. "Kit?"

"It's okay," she assured him, "I'm safe. For that matter, I'm also a better swimmer than you."

Rob rubbed his eyes and sat up. "Shit, what a dream!"

"Sounds like I was keeping you busy."

"You and the lake. The water started coming after us in giant waves, and it kept chasing us everywhere we went."

"It's your subconscious telling you that you don't want anything to get between us."

"Maybe." He looked around. "But it's also the house. I don't know why, but this place gives me the heebie-jeebies."

She rubbed his bare belly. "An Egg McKit'll fix you right up. Let's slip into something less comfortable and eat."

Kit and Rob were the first guests downstairs, and they found Muffy huddled over the gas range, scrambled eggs spluttering in an iron pan behind her. She was barefoot and dressed in an old chenille robe, surprisingly threadbare; her hair lacked its usual sheen and hung in knotted strands.

Rob whispered to Kit. "So that's what the grand heiress looks like in the morning."

Kit's voice was guarded. "Not usually. This is nutty." Kit greeted Muffy with an exuberant "Good morning!" and Muffy whirled around. She shocked the newcomers with her pallor and long, deep frown.

Rob said, "Sorry. We thought you'd've heard us tramping down."

"Yeah, we weren't exactly quiet as church mouses."

"Church mice," Rob corrected, his eyes still on Muffy.

The young woman retreated with small, unsteady steps. "I... I didn't hear you." She leaned against the edge of the pan, withdrew her hand without urgency, and continued edging away. "I was hungry. God, I must look a mess. I-I'd better go and fix myself up."

"No," Kit urged, "why don't you eat first?"

"No, I'm not hungry."

"But you said—"

"You have my eggs, Kit. There's some ketchup in the pantry; I like them that way—with lots of ketchup on a muffin. There are muffins in the pantry, too. Muffy's muffins," she tittered, "just like Thomas's used to bake."

Kit took Rob's hand and held it tightly as Muffy backed into a small tool room, bumping against a broom and dustpan that hung from a wall rack.

"Guess who won't be starring in the Mary Lou Retton Story?"

Just then, there was a pounding upstairs, and Arch came jogging down the steps, dressed only in his Reeboks and workout shorts. He was punching the air and snorting and continued to dance in place when he reached the kitchen door.

"Morning, all," he said pleasantly, looking from Kit to Rob to Muffy. His smile wavered when he saw the ragged young woman; he looked questioningly at Rob, who opened his hands helplessly.

Muffy laughed, catching the group off guard. "Can you believe this? I mean, that I forget to get dressed." She brushed the creases from her robe and cleared her throat self-importantly. "I must be quite a sight."

"No, you're fine," Rob assured her.

"Fine? No, I'm hardly that. I must be resplendent!" Muffy bunched up her hair and postured like a debutante. "I must be the talk of the party!" Sashaying through the kitchen with a fixed grin, Muffy made her way up the steps. When the door slammed, Arch faced the others.

"Who made her night?"

"No one," answered Rob. "She was alone." Rob turned to Kit. "I told you this place is fucked. Seriously fucked."

Kit flicked off the stove, then went to the pantry and grabbed a package of muffins. "Maybe it is and maybe it isn't. Anyway," she said, affecting a festive manner, "we're here to have a good time, so let's let Muffy take care of whatever is ailing Muffy and we'll take care of us."

Arch grunted his accord and went searching for a toaster.

***

Wearing cutoffs and a Search for Spock T-shirt, Chaz stood on the porch and took a deep breath. He thumped his chest as he looked out across the distant lake and watched the ducks drifting lazily upon it.

"What a morning," he declared as Nikki walked out, loosening the strings of her reversible wrap. She'd made the mistake of finishing her Egg McKit and was feeling it in the waist.

"What a night," she said, thinking again of the hours she'd spent staring at the ceiling and resenting Chaz for being able to sleep. She couldn't imagine what Muffy must have dreamed in order to be as wrecked as Kit had described or as tired. When no one had heard from Muffy during breakfast, Nikki went to her room; in a sluggish voice, Muffy said she was tired and going back to sleep. Muffy never slept late, and Nikki hoped her strange behavior was nothing more than pressure from putting the weekend together.

Chaz passed his arm around her. "Yeah, what a night. Nikki, you are too wild a woman. Even Prince would think you're too hot to put in a song."

Nikki gave him an affectionate look just as Hal came out, dressed in his Lacoste tennis whites. He hadn't spoken to Chaz all morning; neither Chaz nor Nikki knew why—nor cared. Hal was followed by Arch, who was palming a soccer ball and using his finger to pick pieces of toast from his back teeth.

"Wherthkip?" Arch asked, ambling over to Chaz.

Chaz looked up with disdain. "What?"

Arch sucked the chewed toast from his finger. "I said where's Skip?"

"That depends on what he's on. If he did coke or a downer, my guess is we'll find him sprawled in the dirt and have to scrape him up with a snow shovel. Otherwise, he probably made it back to his room and we may get him up and around by dinnertime."

"Shit. I guess that means you're goalie."

"Me? No fucking way. I didn't visit my friendly neighborhood orthodontist for two years so I could have my face smashed in by one of your kicks."

Hal stepped forward. "I'll be goalkeeper." He sneered at Chaz. "It's like anything, lamebrain. If you do it right, you won't get hurt."

Chaz was about to make a snide remark when Rob and Kit ran out wearing their bathing suits and overshirts.

"Come on," Rob called back as he sped down the driveway, "let's hit the beach."

"You've got to be kidding!"

"Hell no, Chaz, come on!"

"Forget it! My arms still hurt from yesterday!"

"Yesterday was just a warm-up. This is the main event!"

"I'm warmed up enough! Mark Spitz I ain't."

"I got some sad news for you: you ain't Péle, either."

"What you are," Kit charged, "is a party pooper! C'mon!"

Chaz shrugged apologetically and joined Arch, Hal, and Nikki, who were busy organizing an informal scrimmage. Rob and Kit continued on, rounding the house where Rob spotted Nan sitting on a porch rocking chair.

"Hey, where'd you come from?"

The young woman barely looked up. "Inside."

"No, I mean you weren't at breakfast."

"I wasn't hungry."

Kit crooked a finger at her. "Hey, Nan, how about it? Want to go for a swim?"

"Oh, no thanks. I thought I'd wait and see what Muffy wanted to do."

Nan looked back at the book so they couldn't see her eyes, couldn't see that she was lying.

"Forget it! Muffy's down for the count till at least lunchtime. She had a bad night."

"I know, and I think someone should stay around in case she needs anything."

"Nan, she's not a cripple—"

"Thanks, but I'd still feel better hanging around."

"Suit yourself," Kit said and followed Rob into the pickup. He climbed in and hopped right back out, howling.

"Watch it, Kit. Hot vinyl."

Spreading their towels beneath them, they sped off, the rumbling of the engine the only strident sound in the otherwise gentle morning.

Nan watched them go, then returned to her book, but only for a moment. The thick prose of Milton was too much today and, with an exasperated sigh, Nan slammed the hardcover shut. She picked absently at her Hands Across America bookmark while she thought bitterly about the night before. She was still shaken by the tape and suspected that Muffy had done it out of a perverse kind of jealousy. She'd been to the Youngblood home, seen how happy they all were, how many friends they had. Muffy probably resented that, and this was her way of getting even. She didn't believe that Muffy was tired, only afraid to face her; but Nan was anxious to have it out and vowed she would before the day was through.

She was also famished. Nan had avoided the others, having come downstairs and headed for the front door while they were in the dining room; it was an effort for her to be calm, let alone sociable. She'd give the soccer game another few minutes to get going in earnest, then head inside for some Rice Krispies and much-needed coffee.

Humming to herself, Nan gazed across the rolling lawn with its angular slabs of rock jutting through, here and there. The grounds were so different from the flat twenty acres of her family's estate in Ridgefield. She was more comfortable there, amidst the well-manicured grass and the utter stillness surrounding her beloved gazebo. There was something raw and unappealing about all of this, something that ruined the settled grace of the house.

Nan's eye was caught by a flock of migrating geese, and she watched until they disappeared behind the woods covering the west end of the island. Her gaze continued down to a well and a tall, narrow toolshed, both of which were situated halfway between the house and the woods. As she stared at it, she thought about how nice it would be to fly. Not like a bat or even as a sword-toting angel, but as something sweet and delicate, like a swan or tern.

Something else caught her eye now. She saw someone who looked like Muffy but was dressed in Levi's and a pink blouse, her hair stringy and disheveled. Whoever it was it had to be Muffy, Nan told herself, no one else carried herself so straight—was holding a large knife and a basket as she strolled along the outskirts of the woods. Nan stood and called to her, but the figure kept walking. The young woman hurried from the porch.

"Muffy, wait, I want to talk to you!"

Nan neared the unpainted shed but heard nothing other than the birds twittering in the woods.

"Muffy?"

She stopped by the side wall. There was still no answer and, growing indignant, Nan stalked toward the front of the shed.

"What is this, Muffy, another joke?" She pulled open the door, surprised to find the shack empty. Nan turned quickly, expecting to be laughed at; but Muffy wasn't in the woods, either. There was nothing, save trees and, beyond them, an unused stretch of shore with the glimmering lake and boat house in the background.

"Damn it, this isn't funny."

Nan shut the door and left in a huff, oblivious to the red, angry eyes watching her through a window on the top floor of the house.

***

Rob jumped from the truck, relishing the heat of the sand between his toes. Kit climbed down and began running across the dunes, her shirttails blowing in the stiff wind.

"Last one in's got to write his girlfriend's next research paper!"

"That's not fair!"

Rob poured on the speed but Kit got there first. Coming to a sudden halt at water's edge, she stuck her toe in the water and shivered, a turbulent shudder that climaxed in a scream; briefly burying the toe in the warm sand, she turned and ran down the beach.

"Hey, Kit, that doesn't count! You didn't go in!"

"I admit it, I lose! It's too darn cold!"

"Oh, yeah?"

Rob did a vaulting cannonball into the water and shot back to the surface. "You lose, and that's not all!"

"What do you mean?"

He launched into a surging breaststroke, pacing her. "Take back what you said in bed."

"About what?"

"About who's the better swimmer!"

"Eat my shorts, Robert Timothy Ferris!"

Promising Kit she'd eat her words, Rob began kicking hard, spraying water all over her. She stumbled over the old skiff and he kept after her, scooping out the water with his hands.

"Okay, okay, you win! You're a better swimmer. But you're gonna have to be a better runner, too, if you want to catch me!"

Kit got up and ran to the pier; when she looked back, Rob was nowhere to be seen. She shielded her eyes with both hands.

"Rob, you drown or something?"

She walked onto the dock and made her way to the edge.

"Rob, come on, I give. Don't do this!"

Rob leapt suddenly from the water and reached for Kit's ankles. He fell short and pulled himself onto the dock.

"Just when you thought it was safe to make love on the beach—Jaws Four!"

"More like Asshole: the Motion Picture," Kit countered as she ran for the boat house. She threw back the latch, Rob tackling her, and the two sprawled on the floor. Kit playfully bit his nose.

"Watch it, dimbulb, you could've broken my kneecaps!"

"And you, Kit, could've broken my heart if you'd escaped."

Kit made a retching sound as Rob settled himself on top of her. "Yecch," she complained, "you're all wet and cold."

"Cold on the outside, a furnace on the inside." Stroking her cheek with the back of one hand, he kissed her; the other hand moved artfully to her side, creeping beneath her overshirt. He deftly freed a breast from her tank suit and rolled the nipple between his fingers. Kit moaned and slid her hands into his back pockets, pulling him toward her. Rob unbuttoned her shirt and pulled away the top of her bathing suit, his lips closing around her other breast. Kit began to rock her head from side to side and lightly ran her fingers through his hair.

"Oh, yes…"

Her head lolled toward the door. Beneath them, the rising and swelling of the waves was visible through the shrunken floorboards, their roar echoing through the small shed. The prow of a skiff passed idly beneath the floor.

"Ohhh... yes… yes…"

The moan rose in passion and then ended, suddenly, when Kit screamed and bolted to one side.

"Christ, Kit, what—"

"It's Skip! My God, Rob, you've got to see him!"

"Where is he?"

"Down there!"

While Kit huddled against a neatly wound rope, Rob followed her shaking finger. He lowered his eye to the space between the slats.

Skip was lying in the skiff, his neck torn raw; his jacket was covered with blood and his face, also bloody, was frozen in an open-mouthed cry.

"Jesus! I wonder what hap—" Rob's expression changed quickly from shock to rage and he stormed from the shack. "That crud!"

"Rob, wait! Don't leave me alone here!"

Kit pulled on her suit top and followed him to the beach, where Rob bent under the pier and sloshed into the water.

"You sonofabitch, Skip, get over here!"

Skip didn't move. He lay in the skiff as it bobbed aimlessly into the lake.

"I said April Fool's over, shithead! Get up!"

Kit waded in and grabbed Rob's arm, her eyes fastened on the pale face in the boat.

"Rob, are you sure it's a joke?"

"Of course I'm sure. You don't think he's really dead, do you?"

"He didn't come home last night!"

"So what does that prove, except that he was too stoned to move?"

"No, don't you remember Buck? What the boatman said?"

"That's bullshit," Rob said and, squirming from her grip, moved deeper into the water.

"Skip… Skip!"

The choppy waves were carrying the boat quickly from shore, and he had to swim over; he was about to board when Kit screamed again.

"Rob, quick, someone's here!"

He looked back. "What're you talking about? I don't see—"

"Rob, pleeeease!"

Rather than argue, Rob pushed from the boat and swam madly back to shore. Listening, he heard a scratching sound from under the tarpaulin; seconds later, the sand crab crept out, scuttling toward the shadow of the pier and disappearing. Kit exhaled loudly.

"’There's someone here,'" Rob mocked, then looked back at the skiff. Kit pulled him around.

"Forget it, Diver Dan. Make all the jokes you want, but you're not going out again and leaving me alone."

"Gimme a break. He's faking it."

"Then let's go back and get Chaz and Arch and the three of you can have a terrific time beating the crap out of him. But just in case he is dead and a nut case is running loose out here, I don't intend to stay all by my lonesome."

Rob's brow went up. "You're serious—"

"With a capital S. Please, let's go back."

Reluctantly agreeing, Rob returned with her to the pickup and they headed swiftly back to the house. Behind them, the boat turned slowly in the current, the bloody figure within it shining incongruously in the brilliant sun.

CHAPTER

10

Chaz shouldered his video camera and, after advising his subject to say "cheese," took a long, loving shot of Hal sprawled on his belly. The goalie had gone for one of Arch's infamous side-of-the-foot kicks, the ball had tagged him on the forehead, and now Arch and Nikki were stooped beside him, helping him as gently as possible as he raised his punished brow and badly scraped forearms from the dirt.

In his Howard Cosell voice, Chaz said, "Yes, soccer fans, Harvey Edison, Jr. has proven that what he told this reporter earlier is true: if you do things right you won't get hurt. Unfortunately, the aforementioned Mr. Edison does not know the right way to do things and got clobbered."

"Clam up," Nikki said testily. "At least he tried."

"I'll be okay." Hal smiled manfully. "Really."

"I'll get something to wash out the cuts," said Nikki and went inside.

She returned with gauze pads, Bactine and, as a joke, a scalpel she'd found in Clara's medicine cabinet. After Hal's wounds had been cleaned, he and Nikki went inside to make sandwiches while Chaz videotaped the scenery. The four settled down to a picnic on the lawn just as the pickup came roaring up the road. Chaz lay his Michelob aside and picked up the camera.

"And here we have the respectable young Quaker couple returning after a quiet morning of nonviolent sex—"

"How was it?" Arch yelled. "Bet you're sorry we didn't come!"

"Me too. I could've taped it—"

Rob sprinted toward them. "Never mind that. Where's Skip, anybody seen him?"

Nikki asked playfully, "Who wants to know?"

"Goddammit, can't you give me a straight answer?"

Nikki's neck stiffened. "What is this, a bust?"

"Worse!" Kit declared, running over. She noticed that Nan had come onto the porch and was listening discreetly. "We saw him on a boat drifting by the pier. He wasn't moving. He looked dead."

"Dead?" Hal said. "Oh, come on—"

Chaz asked, "Are you sure it was Skip? Did he stink of grass?"

"We saw his face!"

"Just answer me," Rob cut in. "Has anybody seen him since last night?"

After exchanging blank glances, they shook their heads. Rob rushed past them into the house and, taking the steps three at a time, he burst into Skip's room. It was empty, the bed made, and his suitcase unopened. Rob hurried back downstairs.

"He hasn't been here." He hunched his shoulders toward the driveway. "Dammit, if this is another of his jokes I'll kill him."

Arch called after him. "Where you going?"

"Back to the beach!"

"Wait." He scrambled to his feet. "I'll go with you!"

As they made for the pickup, Nikki shouted, "Be careful! You don't know what could be going on."

Suddenly, Arch slowed. "Hey Rob, check it out—three o'clock and closing fast."

Rob stopped, and the two stood staring as Muffy came strolling out of the woods.

"I thought she was still upstairs."

"Yeah, Arch, me too."

Her hair was still unkempt and she hadn't changed her jeans or oversized blouse. But she was wearing a wide smile and gaily swinging her basket, which was full of mushrooms. She did not see Nan watching suspiciously from the porch.

"Hi!" she said, stopping beside the two young men. "Going someplace?"

"To the beach," said Rob.

"Then why the rush? It isn't going anywhere."

Arch blurted, "Muffy, it's Skip. He—"

"—left some of Chaz's videocassettes there," Rob interrupted, silencing Arch with a glance. "If we don't hurry they'll be so much melted plastic."

"How terrible!" Muffy said, her concern overwrought, exaggerated. "That Skippy—I must have a talk with him. Where is he?"

"Don't know," Rob said. "Hiding from Chaz, probably."

"Well, good luck. I'll pay for any damages, of course."

"Thanks." Rob looked at her a moment longer. Except for the clothes and hair, Muffy seemed all right. But there was something unreal about her, almost as if she were a caricature of herself. He couldn't put his finger on it but was glad when he saw Kit walking over, motioning for them to go. Firing her a concealed "okay" sign, he climbed into the truck as Kit escorted her back to the house, Muffy talking animatedly about mushrooms.

Rob reached the beach in record time, pulling up beside the pier and jumping out. He scanned the lake for a moment, then punched his open palm.

"Whatsamatter?"

"Look, dammit, the boat's gone! Somebody must have towed it away."

