“Killed her because hethought she was a vampire,” Pete put in.

“Uriah’s wife and daughter were murdered,” Larry said. “Somehow, he got it into his head that they were the victims of a vampire. He had their bodies cremated so they wouldn’t come back. Then he went hunting. He got Bonnie and two other girls.”

Frowning at him, Jean said, “You guys didn’t make any of this up?”

Larry realized she had actually been listening. Though she didn’t seem fascinated like Lane and Barbara, her anger had melted. She was interested.

“Some of it’s speculation,” he admitted.

“More than some, I should imagine.”

“Not all that much,” Pete said. “Lar’s got a whole stack of newspaper stories.”

“This is big,” Barbara said, her voice low.

“Big?” Pete said. “Enormous. Now, if we just pull the stake and it turns out she isa vampire...”

“She’ll suck all our blood and there won’t be any book,” Lane said.

Everyone looked at her.

“Just kidding,” she muttered, blushing.

“There’s no such thing as vampires,” Jean said to her.

“I know. I know that.”

“We all know that, don’t we?” she asked. Her gaze roamed the group. She was met by nods of agreement. She looked at Larry. “You’ve got that thing here just so you can pull the stake?”

“Yeah. I guess so.”

“That’s all you need it for? Once you’ve taken out the stake and proved she isn’t a vampire, that’s it? You’ll be done? We can get rid of it?”

“Yeah.”

Pete scowled, apparently recalling his plans to take the body on the talk show circuit.

Larry said to him, “We’ll have to turn her over to the authorities.” To Jean he said, “They can take up the investigation from there, and go out and try to pick up Uriah.”

Jean nodded. “Okay. Let’s go out to the garage and do it.”

He stared at her.

She raised her eyebrows. “I mean it. You want to pull out the stake, we’ll do it right now. I want that thing off my property. Tonight.”

“It might be better to wait for daylight,” Pete said.

Jean sneered at him. “Get real.”

“Just in case,” Larry said.

Her sneer turned on him. “In case of what?”

“Yeah!” Barbara pitched in, her voice loud and cheery. She was beaming. “What areyou guys, a couple of pussies? Let’s yank the fuckin‘ stake, see if the babe sits up and says hi.”

“What the hell,” Pete said.

“Okay,” Larry said.

“Oh, boy,” Lane said. She looked scared.

Pete went home for his video camera. Jean and Lane left the kitchen to get dressed. Barbara, still seated in the extra chair from the dining room, had her arms folded beneath her breasts and kept shaking her head.

Larry, trembling and wondering if his teeth might begin to chatter, took a sip of coffee. It was lukewarm. He realized they’d neglected to offer any to their guests. “Want some coffee?” he asked.

“Thanks, but I don’t think so. I’d probably wet myself. God, this is exciting.”

“Yeah,” he muttered.

“It islike something from a book. One of your books.”

“Hope it doesn’t turn out like one.”

“You and me both, buster.” She let out a nervous laugh. “I’ll be in it, won’t I?”

“Sure. You already are.” He managed a smile. “You’re the one who found the body.”

“Pete found it. But I’m the one who busted the landing, right?”

“Yeah.”

“You don’t describe me as a big lummox, I hope.”

“No way. You’ll like it.”

Her head nodded, bobbing slowly up and down a few times, then switched directions and shook from side to side. “I can’t believe you guys actually didall this.”

“Neither can I.”

“Jean can, though.”

He groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

“She’ll be okay,” Barbara said. “Once it’s all over and she realizes what’s going on. You know, the fact that it’s true. It’s gonna be hot.”

“Hope so.”

“I bet there’ll even be a movie. De Niro’d be perfect for Pete. They’d need someone big for me. Not big famous, necessarily. Big big.”

“How about Susan Anton?”

She beamed. “Hey, that’d be great. Now, what about you and Jean? Somebody kind of small and cute for Jean. What about that gal with the husky voice from An Officer and a Gentleman?”

“Debra Winger.”

“Yeah. She’d be perfect for Jean. For you, we’ve got a choice.”

“Really?”

“Nick Nolte or Gary Busey.”

He chuckled and felt his face heat up. “Thanks a bunch.”

“No, they’d be great. Either one of them.”

“At least you didn’t suggest George Kennedy.”

Larry heard slow footsteps coming toward them. Lane stepped into the kitchen, dressed in sneakers, jeans, and a heavy plaid shirt. The shirt was very large. It wasn’t rucked in.

In her right hand she held a crucifix.

The one that belonged on the wall of her bedroom.

It looked identical to the crucifix that Larry had seen hanging around Uriah’s neck. The one that had stopped his bullet.

“Don’t let your mother see that,” Larry warned.

“You’re probably right.” She slipped it underneath the front of her shirt and worked some of the long end down inside the waistband of her jeans. When she finished, the loose shirt showed no trace of the crucifix.

“You wouldn’t happen to have a spare?” Barbara asked.

Lane spread the shirt’s neck and lifted out the small golden cross. The cross, on its thin chain, had come from Larry’s parents. They’d given it to her as a first communion present. He hadn’t noticed Lane wearing it in a long while.

“Bring a vampire around,” he said, “people start discovering religion.”

“You’re sure prepared,” Barbara told her.

“Here, you take it.” Lane started to fool with the clasp behind her neck.

“No, no. Hey, I’m not worried about vampires.”

“Take it anyway,” Lane said, and held the necklace out to her.

“Well...” She looked at Larry.

“Why not?”

“Right. Why not?” She slipped the chain around her neck and fastened it. Then she dropped the golden cross down the front of her sweatshirt. “Thanks, hon. If it looks like the babe might start chomping on me, I’ll just whip this out and send her packing.”

“That’s the idea,” Lane said. “Mom always wears hers, so she’s protected.”

They’re all protected, Larry thought. He told himself that he didn’t believe in vampires. He told himself that the crosses wouldn’t protect them from squat. But still, he was glad they had the things.

Barbara patted her hair. She curled her upper lip. “You wouldn’t have a brush handy, would you? Since Pete’s gonna record this for posterity...”

“Sure,” Lane said. “I’ll get one.”

Barbara stood up. Saying, “I’ll need to use a mirror,” she followed Lane out of the kitchen.

Larry sat alone at the table.

Oh, man, he thought. This is it.

At least we’ll get it over with. No more wondering.

God, Bonnie. So what’s it gonna be?

I’ll be yours, she seemed to tell him.

Sure thing. Right. You’ll just lie there dead.

Don’t count on it.

What if she kills all of them but me?

He pictured himself pulling the stake. And Bonnie suddenly changing. Very suddenly. One second a dried-up grinning hag, the next second a gorgeous teenager, the next second throwing herself out of the coffin with a mad shriek and attacking. Hurling bodies, breaking necks, ripping open throats with her teeth. And Larry stands there helpless, watching the slaughter, too stunned to feel the pain of losing Jean and Lane, Pete and Barbara.

When they’re all dead on the garage floor, Bonnie comes to him, her naked body sheathed with gleaming blood. She raises her dripping hands toward him. Now we’ll be together forever.

Come off it, Larry told himself. My goddamn mind. It’s not going to happen that way. Not a chance.

But he started to imagine himself back in the scene, so he shoved himself away from the table. He hurried into the living room. Barbara was standing in front of the fireplace, watching herself in the mirror above the mantel as she brushed her hair. Lane, beside her, seemed to be gazing into space. He put an arm across her back. She flinched, then looked at him and settled against his side.