“You’d better slow down,” Barbara told him.

“Don’t get your shorts in a knot, huh? I know exactly where we’re going.”

The van swept around a curve of the two-lane blacktop and shot past a road that led off to the left.

“That was it, smart guy.”

He leaned against his door and watched the road recede in the side mirror. “Naw.”

“Oh yes it was.”

“They never listen to us,” Jean said.

“That wasn’t it,” Pete muttered, stepping on the brake. The van slowed. He pulled onto the gravel shoulder, stopped, cranked his window down and stared back. “You really think that’s it, honey?”

“If you don’t believe me, keeping going.”

“Shit.”

“Maybe we won’tbe visiting a ghost town today,” Jean said, sounding amused.

Larry turned in his seat and looked at her. Smiling, she rolled her eyes upward. That expression was as good as words. What’ve we gotten ourselves into? Like Larry, she always got a kick out of the good-natured bickering that went on between Pete and Barbara. But they’d seen the arguments turn nasty, and had occasionally overheard quarrels that sounded truly vicious coming from the couple’s next-door house.

“Why don’t we give that road a try?” Larry suggested.

“It’s not the one.”

“Prince Henry the Navigator,” Barbara muttered.

“Maybe we should flip a coin,” Jean said.

“Do you have a map?” Larry asked.

“Pete doesn’t believe in them,” Barbara told him, her voice pleasant. Amazing how she reserved the sarcasm for her husband. “It’s up to you, Peter. I’ve offered my opinion. Feel free to ignore it.”

“Oh, hell,” he muttered. He started to turn the van around, and Larry saw the look of relief on Jean’s face.

“If it’s the wrong road,” Larry told Barbara, “we hold you personally responsible.”

She bared her teeth at him, then laughed softly.

“That’s tellin‘ her, pal.” Pete turned the van onto the side road and stepped on the gas. He drove up the middle, ignoring the faded white line. There wasn’t enough left of the speed limit sign to read its numbers. The metal had been riddled with bullets. Some of the holes looked fresh, but many were fringed with rust. Pete pointed at the sign. “There’s some local color for you. Ol’ Barb’s reallygonna be in trouble if we not only take the wrong road, but get shot in the bargain.”

“We’ll duck if we see any bargain hunters,” Larry said.

“Ha! Good one! I hate to tell you, they’re in the backseat.”

“Can’t miss at this range,” Jean said.

“We’re dead meat.”

“You’ve got nothing to worry about, Petey. You’re no bargain.”

“I know. I’m priceless. I’m also smart enough to know this isn’t the road to Sagebrush Flat. But here we are anyway.”

“It was a good decision,” Larry assured him. “In my vast experience, I’ve found it always wiser to go along with female advice.”

“That’s because it’s usually right,” Jean said.

“Either way,” he told Pete, “you can’t lose. First, you make them happy by doing what they tell you. That’s the main thing. Let them think they’re in control. They love it. Then, if it turns out they were right, everything’s cool. If it turns out they were wrong...”

“Which is usually the case,” Pete added.

“Do they know what thin ice they’re on?” Jean asked.

“If they’re wrong,” Larry went on, “then you have the pleasure of basking in the glow of superiority.”

Pete grinned and nodded. “Hey, you oughta put that in one of your books.”

“It wasin one of his books,” Barbara said. “If I’m not mistaken, a redneck cop spoke pretty much those very words in Dead of Night.”

“Yeah?”

“No kidding?” Larry asked, amazed that she had remembered such a thing.

“Don’t you remember?”

He’d quoted one of his own characters without even realizing it? Odd, he thought. And a little disturbing. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “If you say so, I guess it’s there.”

“The philosophy at work,” Pete said.

“No, I mean it. I write so much... That book was a long time ago.”

“I have the advantage,” Barbara said. “I just read it last month.”

“Hey, maybe you’re becoming that guy. Turning into your redneck cop. There’s an idea for a story, huh? A writer starts turning into this character he made up.”

“Has possibilities.”

“Well, if you use it, remember where you got the idea.”

“Ah-ha!” Barbara said. “Over on the left.”

Looking across the road, Larry saw the ruins of an old structure. It no longer had a roof. The door and window-panes, if it ever had them, were gone. The upper portions of the walls had crumbled away, and some of the rocks that might once have formed the square enclosure now lay in rubble around it — returning to the desert from which they’d been taken.

“Well,” Pete said, “I guess this isthe right road.”

“Prince Henry.”

“Doesn’t look like much of a ghost town,” Jean remarked.

“That isn’t it,” Barbara told her. “But we stopped and had a look around before we got to Sagebrush Flat.”

“Nothing much there,” Pete said. “Wanta take a quick look?”

“I’d rather get on to the main attraction.”

In spite of Jean’s earlier comments about her difficulties in getting him out of the house, they’d taken several day trips during the past year to explore the region. Sometimes with Pete and Barbara, a few times by themselves or with Lane — when they could drag their seventeen-year-old daughter away from home. On those outings, Larry had seen plenty of ruins similar to the one they were leaving behind. But not a real ghost town.

“Don’t you always wonder who lived in places like that?” Jean asked.

“Prospectors, I should think,” Pete said.

“ ‘Dead guys,’ ” Larry quoted.

“Leave it to you. The morbid touch.”

“Actually, that was Lane’s comment. ‘Dead guys.’ Remember, hon?”

“She went back to the car and waited for us that time. She wanted nothing to do with it.”

“I know the feeling,” Barbara said. “I think this stuff’s interesting, but you gotta know that whoever lived there’s been pushing up daisies for a while.”

“Cactus,” Pete said.

“Whatever. Anyway, dead. Makes it kind of spooky.”

“All the better for Larry here.”

“Doesn’t bother me,” Jean said. “I just think it’s neat to see where they used to live, and, you know, imagine what it must’ve been like. It’s history.”

“Speaking of history,” Larry said, “what do you know about this ghost town of yours?”

“Not much,” Pete told him.

“Hedoesn’t even know where it is.”

“It must be in some of those guidebooks,” Jean said.

“Nope. We checked.”

“I guess it’s nothing all that special,” Pete said. “Maybe it’s not an official ghost town, or whatever it takes to get noticed — just a wide spot in the road that got deserted.” He suddenly grinned at Larry. “Hey, suppose it’s just there for us? You know? Like a figment of our imaginations.”

“A ghostghost town.”

“Yeah! How about that? Another idea for you. You’re gonna have to start paying me a consultant’s fee.”

“You’d do better if you wrote the books yourself.”

“Hey, maybe I oughta give it a try. How long does it take you to knock out one of those things?”

“Six months, maybe, to write one. About twenty-five years to learn how.”

“You’d better just stick to repairing televisions,” Barbara said.

“We coming up on the turnoff?” he asked.

“I’ll let you know.”

“We didn’t get any chance to explore the place last time,” Pete said. “Spent too much time screwing around back at that pile of rocks.”

“Watch it, buster.”

“Anyway, we had to get home for some party you were having, so we just drove right on through Sagebrush.”

God, Larry thought, he’d meant it literally. Otherwise Barbara wouldn’t have reacted that way. They’d actually screwed in that old ruin. Inside those tumbledown walls. No door. No roof. Right out in the open, almost.