"Towed it, huh? That makes a lot of sense, to let you see it, then ditch it."

"Tell me about it. Y'know, I've got this strong feeling that someone's jerking our chains."

"Or," Arch said with uncharacteristic gravity, "covering up a crime—"

Rob blew out a mouthful of air. "Yeah, I guess there's that, too. Okay, we'll check around. Let's start with the boat house."

The two walked over, Rob in the lead while Arch turned his booming voice toward the dunes.

"Hey, Skip! Hey asshole! You out there?"

Only the wind replied, and nothing moved, apart from the swaying grasses and small funnels of windswept sand. Stepping up to the pier, the pair noticed Skip's small garden and searched for clues.

"He was here, all right," Rob announced, pointing to the kneeprints and disturbed soil around the clipped plant. "And it was still dark. Look here—that's the impression of a lighter."

"You know what I think? He got shit-faced and thought this whole ruse up."

"I wouldn't put it past him. Say, Arch, you wouldn't be holding out on me, would you?"

"How d'ya mean?"

"Like not telling me if Chaz had something to do with this."

Arch shook his head vigorously. "Chaz had his hands too full of tit last night to get involved with any kind of jokes."

"All night?"

"Well, I saw him around midnight, heard him at one and two—after that, I fell asleep. Thank God, too, 'cause listening to them was driving me off the wall."

"You heard him then, and I bumped into him around three. So chances are good he's clean."

Rob went around to the front of the boat house. The door was well ajar and he stared in, sunlight slipping through the wide gaps in the high-raftered ceiling. Arch glanced down.

"Hey Rob, did you two wring out your clothes here or something?" Arch pointed to the floor and Rob crouched. It was damp all around the doorway and as far in as he could see.

"I was wet, but not wet enough to do this. Looks to me like someone washed it down."

"I don't think this falls within Clara's responsibilities," Arch joked. "Was Skip banged up at all?"

"There was blood, if that's what you mean. And there must have been some in here too, we just didn't notice it."

"Then you're sayin' the guy may really be dead."

"Or doing one hell of a good job faking it." Rob walked in, his eyes scanning the floor for clues while Arch went to the side walls and began looking behind empty gas containers, electric tools, and folded tarpaulins.

"Y'know," Arch said, "I roomed with a kid in prep school who later got hacked to death by his mom. He was this real peckerhead, and his mother told the cops that there had to have been some kinda screw-up in the maternity—"

"Shut up and come here," Rob interrupted, "I've got something."

"A clue?" asked Arch, stepping over. Rob was circling a piece of metal that lay glinting on the floor.

"More like a warning, I'd say."

Arch looked down. It was a jackknife, the handle shattered and the blood-covered blade snapped in two.

"That's Skip's, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Arch said quietly, "only Skip didn't have it."

"How do you know?"

"He was looking for it when we got here and he couldn't find it."

"Any idea where it was?"

Arch nodded ominously and looked up. "He said he lent it to our friend Buck."

Rob stood. "Shit, we'd better call the constable. But first we've got to try and find that body."

"Why bother?"

"Because Potter didn't seem like the kind of guy who'd believe us if we said his name starts with a P. We need evidence. We better check the beach again, see if they buried Skip there."

"You check the beach. I'll check back along the path. They may've dumped him in the high grass."

"Good idea. And either I'll meet you back here in an hour or so, or you keep on going until you reach the house."

Arch nodded and headed for the door; Rob delayed him lightly by the arm.

"Listen, pal, don't take any chances."

"Don't worry, no sucker's taken me yet." He ripped up a hefty chunk of floorboard and rested it on his shoulder. "Never has, never will."

Rob patted him on the back and they went their separate ways. As they lost sight of one another, the skies clouded and the wind chilled slightly, adding an air of dreariness to their already unsettling work.

***

Muffy sauntered into the pantry. After surveying the crowded shelves for a place to squeeze her basket, she grabbed a six-pack of prune juice and put it on the floor.

"Sorry, Mr. Sunsweet, but Clara won't be back until—"

A hand wrapped tightly around Muffy's wrist and she turned to stare into the slit eyes and angry angry mouth of Nan Youngblood.

"Nan! God, you scared the daylights out of me!"

Nan moved forward without releasing her grip. She kicked the door shut behind her and glared at Muffy in the yellow light of the sixty-watt bulb.

"Nan, what is it?"

"I know why you're avoiding me," she said threateningly. "I guess it's your idea of a joke... that's why you invited me, isn't it? How'd you find out? From one of his preppy friends? Who else have you told? Who else knows, except the father?"

"Nan, I don't know what you're talking about!"

"Oh, the tape just got there?"

"What tape?"

"You know very well. My abortion!"

Muffy's eyes went wide and Nan, her strong front cracking, burst into tears. Muffy moved toward her, but Nan backed against the door, swatting violently at the air. Her ring caught Muffy's blouse, slashing it.

"Stay away! I thought you wanted to be friends, Muffy."

"I do! I swear, Nan, I didn't know anything about an abortion!"

Nan wasn't listening. "You think you can play with people's feelings just because you're rich and can do what you want. Well you can't! You can't because some of us aren't going to sit back and take it. Do you hear me, Muffy St. John? I'm not going to take it!"

Nan pulled open the door and, sobbing, ran into the kitchen. She collided with Hal, who was bent by the door, and the young man stepped back, his cheeks flushing.

"Nan, uh, I'm sorry. I wasn't eavesdropping, just checking to make sure everybody was all right."

"Get away!" she screamed, "just get out of my way!"

Embarrassed, Hal stood aside as Nan ran out the kitchen door. Muffy came from the pantry, her eyes agonized; apologizing for nothing in particular, Hal turned and walked into Nikki, who was just entering with her empty ice bucket. Nikki noticed Muffy's eyes and the torn blouse.

"Jeez, Hal, this doesn't seem to be your day."

Hal mumbled something about her being damn right and continued on. Nikki went to the refrigerator and grinned at Muffy.

"Harvey? No kidding?"

Muffy was puzzled for a moment, then said, "No, that's not it."

"Sure." Nikki winked. "But don't worry, the secrets of your love life will go no farther. Frankly, I'm about ready to trade in Chaz for a new model. The guy's so jealous." She shook her head. "Harvey, huh. Maybe that explains your clothes. Who has been doing your shopping lately?"

"What d'you mean?"

"Oh, c'mon. You want a mirror?"

Muffy's lower lip began to tremble. "I thought I looked okay."

"You do... for a bag lady."

Muffy choked and stood staring at Nikki. Finally placing her basket on the shelf, she walked stiffly to the stairs, never looking back.

Alone in the kitchen, Nikki sighed. "And so ends another chapter of Search for Tomorrow." Facing the refrigerator, she pushed the bucket against the icemaker. The perfect cubes clattered down and Nikki returned to her suddenly very private picnic with Chaz.

By late afternoon Arch was miles from the beach. The dunes and Rob's own calls were well behind him; all he could hear was the wind and the rustling of the horseweed and thistle as it swayed heavily all around him. Arch used his corroded slat to beat them back as he walked back and forth, covering each square foot of the field. Every few paces he'd stop and peer into the foliage on either side, then call Skip's name; then he'd take a few steps more, looking all the time for footprints or signs that a body had been dragged through.

When the house was finally in view Arch paused in a clearing and, laying the slat aside, unwrapped a partially melted chocolate coin he'd filched from a restaurant checkout.

"Hey, shithead! Chickendick! Yeah, you—Skip! You're missin' a real treat here." He took a bite and looked down at the sticky gold foil wrapper. "Comes all the way from Hershey, PA, to our waiting tastebuds."

Arch listened as he finished the candy. When he was about to move on, he spotted the weeds shuddering, several hundred yards away.

"And what have we here?"

The sound wasn't like the other false alarms, the field mice or wayward frogs. Something big was on the move.

"Fee, fi, fo, fum, I think I smell a pile o' scum."

The sound stopped and Arch waited. Then the foliage moved again, only this time it was accompanied by a deep chugging and a lighter, clicking sound.

"That ain't no pile o' scum," he said warily. He retrieved the slat and wielded it with both hands, like a broadsword.

"Skip?"

The sound continued, metal rubbing against metal. Arch watched the field where the weeds were moving. It appeared that where they bent they didn't rise again.

"If that's you, St. John, I'm gonna crack your fat skull!"

The clicking grew louder, the weeds fell closer, and with a sudden lurch a hulking tractor burst into the clearing. Simultaneously, its small, high headlights flashed on, blinding Arch to the rows of blades that slid one into the other like a deadly loom.

Momentarily stunned, Arch fell to his knees, only vaguely aware of the grinding of the lift cylinder as it raised the teeth past the grille and partially blocked the headlights. The cylinder stopped when the teeth were neck-high, and the last thing Arch heard was their grating clatter, the last thing he saw was a cloud of smoke that billowed white from the high muffler as the tractor bore down on him.

CHAPTER

11

The screen door banged behind Rob as he strode wearily into the living room. Kit and Hal were playing backgammon on the floor, while Nikki and Chaz were involved with magazines on opposite sides of the room. Glancing from behind her Rolling Stone, Nikki quickly interpreted Rob's grim expression.

"No luck?"

"Not a trace."

"Nobody's seen him here, either."

Rob dropped the pickup keys on an end table. "Where's Arch?"

Chaz looked up from the TV Guide crossword puzzle. "We thought he was with you."

"No, he was going to check the back path and either meet me on the beach or else here."

"Well, he isn't here."

"You're kidding."

"I don't like this!" Nikki said in a singsong falsetto. "I definitely don't like this."

Kit added hastily, "I think it's about time we called the police."

"The number's eight-two-four-eight."

Everyone turned to the doorway. Muffy was standing behind Rob, holding a bouquet of roses she'd clipped from the garden. She looked from face to face, from Kit's worried expression to Rob's guarded one. She carefully laid the flowers beside the keys.

"Constable Potter has an office at his home. That's the direct line." Muffy's voice was cold, though less so than her eyes, which fastened themselves on Rob. "I was listening outside. Why didn't you tell me something happened to Skip? Why did you lie to me?"

"We wanted to make sure. I'm sorry."

Kit said nervously, "Regardless, I don't think we should wait any longer. Things are starting to get a little too spooky around here."

"I agree," contributed Hal. "I'd rather inconvenience a buffoon like Potter than risk our lives."

Kit said, "Rob, please—do it!"

After getting tacit encouragement from Muffy, Rob nodded and went to the phone, which was on an open block-front desk in the corner of the room. While he dialed, Muffy's eyes softened slightly.

"Who wants some tea?" she asked quietly. "It'll calm our nerves."

***

Her back against an oak on the outskirts of the woods, Nan looked over at the house. Though it was now aglow with soft lights, she had no desire to return, especially since Muffy was back. She couldn't believe how wrong she'd been about her! Nan's parents had always said that she was too trusting, but she hadn't believed them. "Better to be overly friendly than overly suspicious," she had always answered back. Now she'd paid. She couldn't wait to be off the island, to go back home to her house and dogs, to sleep in her own room.

The leaves above her swayed gently to the north, toward the house, and Nan turned into the breeze. The woods behind her were dark but comforting, like a movie theater when the lights went down. There was no one to hurt her, there was just the tranquility of nature for her to enjoy.

The moon was a brilliant cherry color as it rose beyond the lake. All around her the shadows were almost as thick as the silence, and she loved it. She couldn't see the ugly rocks or the dismal toolshed, just the woods; she began walking toward and then. through them, enjoying the softness of the earth. She walked until she reached the spot where the woods met the field.

Nan stood there, smelling the sweetness of a cluster of nearby dandelions. As she did so, she thought she saw someone scurry through the foliage off to one side. She looked in that direction and now she saw a figure standing there, its face grinning back over the tops of the weeds. She squinted into the darkness and gave a little gasp: it was Skip.

Nan took a few steps into the brush.

"Skip!"

When she spoke, the head dropped down and he was gone with a rustling of weeds. Moments later, several yards to the south, Arch smiled at her across the swaying top of the foliage.

"Arch?"

He ducked down after a moment and Nan pressed after him. The underlying bindweed scratched at her bare legs but she ran on, laughing with relief as she pressed deeper into the thick expanse, farther and farther from the comforting lights of the house.

One of the youths moved nearly twenty yards ahead and she came to a swift halt.

"Oh, you two—the trouble you cause! Please come back!"

When neither of them answered, Nan's manner became tense and exasperated.

"Skip, c'mon now, everyone's really upset with you. Arch, tell him... Arch?"

The foliage moved several yards behind her and she spun. Both faces were staring down at her, wearing goofy smiles. Shaking her head, Nan made for them.

"You guys just don't know when to stop, do you?"

The young men watched in silence, their expressions unchanging, as Nan swam through the windblown weeds. The moon slid behind a quick-moving cloud and the field fell utterly dark. Nan stepped on something slimy and it caused her to withdraw a step before it slithered off. She looked up again and noticed something odd about her companions. They were moving slightly in the breeze, actually listing to one side. She moved forward cautiously, spotting a dark ring around each of their necks. When she was just a few yards away the moon reappeared: in the direct moonlight she saw that the darkness beneath their waxen expressions was a ring of blood and that the heads were moving because there were no bodies. They were stuck on pikes that were slumping in the damp soil.

Nan began to hyperventilate. She backed away, hitting something that wasn't there a moment before. She turned and in a blur of motion saw a pair of gloved hands raise hedge clippers high above her head, snap them open, and bring them down hard and fast toward her face.

***

Kit stood by the large window and looked out onto the lake. She was thinking back to what Muffy had said the day before about the Kennedys. Everything had seemed so wonderful and carefree then, like an exotic dream. Now she felt as if she was living one of those gloomy Nancy Drew stories she'd read as a kid, only without the guarantee of a happy ending. Their lives might well hinge upon making a simple phone call, one that Rob was having difficulty placing.

Muffy came rushing from the pantry. There was a stack of tea boxes in her arms and Kit walked into the kitchen, reluctantly leaving behind the distant lights of the small town, a place in which she wished very much to be.

"Where'd you go for these, China?"

Muffy said breathlessly, "I didn't know what kind anybody would like, so I decided to bring them all: Lipton, Earl Grey, Celestial Seasonings—Pelican Punch and Sunburst C—the works."

Kit took a handful of boxes and Muffy paused to look over at Rob.

"Has he reached the constable?"

"No. He hasn't even been able to get through to the mainland." Kit laid the boxes on the butcher-block counter and went to the tap to fill the kettle. "He's having a problem breaking the dial tone, and even when he does the line goes dead."

"That's odd. It never happened before."

Kit turned on the faucet and somewhere downstairs the pipes banged and rattled; seconds later, the tap coughed and sprayed out a burst of brown water before going dry.

"What the hell was that?"

Muffy said, "That sounded like the main. Nuts, it's probably broken."

"Does that mean no water?"

"Not unless one of us is a plumber."

Nikki came scooting in, followed by Hal.

"What's happening?"

"No water," Kit lamented.

"It happens sometimes," Muffy admitted. "But there's still the well. All of the island homes have some kind of pump or well for emergencies."

"Glad to hear it." Kit shivered, casting a timid look at the door. "But I'll go thirsty before I go outside."

"Oh c'mon," Nikki said, "it can't be far. I'll go with you. "

"Thanks, but I wouldn't go outside even if the house were on fire."

"Jesus," Nikki snickered, "you're worse than my baby brother." Spotting a rechargeable flashlight on the wall, Nikki went and retrieved it. "I'll go. Just point me in the right direction."

"Not without me," Hal piped up.

"My knight in armor," she said graciously. Her face hardened and she yelled, "Chaz, you comin' too?"

"Not me, paleface. I'm with Kit, you gotta be nuts to go out."

"Well, I'm going."

"Then you're nuts. Just don't forget the Bactine."

"What for?"

"You know—in case your playmate falls down and breaks his crown."

Hal shouted, "Chaz, you're acting like an infant, you know that?"

"Hey, it wasn't me who scwaped my widdle elbows playin' soccer." Nikki yelled at him, but Chaz cut her short. "Listen, Nik, there's one thing I want to ask before you go."

"I can't wait."

"Six across," he said, "Big Bird's color. Would you say he's yellow or golden?"

Growling with rage, Nikki stormed out the door, slamming it so hard the dishes rattled on three walls. Hal ran after her and Muffy sidled up to Kit.

"Nikki and Chaz are quite a pair, don't you think? Not like you and Rob."

"That's because Rob's one-in-a-million."

"I mean," she whispered, "it's okay for Chaz to chase other women, but God forbid Nikki should so much as look at another guy. All she did was ask Hal about Tennessee during lunch, and Chaz's been picking on her ever since. Just goes to show you what men know. Nikki doesn't want anyone else, but try to convince Mr. Double Standard of that."

Both women looked admiringly at Rob as he dialed the number again. After a moment, Kit noticed that Muffy was smiling broadly; it was the old Muffy, the optimistic Muffy, and Kit was glad to have her back.

"I'm not worried," Muffy said, gleaming. "I'm sure Skip and Arch are just up to some kind of stupid trick."

"I hope so," Kit said solemnly as Rob hung up and tried again. "God, I hope so."

***

Rounding the house a few paces behind Nikki, Hal was surprised to find her gone.

"Nikki?"

He looked toward the porch, then back to the woods, jumping when an owl hooted in a towering elm beside him. An instant later Nikki popped from behind the same tree and he jumped again.

"Scared ya, didn't I?"

"Only the small part of me that isn't already scared," he conceded. "Hell, Nikki, I don't think you should really do that."

"Sorry, but I don't like to stay mad and that was the fastest way I could think of to get out of it."

Noticing Chaz watching them through the living room window, Nikki made a point of taking Hal's arm; Chaz turned his back and wandered away.

"So, we're off to see the wizard," Nikki said, looking across the grounds toward the woods. "There—is that it?"

"Unless it's a mirage," Hal said.

The two made their way across the pale, moonlit yard, and when they reached the well Nikki ran her hand across the warped shingles of the old hood.

"Boy, when she said 'well,' she really meant 'well.' Who dug this thing, Pocahontas?"

"You may not be far off. I've read that a lot of these islands were inhabited by Indians long before the colonists came. There's a lot of history here, from cultures to massacres."

"Thanks, that's all I needed to hear. Now I'll start seeing Injun Joe behind every tree." Nikki reached for the wooden bucket that was sitting on the rim. "Let's get the water and split."

Hal gently removed her hands from the iron handle. "Here, let me do it. I've probably had more experience than you."

