Joyland(78)

The big Victorian on the beach side came next. There was a light on in the kitchen. I thought it was the fluorescent over the sink. I remembered Annie coming into the room with her sweater in her hand. Her tanned stomach. The bra almost the same color as her jeans. Would you like to go upstairs with me, Devin?

Lights bloomed in my rearview mirror and pulled up close.

He was using his brights and I couldn't see the vehicle behind them, but I didn't have to. I knew it was the maintenance truck, just as I knew he had been lying when he said he wasn't going to kill me. The note I'd left for Mrs. Shoplaw would still be there in the morning. She would read it, and the name I had written there. The question was how long it would take her to believe it.

He was such a charmer, him with his rhyming patter, winning smile, and cocked derby lid. Why, all the women loved Lane Hardy.

?

The gates were open, as promised. I drove through them and tried to park in front of the now-shuttered Shootin' Gallery. He gave his horn a brief blip and flashed his lights: Drive on. When I got to the Spin, he flashed his lights again. I turned off my zs8

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Ford, very aware that I might never start it again. The hoister's red neon cast a blood-colored light over the dashboard, the seats, my own skin.

The truck's headlights went out. I heard the door open and shut. And I heard the wind blowing through the Spin's strutstonight that sound was a harpy's screech. There was a steady, almost syncopated rattling sound, as well. The wheel was shaking on its tree-thick axle.

The Gray girl's killer-and DeeDee Mowbray's, and Claudine Sharp's, and Darlene Stamnacher's-walked to my car and tapped on the window with the barrel of a pistol. With his other hand he made a beckoning gesture. I opened the door and got out.

"You said you weren't going to kill me." It sounded as weak as my legs felt.

Lane smiled his charming smile. "Well . . . we'll see which way the flow's gonna go. Won't we?"

Tonight his derby was cocked to the left and pulled down tight so it wouldn't fly off. His hair, let loose from its workday ponytail, blew around his neck. The wind gusted and the Spin gave an unhappy screech. The red glow of the neon flickered across his face as it shook.

"Don't worry about the hoister," he said. "If it was solid it might blow over, but the wind shoots right through the struts.

You've got other things to worry about. Tell me about the funhouse car. That's what I really want to know. How'd you do that? Was it some kind of remote gadget? I'm very interested in those things. They're the wave of the future, that's what I think."

"There was no gadget."

He didn't seem to hear me. "Also what was the point? Was it





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supposed to flush me out? If it was, you didn't need to bother. I was already flushed."

"She did it," I said. I didn't know if that was strictly true, but I had no intention of bringing Mike into this conversation.

"Linda Gray. Didn't you see her?"

The smile died. "Is that the best you can manage? The old ghost-in-the-funhouse story? You'll have to do a little better than that."

So he hadn't seen her any more than I had. But I think he knew there was something. I'll never know for sure, but I think that was why he offered to go after Milo. He hadn't wanted us anywhere near Horror House.

"Oh, she was there. I saw her headband. Remember me looking in? It was under the seat."

He lashed out so suddenly I didn't even have a chance to get my hand up. The barrel of the gun slammed across my forehead, opening a gash. I saw stars. Then blood poured into my eyes and I saw only that. I staggered back against the rail beside the ramp leading to the Spin and gripped it to keep from falling down. I swiped at my face with the sleeve of my slicker.

"I don't know why you'd bother trying to spook me with a campfire story at this late date," he said, "and I don't appreciate it. You know about the headband because there was a picture of it in the folder your nosy college-cunt girlfriend brought you."

He smiled. There was nothing charming about this one; it was all teeth. "Don't kid a kidder, kiddo."

"But . . . you didn't see the folder." The answer to that one was a simple deduction even with my head ringing. "Fred saw it.

And told you. Didn't he?"

"Yep. On Monday. We were having lunch together in his z6o

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office. He said that you and the college cunt were playing Hardy Boys, although he didn't put it quite that way. He thought it was sort of cute. I didn't, because I'd seen you stripping off Eddie Parks's gloves after he had his heart attack. That's when I knew you were playing Hardy Boys. That folder . . . Fred said the cunt had pages of notes. I knew it was only a matter of time before she put me with Wellman's and Southern Star."

I had an alarming picture of Lane Hardy riding the train to Annandale with a straight razor in his pocket. "Erin doesn't know anything."

"Oh, relax. Do you think I'm going after her? Apply some strain and use your brain. And take a little stroll while you do it.

Up the ramp, champ. You and I are going for a ride. Up there where the air is rare."

I started to ask him if he was crazy, but that would have been sort of a stupid question at this late date, wouldn't it?