One<br >Moonspell Keep.<br > The mere mention of it made the. storekeeper fum-<br >ble with his unlit pipe. His wife nearly dropped a roll<br >of nickels. From their positions behind an old cash<br >register festooned with snapshots of prize trout and<br >trophy deer they gaped at Kyle. They d been staring<br >for other reasons--the usual ones--ever since he had<br >parked his rental car and ambled into their cozy little<br >backwoods grocery and hunting supplies shop. Now<br >their eyes grew even wider.<br > "Nobody ever asks us how to find that place，" the<br >storekeeper explained. "The owner don t allow any<br >visitors."<br > Kyle pulled the brim of his golf hat lower over his<br >eyes， pushed his sunglasses higher， and smiled as<br >though castles in the mountains of Kentucky were<br >an ordinary topic. "The road to Moonspell Keep，" he<br >repeated， "Can you tell me where it is?"<br > "Why?"<br > "I m a friend of the owner s. Dr. Scarborough."<br > "Anna s dead. Died of a heart attack about six<br >months ago."<br >
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