"You mean back home, where things are more natural?"

"I know you think I'm a hick, but I wish you wouldn't."

"Why?"

Hal smiled. "Because," he said in passable imitation of Chaz, "I'd really like to plow your field."

Nikki applauded politely. "Good impression, but bad idea. Draw the water."

Pouting pointedly, Hal checked the sharp metal hook that ran from the eye in the center of the handle to the thick rope, then raised the hinged well cover and slowly lowered the bucket.

"As it happens, I've been told I'm a great plower. I really get in there and work among the wheat." There was a muffled splash from deep in the well, and Hal's grin faded. "But I lied. There is one thing I'm not."

"What's that?"

"A good water-getter. I just lost the bucket."

Nikki shook her head. "Harve—"

"Hal, and it wasn't my fault. The rope was rotten, any fool coulda seen that."

"You didn't."

"Touché. Here." He straddled the well wall. "Shine your light down so I can get a fix on it. Maybe I can snag the hook somehow."

"Hal, are you sure this is worth it? If you fall in, neither of us can ever face Chaz again."

"It's worth it," he assured her, "for my pride, if nothing else."

Nikki switched on the beam and held it out so the light reached straight to the bottom. Hal braced himself on either side of the opening and looked down.

"Okay, I see—oh, Jesus!"

He quickly dismounted, his face ashen.

"What is it?"

"Stay back!"

"Why?"

Instead of answering, Hal tried to grab the flashlight. But Nikki held tight, blocking him with her body. "Please, don't look!" he insisted.

"Don't be ridiculous, I'm a big girl now. I think I can handle a few spiders and frogs." The young woman poked the beam back down and leaned over.

Some fifty feet below, barely illuminated by the weak light, Nan Youngblood lay crammed in the small space, her knees pressed against her chest, her arms lying up along the walls. There were two ugly red holes in her forehead and a pair of raw exit wounds just above the ears. The bucket lay sideways between one of her legs and the wall, and cradled in the crook of either arm was a grinning head, Skip on the left and Arch on the right.

Nikki took a moment to digest the grisly tableau, then shrieked, dropping the light at her feet and stumbling into Hal's arms.

"Get me away! Get me away! I'm going to—"

Nikki doubled over and began to vomit, Hal holding her and simultaneously shouting for help. The others heard him and came running, Chaz bringing up the rear with video camera in hand. Rob was the first to arrive. He put his hand around Nikki's shoulders, relieving Hal, who staggered to one side.

"What happened?"

Hal had to gulp hard before he could speak. "It's Arch and Nan and Skip—"

"In the well," Nikki wailed, "at the bottom! They're dead, Rob, all of them!"

Everyone had gathered now, and the newcomers looked over at the dark, yawning mouth of the well. Making certain that Nikki was all right, Rob fortified himself with a deep breath, then picked up the flashlight and went over. He looked into the well and after a long moment turned, his face grim.

"What's going on?" Nikki demanded, her voice hoarse and hysterical. "What's happening to us?"

"I don't know. C'mon, everybody, in the house."

"No!" Nikki stomped her foot. "I want to leave! Get a boat, a helicopter, anything. I want to get out of here!"

Rob said firmly, "And I want you in the house! We'll be safe as long as we're together and on our guard." He pointed the flashlight toward the well. "Let's learn from their mistakes. Let's stay together and inside."

Nikki wept something incomprehensible into Hal's shoulder, then walked back with him, Kit and Muffy behind them. Chaz lingered a moment, the camera hanging limply from his hand. Rob glanced back.

"Jeez, you're not thinking of taping it, are you?"

"I-I thought we might need pictures... some kinda evidence."

Rob said sternly, "Those bodies will be evidence enough. Let's just get the hell out of here."

Chaz took a tremulous breath. "Poor Arch. Y'know, he wasn't too bright but I really liked the big guy."

Rob looked up as the moon peeked eerily through a hole in the sudden cloud cover. "Save the reminiscing for inside," he directed, waiting until Chaz dragged himself toward the house before coming along himself. Chaz didn't hear the twig snap behind them, but Rob did; he stopped to cast the flashlight once, slowly, through the surrounding woods. There was no one about and, preferring retreat to a search and destroy mission, he hurried after the others.

CHAPTER

12

Nikki was bawling again.

She'd calmed a little during the walk, but as soon as they sat down at the dining room table she literally erupted, gripping Kit's shoulders so tightly that she winced. But Kit didn't move away; she continued to pat her friend on the back.

"It's okay," she was saying, "you're safe. Rob's in the living room phoning for help, and sooner or later he's bound to get through."

Nikki sobbed. "It's all because of what happened on the ferry, isn't it? Those lunatics—those sick lunatics."

Chaz hovered behind her, trembling. "It was an accident, don't they know that?"

"They killed Nan, too," Nikki said weeping, "and she wasn't even a part of it! They're going to kill us all... all of us!"

Hal, who had been poking around the desk and cabinets, turned to Muffy. "Where do you keep your guns?"

Standing beside Kit, Muffy looked over. Her eyes were red from weeping over Skip, but otherwise she was composed.

"Guns? We don't keep guns in this house. The St. Johns meet people in court, not on the field of honor."

Excusing herself, Muffy headed for the kitchen while Hal picked up a log fork beside the fireplace. "Maybe this'll do," he said, shaking it.

"I don't want to stay here," Nikki said. "I'm not tough and independent... I want somebody to take care of me."

"Y'hear that, numbnuts?" Hal sneered at Chaz. "She wants a man, not a pussy."

Chaz didn't respond. He was thinking about Arch and about the sports clinic they'd hoped to open during the summer as a sideline. Chaz was going to tape clients' golf or tennis swings and analyze them on the computer, and Arch was going to help the customers beef up the physical end. Now there was nothing, and all because of a stupid prank. He'd have given every film in his tape collection to turn back the clock to the day before.

Muffy returned with a glass of water for Nikki, who recoiled.

"Oh God! Not the water!"

"It's okay," Kit informed her, "it's Perrier. See the bubbles?"

Shaking his head, Chaz wandered into the living room. Rob had the old-fashioned receiver slung over his shoulder while he tapped repeatedly on the cradle.

"Nothing! We might as well be on the fucking moon!"

"We'd probably be safer," Chaz contributed. Thinking back to the well just then, he said reflectively, as if he were in confession, "Rob, I know this isn't the time, but I wanted to make sure you knew that I wasn't thinking of taping the well just to tape it. I'm not a ghoul. I can tell the difference between real-life and film, you know."

"I think you're probably real smart in a lot of ways," he said. "You just like keeping it a secret. Damn this thing!" He slammed down the phone; the instant he did so, it rang and he scooped it up.

"Hello?"

"Hello, this is Constable Potter."

Rob's knees went weak with relief. "Constable Potter! God, I've been trying to get you for hours!"

"I'm at a pay phone in the hospital. Who is this?"

"Rob Ferris—we need your help."

"What's going on over there?"

"They're killing us," he said frantically.

"What're you talking about?"

"Our friends, Skip and Arch, we just found them in the well." He swallowed hard, looking at Chaz for support. "Their heads were cut off!"

There was a long pause on the other end. "Is this a joke?"

"No! And Nan, she's been killed too. One of the men from the ferry, maybe both, they've come back. They're blaming us. . . they're killing everybody!"

"That ain't possible."

"Constable, I'm telling you the truth! Maybe it was a gag before, but—"

"And I'm tellin' you I'm here at the hospital visiting Buck. He's been here resting all day from surgery yesterday. It might interest you to know he'll be all right. Cal's been here too, the whole time."

Rob's back shot ramrod straight. "You're kidding."

"I never kid, so I repeat: if this is another one of your pranks—"

"Dammit, our friends are dead."

There was another pause. "Where's Muffy?"

"Here. She's all right."

"You're sure."

"Yes I'm sure! What are you getting at?"

"Nothing." There was another pause. "Look, I'll be there soon as I can. I'll fire a flare at the dock when I get there; it shouldn't take too long. In the meantime, stay in the house and don't trust anybody, don't leave anybody alone with anybody else—especially with Muffy, you understand?"

"With Muffy? What do you mean?"

"It's why I was callin'. I don't know, just a crazy letter I got—but it's no crazier than anything else that's been happening."

"I don't understand."

"I'll explain when I get there. Just do as I say and everything'll be all right!"

The phone went dead and Rob was staring dumbly at the receiver when Kit walked in.

"Any luck?"

"Well, the phone's gone but at least the constable's on his way."

"Thank God."

Rob hung up the phone and rubbed his hands together slowly. "In the meantime, I think we should lock the doors and windows."

"You won't have to ask me twice," Kit said and walked around the living room with Rob, checking bolts and latches. Chaz went to the dining room to update the others and Hal offered to keep a watch by the window for the flare.

After Kit had locked both the dead bolt and key bolt on the front door, she announced that she was going to check the rooms down the corridor. She entered the first room, a dark, gloomy study, and felt her way to the desk. She flicked on the old porcelain lamp and looked around.

The room was crowded but austere. Two walls consisted of mahogany bookcases lined with old leather-bound editions; there was a leather chair behind the desk and it was situated catty-corner to provide access to a desk extension and an IBM PC. The desk was clear, save for a clean blotter, the lamp, and a framed photograph. Curious, Kit examined the photograph under the light.

The picture was a black-and-white enlargement of Muffy as a child. Even then, the chin was slightly cleft, the eyes lively. She was dressed like a butterfly, with big cellophane wings and tin foil antennae. But what puzzled Kit was the child beside her. It was a girl. Dressed like a caterpillar, she was identical to Muffy, from the broad smile to the cleft chin.

Before Kit had had more than a quick glance at the other girl, Muffy strode in. There was a moment, a fleeting instant, when Muffy's eyes seemed to glow with anger. But it passed, and Muffy said personably, "It's my father's study."

Kit stood back selfconsciously from the picture. "Yes, I gathered as much. I, uh, just came in to make sure that everything was secure... y'know, lock all the windows."

"That's a good idea." Muffy took a few steps toward the windows, a trancelike expression on her face. "Sometimes, with the tides, it can take someone all night to get here from the mainland. And even then, they don't always make it."

"But that probably never happened to an experienced man like the constable," Kit said hopefully.

"On the contrary. It happened to his brother. He went down in the middle of the day; never did find out why."

Hastening to the windows, Kit locked them, then closed the wooden shutters and threw the latches.

"Well," she said dusting her hands while examining her handiwork, "that ought to make things difficult for whatever sicko did make it across."

Muffy smiled. "Unless, of course, the killer's already inside." Kit looked at her sickly and Muffy's smile broadened. "I'm only kidding. If we don't keep our sense of humor, we're all going to go a little mad."

Kit returned Muffy's smile, but her insides were a knot. The women went back into the living room where everyone but Hal was huddled by the unlit fireplace, far from the windows and door. Kit went over to Rob, while Muffy went to the kitchen. Nikki was cleaning out her purse and Chaz was sitting on the floor Indian-style; pulling over his boom box and nestling it between his legs, he plugged in a Scorpions tape and punched up the volume.

Nikki plugged her ears. "Will you turn that thing off?"

"Why? It'll help keep our minds off things!"

Hal shouted from the window, "Jerk! It'll also keep us from hearing anyone who tries to jimmy open a window."

Chaz hadn't thought of that and hit the button so hard the batteries popped out the back. He pushed the technological mess to one side, folding his arms without giving a second thought to Hal's having called him a name.

"I don't believe it," Chaz said to no one in particular. "All my plans, the future, and suddenly none of it means anything."

As he was speaking, the lights began to flicker; everyone stopped breathing. The power continued to flutter, then went off, came back on, and finally stayed on; Nikki's sigh was the most audible.

"Oh, God, that's all we'd need."

Hal, perspiring, turned back to the window. "I wonder what's taking him so long."

"Who the hell knows where the hospital is?" Rob said. Intending to ask Muffy, he noticed that she'd slipped away.

"Where's Muffy? She was here a second ago."

"She told me she was going to check the back of the house."

"Christ, she knows we're supposed to stay together!"

"Oh, don't worry," Nikki said. "She's been behaving less than normal anyway. Really giving me the creeps."

"How do you mean?"

"You've been around here all day. Haven't you noticed?"

Rob shrugged. "Except for some strangeness this morning she seems okay. I mean, as okay as Miss Preppy ever gets."

"And who hasn't been a little nervous today," Kit reminded her.

"Yeah, but it's not only her attitude, it's her clothes. Especially those nurse's shoes."

"What nurse's shoes?"

"Those clodhoppers she's been wearing today. Crepe soles... she could stomp a horse! God, and I thought she had some taste."

After a moment's reflection, Rob said, "But they'd be pretty quiet to walk in, wouldn't they?"

"I guess so."

Chaz frowned. "Hey, Sherlock, what're you getting at?"

Before Rob could answer, Hal stepped forward. "He's saying that our hostess may have a screw loose." He glanced toward the kitchen and, seeing that Muffy wasn't there, said, "There's another thing that none of you knows about. She was arguing with Nan in the pantry this afternoon. They were yelling about something Nan found in her room."

"What?"

"Oh, I couldn't tell you that, Rob. It was personal."

Chaz pounded the floor. "That's real fine! You listen in on people's secrets, but you won't tell anybody else—when their lives could depend on it! You know what you are? A hypocrite."

"And you're way out of line, jerkoff—"

"No," Rob said harshly, "he may be pissed about the way you've been coming on to Nikki, but he's right. Spill, Hal, what were they arguing about?"

"I told you, it's personal."

"Correction: it was personal. You're gonna talk, Harvey, or you're gonna end up in a bed right next to Buck!"

Hal looked from Rob to Kit to Nikki. Receiving no support from the women, he muttered an oath under his breath and said quietly, "A tape. They were arguing about an audio cassette."

"What was on it?"

"It wasn't my business, but it was something about her not wanting to have a baby."

Chaz fell back on his elbows. "Oh, great. Muffy made a joke out of that?"

"I can't believe it," Kit said.

"Y'know," Nikki spoke up, "now that you mention it, I found something strange in my room, too." She withdrew the black hood from her purse. "Just like Mama used to wear. It made me feel right at home."

Chaz whistled. "Nice job! No eyeslits, quality latex—a sadist's delight."

Rob turned to Harvey. "What about you, Hal? What'd you find?"

"Where?"

Chaz said, "In your room, asshole."

"Nothin'... nothin' special."

"Give it up," Chaz pressed, "what'd you find? I walked in on you last night and you were acting like your ass was on fire."

"Nothin'." Hal's voice dropped. "Just some clippings."

"Of what? A beauty contest? Movie openings?"

"No. Of car accidents."

"Car accidents?" Chaz nodded. "I get it. Nan's abortion, Nikki's, uh, interests—what'd you do, Hal, kill somebody in a hit-and-run?"

"No, it was just a teeny little fender-bender. Nobody was hurt... I didn't even tell my daddy about it."

"No, 'cause you knew he'd cream your candy ass. Besides, it wouldn't look too good for your political career, especially if somebody did get hurt."

"This is wonderful," Nikki said, throwing up her hands. "All we've determined is that we've all got shady secrets. Now no one will trust anyone."

"Wrong," Rob said. "What we've learned is that we're all being victimized—probably by Muffy. Hal, how could she have found out about it?"

"Beats me. It wasn't even in the papers. She'd have to have bribed someone at the police—"

"Stop it!" Kit jumped up, her arms stiff at her side, her neck muscles straining. "What's wrong with us? What happened to all our talk about friendship and undying loyalty? Do you know what we're saying? We're sitting around here discussing the possibility that Muffy, a generous friend, has invited us all here to kill us, for no reason whatsoever!"

"Oh God," wailed Nikki, "since when does a loony need a reason to kill people?"

"Muffy is not crazy!"

"No, everyone goes around cutting flowers at night and picking poison mushrooms."

"Poison?"

"Weren't you ever a Girl Scout? Those are goddam toadstools!"

"Look, we're not sayin' she is crazy," Chaz tried to reassure Kit. "I guess what we're really doing here is sitting around the campfire telling each other ghost stories, because if we didn't we'd really go crazy. You leave the room and see what we say about you!"

While they contemplated Chaz's analysis—Hal and Rob visibly impressed with the uncharacteristic intelligence of it—a loud bang rattled the house. It brought everyone to their feet and several steps nearer to the door. It was followed by a series of small, clacking aftershocks.

"What the hell was that?" Kit asked, chewing vigorously on a thumbnail.

"Sounded like the pipes again," said Rob. Heading into the kitchen, he arrived just as Muffy walked in the back door. She was greasy and smudged, a monkey wrench in her dirty hand. But her face was aglow with satisfaction, and there was clean, fresh water pouring from the tap.

"Somebody turned off the main shutoff valve," she said, beaming. "I fixed it all by myself." Her proud smile vanished as she gazed across a row of angry eyes. "What's the matter? Something happen while I was gone?"

"Nothing," Rob said, "except that you just scared the shit out of five people."

Muffy snickered. "I guess I should've warned you. But at least we don't have the water to worry about."

"Good," said Chaz, "then you won't mind cleaning my marked laundry."

Muffy shut the tap and wiped her hands with a paper towel. "All kidding aside, if you don't mind I'd like to go upstairs and take a bath."

"Mind?" Chaz raised his hand. "I volunteer to keep watch."

"Forget it," said Rob, "we're all staying here."

Muffy folded her arms. "Are we, now?"

"Yes, and while we're on the subject, you shouldn't have gone outside by yourself."

"Why? It's my house. Nobody's going to make me a prisoner in my own house."

"Yeah," Chaz agreed, "and anyway, who died and left you director?"

"Three of our friends died, that's who! I'm the only one who's ever had to fend for himself—"

"Big deal!"

"No, Chaz, Rob's right," said Kit.

"Rob's full of it," Hal rejoined.

"Look, asshole, would you rather listen to me or end up like Nan? We should all stick together."

"But what if somebody has to go to the john?" Chaz persisted. "It'll be like that old Woody Allen movie, where the convicts go everywhere together, chained at the ankles."

"Oh grow up!"

Hal added, "I hate to say it, but I think Chaz is right. As long as we all stay within shouting distance of each other, I don't see the harm."

"The harm," Rob said hotly, "is that by the time we even hear the shout it may be too late!"

"I disagree. If we keep an eye on strategic places of entry around the house, no one'll get in. I can keep watch on the stairs, you and Kit, the back door."

"Brilliant. That way we can get picked off one-by-one."

"Not if the killer's outside and we're inside."

