"Oh, wouldn't I?"

"Girls, ladies. Please! This is really very untoward!" Langley Carlisle number three protested. "While it may be tempting at first blush to act out in anger or frustration, no good can come of it in the end. Please. Let's explore other avenues in an effort to remediate the situation before we resort to brawling like hoydens along a public thoroughfare."

I raised an eyebrow. What an extraordinary speech, I thought, giving Langley Carlisle the Third a quizzical look. See? I can do Austin.

"What are you saying, Langley?" Tiara asked.

"Well, unless one of you agrees to withdraw from the event, perhaps a friendly wager might give both parties an incentive to comport themselves with a level of dignity and apply themselves to the physical challenge at hand."

"Huh?" The query came from the trio of girls present.

"A wager. I'm proposing a wager."

"A bet?" I winced. My experience with bets wasn't stellar. Well, except for one adorable racc.o.o.n tattoo, that is. Fan me.

"I'm proposing a wager on who goes the farthest on the bike ride, or, alternatively, who finishes the ride first."

I frowned. I had enough to worry about just getting from Point A to Point B each day. The last thing I wanted was to have to compete for time against America's Reality Sweetheart.

"I'll pa.s.s," I stated.

"Ah ha! Only a guilty party would decline such a reasonable solution. That, or a coward." Keelie said.

Coward? I could feel the camera zoom in on me, invading my s.p.a.ce, doc.u.menting my reaction.

"Sticks and stones," Saint Tressa told me, all pious and reasonable. Meanwhile, Sinner Tressa was making a fist and itching to give Reality Red a reality check upside the head.

Bam!

"Maybe we should start with a more modest wager. Something more...immediate." Langley suggested. "Something that, hopefully, will a.s.sist you two in finding common ground and, perhaps, even burying the proverbial hatchet."

For some inexplicable reason, both Keelie's and Tiara's eyes grew big and wide before they erupted in peals of laughter.

"Oh, Langley, you are brilliant!" Keelie said, and gave the beanpole Brit, a hug. "Isn't he brilliant, Tiara?"

"Brilliant," she concurred. "Just brilliant."

I felt like the last person to be let in on the joke.

"How would you like to spend the first night of the ride somewhere other than a tent, Miss Turner?" Langley Carlisle III asked.

Okay. Give me some credit. I'm no dummy. I know there's got to be a catch.

"Is that an option?" I kept it vague. Casual.

"Could be. Interested?" Tiara said, and winked at Keelie.

"You can't be asking me to stay on your bus," I said.

"Oh, G.o.d. No!" Keelie said, and the best buds started to giggle again.

"We aren't actually staying on the bus tonight," Tiara said when she'd stopped giggling.

A hotel? Even better.

"We're staying in Villisca," Keelie said. The threesome fixed expectant gazes on me.

"Villisca?" I frowned. "They don't have a hotel there, do they?"

"No. Not exactly. But they do have certain overnight accommodations that have been...procured for us."

"Accommodations? What sort of accommodations?" One of those "somebody's tromp...tromp...tromping over my grave" feelings. .h.i.t me with the force of a squadron of super-duper Super Soakers.

"Supernatural lodgings," Langley said.

"Ghostly ones," Tiara offered.

"Things that go b.u.mp in the night accommodations," Keelie added.

"You mean?"

It finally registered.

Villisca.

Home to the Ax Murder House.

A place only Lizzie Borden could love.

I've lost you, right? Let me just say that the town of Villisca is as infamous to Iowans as Amityville is to New York residents. The rural Iowa hamlet has the dubious distinction of being home to what is known simply as, the "Murder House."

That's right. The Murder House. Why, you ask? Because in 1912, eight (Yes, I said eight.) people were murdered in their beds in the modest white two-story by an ax-wielding a.s.sailant or a.s.sailants unknown. That's why.

The perp or perps were never caught and, over the years, ghostly occurrences had become as synonymous with the Murder House as the Tower of London-the house reaping a notoriety that comes with high-tech paranormal investigations and eyewitness reports of strange and frightening phenomenon.

Tours of the Murder House were available, and, for a pricey rate, overnight stays at the house promised to give the lodgers a night they wouldn't soon forget. That fact was what currently had me breaking out in a cold sweat and my innards knotted up worse than my air-dried hair after a swim in the rec center pool.

"I don't understand." I said, although I was beginning to.

"I think you do," Keelie said, a decidedly evil glint in her blue eyes. "Convinced the location will be a ratings gold mine, my producers have arranged for us to spend the entire night at the Murder House. You want a truce, Ratfink? You spend the night. If you dare. Bwahaha!"

"Oh, h.e.l.l, no!" I said.

"What's the matter? Is Team Trekkie afraid of ghosts?"

Ax-wielding ones with a history of chopping people up while they slept? Duh.

"Wait a minute! Team Trekkie? Am I...are we...are you asking both of us to spend the night with you in the Ax Murder House?" Van Vleet stammered.

