It was about a seriously deranged young man who enticed plain-faced women to fall in love with him, stole what they had, then murdered them. The movie made it seem that the women thought death was part of their ecstasy. They didn’t fight him. It didn’t make any sense, but due to the charisma and skills of the actor, it was believable. Rachel looked the movie up on her phone. “A cult classic,” it said. “Still selling today and watched in theaters all over the world, especially in midnight showings. Viewers tend to wear costumes of the victims.”
“Never heard of it,” Rachel said, but Quinn was asleep and didn’t hear her.
She was halfway through the movie when a ghost appeared. At least it seemed so. A very large man, shirtless, with pale skin gleaming, and wearing only low-riding sweatpants, came into the room and stared down at her. She blinked up at him. “Are you real?” she asked. He was quite, quite muscular. Her eyes were wide.
“All of me is very real,” he said in a voice of liquid honey. When he stepped near Rachel, she didn’t move away. Bending, he slung tall, lanky Quinn over one broad shoulder and carried him out of the room.
Rachel sat still, not sure what she should do. Leave? She wasn’t supposed to have arrived yet, so she should go. But she didn’t want to. Before she could decide what to do, the man returned. He’d pulled on a sweatshirt touting the Kansas City Chiefs, and he took Quinn’s place on the couch. He picked up a handful of popcorn.
“So what’s this movie about?”
She leaned back. “See that man? He kills women, but before he does, he makes them very happy.”
“Through sex or by doing the housework for them?”
She laughed. “It’s the 1940s. Women did the housework in heels and pearls. This guy did it with great sex.”
“Cool,” he said. “Does he get caught?”
“I hope not,” she said, and they laughed together, then watched the rest of the movie.
The next morning, Gil, dressed all in denim, was in the kitchen early. Coffee was perking when Sara came through the front door and went to the back. He smiled as she was holding a can of caffeinated water. Since Sara didn’t drink coffee, she had only recently discovered caffeine. Gil and Jack tried to outdo each other in finding her the strongest, no calorie drinks that put pizzaz in her step.
“Today’s the day,” Sara said. “They’ll start arriving about ten.”
“One of them came last night.”
“Who?” she asked.
Before Gil could answer, Quinn came to the door. “Where is she?”
“Still asleep, I guess,” Gil answered.
“I looked, and she’s gone.” He sounded angry. “I’ll find her.” Quinn hurried out of the room and they heard the front door slam.
Sara blinked a few times. “Did a teenage girl show up?”
“No. It’s Rachel Meyers—or whatever her name is now. I assume she took her husband’s name. I was asleep when she arrived, so Quinn played host.”
“Your silent son, who hardly talks to anyone, was the host?”
“Yes. He took her on a tour of the house, and they made grilled cheese sandwiches and soup and popcorn. Then they went upstairs and watched some old black-and-white movie together. Quinn fell asleep and I had to carry him to bed.”
“Then what?” Sara asked.
“Nothing.”
Sara looked at him. “You blush worse than Jack does. Even the top of your head has gone red. What happened after Quinn went to bed?”
“Nothing. Really. She and I watched the rest of the movie together, and we ate popcorn. She fell asleep and I carried her to bed.”
“My, my, my,” Sara said. “You certainly had a busy evening. And now Quinn wants to see her again. What about you?”
Gil didn’t smile. “As I said, she’s married. Taken. Not available.”
“So where is she? And don’t pretend you don’t know.”
“Out by the mausoleum.”