"And I think we should all arm ourselves," Nikki suggested. "We can each take a knife or a crowbar or something."

Rob sneered. "Arch had a club and look at all the good it did him."

"Besides," Chaz said, casting a doubtful eye at Nikki, "are you prepared to kill? Don't you know you don't go just grabbing weapons, unless you know proof-positive you could use them."

"I could," Hal declared.

"That's because you're an asshole." He looked at the others. "Precaution is the best defense. We don't hafta get paranoid like Robbo, all we have to do is be careful."

"That makes sense," Nikki agreed, warming to the way he stood up to Rob.

Rob threw up his hands. "I think you're all acting like two-year-olds, but I'm not gonna sweat it. You guys go wherever the fuck you want. Kit and I will stay down here and watch the back, and also keep an eye out for Potter's flare. But remember: if there's even a hint of trouble, holler."

"You don't have to tell me twice," Nikki assured him. "I'd rather be a live chicken than a dead hero."

Nikki went over to Chaz and took his hand. "C'mon," she said, "let's make up."

Chaz winked at the leering Hal as, like a mist, the youths slowly dispersed. Watching the others go, Kit couldn't help but wring her hands and remember what Muffy had said: What if the killer's already inside?

CHAPTER

13

Chaz stared down at Arch's duffel bag. The worn canvas sack, veteran of many weekends and even more orgies, was spread across the foot of the bed. Arch's soiled clothes from the day before lay half out of the bag, the socks still dark with sweat. Chaz shook his head as Nikki came in from the adjoining bathroom, dragging a cotton swab across her eye makeup.

"I can't believe it," he said solemnly. "Y'know, it's a pretty sad comment about a guy's achievements when all that survives him is the smell of his crotch."

Nikki threw the soiled wad at him. "That's a vulgar thing to say about your best friend."

"Vulgar, but true. I don't want to die without a legacy, Nik. I haven't made my Citizen Kane yet. Christ, I haven't even placed a Basement Tape on MTV."

"You're not going to die," Nikki said as she picked up the bag and shoved it in the closet. "Now let's just think happy thoughts before we make ourselves crazy."

"Happy thoughts," he said dubiously, then lay his hand on her breast. "Would you settle for hot thoughts?"

"Don't, I'm not in the mood."

"But it'll help us forget—especially if we do it with a difference."

"What kind of 'difference’?"

Chaz went to the dresser and pulled open the top drawer. He picked up the crop, slipped the thong around his wrist, then spun the G-string around on his finger.

"Chaz, how—"

"I got 'em while you were in the bathroom. What d'you think? Boss sex, huh?"

Nikki scowled, but there was interest in her expression. "My diaphragm is beating in my bedroom."

"Get it," he ordered. "I'll prepare the royal penis."

Nikki hesitated. "You think it's safe?"

"Eighty-percent effective."

"No, you idiot, I mean the hall."

Chaz answered with a wave of his hand. "Trust me, nothing's going to happen out there."

"How do you know?"

"Because Rob and Hal are downstairs, and there ain't nothing getting past either of them. They got something to prove to each other, so it's macho-city at the St. John estate."

Nikki went to the door and pushed it all the way back. "If you say so—but promise you'll come right away if I call."

Chaz lay his hand on his heart. "I'll be there before your terrified screams have died."

"You're so reassuring," she complained, and walked slowly from the room.

After Nikki left, Chaz rubbed his hands together briskly and ran to her bag. "Gonna be a hot time in the old town tonight," he said, fishing out the hood. He held it up. "Blind submission, the ultimate test of trust—and, I hear tell, the ultimate pleasure." He thought back to a bondage flick he'd rented, This Gag's On You. He remembered how one character's sense of touch was heightened when his sight and hearing were cut off, and if that were true he was looking ahead to the night of his life.

Hooting with expectation, Chaz pulled the rubber mask on, buttoning the strap of the leather collar so that absolutely no light snuck in.

"Nikki, I'm yours," he mumbled, his mood souring slightly when he realized that there were no openings whatsoever in the mask. He felt warily around the mouth and nose. "Hmmm... never saw one like this."

He heard the hinges of the door squeak. "Hey, Mistress Nik, you're the expert. Aren't these supposed to have airholes? How do you breathe in these things?" The floorboards creaked and he felt fingers on the back of his neck. They undid the straps. "What'd I do, put it on backwards?"

The straps loosened and then powerful hands yanked them crisscross.

"Shit—hey, c'mon... I can't breathe!"

The leather bands pulled tighter.

"Hey... hey!" He choked, reaching for his neck. But the hands behind him pushed down hard and Chaz dropped to his knees.

"Jee… ee… eeez!" He gagged and began pulling at the front of the mask. When it wouldn't come off, he jabbed his fingers at the mouth and opened wide, trying to pop it. His head began to pound and he sucked frantically for air, making a last, desperate effort to pull away. But his neck was held fast and unconsciousness descended, oblivion closing in as he fell forward.

***

Nikki sat up on the bed and dropped the diaphragm container back in her suitcase. Afraid, anxious to get back to Chaz, she slipped on her underwear but didn't bother with her bra. She was only going across the hall; besides, Chaz was clumsy with the hooks and she didn't want him ripping them apart in frustration.

Crossing her arms in front of her, Nikki tiptoed over to his room. The door was ajar and the light was off. She stepped in.

"Nice," she cooed. "I guess that means we won't be making a video."

Chaz was vaguely discernible on the bed, fully dressed and curled toward the wall. She shut the door behind her.

"Hey, hot stuff, don't tell me you've racked out on me." Chaz didn't stir and she yelled, "Hey, superstud!" When that failed to rouse him, Nikki switched on the overhead light. Chaz was facing away from her, in a fetal position. She scowled deeply. "Look, Chaz, if you're trying to scare me, you're doing a terrific job!"

Chaz continued to lie there and, enraged, Nikki stalked toward the bed. She pulled him around and he flopped over, his head rolling toward her. Blood oozed from both nostrils and a crimson bubble welled from his mouth; it popped and a wave of blood washed over his lower lip.

Nikki gasped and jumped back, her splayed fingers at arm's length, to blot out the sight. She refused to scream; it took several seconds of deep breathing, but she knew if she started she'd lose control completely.

"S-stay... calm, just stay calm."

She turned as though she were moving blindly through a fog, listening for any sound, watching for any movement. Looking in the dresser mirror, she happened to see the tips of a man's shoes jutting from behind the bathroom door. Though her heart jumped, she managed not to scream. She just kept a furtive eye on the reflection while, pretending not to have noticed, she slowly made her way toward the hall door. The golden knob was all she thought about, the key to her salvation, and when it was a few steps away she began raising her hand. Finally, she could wait no longer: lunging for the knob, Nikki yanked the door open.

A figure was standing in the doorway, and for a brief moment Nikki was so close she could feel the interloper's hot breath on her cheek. Then a strong hand pushed her back and she staggered against the bathroom door, knocking it open. Nikki tripped over the empty shoes, realized too late that they had been a decoy.

"W-who are you?"

The intruder didn't answer and Nikki watched in terror as a switchblade flashed open in the figure's hand.

"No. Oh please, no…"

Nikki moved along the wall as the figure came forward, shutting the door behind it.

"What do you want?"

She began weeping and came up against the bed. She sat on it, tugging pitifully at the side of her underwear. "I'll love you, do anything—please... please!"

The knife went up and Nikki slid to the floor, trying to squirm under the bed. She'd gotten an arm and shoulder underneath when she heard the soft rustle of fabric, knew that the knife was coming down, that all was lost. Too late she thought to scream, and her awful cry was smothered beneath the bed….

***

The pipes clanged as Muffy shut the bathtub tap. It warmed her to know that there were two men downstairs poised, like minutemen, to defend her. The sheer gallantry of it was thrilling, unlike anything she'd experienced in years.

Hal, sitting halfway down the stairs, felt anything but chivalrous. With a sigh, he switched off his penlight flashlight and laid his copy of Esquire on the steps.

He'd gone up and shut the hall light after noticing that Nikki had sneaked into Chaz's room; the last thing he needed was to have bare-chested women making him horny. There was a job to do, and it was best served if his mind wasn't on sex. Still, he couldn't help but imagine how fine it would be to have Nikki tonight, or to go to Muffy's bathroom and wash her back, then her sides, then gently reach around—

He shuddered and switched the flashlight back on. Seeing that Rob and Kit were still on the sofa—mercifully behaving themselves—he returned to the summer fashion spread.

Below, Rob rose and went back to the window.

"I wonder what could be keeping that bastard."

Kit hugged her knees to her chin. "It's almost like he wants us to sweat. The constable just mentioned Muffy and that's all he said about her?"

"That's it."

"And what does it mean?"

"I don't know."

Kit rocked back and forth, then relaxed her knees and sat up. "Jesus, I hate just sitting here like this."

"We'll be fine, as long as we keep talking and don't start seeing killers in the shadows."

"Actually," she said, looking across the room at the steps, "it's funny you should mention that. I was kind of seeing them on the steps."

"Huh?"

"Rob, what do we know about Harvey? I mean, nobody met him before and Muffy hardly knows him. How do we know—"

"That he isn't a closet fruitcake? We don't. But we're okay right now, and that's all that matters."

Kit's eyes brightened just then, and Rob followed her stare. Outside, a streak of orange light was rocketing skyward on the near side of the lake; it was followed by a brilliant burst of white light and a muffled whuuump.

"Rob, it's him!"

"Whooo-eeeee!" he cheered and jogged toward the stairs. "Let's get the others and split."

Kit went with him; halfway up she slowed. "Rob, wait."

"What's wrong?"

"Harvey's gone."

"So?"

"He couldn't have seen the window from there."

Rob glanced up. "So? You think he slunk off to murder someone?"

"Well, it is the second time he's disappeared in the past few minutes."

"What're you talking about?"

"He also left just before the hall light went off."

Rob's stoic confidence wavered, and he called into the darkness. "Harvey? Harvey!" His voice echoed briefly along the corridor and then died.

"Shit, didn't I tell you he was creepy?"

Rob fired her a disapproving look. "Get off it, will ya? He probably just went to tip a kidney." He pulled her hand but she held her ground.

"No, Rob, I'm scared. Let's go get Potter so he can look for Harvey."

"And leave the others to be picked off by our friendly neighborhood lunatic? Bad idea."

Kit pursed her lips and nodded, and they continued up to the landing. Rob flicked on the hall light, knocked on Chaz's door. "Chaz? Nikki?"

There was no answer, and he knocked a second time. After a moment, Kit asked nervously, "Where could they be?"

"They're probably in bed. It's tough to hear when you've got somebody's thighs wrapped around your ears." He yelled, "Hey Chaz, Nikki, get dressed! Barney Fife's here to rescue us."

The silence continued and, growing alarmed, Rob opened the door a crack. Kit peeked in over his shoulder.

The light was on and the room was empty, but the bed was wet with blood. It coated the sheets, headboard, and part of the wall; heavy dollops were dripping slowly from the sheet into a puddle on the floorboards.

Kit gagged violently and Rob turned her away, running with her toward Muffy's room. She went along numbly for a few paces and then stopped.

"Now what?"

"Rob, suppose they aren't dead? Suppose the killer's saving them for later and has them tied up in a closet or bathroom somewhere? Nikki!" she started back to the room. "Nikki!"

Rob caught the back of her shirt. "Forget it, they're goners."

"No, we have to—"

"I said forget it! Christ, Chaz and Nikki are probably already in the well with the others!"

"But you're not sure! You were wrong about the killer not being able to get in the house, and maybe you're wrong about this!"

"No way! You saw the blood! Someone cut them up like fucking sausage!"

Her resistance wavered. "Harvey. It was Harvey who did it."

"Forget Harvey! Let's get Muffy!"

Kit nodded halfheartedly and followed him down the hallway.

Muffy's door was wide open and their hearts sank when they saw the room. The blankets and pillows had been slashed, the drapes torn down, and everything from LPs to the flowers she'd cut were strewn about. The balcony windows were open and there were wet footprints on the floor. Rob took a quick look in the bathroom and saw that the floor was covered with water.

"Looks like someone surprised her, but at least there's no blood. There's a good chance she got away."

Pulling Kit behind him, Rob headed downstairs and made for the back door. As they ran through the dining room, Kit noticed an elongated shadow high on the wall. She followed it along the steeply pitched cathedral ceiling to a thick rope. One end of it was slung over the oak rafters, the other tied around Hal's neck. Kit screamed and stopped in her tracks; Rob looked up and swore.

"Son of a bitch!"

"Oh Christ, what's going on! Who's doing this?"

"Doesn't matter! Let's go."

"No... Muffy. What about Muffy!"

"If she's alive, she'll have to take care of herself. C'mon, we've got to get to the dock."

Kit shook her head. "No, not this way. Not under him."

Rather than argue, Rob pulled Kit through the living room. When they reached the foyer he released her hand and put his eye to the peephole. When he was sure no one was outside, he reached back; she was gone.

He looked frantically around and called once. When she didn't answer, Rob retrieved the pickup keys, holding them between his fingers like claws. He hurried toward the steps.

"Kit! Come on, dammit, don't do this!"

He stopped when he heard a rattling sound in the kitchen.

"Kit?"

The rattling gave way to a loud grinding and Rob hurried over. He found Kit bent over a knife sharpener, her eyes slightly wild. He walked cautiously toward her.

"Kit, what the hell are you doing? I thought you didn't even want to come this way."

"I didn't," she said over the drone, "but Nikki was right. We need to arm ourselves. Jesus, if we hadn't talked her out of it she might still be alive." Kit turned, the gleaming knife held tightly in her fist. She shook it ominously. "If someone tries to take me, I'm gonna fight. It's gonna cost 'em."

Rob couldn't help but smile. "Okay," he said, "bring the knife. Just make sure you don't go attacking anybody who doesn't attack you first."

"I won't," she promised, the mad twinkle still in her eyes as Rob led the way out the kitchen door.

CHAPTER

14

The flare evaporated, and the creatures it had startled resumed their nocturnal chatter. Only around Constable Potter did the crickets remain silent and the owls watch without comment. They were waiting for him to make up his mind, to stand on the dock or on the beach, instead of pacing to and fro.

Potter was oblivious to his impatient companions as he slipped off his leather jacket and slung it over his shoulder. It was hot, and great dark stains had formed under the armpits of his gray shirt; he loosened his tie with a hooked finger.

"Damn slowpokes!"

Finally perching his considerable bulk on the side of the dock, he tapped the toe of his crossed leg and hummed off-key while he waited for the kids to arrive.

***

Rob slammed down the hood of the pickup and looked wrathfully at Kit. "Someone knew what they were doing."

"Useless?"

"Yup. Distributor wire, vacuum hose, ignition wire—it'd take hours to put it all back together."

Kit looked toward the porch light. Everything seemed so peaceful, so rustic, she couldn't believe they were fighting for their lives. "What about the van?"

"Don't have the keys. Even if I did, that's probably wrecked, too."

"Then do we run or stay put?"

"We can't stay here. We're sitting ducks." He looked from the field to the driveway. "It's all a question of which way to go."

"The field's brighter—"

"Yeah, but I think we'll be better off on the road. If Potter comes looking for us, that's the route he'll take." Rob glanced back at the house. "Damn, I wish we'd taken the flashlight."

"Well we didn't, and you're not going back."

He thought for a moment. "I put it on the kitchen rack. It's just inside the door—"

"Rob, no!"

She grabbed him but he shucked off her hand and started toward the house; before he'd gone a half dozen steps, the lights in every window went dead.

"On second thought," he said, "screw the flashlight."

Rob turned and pushed Kit ahead of him, and the two hurried down the driveway. His eyes shifting between the house and the dark road ahead, Rob failed to see a chuckhole and went down; he swore, the oath drawing Kit around.

"You okay?"

Rob picked himself up and winced. "I twisted it."

"Can you walk?"

"Do I have a choice?"

He tried the foot, wincing again, but hobbled forward. Kit pointed up the driveway with her knife. "We can always sit in the van till morning."

"No dice. We're the only ones left, which means the killer doesn't have to be discreet anymore. All it'd take is a shotgun blast through the windshield or a match in the gas tank and we'd be history." Uncomfortable but ambulatory, he was several yards past Kit when he stopped. "You coming?"

Kit nodded and hurried along.

The path went straight for several hundred yards, after which it plunged down into a series of sharp S-curves. The road was a dark catacomb nestled between high road cuts, Kit and Rob jogging quickly beneath the bluffs and their ancient, towering sycamore, many of which were gnarled and hovering over the path like grasping arms. Bushes at the base of the cliffs rustled as frightened raccoons and skunks hurried off, the polecats leaving their choking scent. But the couple didn't stop, and they soon emerged into a gently curving stretch of road that cut through a sparse pine wood.

Walking proved to be the best thing for Rob's foot, and the injury barely bothered him by the time they reached the dock. By then, he wouldn't have cared if it had hurt: the sight of the outboard bobbing lazily beside the wharf was enough to make his spirits soar.

"The ark!" he cried.

"Yeah, but where's Noah?"

They stopped and looked around, Rob calling for Potter. Only the gentle lapping of the waves answered back, and Kit nervously hugged his arm. "Maybe he went to the house."

"Through the field? Why would he have done that?"

"’Cause he's a jerk?"

Rob nodded and started toward the boat. "If there's another flare we can signal him."

"And if not?"

"Then to hell with Potter. We'll take the boat out a few hundred yards and wait. I'll feel better out there than here."

The couple hurried onto the dock and Kit climbed aboard, sitting stiffly erect on the fiberglass seat in the starboard quarter. She kept careful watch along the shore while Rob looked for the flare gun.

"Not here," he said. "The idiot must've taken it with him."

Wasting no time, Rob bent over the sharply dipped mooring line and undid it; when it was free, he tossed it in the water, climbed in, and pushed off. The boat drifted a few feet and then stopped cold.

"Now what?"

"Only Murphy's Law at work," Rob answered. "The rope's caught on something."

Grabbing the knot just beyond the bow eye, he bundled it around his fists and gave a hearty jerk. The line came free and Kit screamed as a gray form bobbed to the surface. From his point in the bow, Rob could make out a web of fishing line tied around the body of Constable Potter and knotted to the pilings beneath the surface. The figure turned slowly and stared up at them, the eyes wide and scarred, still, with terror. The body continued its revolution and then vanished beneath the surface.

Hunkering down behind her knife, Kit growled, "Start the damn engine and get us out of here."

Rob went to the dashboard, but it was too dark to read the controls. Locating a toolbox beneath the seat, he found a flashlight and flicked it on.