"Of course. The more the merrier, sport." Langley gave Drew a robust slap on the back.

"Awesome!" Drew said, pumping his fist in the air. "Awesome!"

"That invitation is only good if Blondie here is in," Keelie qualified.

"I need just a minute to confer with my team partner," I said, and grabbed hold of Drew's elbow, herding him away from the eyes-and ears-of the show's crew.

"Listen, Drew. This is not what I signed up for. Uh-uh. No way. Not gonna happen."

"Are you joking? This is my ticket to the big time!"

"Your ticket. Hate to break it to you, dude, but it's a twofer. And this half of the twofer ain't interested."

"Why the h.e.l.l not?"

"What part of haunted and murder did you miss?"

"I don't believe you're actually considering refusing Keelie's invitation!" Van Vleet ran a hand through his hair. "Unbelievable. And you call yourself a journalist!"

"You're not at all concerned about spending the night in the Ax Murder House?" I asked.

"No. h.e.l.l no! Why should I be? It's just a house. But you heard what Keelie said. It's pure gold in terms of the public's fascination with the supernatural," he said. "And with Keelie and her entourage along for a sleepover, big media markets, here we come!"

I frowned. "But...the murders, Drew! The murders!"

He shrugged.

"And the ax."

Nothing.

"The hauntings. The gouge in the ceiling. The ax killer!"

"All the better to pique the public's interest."

"People died, man. They died. You're sick to want to capitalize on that. Sick, I tell you."

"And you are a wimpy little red shirt," Van Vleet said. "And undeserving of that Star Fleet emblem on your chest. Go ahead. Chicken out. Spend the rest of the ride wondering what dirty trick Keelie will come up to torment you with next. And when your boss finds out you pa.s.sed up an opportunity to spend a night in the Murder House with Keelie Keller and her cast mates? I wouldn't want to be you. But you go ahead. You tell Stan Rodgers your high moral code kept you from capitalizing on the biggest story of the summer. Go ahead-loser."

Dirty tricks? Wimp? Chicken? Loser?

Okay. Someone, tell me. Is there a sign on my forehead that instructs people on which b.u.t.tons of mine to push, because Van Vleet had pushed nearly all of them-in one fell swoop.

The a.s.s.

"Fine. Whatever. I couldn't care less," I heard someone say. It took a second for it to register it was me. "I'm a country girl. Better a farmhouse than pitching a tent, I say. No big deal. Nothing to see here, folks. Just me getting a good night's sleep out of the elements. That's all. Yup. Piece. Of. Cake."

"You're full of c.r.a.p, Witchiepoo," Van Vleet said. "You're scared s.h.i.tless, and you know it."

I tapped my chin. "Isn't that like an oxymoron?" I asked. "How is it possible to be full of c.r.a.p and s.h.i.tless at the same time? As Mr. Spock would point out, 'most illogical.'"

Van Vleet muttered some words that would never come out of Captain Kirk's mouth and hurried to break the good news that Team Trekkie would gladly accept Keelie Keller's Ax Murder House invite.

A few minutes later Keelie joined me. "So, I hear you're in."

"With a few of my own conditions. You get your peeps. I want mine."

"When you say 'peeps,' who exactly did you have in mind?"

"My sister, Taylor. You know. The one you call 'stuck-up.' My cousin, Frankie, and his...his...his...Dixie."

"What about that handsome trooper?"

I shrugged. "I'm not in charge of the trooper's itinerary."

"I don't know. The producers already had to do some major arm-twisting to get the owners to exceed the customary limit of ten people," she said.

"Those are my stipulations," I said. "Take 'em or leave 'em."

"I don't-" A growl the likes of which I'd never heard erupt from my gammy even after she wolfed down the six pack and a pound from the taco joint, ripped out of the pet.i.te redhead like the rumbling of Mt. Vesuvius. "To...be...continued," Keelie managed through clenched teeth, and hightailed it in the direction of the nearest field.

I'll take that as a yes.

The next hurdle? Sealing the deal with my "peeps."

This could be a little dicey. I winced. Considering the history of our first night's lodging, dicey probably wasn't the best word choice. Let's go with...tricky.

I pondered the magnitude of the challenge before me. It would take pleading, cajoling, overt manipulation, blatant arm-twisting, and, if all else failed, out-and-out blackmail.

Oh, for that Vulcan mind meld about now.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

"Lizzie Borden took an ax. Gave her mother forty whacks."

"Tiara, please. Would you please stop reciting that disturbing ditty?" chided Langley Carlisle-and not for the first time. "It's getting on my last nerve."

Personally, I thought the Englishman showed considerable restraint. I was ready to crown her-but not in a Miss America kind of way.

"Come on, Lang. Loosen up. Do you realize how freaky cool this is? We're spending the night in a house where eight people were axed to death! A house that's supposed to be haunted! I'm totally trippin' here."