Stella smiled at us and said, "They'll be here in a flash and a half, and then we'll serve lunch. Chinese noodles. His companion's bringing a sack lunch with him, 'cause he's finicky." She left unsaid what she thought about that, and I had my own ideas. Neal was afraid that Top would slip a drug into his food or drink. I said as much to Stella as I took the dust bag from her. There was a small dumpster where the cars parked.
"Oh surely no," Stella said, amused, "he wouldn't do anything so underhanded." But she knew better, and laughed going back inside the cabin.
Moira asked, "Is there a bathroom? I mean a flush toilet and everything?"
I assured her that the cabin, as rustic as it looked, had electrical power, running water, and a sewer connection. She went with me up the drive. "Josie's mom doesn't want to be here until just before the seance. Do you know when?"
I told her probably around nine; not too early, not too late. We would have dinner first, but Top would abstain from eating an evening meal, and likely Neal as well. Moira remarked that they must be friendly to each other in a way, if Top was bringing Neal with him on the motorcycle. She watched my expression as she said that, but I gave nothing away.
We crossed the bridge. Then she said, "So how close is the lake from here?" and paused to look over the guard rail of the bridge, down at the dark sluggish water. "Is the stream very deep?" She turned and gave me a look of innocent inquiry.
I kept walking, my loins stirring with a mix of arousal and a strange sort of anger. I wondered if she was serious or just teasing me. I had thought she decided to drop the whole business and content herself with maybe seeing a ghost, the real thing or an illusion. She hurried to my side and hooked an arm around mine, telegraphing her tenseness, and I sensed then that although she might not be serious about it in a conscious way, in the depth of her mind she was earnest. Or was I sensing what I wanted to be true?
That disturbing mix of feelings intensified. "Deep enough," I said.
Her arm tightened its hold on me. I freed my arm when we came to the dumpster. When I had dropped the lid back down the sound of Top's BMW bike reached us, a purring whine, then the popping noise of tires on the patches of gravel.
Top parked at a spot near the bridge, as far from us as he could. There would be no handshake or anything like a courteous greeting between me and the step-father of an Undertaker. I exchanged an appraising look with Neal as he stepped away from the bike.
He was shorter than Top, round-shouldered and paunchy, with tightly curled grey hair and a white wisp of a chin-beard. He had a round cheeky face and close-set eyes under spidery eyebrows. He wore a black windbreaker and dark blue canvas jeans, brand new, and shiny slip-on shoes with fringed laces. Sunlight winked from his wristwatch.
He gazed a moment at Moira. She twiddled her fingers at him and smiled tentatively. He smiled back and nodded. Top was silent. He had an uncharacteristically sullen expression. He said something to Neal and they headed off across the bridge.
"This is weird," Moira whispered.
"It's about time you said that." I was rolling a smoke, to let Top and Neal get well ahead of us before we started back.
"No I've always thought it was weird I just didn't say it."
"We're here to make it weirder, aren't we?"
The corners of her lips twitched with an uncertain smile. "Maybe but maybe not. I just want to be ready in case, you know, it happens the way...Top wants it to."
I could hardly believe we were discussing this. I played along. "If it happens that way then I'm to carry the unconscious bastard to the edge of the stream and drop him in." I said this in an argumentative tone, as if it were the chore of carrying a man, and not the evil of the act itself, that ruffled my feathers.
"Look how close it is," Moira said with every sign of encouragement. "It wouldn't take a minute if you hurried. I know you're not afraid. I know you want it to happen. But it's got to be me who does it. You drop him in the water and I go down there to hold his head under."
She was so convincing that I half believed she was sincere. I lit the cig and studied her face through the veil of smoke from my nostrils. She came up to me and reached to lay her hands on my shoulders, then to press them to either side of my neck. She went up on tiptoe, and I lowered my head, so she could kiss me, fully expecting her to laugh and to admit that she had been joking. Well, she laughed, a little, more like a gusty sigh, but there was no admitting anything. I was hard as a rock.
She stepped back, her arms crossed tightly below her small bosom. "I'd rather it be Roberta," she said. "That's the only thing that would satisfy me, really. I mean, that would end it. I'd for sure never forget the feeling. Not ever."
I said, "You're dreaming. Neal might bite it tonight, but there's no chance of Roberta going down in his place."
She waved that away and this time she really did laugh. "You're just too crazy, Hangman! And I'm starving for lunch."
I watched her sasshay off toward the bridge, bobbing her hands like a maestro. I felt a curious disappointment, and an even more curious hope.
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