"God, I should've guessed."

"What?"

"No key." He shone the beam on the floor and moved it around. "Whoever killed Potter must've taken it."

"Wait," Kit ordered, "let me have some light. There's something here."

Rob directed the light toward her feet. "What is it?"

Her voice dropped. "Nothing. It's just a letter addressed to Potter. Must've fallen—"

"A letter?" Rob was suddenly attentive. "Let me see." He made his way over and she pressed the letter into his hands. "Potter said something about a letter on the phone," he said as he unfolded it. Under the glow of the flashlight they both looked at the letterhead. "State Hospital for the Criminally Insane," Rob said, his voice low. He read further.

March 31

Dear Constable Potter:

Pursuant to our previous communication, please be advised that the patient under discussion has still not been found and returned to custody and is now believed to be attempting to return to her home in your jurisdiction. If encountered, exercise extreme caution and notify us immediately, as Miss St. John has been a patient here for three years and is still considered incorrigibly unstable and extremely dangerous.

Kit's fear gave way to bewilderment. "Miss St. John? What does it mean? It doesn't make sense! Muffy hasn't been in any state mental institution for the last three years. She's been at Vassar!"

Rob crushed both the letter and the flashlight into his back pocket. "I don't understand it either, but first things first. Didn't Muffy say there was another key back in the kitchen?"

"I think so, but what good is that to us?"

"We're gonna have to go and get it—unless, of course, you want to stay here and watch Potter swim."

Kit was about to suggest that they pole the boat from shore when she remembered what Muffy had told her about Potter's brother. She flexed her fingers around the knife and said, "Let's do it."

They went through the field this time, feeling safer with the bright moonlight behind them. The passage was without incident and, walking wide around the well, they approached the dark house. Rob lagged slightly behind, looking up at the dark windows while Kit peered ahead, her blade at the ready. As they neared, Rob tapped Kit on the shoulder.

"What's wrong?"

He whispered, "The killer will probably be watching the doors. There's another way to go, a shorter way."

He motioned for her to follow him along the side of the house. When they reached the transom window, he turned on the flashlight; neither of them was aware of the pale face gazing down from the attic.

"This'll bring us downstairs, right to the pantry steps." Handing her the light, he bent and tried the window. It was unlocked and he worked it open with his fingertips, pulling it up slowly so the rusted hinges wouldn't grate. Crawling in on his belly, Rob placed his hands on the stacks of blankets and, drawing in his feet, swung to the floor.

The room was pitch-black and, after cocking his ear toward the steps, he waved Kit in. She handed Rob the flashlight and snuggled down after him, taking a moment to brush off the cobwebs and dust. Bending to reach her legs, she knocked something over; there was a dull crash and Rob threw the beam around, shining it on a toppled bundle of newspapers. Kit sighed heavily, and when they were sure no one was coming to investigate, they started toward the steps.

"Wait!" Kit hissed, "let me have the light again."

Rob turned back and she directed him toward an old chiffonier behind the newspapers. There was a ragged growth chart taped to the side and, though the ink was faded, she could still make out the writing: two identical sets of hashmarks with "Muffy" written over one, "Buffy" over the other.

"I wonder—" Kit began but, before she could elaborate, something started dripping in the corner of the cellar, near the steps. Rob turned the beam in that direction. The light revealed a dark utility room and, drawing a deep breath, Kit started toward it, holding steadily onto the knife.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"To see if Muffy's body is there."

"Her body?"

Rob came along reluctantly, and when they reached the room Kit took the light. She shone it around, settling on the source of the drip: an open tap. Below it, from its basin to its metal legs, the sink was smeared with blood. She followed the crimson trail to the floor, where there were bloody footprints leading to the incinerator.

"Kit, what's going on?" He cast a worried look from Kit's knife to her eyes. "How did you know about this?"

"I didn't."

She followed the streaks of blood to the cast-iron door. Reaching out hesitantly, Kit pulled it open and angled the beam inside: stuffed inside, among the powdery ashes, were the charred remains of a sweatsuit, Shetland sweater, pleated skirt, and penny loafers.

"Muffy's clothes," Kit said tonelessly. She shut the door, lost in thought. "It makes sense now. Her strange behavior, the picture of the girls in the study."

"What picture?"

"Muffy... and Buffy." She looked at Rob. "The letter, what the constable was trying to tell you. It's not Muffy—it's her twin sister Buffy. She has a twin sister! Buffy's the one who's been in a mental hospital. She's escaped, and come here, and last night killed Muffy, and now the others. Don't you see? It's not Muffy we've been seeing today, it's her twin sister pretending to be Muffy!"

Rob whistled just as a hollow clopping filtered in from the transom. Grabbing the flashlight and running back, he arrived just in time to see pale hands retreating from the window with a hammer. He drove the side of his fist against the frame.

"Damn, she's nailed the thing shut!"

"Can't you push it open or smash it?"

"Not before she can get to the pantry door. And if she's got a gun—" He left the thought unfinished and ran ahead. "C'mon, she still has to get around the house. Maybe we can get the damn keys and make a run for it."

Pushing his way through the clutter and up the stairs, Rob ran through the pantry and into the darkened kitchen. He arrived just as footsteps came tramping from outside, bearing someone swiftly toward the door.

CHAPTER

15

Rob jumped forward as the screen door opened. He pushed the wooden inner door shut and turned the lock; stealing a peek through one of the four high panes, he saw a figure in a white smock suddenly glide into the night. With renewed hope, Rob shone the flashlight on the nearest cabinet. Kit arrived then and, laying her knife on the counter, she retrieved the flashlight from the far wall. It felt hollow, and when she unscrewed the back she saw that the batteries had been removed. Dropping it to the floor, she began feeling through the drawers and cabinets on her side of the room.

There was a crunching at the door and Rob stopped what he was doing. "Shit, what now?"

In response, a crowbar crashed through the door and the jamb, sending splinters flying from both. Noticing the iron skillet in the dish rack, Rob grabbed it and pushed hard against the crowbar, forcing it back. There was a howl of frustration from the other side and, a moment later, the bar poked through again, just above one of the hinges. The killer's hammer came down hard and in a single blow cracked the pin and bracket.

Rob gave up on the door and rushed to the walk-in tool closet. "Hurry, Kit, time's almost up!"

"I'm looking, dammit!" She slammed one cabinet shut and opened another. "I could do this faster if you'd bring the light back in!"

"In a minute!" Rob gave a sharp whoop of excitement. "Forget it, I found the board!"

The hammer struck again, weakening the second pin.

"Rob, hurry up! I can't see where I'm going!"

His pulse racing, Rob scanned the masking tape labels on each key in the top row. "Front door, carriage house, tool shed, Muffy's room, shit!" He went to the next row. "Kitchen door, Clara's room—outboard!" He whooped just as the kitchen door crashed in. He turned, but not in time: the figure in white propelled itself forward, the closet door slamming in his face, the crowbar wedged beneath it. Rob was unable to work the door open.

"Kit, run! Run!"

Rob swore as he heard Kit scream; he stepped back for another go at the door. But before he could hit it, a finger tapped him on the shoulder. He twisted around, his flashlight illuminating the face of a very alive, very satisfied Harvey.

"Shhhh," he whispered, "you'll spoil everything."

***

Kit looked back at the haunted figure of Buffy St. John. In the scant moonlight, she could see a mad face peeking out from behind long strings of dangling hair. It was a face whose features were the same as Muffy's except that they were pale and cruel. Spittle had collected at the side of the downturned mouth, and the eyes were so wide as to appear lidless.

"Buffy, please we didn't mean any harm."

The figure started when it heard its name, then continued its relentless approach, a knife swinging pendulumlike at her side.

"P-please... we're leaving. We just want to go home. Please…"

Kit backed up against the double doors that led from the kitchen to the living room. Buffy's arm began to ascend and Kit shrank down.

"No..."

Kit thought incongruously of a mousetrap she'd once watched her father set. He'd brought the spring back slowly, inexorably, and she'd watched with grim fascination as it was locked tight, ready to clap the life from its victim.

"No... oh God!" Kit bundled herself behind her arms and gave a small cry of fear as the knife came down—

The retractable blade hit the doors hard beside her face and they swung open, spilling Kit into the living room. She kicked her feet anxiously to push away, but Buffy just stood there. Then the lights flared on.

"Surprise! April Fool!"

Kit shot around.

A semicircle of people was gathered behind spider-leg tables on which plates of coldcuts and beverages had been spread. Constable Potter was on one end of the half-circle and Buck—drawing on a cigarette, the smoke curling past his mangled face—was at the other; between them was everyone who had come to the island. Some were munching sandwiches, others holding drinks. All were grinning, except for Nan.

Kit looked back at Buffy. The ghostly figure was smiling now and pulled off her wig. She tossed it on the telephone table, then peeled off the fine latex mask that had distorted her features. She lay it beside the wig and reached out to help Kit up.

Kit slapped her hand away. "Muffy, you sonofabitch!"

Muffy was mildly surprised by the rebuke. "C'mon, Kit, it was a joke!"

"A joke?!" Kit scampered to her feet and glowered into the room. "All of you, you're sonsofbitches!"

"Don't blame us!" Arch and Chaz sang out in unison. Arch continued on his own—over a mouthful of salami—"We weren't in on it. It was all Muffy's scheme."

Still aghast, Kit said to no one in particular, "I can't believe it. Do you know what you did to me?"

"You?" Chaz bellowed. "We all got sucked in just as bad."

Hal walked in then, preceded by a slope-shouldered Rob. Kit let out a fluttering sigh and ran over to embrace him.

"You okay?" he asked quietly.

"I-I guess so."

They kissed and Muffy clapped excitedly. "You know, you all ought to get the Congressional Medal of Honor. Thank you. Really. I love you all! But you and Rob, Kit—you were really super. You figured it all out. The clues really worked."

The couple broke their embrace. "I gotta sit down," Rob said. He headed for the sofa, rubbing his temples.

Kit remained where she was and turned to Muffy, her expression unforgiving. "You've got a lot of explaining to do, Muffy St. John."

"Why? We're all alive and we're all friends, and there's food and stuff. Isn't that enough?"

"No."

"Well then, how about if I told you it was all the script for a weekend special that's going to help me keep this house?"

"I'd say you've been copping too many puffs on Skip's j's."

"No, really. Next month I get the house as part of my inheritance, it's true—but only if I can show my father that it can carry itself. It's been in the family for years. But taxes, expenses—he wants to sell it and the island to a New Jersey developer. So I'm planning on turning it into a country inn and offering a special once-in-a-lifetime Whodunit Weekend. You know, the kind of vacation where people solve a crime. But I needed a rehearsal. I worked it all out on a miniature model, but I had to actually try out the idea and script on somebody."

Rob's disbelief turned to anger and he stared crossly at his friends. "And you guys played along?"

"Sure," Arch admitted. "I thought it was kinda neat—after I was bumped off, that is."

Muffy said, "I let them in on it as they were killed. Weren't they sweet?"

"They suck moose," Rob countered.

Chaz took a swallow of beer. "Listen, Robbo, you'd be surprised what you'll do after you've nearly been strangled to death."

Muffy chided, "Oh, it wasn't that bad."

"Bullshit! I saw fuckin' stars and planets before you let me go!"

Hal added, "And that harness you hung me in was so tight it cut the hell out of my sides."

Nan looked at Kit. "I didn't want to go along," she said apologetically, "but I didn't want to spoil anything."

"That's right," Muffy agreed, "Nan really did require some convincing when we decided to throw her dummy in the well. But she finally came through. Everybody had to—otherwise, none of it would've worked!"

Kit's eyes were still on Muffy. "You're crazy, you know that? You're lucky you didn't get yourself killed!"

"Oh, it never would've come to that. It would've all been called off before anyone got hurt. That's the main thing I learned: flexibility. I didn't even know who was going to get bumped off first. Professor Hansell was right when he told us that the secret of success isn't in the writing—it's in the rewriting."

Rob accepted a beer from Potter and said limply, "So there's no crazy twin sister Buffy?"

"Nope. Madness may run in my family, but no crazy twin sister. Just a crazy, fun-loving dope-fiend brother."

"Brother?" Nikki gawked.

Muffy gestured grandly to Skip, who was pouring himself another glass of Scotch. He bowed.

"I don't get it," Nikki continued. "Skip—he's your brother?"

"And my dear, dear friend," Muffy said sincerely.

Nikki left Chaz and stalked to Skip's side. He was wearing a cockeyed smile, embarrassed to be the center of attention. "You bastard, you were in on the whole deal, too!"

"Only until we got to the house. Then I got taken in like the rest of you."

"Prick!" Arch snapped. "And I thought we trusted each other!"

"We do. But my big sister comes first."

Chaz asked him, "So what castle are you gonna inherit when you turn twenty-one?"

Constable Potter looked over, his eyes lowering critically to the drink in Skip's hand. "Before he inherits anything, he's got to prove he can manage his own allowance."

Potter's voice had lost its drawl and was now very businesslike. Kit folded her arms. "Excuse me, but does this mean that you're no constable either?"

Muffy made the introductions. "Uncle Frank, meet Kit Graham." The portly man waddled over and shook Kit's hand. Muffy went on, "St. John et frere. Uncle Frank owns a seat on the New York Stock Exchange. Usually we don't even see him summers, he's so busy. But this time he made an exception."

Hal's eyebrows arched with interest as Frank hugged Muffy tightly.

"Ain't I somethin'?" asked Frank. "I almost bust a gut holding my breath at the dock, but I haven't had this much fun since my Hasty Pudding Show, sophomore year at Harvard. God, I owe you kids."

Cal shuffled over and tugged at Muffy's smock. "Say, how'd I do? Boy, was I shakin'! I never done no actin' before."

"You were superb," Muffy said, "not only as an actor, but as my assistant killer. Y'see, Cal's our regular ferryman between the mainland and the islands around here, and he did the strong-arm stuff for me, like working the tractor and hoisting Hal over the rafters." She winked at him. "You more than met the dramatic challenge, Cal."

Kit's eye caught Buck, who had plopped on a wing chair, his legs slung over the side. He was dressed in a jumpsuit and gold chain, every trace of the hick gone.

"So," she said, "how're you feeling?"

Buck took a puff on his cigarette and said nonchalantly, "Never felt better."

Muffy said proudly, "Buck's an old friend of the family who came in from Hollywood for the occasion. He wrote, produced, acted in, and did the makeup on Dawn of the Zombies. It did twenty-eight million at the box office."

"Thirty-nine, but who's counting?"

"Wow, a real producer!" trumpeted Chaz with the reverence of a palace herald. "Buck, you lucky fuckin' stiff."

Buck looked out at the group. "I bet you're thinkin', 'How'd that sonofagun do it?’"

Rob said, "Frankly, Buck, no."

"I am," said Chaz, raising his hand in emphasis.

Buck slipped a finger under his hairline and tugged down at the latex wound. "All I needed was an opening; Skip's prank was ideal. This appliance was all stashed and ready by the waterline. It's the water makes the effect so special, gives it that glistening, fresh-from-the-slaughterhouse look."

"Disgusting," said Nikki; then she glanced at Chaz, who had reached down and was cradling Arch's decapitated head. "And you're even worse."

"Hey, what can I say? This is art and the guy's a genius."

"Just some old props I redressed," Buck said with a shrug.

Kit turned again to Muffy. "So the picture of you and your 'twin' sister in the study—"

"Fake. It's really me and Skippy when we were kids. I got the lab to double-print me over him."

Arch poked his elbow in Skip's side. "And here I thought you just threw on a little eyeliner, a couple of curls—"

Skip ignored him. He looked admiringly at his sister and raised his glass. "The nervous breakdowns you gave us aside, it really was a brilliant performance."

Kit said uneasily, "Maybe, but we still oughta kill you."

"You're telling me!" Arch snorted. "Man, when I saw that tractor coming at me through the grass, I nearly crapped in my pants!"

Cal chuckled, "What do you mean, 'nearly'? I was behind the wheel!"

Everyone laughed but Rob, Kit, and Nan, and Muffy said pointedly, "Well, I'm really glad most of you have a sense of humor about this, and the only thing I regret is that some of those fake clues I planted in the bedrooms I guess were taken too seriously." She looked at Nan, who had half-turned away from her. There was a trace of genuine regret in Muffy's eyes when she said, "Sorry about that. Otherwise, I think you ought to all thank me."

Nikki gagged on her cherry Coke. "Come again?"

"Don't you know what I did for you? You're Marines now—there's nothing in this world that's ever going to scare the crap out of you again!"

Grinning, Arch leaned behind Chaz and overturned a beer on his head.

"You fuck!"

Arch smiled. "Whenever I can!"

Muffy laughed as Chaz chased Arch into the dining room and around the table. "I stand corrected. Almost nothing will scare you."

While everyone else shook their heads and broke off into small groups, Muffy excused herself to finish cleaning off her makeup; she walked quickly up the stairs, unaware of the eyes that narrowed and watched her go. After making a slow sweep of the other guests, their owner fixed a sandwich and smiled.

CHAPTER

16

The dining room windows were open and a warm breeze blew gently across the table. Everyone enjoyed the feel and taste of the clean morning air, spiced with the delicate scent of roses wafting in from the garden. A lance of bright sunlight cut across the elegant place settings and through a crystal decanter filled with freshly squeezed orange juice; it cast a full spectrum of colors on the living room floor.

Skip snapped his fingers in front of Nan, who was staring distractedly at the rainbow. "Hey, lady, you with us?"

Nan forced a little smile and nodded as she pushed chunks of ham around her plate. "I guess I'm not very hungry."

Arch jabbed his fork at her plate and mumbled through a mouthful of food, "If you don't want those, pass 'em here. This is great ham."

"And great eggs," contributed Buck. "Even the Polo Lounge doesn't fix things up this fancy."

Chaz broke off from a quiet conversation with Frank and declared loudly, "Of course, Muff, this is just what we need in New England. Another country inn."

"Aw, lay off," Arch complained. "There ain't ever been one like Muffy has in mind."

Seated at the head of the table, Muffy bowed to her champion as Rob rose, patting his belly. "Well, if the food's any indication, this venture is already halfway there."

"No seconds?"

"With due respect to the chef, my insides're still a little skittish after last night. I think I'll see how Kit's doing with the coffee."

"I'm a little sick too," Arch blustered, "but there's no way in hell I'm gonna pass up grub like this. Rob, wouldja pass those chocolate chip whatevers?"

Rob handed him the basket of scones and went into the kitchen just as the ferryman entered.

"Hi, Cal," Muffy said, giving a cheerful wave. "How about it? Some breakfast?"

"Ordinarily, I'd say no. I shouldn't've slept this late as it is, an' I've still got to get the raft from the grotto." He licked his lips. "But this spread looks too good to pass up, so I'll have some eggs and a few slices o' ham and then it's all ashore who're goin' ashore."

Chaz turned from his chat with Frank to yell into the kitchen. "Hey, Kit! How's the coffee comin'?"

"Slowly," she called back. "I'm not used to these tin percolators."

Rob stepped behind her. "Need any help?"

"What I need is a Mr. Coffee." Granules fell on the counter as she tried to get the brewing basket to sit flat on the base. "I swear, if I had to do this every day I'd be a Lipton lover."

He kissed her on the ear. "Right now I wouldn't care if I had to drink mud. Boy, what a difference being alive makes."

She flicked on the switch and faced him. "True. But I think it'll be a while before my stomach can take solid food."

He kissed her again. "You wanna know how different things look this morning? The first thing I'm gonna do when I get back is send out applications till my bank account runs dry."

"A new start on the road to med school?"

"You bet. They don't have to be the best schools, I just want a chance. I can always transfer once I'm in."

Kit looked proudly at Rob and the two embraced just as Chaz and Frank bustled in with their empty mugs.

"—and what about Behind the Green Door?" Frank was saying. "I've been told that the scene with her hanging from the ropes was—"

"Nope, not even close to Blown With the Wind. I'm talking here about twenty-five acts of oral sex, anal entry, and bestiality with Rhett Buttfuck's horse—twenty-six counting the two-fer with the dog."

Rob broke from Kit and noted sarcastically, "I see you've found a kindred soul."

Chaz slapped Frank on the back. "Ole Franklin's lived a pretty sheltered life, but I've convinced him to get a VCR and live a little!"

Blushing, Frank explained, "All I asked was which model of machine did he suggest. I don't know how we got off on this, er, tangent."

"’Cause you're a horny old geezer!" Chaz laughed, swatting him again. "Don't be ashamed of it. Better to fuck than to be fucked."

"Say, Chaz," said Kit, "I hate to interrupt such a profound conversation, but where's Nikki? I haven't seen her all morning."

"Don't know. I crashed with Arch last night. We had some serious drinkin' to do. Y'know, man stuff. No time to take King Richard on a crusade."

"King Richard?" Frank asked innocently.

"Richard. My dick. Comprendez?"

"Ah, yes I see."

Chaz grinned knowingly. "Get the VCR, man. It'll straighten you out in more ways than one."

Rob said, "I just realized. Nikki's not down yet, and neither is Hal. I'd start worrying if I were you, Chaz."

"Yeah, right. Ms. Kink and the farmer's daughter's accountant." He looked at the percolator and frowned. "Say, Kit, mind if I ask you something?"

"What?"

"Don't you think that sucker'd work better if you plugged it in?"

Looking from Chaz to the percolator, Kit threw up her hands and left the kitchen. She went upstairs to pack, Rob at her side.

***

Nikki bit her lower lip to stifle a scream. "Ohhh yes…"

Hal was grimacing, rotating his pelvis forcefully. "Go, Nik, go. Let 'er rip!"

"Yesss…"

He wedged his hands beneath her thighs, pushing her legs up so he could penetrate deeper. "C'mon, baby, let's hear it!"

"God…" she moaned through her teeth, then turned to push her face into the pillow. "God…"

"One more, Nik, gimme the Holy damn Trinity—"

"Goooooood..."

"Attagirl!" Hal rasped, "atta-girl!" he cried and let go, burying his face in her damp, heaving shoulder. Then he collapsed and the two of them lay panting; it took a long moment for Hal to climb back to reality, Nikki an instant less.

"Get off, Hal, you're crushing me."

He dutifully rolled over, his arms flopping across his face.

"God," she said, wheezing, "that was unreal. I promise to talk you up to Muffy."

Hal found his voice and threw out a phrase with each breath. "Then you… forgive me… for taking advantage... while you were drunk?"

She absently rubbed his hairy chest. "That was last night. This morning, it was all my idea. Just don't tell me it's something you learned on the farm."

"Huh?"

"You know… baaaaa."

Nikki burst out laughing, but Hal only lay there, smiling.

***

Chaz adjusted the eyepiece and peered through, focusing on the pickup. Cal had repaired the damaged engine and was waiting behind the wheel, Buck at his side, while the passengers gathered. The men waved just to get rid of Chaz, and he promptly turned his lens on Kit and Muffy. They were walking side by side, several paces ahead of Hal and Nikki—who, when she was certain Chaz was shooting the girls, sneaked behind Hal and gave him a final, playful pinch.

Kit and Muffy reached the pickup, and Kit regarded her friend with grudging admiration. "I hate to say it, but thanks for a really unforgettable party."

"The pleasure was mine. Just make sure you eat something on the road. I don't want you wasting away because of me."

"I'll be okay. I packed some Oreos and ham for later." She pressed her cheek to Muffy's. "See you in a week for finals."

Kit climbed into the pickup as Arch and Skip walked out the front door. Arch shot Muffy an A-okay sign. "You get five stars in my book. I may even come back myself."

"Yeah, great party, sis. Sorry I can't stay to help with the cleanup, but there's a lady who's simply gonna die if I don't get back."

"In Boston? Which one this time?"

"Oh, Father would definitely not approve. A receptionist on Washington Street."

"Washington Street! Skip, you know what that'll do to the good family name?"

"I'm more concerned with what Ms. Edwina Grimley is going to do to me—which, I must say, is considerable."

Muffy smiled indulgently as Skip kissed her forehead. She stepped back and brushed ashes from the lapels of his tweed jacket. "You're impossible. Who'd believe that beneath this handsome, Ivy League exterior lurks a creature lower on the evolutionary scale than Chaz?"

"I heard that!" Chaz bellowed as Skip and Arch went to the pickup. "Just remember, it was Freud who said that the only thing a man finds more exciting than a woman is two women."

"Where did he say that?" asked Rob as he and Frank came from the house.

"Uh... well, it wasn't actually Sigmund Freud who said it, it was a relative of his."

"A relative?" asked Frank, genuinely interested.

"Yeah, his brother. Not very well known, Arnie Freud. His field was sexual non-aberrations, so no one gave a shit."

Realizing his leg was being pulled—and doubly annoyed because it was on tape—Frank exhaled loudly and caught up to Rob, who'd gone to talk to Muffy.

Rob turned to him. "Well, Frank, does she pass muster?"

Frank hugged Muffy tightly. "With flying colors. I'll make a full and glowing report to your father tomorrow, so he can draw up the deed along with the other papers for the Wednesday signing." He cast a rueful look toward the pickup. "I only wish I could say the same about your brother."

Muffy grew defensive. "Uncle Frank, he's been a great help this weekend. I think you're all a bit too hard on him."

"On the contrary. His conduct at school and his grade point remain inexcusable. He knows your father can't be expected to entrust him. Now I've already talked to Skip, and he has to get used to the fact that until he learns responsibility he'll have to live with you holding the purse strings."

"Excuse me," Rob cut in, "but I'll leave you to discuss this in private."

"No, no," Frank said quickly, "that's really all there is to say." He looked at the pickup. "It looks to me like things are pretty crowded in there. I think I'll walk down."

"Just stay clear of the tractor," Muffy teased. "There's a killer on the loose!"

Frank walked off and Rob turned to Muffy. "Well, thanks again. It's been ... different."

Muffy threw her arms around Rob and pulled him close. "Thanks for coming, and thanks even more for being such a good sport."

"That's my middle name," he said, tipping an imaginary hat as he headed for the pickup. He went directly to the flatbed, where Kit was sitting against the cab, and hefted his suitcase up.

"What's up, future-doc?"

"Family problems we should all have."

Rob hopped on and snuggled beside her, Kit resting her head on his shoulder. She noticed Nan leaving through the kitchen just then, approaching the pickup from the rear; she watched as Muffy ran after her, calling her name.

"Nan, please! I want to talk to you!"

Nan continued on, stopping only when Muffy cut in front of her. "What do you want?"

"Look, I know you're upset but I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry about the misunderstanding."

"Misunderstanding?" Nan yelled, her voice like a whip. "Is that all it was to you?"

"Sure. What else?"

"Jesus, Muffy, you're sick." She started off again and Muffy grabbed her. Nan shook off her hand. "Leave me alone!"

"Nan, I don't understand why you're acting like this. The tape was just some idle cocktail party gossip I recorded. There was nothing on it about—"

"Idle cocktail party gossip? That's what you call a baby crying for its mother?"

Muffy's thin brows dipped at the center. "What do you mean? I didn't put a tape like that in your room."

"You don't let up, do you? Especially when the joke's on somebody else."

"Nan, really—"

"Really my ass!"

"No, listen to me! All I did was leave things to remind everyone of home. I wanted to confuse you, make you think the killer wasn't Buck but one of you, someone who knew about your private lives. That's why I had copies of The Tennessee Gazette in Hal's room, steroids for Arch, a vibrator for Nikki. The only thing I could think of for you was how your folks are always having parties, so I made a party tape."

"With the baby thrown in for laughs."

"No, Nan, there wasn't any—"

"Muffy, drop it! I've had enough of this weekend and I've certainly had enough of you!" Turning, Nan went to the pickup and slammed the door behind her. Bewildered, Muffy pushed her hair from her face and stared in amazement at a friend who was obviously having delusions. She wondered whether it was safe to let her drive home or whether she should call the real constable.

While she decided, the ferryman opened the door a crack. "That it, Muffy?"

Muffy took a last look at Nan and decided to let her be. Maybe she'd calm a little during the rest of vacation week so they could discuss this rationally, back at school. She said, "Yes, Cal, that's it. Uncle Frank's walking."

"You look tired. You gonna be okay here by yourself?"

Muffy put on a smile. "I'll be fine. And thanks again for all you did."

The ferryman smiled, then backed down the driveway and turned onto the road. Waving one last time, Muffy walked slowly back to the house, the strains of "One Hundred Bottles of Beer…" ringing out from the cab.

The dirty dining room table helped Muffy put Nan from her mind. Her gaze went from the filthy dishes to the skillets and utensils in the kitchen and then to the steps leading upstairs.

"To hell with it," she said, throwing her hands up at the mess and making for the staircase. The dishes weren't going anywhere and she'd handle them later. She hadn't slept the night before, going from the all-night celebration to making breakfast, and decided to do that first.

Crawling up to her room, she made her way through the mess "Buffy" had made, nearly impaling her foot on a flower vase that lay shattered on the floor. Pushing it aside with her toe, she picked up an overturned spider plant, a Duran Duran album, and a pair of scissors. Setting them on her dresser, she flopped on the king-size bed.

"What a great bunch of people," she muttered as she pulled off her jeans and snuggled under the ruffled cover. "Okay, there were a few hurt feelings. But all in all, things went great." She also told herself that regardless of what Frank said, she had a terrific brother. He had innate smarts, too; all he needed was a few more years to outgrow the dope and one-night stands.

Oblivious to the birds outside her window, Muffy drifted into sleep. There was no more planning or living the scenario so completely that it absorbed her night and day. There would be no more nightmares—just rest, and she embraced it with a sense of satisfaction unlike any she had ever known.

***

The pickup reached the dock just as Frank arrived. He was breathless and plopped down on a fallen lifeguard stand as Hal walked over.

"You look a little flushed, sir."

"I feel even worse. Guess I'm just too old for this sort of thing."

Hal looked him over. "Nonsense, sir. It isn't age you're fighting."

"Oh? What is it?"

"You're out of shape! What you need is to work out regularly. You know—an hour of racquetball or tennis during lunch, something vigorous."

Frank frowned. "Is that how you stay so trim?"

"That, plus watching the diet." He leaned on his bent knee and said seriously, "Forgive me for being so forward, but I'd be happy to work with you during the summer. I can get you down fifteen or twenty pounds by August."

Frank noticed the expectation in his eyes and smiled knowingly. "No doubt you'll make me so dependent that it will be necessary to continue my lessons during your senior year. Say, as an apprentice stockbroker."

"Well sir, I am a damn good accountant."

"You might well be, but the market's no bed of roses, I can tell you that."

"I know sir, and I expect to have a few hard years. You see, I also plan to study law at night. But if I could do some work for you now, perhaps get my feet wet on the St. John portfolio, maybe I could interview for a permanent position next year."

"I see. Well, why not? You seem a bright enough young man. Get me your records and I'll have a look."

Hal beamed and vigorously shook the older man's hand as the raft sputtered from the small, hidden grotto. The two men made their way over, Hal pausing to help Buck load his makeup gear. The others also came aboard, Chaz bringing up the rear and shaking a finger at the ferryman.

"This time no funny business, okay?"

Cal grinned and pushed off, guiding the raft onto a lake as calm as the day was unpressured. Cal settled in beside the engine—which sounded fine, Rob noted, now that the charade was ended—and Frank seated himself in a corner of the raft. He pulled a minicassette recorder from a small portfolio and began dictating memos while everyone else sat down, most of them with their feet in the water, looking forward to digesting their meal and enjoying the quiet passage back to shore.

CHAPTER

17

Arch kicked a footful of water at the lighter in Skip's hand; the flame sizzled to extinction and, scowling behind his joint, Skip turned to ignite it again. Arch lay back, a satisfied smile on his face.

"Some fuckin' party, huh?"

"All in all, a major event," said Nikki, turning her face to the sun. "I think I found out a lot about myself."

"Yeah?" Chaz teased, "like what? That leather turns you on?"

"Leather," she replied, "and other things."

Sitting Indian-style beside Arch, Hal smiled triumphantly.

Nikki looked over at Nan. "What about you? Enjoy yourself?"

"Yes," she answered tentatively. "It was fun."

Chaz's face was contorted by thought. "You know what I think's weird? How when we thought Buck here got hurt because of Skip's prank, and when things started happening and we thought maybe some of us were getting killed—how we all just kind of naturally accepted the fact that it was 'Oh, yeah, sure, because of the prank.’"

Rob looked up from stroking Kit's arm. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm saying it's like pranks really piss people off. It unleashes things, you know? Pranks make any kind of behavior possible, and we accept it."

"Wow," Arch snickered, "I'm impressed. That from Psych One?"

"No, it's from Advanced Real-life One Million, douchebag."

Nikki said selfconsciously, "I think it all comes from watching too much television."

"Do you really, Professor?" Arch sneered.

Hal leapt to her defense. "She's right, bozo. The news and the sitcoms and the commercials—we see them over the same medium so we believe it all. And if you start believing in Star Trek and Muppet Babies, you'll believe anything."

"What you're saying is pranks create a new sense of reality," summarized Rob.

Hal and Chaz nodded as Arch reached into his duffel bag and pulled out a scone. "I don't care what you junior psychologists make of this. All I know is that Muffy scared the shit out of us."

"Well put," said Skip. "Of course, I know what I'd do if I weren't her brother."

Chaz asked what, but Nikki said instantly, "Go back and give her a taste of her own medicine, that's what we should do."

Everyone looked over; Nikki blushed.

"Whatsamatter? Did I say something wrong?"

Arch turned slowly to Chaz. "Hey…"

"Yeah," Chaz took up the thought. "What a perfecto idea! Go back and scare the shit outa her. Outrageous!"

Even Kit grinned. "She sure wouldn't be expecting it!"

Noticing that Frank's eyes were on them, Hal rose. "Well, I don't know. I think it's a bad idea and, besides, I got a stack o' books this high."

"Harvey's right," Rob piped up. "I mean, what're we talking about? We've had our fun. Now we got work to do."

"Fuck yeah!" Arch drove his palm against his forehead. "I forgot, I got intramural squads tomorrow."

Chaz asked, "So?"

"So I can't go back."

Chaz held up his pinky and thumb and rubbed them together. "Know what this is?"

"What?"

"The world's smallest violin. We'll miss ya, but we also don't need you to wipe our asses."

Rob said, "But that doesn't mean we should think with those asses. I say forget about it."

Arch laughed and Chaz's mouth shifted unhappily to the side of his face. "Jeez, Rob, I knew you were poor, but I never thought you couldn't afford balls."

"It isn't a matter of balls, Chaz, it's common sense."

"That's a crock. You're a pussy."

Kit tugged at Rob's sleeve. "You know something? I kinda like the idea… and I don't have work to get back to."

"Kit!"

She squared her shoulders. "Really, Rob, think about it. Muffy can dish it out. It might be interesting to see if she can take it."

"Kit, I don't believe this!"

"Why? Just because you've decided to get serious about your life doesn't mean we can't have fun anymore!"

"Agreed, but this is a serious case of overkill!"

"I call it just desserts!" she shot back. "You can do whatever you want; I'm going back."

"All right!" Chaz cheered expectantly, "a real catfight!"

Nikki turned to Buck. "Say, you got any spare professional tricks you could throw our way?"

"Freebies?" he whined.

Chaz pointed to his camera. "No, professional courtesy. Besides, you owe me. I paid to see Dawn of the Zombies."

"I may get a dime from that, if I'm lucky."

"Then we'll all go out and buy the cassette."

"Another dime—if I'm real lucky."

"Aw, c'mon," Nikki pleaded, her hands folded in prayer. "We won't hurt any of your heads or stuff."

Moved by the woman's supplication, Buck reluctantly agreed. Nikki clapped gleefully and Kit stood. "Terrific! So how many does that make us? Chaz, Nikki, me—" She looked at Rob, who returned her challenging stare. "Rob?"

"I still think you're dead wrong."

"How many?" she repeated.

Rob shoved his hands in his pocket. "Yeah, I'll come," he said, "but only to bail you out if something goes wrong."

"Outasight!" Chaz yelled, giggling maniacally while Kit made her way to the keel.

"Cal, we want to get back to the island."

"Now? You just left."

"I know, but it's important."

Cal pulled on his stubbled chin. "Well, I can't go back 'cause I ferry folks Gnomon Saint Island Church on Sundays. Course, there might be a boat you could hire or borrow after we dock."

"Where?"

"’Bout a half-mile down the road. There's a whole bunch o' private docks. It'll be tough on a Sunday 'cause people like to go sailin'. But if you go door to door you may be able to scare one up."

Thanking Cal, Kit explained the situation to her comrades, then sat them down, away from the nonparticipants, to plan their adventure.

***

Frank tooted the horn of his Lincoln and pulled out of the parking lot. Hal returned his wave, then walked toward his Corvette, passing Nan, whose engine grumbled without starting. He leaned in the open window.

"Sounds like a night outdoors didn't agree with it. Want a ride to the nearest station?"

"No thanks."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

He looked in, admiring the way her wraparound dress hugged her breasts. "You know, I'm not askin' you to go around the world. Just a few exits up to I-ninety-one."

"No!" she repeated as the engine finally caught. "The truth is, after our group discussion the other night, I know all I care to about your driving."

"What?"

"You heard me."

"Yeah, but you don't know diddly."

Nan reached for the gearshift and he stopped her.

"Harvey, I don't really care—"

"But I do! Dammit, Muffy listened to you!"

Folding her arms, Nan settled back in the seat. "Just like the Ancient Mariner," she said as Hal stepped back and propped his sunglasses on his head.

He stared past her, at the road. "I'm a good driver," he began, "never even a speeding ticket. But that night—" His voice drifted off and it took a few seconds for him to regroup. "My girl and I were at this party and we fought. So she took her girlfriend's car and I went after her to try and get her back."

"By wrecking the car?!"

"No," he insisted, "all I did was honk and flash the lights."

"And what else? Maybe nudge her a little?"

"It was an accident."

Nan shook her head. "Sure. Well, I hope you feel better getting it all off your chest; I know I do. Compared to you, what I did doesn't seem so bad." She shifted into reverse. "The only difference is I can't lie to myself and say I didn't mean it. But don't sweat it, Harvey, you and Muffy and Frank are going to make a great team. You're all cut from the same bullshit cloth."

Harvey was about to protest when Nan stepped on the gas and pulled out from under him. He fought the urge to get in his car and race after her, force her to listen, for she was dead wrong: until his dying day, he would suffer, knowing that he'd caused the death of Judie Reynolds. Whatever good he might accomplish after moving from Wall Street into politics, nothing would ever wash that blood from his hands.

Watching Nan's car until it disappeared around the bend, Hal stalked back to his Corvette and pulled slowly from the lot, his eyes misted with tears.

Chaz looked up as Hal drove off, then turned back to the suitcase. His mouth became a perfect O when Buck unzipped the leather top and revealed an array of latex shapes and forms.

"Lookit this! It's like meetin' movie stars!" He fingered a sponge-rubber brain with teeth marks. "Hey, I remember this one! A zombie got nailed while he was munchin' it in a long shot."

"You've got a good eye."

"And this sucker was unreal!" The object of his attention was a severed hand, the thumb of which was missing, save for a gnawed metacarpus. Chaz looked up admiringly. "You're a pro, Buck, y'know that? A fuckin' pro!"

Buck turned a decomposed foot over in his hand. "I take pride in my work."

"I can tell. I especially loved the part when, in the mall, the zombie sucks on the head of the store dummy, thinking it's human. What a great concept."

Nikki poked her toe into Chaz's seat. "Listen, Dr. Frankenstein, unless you want my breakfast to make an encore appearance, I suggest you talk shop some other time."

"Sure, sure," Chaz said, wetting his lips. "Okay, let's see now. For today we'd like the brain and the hand, and also—what's this, a liver?"

"A lung, but you can't have that. In fact, you can't have any of the organs. I need 'em for the sequel."

"A sequel?"

"Yes, Morning of the Zombies."

"Wow, what a title! Is that m-o-u-r?"

"No, just plain m-o-r-n."

"Oh. I thought it was like the grieving kind of mourning. I mean, it's still a great title, but that would've been a heavy double meaning."

"So what can we have?" Kit asked in a businesslike voice.

Buck scrutinized his gear, then pulled over a spare kit. "I'll tell you what, you can have this little dandy. It's got blood, a fake knife, and a few deep gashes and bullet holes you can stick on." He patted the case lovingly. "Except for the severed heads and Buffy mask, that's all I needed to do the number on you."

"Fantastic!" Chaz exclaimed, jumping up and clapping a hand on Buck's shoulder. "Thanks, man. It's an honor to be using your stuff. God, if only there was some way I could tape it."

Rob said snidely, "If Muffy kills you in self-defense, I promise to take some tape for the eleven o'clock news."

Wishing them well, Buck rolled his motorcycle from the boat house and loaded his cases while the others made for the string of piers.

Everyone was gone now, save for Skip and Arch. Arch was jogging around the parking lot and Skip, swallowing his small roach, carried his stuff to the car. When that was done, he went to a pay phone behind the boat house.

Seeing him disappear and sensing grist for his mill, Arch went over. "Callin' Edwina so she can hold herself in readiness?" he joked, jogging in place. Skip didn't answer, and Arch grinned knowingly. "I get it. Edwina's gotta wait 'cause there's a chick down here."

Skip said dryly, "Yeah, Muffy."

"Muffy? Shit, man, you're not boffin' your—"

"No, Arch, I'm not." He plugged two nickels into the slot and began dialing. "I'm calling to tell her what the others are planning."

Arch stopped running. "You're not."

"I think enough's enough, don't you?"

"Hey, c'mon, it was your idea!"

"A petty consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds."

"What?"

"I've got a right to change my mind."

"Bullshit. St. John blood is thicker than water, that's what you mean."

"Think what you want, it doesn't matter to me."

Muffy answered on the second ring, her voice drowsy.

"H-h'lo?"

"Hi, it's me. Surprise!"

After a moment, Muffy said grumpily, "What—what'd you forget now?"

"I didn't forget anything," Skip said. He looked at Arch, whose disapproving expression reminded him of his father. It was all the encouragement he needed to continue. "I'm just calling to tell you the party's not over."

"Oh, I knoooow," Muffy drew out the word as she stretched. "The cleanup's going to take days, and I still have to study for—"

"No, I don't mean that. Some of the gang's planning on coming back to give you a dose of your own medicine."

Her voice was suddenly alert. "You're kidding!"

"Does a bear poop in the woods?" Skip turned his back on Arch, and said privately, "And I'm calling for another reason, too. Uncle Frank told me about his recommendations to Dad—"

"I know, and I'm sorry. I don't agree with him, but there was nothing I could do."

"That's okay. I just didn't want you to think there were any hard feelings."

Muffy's tone was affectionately disapproving. "Oh Skip, you dope, I know you better than that! And I also know Dad. He'll come 'round just as soon as you decide to buckle down."

"You mean when I become more like him, Mr. Straightlace Conservative."

"No," she gently corrected him, "more like the hardworking adult we know you can be. Anyway, brother-of-mine, that's a conversation for some other time. Right now I've got some quick thinking to do those bastards."

"Don't let the sonsofbitches eat you up."

"I won't. And I'll try not to act too surprised when they arrive."

There was a brief pause. "I love ya, sis."

"I love you too, goofball. A lot."

Arch muttered, "And I think you're a flaming fuckhead!"

Hanging up, Skip looked sadly at Arch. "Like I give a short shit what you think. Christ, and they tell me to grow up."

"Y'know something, punk? If I didn't have to work out this afternoon you wouldn't grow another milliinch. I'd take you back to the island and shove your ass down that friggin' well."

Skip walked around him. "I'm quakin' in my boots, Mr. Tough Guy. I've only got one thing to say."

"What's that? You'll sue if I break your face?"

"No," Skip replied. He got in his car and, after revving the engine, rolled down the window. "What I've got to say is go shit in your hat."

Arch roared and took off after Skip, his outstretched hands missing him by a footstep; stomping with rage, he swore to get even with him and his sister both, but his shouts were lost on the empty parking lot and a disinterested flock of circling terns.

CHAPTER

18

The sun was low behind the island. Standing on one of the piers, Kit turned from the waters to the parking lot, which was now more than a mile behind them. She wore a moody, unhappy expression.

Rob put a comforting arm around her. She didn't want it there, but he wasn't aware of the tension in her shoulders, the straightness of her spine.

"It's getting late," he said. "How many more houses're we going to try?"

"As many as it takes."

"I count twenty-two down, six to go."

"I count twenty-one. Chaz isn't finished with this one."

Rob sighed as he gazed at the orange flecks scattered across the lake. "Kit, don't you realize that this whole thing's a waste of time? No one's going to let us have a boat!"

She said quietly, "We'll see," and turned back to the lake.

Nikki piped up. She was standing halfway between the dock and the road, waiting for Chaz. "You know what's weird? That the ferryman hasn't come back by now.”

Rob snorted. "If I had to guess, I'd say our friend Cal probably stopped off to hoist a few at the local pub."

Nikki squinted out at the smaller islands that spread out far beyond Muffy's estate, almost at the opposite shore. "You think there's an island just for drinking?"

"If there isn't, Skip'll probably open one."

Chaz's voice burst suddenly from the road. "Hey, everybody come here!"

"Dan'l Boone hath returned," Rob said as Nikki took off, Kit close behind her. Rob arrived to find them all standing beside a small outboard, which was rocking quietly in an outlet.

"Unreal, huh? We're in!"

"Whose is it?" asked an uplifted Kit.

"More important," said Rob, "where'd it come from? I just looked there an hour ago."

"Yeah? Well maybe you need glasses, chum, 'cause here she is, shipshape and ready to sail." Chaz climbed in.

"What do you care, Rob?" Nikki added. "It's a gift horse and my mom taught me never to look one in the mouth."

Rob said tensely, "I care because there are other kinds of horses—Trojan, for example."

Chaz held his hand out to Nikki and helped her in. "Too bad Arch ain't here," he clucked. "He's an expert on Trojans. Me? I like to fuck au naturel."

Kit stepped in next and looked back at Rob. "You coming?"

"Only if you're dead sure you want to see this nutty thing through."

"We're sure, Daddy," Chaz teased. "Now lighten up, Columbus, we need you t'run this sucker."

Rob stood his ground. "Kit?"

She sighed. "Rob, I'm sure. C'mon, it's just a little poke in the ribs and not nearly as bad as the one Muffy gave to us."

Shaking his head gravely, Rob came over and settled in beside the engine. He gave a sharp tug on the starter rope and the outboard purred to life; adjusting the throttle arm, he guided the craft out onto the lake.

Huddled in the bow, Kit, Chaz, and Nikki reviewed their plan. Rob was to make a racket by the well. When Muffy came outside, Nikki was to make her way to the cellar. Then, upon Muffy's return, Nikki would start thumping on the pipes to lure her down. That's when the body count would start.

Rob cut the engine as they neared the shore. Slipping into the water, he pulled the boat parallel to the beach for several dozen yards toward the brush. Meanwhile, Chaz and Kit began helping Nikki apply her makeup, pasting a deep gash diagonally along her forehead and caking her hair and face with generous helpings of blood.

"I love it," Chaz said with a chuckle. "You should always wear your hair like that."

Kit laughed. "I've heard of dyeing your hair, but never killing it."

"You're all sick," Rob muttered, staring at the reflected sunlight that sparkled around them, glistening like fire.

"Oh, cheer up," Kit insisted, flicking a drop of blood at him. "Look at it this way: you can always write this up for a psych research paper."

Chaz added, "Yeah, you can call it 'How to Cause Traumas So There Are Always People to Cure.’”

Rob said nothing. He just waded onward, imagining himself to be the long-suffering Gulliver. He was tugging boats to shore at the behest of Lilliputian minds, minds that would always be a fraction of an inch tall.

Mooring the craft to a shrub, Rob threw himself down on the sand while Kit doled out the rest of the blood pellets, handing one to Chaz and keeping one for herself. She entrusted the makeup kit to Nikki.

"Here, your spare eye's in there."

"Gotcha. I just hope I don't screw up."

"You won't. Just wait by the kitchen door until Muffy goes out the front. The cellar steps are straight through the pantry.”

"Right. And after I hit the pipes, I just spread out like I've been hacked to death."

"With your eyes shut. We don't want you blinking and blowing it."

Chaz grew intense. "Just to make sure I've got my part, I get the truck and wait with it at the first turnout—"

"And you don't use your lights or horn till you hear the signal."

"—which is Rob waving that you're in position."

"Right. Muffy'll hear you and think help's on the way. When she runs out, you'll fall dead at her feet. That's when I come after her with the knife."

With a burst of enthusiasm, Nikki rattled her fist toward the house. "Look out, Muffy, here we come!"

"Preach, lady, preach!" cheered Chaz. "Now go scare the shit out of her, she deserves it!"

Nikki grinned and set off, her head tilted back so she could see from beneath her bloody bangs. She tripped as she made her way through the brush but gamely scrambled to her feet; signaling her companions that all was well, she continued on. Chaz was the next to start out, heading toward the dock.

Kit turned to Rob. "You can stay here, if you like. I can signal Chaz."

Rob arched one shoulder ambivalently. "Nah, I'll come."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure."

"You don't sound sure."

"I am. What I'm not is happy—but it won't be the first time in my life, or the last." He reached up and took her hands in his. "Y'see, there's something else I learned this weekend. If you can't bend for your loved ones, what the hell good are you?"

"Not much," she said, breaking into a broad smile. "Does that mean I'm a—"

"Very. I just never realized how much I loved you until I had to face losing you."

Kit hugged his head, then stood back. "In that case," she said, cracking a blood capsule with her thumbnail, "get up off that luscious butt of yours and give me a hand.”

Rob pushed himself from the dry sand and together they began daubing smears of blood on her cheeks and forehead. "Did I ever tell you how beautiful you are—"

"On a beach in the moonlight." She posed with her hand behind her head.

"No," he said, deadpan, painting a red stripe along her jaw, "when you're bleeding.”

Kit stuck out her tongue and Rob squeezed blood on it. She spat inelegantly, unaware that a few dozen paces to the north, hidden in the grotto, a pair of evil eyes was upon them. Their owner, content that it would take a few minutes for the two to get ready, turned and left, departing in shadowy silence.

***

Chaz crouched low at the edge of the field before stepping onto the beach. When he was certain there was no one around, he tiptoed toward the dock and then to the pickup. The key was in the ignition; quietly shutting the door, he started the engine. It coughed twice, then again, but kept running.

"So far, so good."

Popping the clutch and the brake, he shifted into drive and slowly made his way to the road. Though the path was barely navigable in the fast-fading day, he didn't use his headlights. "Stealth before safety," he said over and over as he picked his way up the road.

Reaching the turn that led to the road cuts, Chaz pulled over. He left the engine running and turned on the reading light, tilting the rearview mirror so he could see.

"Better get gruesome now," he told himself, "'cause you ain't gonna be able to see shit once you get in there." Plucking the blood pellet from his shirt pocket, he tried to break it; failing, he crunched it between his front teeth. The blood squirted messily across his lap. "Nice going, shit-for-brains." Glad that Buck wasn't around to witness his ineptitude, Chaz scraped up a few globs with his finger, then rubbed them on his face and dumped the rest down the sides of his nose. Examining the results, he laid in a few streaks along his brow and then began working on his neck.

The light in the pickup rendered the windows opaque; Chaz did not see or hear the figure creeping along the bushes. With wraithlike movements, it reached the back of the car and went swiftly to work, fitting a long piece of rubber hose over the exhaust; when the pipe was covered, the figure trod silently beside the truck and quietly worked the other end of the hose through the hole in the floor of the passenger side. Wadding shreds of cloth around the hole, the evil figure lingered briefly to survey its handiwork, then turned and headed for the well.

***

Nikki blinked hard as another drop of blood oozed into her eye. A tear carried it out, leaving a filmy, red haze in its wake. She could barely see the weeds in front of her, let alone the edge of the field and the house beyond.

"I don't believe this; I'm so fucked up. How do I let myself get talked into these things?" She stopped and folded a stick of Doublemint into her mouth. Her lips stopped trembling. "No ego, that's your problem. Shit, I can't even see where I'm going!"

Nikki relaxed somewhat when she finally discerned the well up ahead, but she began to shiver again as the sun went down and the island's nocturnal chorus began. The well bucket had been reattached, and it creaked noisily on the rope; all around her, insects chirped to life and owls offered up their haunting cries.

As she passed the well, a twig snapped loudly behind it. Nikki stopped and held her breath, using a long fingernail to scoop a fresh trickle of blood from the corner of her eye. She waited, sustained by tiny puffs of breath.

"Chaz? Kit?"

Cursing herself for having agreed to go solo, Nikki forged warily ahead. Upon emerging from the brush, she noticed that there were no lights on at the house, making it little more than a black silhouette against the dark crimson horizon. She stopped again.

"Face it, Nichelle, you weren't cut out to be one of the walking dead."

Her eyes fell on the well again, and as she looked at it in the darkness, Nikki remembered the last time she'd seen it. Thinking of Nan's body and the severed heads reinforced her: Muffy deserved this, and Nikki turned to continue boldly toward the house.

The figure seemed to come from nowhere. Nikki glanced back at the house and it was there before her—arms upraised, a meat cleaver hanging dangerously in the air, its face hidden by the night.

Nikki flew back a step. "Jesus God Almighty!" she screamed, after nearly choking on her gum.

The figure came forward then, turning slightly; in the last rays of light Nikki was able to make out the wig and smock, the gaunt outline of the face. She put her hand to her chest and sighed.

"Oh shit, it's you!"

The figure's long sleeves and shirttails stirred in the breeze.

"All this work for nothing. Muffy, how the heck did you find out?"

The figure didn't answer. The brow dipped slightly, throwing the eyes into shadow.

"And where were you, behind a tree?"

The legs and torso remained immobile, but now the arm swooped down, slashing diagonally toward Nikki's cheek. The young woman had to jerk her head back to avoid the rectangular twelve-inch blade.

"Hey, what're you doing?"

The figure said nothing but took a few steps forward and slashed again. This time the razor-fine edge caught the sleeve of Nikki's blouse, slitting it from the elbow to the wrist.

"Muffy, stop it. This isn't funny!"

The silent figure closed the gap again, swinging with both hands now. Nikki instinctively pushed up the makeup kit, and the leather case took the blow that would have destroyed the front of her face. Realizing this wasn't a joke, Nikki fled, screaming, into the brush. Having begun their own trek toward the house, Rob and Kit heard Nikki's screams and came running. They met halfway through the field, Nikki bringing them all together in a mad embrace.

"Help, Kit! It's Muffy, she's gone crazy."

"Muffy?"

"It's horrible! She's all dressed up again like Buffy, and she had this hatchet thing—"

"Hold on," Rob said, "you're not making sense.” Breaking from her grip, he gently urged her. "Start from the beginning and tell us exactly what happened."

Nikki drew a long breath and sobbed slightly less hysterically. "I-I came out at the well and started walking toward the house... and she was waiting for me! Muffy must've seen us come ashore or something. I'm telling you, she tried to kill me!"

"You only thought she did," Kit admonished. "It's just like yesterday."

Her mind reeling, Nikki held out her sleeve. "Look at this! This isn't like yesterday! She just kept swinging at me and God, if it weren't for the makeup kit I'd be dead! If I hadn't had that with me—"

"But you did, and it's okay now." Kit glanced sideways at Rob, and she was troubled by his serious expression. She said soothingly, "Muffy probably found out somehow what we were planning, and maybe she got a little carried away. But she was just trying to scare you—"

"No! I'm telling you she meant it! Oh God—where's Chaz?" She turned suddenly and began running back through the field.

"Where are you going?" Rob shouted.

"I want Chaz!"

"Wait, we'll come with you!"

The two set off after her, struggling through the dark field to the house and then down the driveway. The road was already pitch-black, and the trio had to proceed by touch until they saw the pickup and its faint reading light. Nikki ran toward it, laughing with relief.

"Chaz! Chaz!"

"Hold on," urged Rob, breaking into a sprint. "Something's not right—"

Even from up the road he could see that Chaz was slumped forward in the seat, his eyes shut. His awkward posture was not that of someone who'd dozed off, and Rob feared the worst. Nikki was the first to arrive and, looking in, she saw that his cheeks were rosy, almost as red as the fake blood along his nose. With a shriek of terror, she yanked the door open.

Before she could touch him, Rob arrived and pulled Nikki away, handing her to Kit. He bent over Chaz, grabbing a fistful of the young man's shirt and shaking him; Chaz's head lolled toward him, followed by the rest of his body. Rob was unable to hold him up and fell, Chaz landing on top of him.

Nikki screamed anew. "Oh God, he's dead, isn't he? Muffy was here and he's dead!"

Rob wormed out from under the body. "No, I don't think he's dead." Putting his head to Chaz's chest, he heard a heartbeat and the sound of shallow breathing. Then he spotted the tubing beneath the car. "Son of a bitch!" Putting his lips to Chaz's and pinching his nose, Rob blew three quick breaths into his mouth. Chaz's hands fluttered and Rob repeated the procedure. Chaz moaned.

"Thank God!" cried Nikki, weeping now with gratitude and breaking away from Kit. She knelt beside him, cradling his head. "Rob, you saved him. You saved his life!"

Rob rose, silently grateful that they hadn't come a minute later. From his experience as a camp counselor, he knew that Chaz had been perilously close to death.

Kit came over. "What could've happened to him?"

Rob stretched out under the pickup and yanked away the tubing. "Carbon monoxide. This hose was tied to the exhaust. Recognize it?"

Kit shook her head.

"It's from the boat house. I saw it there when I went back with Arch."

Kit looked sadly at Rob. "Then Muffy is playing for keeps."

He thought for a moment. "Maybe," he answered, his expression as skeptical as his voice.

"Maybe?" Nikki cried bitterly. "It's just like Chaz said! Once it starts, something like this just snowballs! Muffy's gone crazy.”

Rob shut the ignition. "Nikki, are you sure it was Muffy on the path?"

"Of course I'm sure! She was wearing that stupid smock and the same fright wig and horrible mask."

Chaz opened his eyes just then and Rob squatted beside him. "Welcome back to the land of the living. You all right?"

"Y-yeah. ... I think so. What the fuck happened?"

"Muffy tried to kill you!" Nikki blurted. "She's flipped out."

"Chaz," Rob said urgently, "did you see anybody?"

His flushed forehead creased with thought. "Uh… no. All I remember is getting a little lightheaded. Then nada."

Rob rose, nodding to himself, then hurried to the flatbed. He opened a small wooden chest latched to the side.

"What are you looking for?" asked Kit.

"This."

He pulled out a tire iron and took a few practice swings.

"Why do you need that?"

"Because I'm going up to the house."

"Oh no you're not," she informed him.

"Kit, there's no time to argue. Unless I'm mistaken, Muffy's in danger."

"Muffy?!"

"Think about it," he said. "What happened to Chaz was no accident, and finding the boat on the shore like we did was no accident. A lot of things that don't make any sense were no accidents. Something's happening."

"Yeah, we're starting to imagine things. Muffy isn't in any danger, she's up to her old tricks!"

"And I'm telling you she's not. Chaz almost got killed; Muffy wouldn't have done that. She's nutty, but she's not psychotic."

"Then who—"

"I'm not sure, but what do you think's going to happen if we don't get there and find out?"

Rob didn't wait for an answer but ran toward the house. After determining that Chaz and Nikki were all right, Kit hurried after him, her heart drumming and her mind chilled with an awful sense of déjà vu.

CHAPTER

19

The figure was standing beside the drainpipe near the corner of the house. Flinging aside the makeup kit, it stropped the meat cleaver on the hem of its smock. Tilting it slightly from side to side, satisfied that the blade was still sharp, the figure ducked behind the bushes near the kitchen door.

Inside the kitchen, Muffy pressed a glass to the automatic ice maker. Stepping away, she heard something clatter outside, a tinny rat-a-tat from the side of the house. It had been four hours since Skip had called; she was convinced that her classmates had had second thoughts about their undertaking and weren't coming.

"Probably a squirrel or raccoon," she told herself as she went to the tap and filled the glass.

Their aborted plan was fine with her. She'd do some studying while she was fresh, then get the bulk of the dishes done before Clara returned in the morning.

As she turned from the sink the clattering came again. Setting the glass aside, Muffy switched on the porch light and opened the door.

A plastic eyeball was banging against the drainpipe, hanging by an optic nerve that had been slung over one of the brackets. She stepped back in, her hands on her hips. "So they've come after all." Shutting the outside light, she hurried to the study. There she heard another sound, the squeaking of the kitchen door. Muffy shook her head and sat down behind the desk.

"Okay, guys, come and get me."

***

Rob and Kit were preoccupied with the road, following its dark curves beneath the bluffs. Though their limbs still ached from the day before, they didn't slow because of the greater pain inside, the knowledge that they'd played into the hands of a canny lunatic.

"It's all my fault," Kit said as they rounded the last of the road cuts. "Rob, I'm sorry."

"Forget it, Kit, regrets aren't going to help anyone now."

"I know. I just hope Muffy's all right."

They reached the driveway and slowed. Panting heavily, Rob took a moment to reconnoiter while Kit sat down on a rock. Her legs felt as if they were filled with wet sand, and she didn't want to move; but when Rob said that the house looked deserted, she pushed off from her knees and slogged after him.

Since the side of the house was dark, they elected to go around the front, first. Rob clomped onto the porch and tried the door; it was locked and he laid into it with the side of his fist.

"Muffy, are you there?"

He stepped back to the edge of the porch and looked up at the second floor. Her light didn't go on and he pounded again. When she still didn't answer, he and Kit reluctantly returned to the side.

They slowed by the drainpipe, holding hands as they made their way toward the dark bushes and the door beyond.

"Rob, there's no way she couldn't've heard you banging on the door."

"Stop it! She might be in the shower or listening to her Walkman."

Falling silent, they turned their attention to the dark stretch that lay before them. The leaves of the trees shivered in a sudden gust, the shrubs shuddering and scratching against the house.

"Rob, I'm scared—"

Kit wrapped herself around his arm as they continued on. They heard the bushes tremble again and kept their eyes glued to the door. Rob's fingers tightened around the tire iron, the metal hot in his sweaty palm. He raised it shoulder-high, cocked back, ready to crack anything that wasn't Muffy.

Upon reaching the screen door, Rob opened it and stepped inside; Kit waited on the stoop. He made no secret of his entry, feeling secure behind the tire iron.

He looked around. The refrigerator door was open, spotlighting the room with white light. He went over and felt the decanter of orange juice, then checked in the pantry and tool closet. Convinced the room was safe, he called Kit. She came in, her eyes on the refrigerator. "What do you make of that?"

"The stuff inside is still cold. Also, there's some fresh ice water on the counter. That means either Muffy was scared off or we scared the killer off."

"What would the killer be doing making a freakin' snack?"

"I don't know. Who said a fuckin' killer is normal?"

The pair made their way into the dining room, Rob turning on the dimmer switch and cranking it up full. He called Muffy's name several times as they made their way deeper into the house. Finally entering the living room, they saw a faint, shielded glow coming from down the corridor.

"That light... it's the study, isn't it?"

Kit nodded.

Rob yelled, "Muffy, you in there?"

After a few seconds Kit snarled, "Nothing! Christ, please don't let us be too late."

They approached slowly, watching for shadows, alert for any movement. Rob flashed back to when he was a child and used to play hide-and-seek with his father. Whenever he was on the verge of finding the big man, his father would lunge at him, sending him to the floor with nervous laughter. Rob felt small again, and terribly vulnerable. Slowly, moving now by inches, they approached the open doorway, reached it, and peered in. Rob swore at the sight that greeted them; Kit just stared in silence.

Muffy was face-down on the hardwood floor, her throat cut from ear to ear. She lay in a long pool of blood that stretched from her breast to her forehead; her eyes were shut, but her mouth was frozen in a dead scream.

"Oh God!" Kit gasped, her voice a rush of dry air. Rob turned her aside, but they both looked back suddenly as the bushes rustled outside the study window. Running in, Rob yanked the desk lamp from the wall and pushed his face to the window.

"Shit, there's someone out there."

"Rob, I'm so, so scared—"

"You 'n' me both," he admitted, pushing Kit into the hall and running with her into the living room. As they turned toward the dining room, the light went off; backing into a living room lamp, Rob switched it on.

The figure was standing just a few feet away and Kit screamed. It was as Nikki had said, someone dressed as Buffy—only this new Buffy was taller, with awful eyes. Cruelly narrowed, they held the youths with contemptuous fire.

The meat cleaver swept once, the figure putting its back into the effort. The fury of the swing discouraged Rob from attacking with his tire iron and he pushed Kit back toward the front door. Throwing the dead bolt, he pulled on the knob; but the key bolt was still locked and the door wouldn't open. Rob smashed at it with the tire iron but the lock was barely dented.

"Up the stairs," he ordered, waiting until Kit was well on her way before he followed. They hurried to Muffy's room and locked the door.

Kit wrung her hands quickly. "What now? What do we do?"

Rob ran to the balcony and looked down at the trellis. "We get the fuck out. You first. Go to Chaz and Nikki and start the pickup."

"What about you?"

"I'll follow as soon as you're down!" he screamed, just as the door flew open. The killer dropped the key to the floor and walked forward. The thin-lipped smile was wider than before as the killer came at Rob and Kit, their backs to the balcony.

With a cry of rage, Rob threw himself across the room. But the figure, surprising him with its agility, ducked aside, spun, and came at Rob before he could turn. Unable to bring the tire iron fully around, Rob took the attack with his hand. The edge of the meat cleaver sliced a deep flap at the side and, squealing horribly, he dropped the iron; the blade came down again, this time cutting hard into his shoulder. The force of the blow drove Rob against the bed and he sank, barely conscious, to the floor.

Kit had watched the brief tussle with transfixed disbelief. Though the evil grimace was turned now on her, she snapped from her stupor and ran toward Rob.

"No," he said, waving weakly at her, "get out!"

With a snarl, the figure took a moment to slash back at Rob. The tip of the blade caught him on the chin and he folded back, whimpering with pain. The intruder paused then, to shut the light before resuming its approach. The glow of the rising moon illuminated the meat cleaver, blood running along the blade and dripping onto the figure's white sleeve.

Panicking, Kit turned to the balcony, feeling frantically for the trellis. But she was unable to find it beneath the crawling ivy and looked back with desperation. There was nothing to grab, nothing to protect her. Letting out short, frightened gasps, she slapped the French windows shut; the figure kicked them open disdainfully, the glass shattering. Kit screamed once, then melted to her knees; she pleaded for herself and Rob in trembling, unfinished phrases as the figure loomed closer.

The lights flashed on just then and someone ran in. The horrid face turned as Muffy jabbed a knife into its side, the figure gasping as Muffy stepped back. She was smiling incongruously, still holding the knife and pushing the retractable blade in and out.

"Gotcha!" she said, nearly tripping over the moaning Rob. She looked down. "Hey, Rob, that's real good. Better than the impromptu job I did in the study."

The figure looked at her with malevolent anger. The meat cleaver came up and Muffy rolled her eyes.

"Okay, guys, the fun's all over. I'm scared to death, okay?"

Crawling into the room, Kit rasped, "Muffy, it's no joke!"

"Sure, Kit." She reached for the mask. "Who's in there, Chaz?"

The cleaver slashed the air, Muffy barely withdrawing her hand in time.

"Hey, I never came that close to you guys!"

"Muffy!" Kit put her entire body into the word. "It's not Chaz!"

Muffy took a few steps back. "You're... serious?"

The blade came down again with incredible force, missing Muffy as she jumped to the right, toward the bed. She looked into the face of her awful double.

"Who—who are you?"

She stumbled onto the bed, backing up against the headboard. It was just like in her dream, only this time there was no escape, no birds or sunshine to wake her.

Seeing her friend's predicament, Kit pulled herself up, holding onto the window frame when her knees refused to lock. She worked out a chunk of the broken windowpane and hurled it at the figure. "Leave her alone, you bastard!"

The glass broke harmlessly on the interloper's back, but Kit's cry drew Rob from his pain. Rising unsteadily, he saw Muffy cornered on the bed and noticed the scissors on her dresser. Falling on them, he mustered all his strength and threw himself at the figure. Plunging the blade hard into its back, Rob staggered off to the dresser and flopped across it, watching as the figure's head came back, a horrible gurgle rising from its throat. Turning with its furious eyes on Rob, the figure lurched forward. The meat cleaver came up once again and fell—but only to clatter helplessly to the floor. The figure pivoted and followed it down, landing on its back and driving the scissors into the handle. The intruder shook briefly as though electrified, and then it went limp; the wig and mask fell off and Muffy crawled over, staring in shock at the face of her dead brother.

"I thought so," Rob said as he pushed himself from the dresser. He dropped to a sitting position on the floor; Kit found her strength and hurried over.

Muffy knelt beside the corpse. "Skip? Skippy, talk to me!" She looked pathetically at Rob. "M-my blood wasn't real... I was just pretending. He called and said it was going to be another joke." She looked down, her brow wrinkled with sorrow.

Kit looked quickly at Rob's wounds, then hurried to the bathroom. Grabbing a stack of hand towels and the first-aid kit, she began binding his chin. The disinfectant stung, but it roused him from his stupor. Still confused, Kit asked, "I don't get it. You knew it was Skip?"

"I had a good idea," he informed her. "Skip planned it all… he even planned that we'd come back."

"You mean what he said on the raft, about turning the tables on Muffy?"

Rob nodded. "He was sure someone would bite. He knew what Muffy was going to do this weekend, so he decided to turn it all against her. The tape with Nan's secret, the other things to make his sister seem like a heel—he did that to throw the authorities off his trail. After her death, he'd've been able to convince them that a lot of people had reason to hate her." He thought aloud. "Harvey would really have had a rough time of it, what with having covered up the car accident."

"And the boat?" Kit asked, finishing the chin and turning to his shoulder.

"He left it for us, probably also waylaid Cal, somehow. And he attacked Nikki when we came back just to get us scared and suspicious of one another. That way we'd have blamed each other when Muffy was found dead. Anybody except him, leaving him above suspicion—and Daddy's sole heir. But you and me, we got in his way."

Rob noticed the tension in Kit's mouth and realized what she'd endured these last two nights. Yet she'd never deserted him, never let fear come between them. He stroked her hair, feeling prouder of her than anyone he'd ever known.

When she moved to attend to his hand, Rob looked over at Muffy. She had stretched out her legs and held Skip's head in her lap.

"It was a good trick," Rob said soberly, "even better than Muffy's. The guy was no fool, just a little overanxious."

They heard the screen door open in the kitchen; Chaz and Nikki tramped in. "Kit, Rob, you okay? We heard screams—"

"It's okay, Chaz," Kit called down. She glanced sadly at Skip. "It's all over."

Chaz and Nikki vaulted up the stairs, Chaz gaping at the carnage. "Jesus—is this shit for real?"

"One hundred percent," Rob said. "Y'almost lost us."

Muffy looked up at the newcomers and smiled.

"Oh, you guys... it was a sensation! We had the most fun up here. And Skippy, he was the best of all." She pushed a strand of sweaty hair from his forehead. "He even scared me!" Muffy gazed down into Skip's open eyes; Chaz turned from her, his expression filled with pity. He crouched beside Rob.

"So, hero—you gonna live?"

"Looks like it."

Chaz said faintly, "Good," but he seemed uncomfortable. He shifted from foot to foot and said, "I, uh—hear ya saved my life."

"It was nothing, my good deed for the day."

"Yeah, well, I owe ya. I'm not very good at this... I mean, it's embarrassing to fuck up like I did and have a guy you've been ranking for years save your ass—"

"Maybe you'll return the favor one day."

Chaz grinned. "Mouth to mouth? I said I owe ya, but if I ever have to kiss a guy to save him, he's a dead man."

Kit sat back on her heels and examined her handiwork. "There, that should hold. Chaz, wanna take an arm?"

"As long as I don't hafta kiss him—"

"Frankly," Rob cracked, "I'd rather die."

The two helped Rob to his feet, his right arm around Chaz's shoulder, Kit holding his left side so as not to move the shoulder. Nikki, stunned to silence by what she'd seen, kept an eye on the bandages.

"Going so soon?" Muffy inquired.

They lingered, looking down at her. Chaz finally broke the unpleasant silence. "Yeah. Gotta study."

Muffy smiled. "I understand." She looked down at Skip, whispering in his ear, "Dad's going to be so proud of you. You sure fooled him—teasing, having your fun."

Her eyes filled with tears and Nikki started toward her; Rob motioned her back.

"There's nothing we can do for her," he said, looking at Muffy's wide grin. "Madness is sometimes the best way of dealing with tragedy."

With grave expressions, the foursome left as Muffy began talking to Skip again, a childlike lilt to her voice. "Now Dad won't deny you anything. We'll share it all, Skippy, together." Her smile broadened as she rocked back and forth, humming close to Skip's ear. Outside, the leaves spoke in their hushed tones and the moon rose brightly over the mainland.

"Just you and me," she said quietly, hugging his head to her chest. "You and me together, a team, for the rest of our lives…"

Table of Contents

- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- Chapter 15
- Chapter 16
- Chapter 17
- Chapter 18
- Chapter 19