JК
Bag of Bones :: Кинг Стивен
Страница: 122 из 425It was like she’d come down to do that errand special, although why anyone’d drive all the way from Derry to take delivery of a couple of plastic owls I don’t know.”
“When in the fall was it, Bill? Do you remember?”
“Second week of November,” he said promptly. “Me n the wife went up to Lewiston later that afternoon, to “Vette’s sister’s. It was her birthday. On our way back we stopped at the Castle Rock Agway so “Vette could get her Thanksgiving turkey.” He looked at me curiously. “You really didn’t know about them owls?”
“No.”
“That’s a touch peculiar, wouldn’t you say?”
“Maybe she told me and I forgot,” I said. “I guess it doesn’t matter much now in any case.” Yet it seemed to matter. It was a small thing, but it seemed to matter. “Why would Jo want a couple of plastic owls to begin with?”
“To keep the crows from shittin up the woodwork, like they’re doing out on your deck. Crows see those plastic owls, they veer off.” I burst out laughing in spite of my puzzlement… or perhaps because of it. “Yeah? That really works?”
“Ayuh, long’s you move em every now and then so the crows don’t get suspicious. Crows are just about the smartest birds going, you know. You look for those owls, save yourself a lot of mess.”
“I will,” I said. Plastic owls to scare the crows away—it was exactly the sort of knowledge Jo would come by (she was like a crow herself in that way, picking up glittery pieces of information that happened to catch her interest) and act upon without bothering to tell me. All at once I was lonely for her again—missing her like hell. “Good. Some day when I’ve got more time, we’ll walk the place all the way around. Woods too, if you want. I think you’ll be satisfied.”
“I’m sure I will. Where’s Devore staying?” The bushy eyebrows went up.
“Warrington’s. Him and you’s practically neighbors. I thought you must know.” I remembered the woman I’d seen—black bathing-suit and black shorts somehow combining to give her an exotic cocktail-party lookand nodded. “I met his wife.”
Bill laughed heartily enough at that to feel in need of his handkerchief. He fished it off the dashboard (a blue paisley thing the size of a football pennant) and wiped his eyes.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
“Skinny woman? White hair? Face sort of like a kid’s Halloween mask?”
It was my turn to laugh. “That’s her.”
“She ain’t his wife, she’s his whatdoyoucallit, personal assistant.
Rogette Whitmore is her name.” He pronounced it roGET, with a hard G. “Devore’s wives’re all dead.
“When in the fall was it, Bill? Do you remember?”
“Second week of November,” he said promptly. “Me n the wife went up to Lewiston later that afternoon, to “Vette’s sister’s. It was her birthday. On our way back we stopped at the Castle Rock Agway so “Vette could get her Thanksgiving turkey.” He looked at me curiously. “You really didn’t know about them owls?”
“No.”
“That’s a touch peculiar, wouldn’t you say?”
“Maybe she told me and I forgot,” I said. “I guess it doesn’t matter much now in any case.” Yet it seemed to matter. It was a small thing, but it seemed to matter. “Why would Jo want a couple of plastic owls to begin with?”
“To keep the crows from shittin up the woodwork, like they’re doing out on your deck. Crows see those plastic owls, they veer off.” I burst out laughing in spite of my puzzlement… or perhaps because of it. “Yeah? That really works?”
“Ayuh, long’s you move em every now and then so the crows don’t get suspicious. Crows are just about the smartest birds going, you know. You look for those owls, save yourself a lot of mess.”
“I will,” I said. Plastic owls to scare the crows away—it was exactly the sort of knowledge Jo would come by (she was like a crow herself in that way, picking up glittery pieces of information that happened to catch her interest) and act upon without bothering to tell me. All at once I was lonely for her again—missing her like hell. “Good. Some day when I’ve got more time, we’ll walk the place all the way around. Woods too, if you want. I think you’ll be satisfied.”
“I’m sure I will. Where’s Devore staying?” The bushy eyebrows went up.
“Warrington’s. Him and you’s practically neighbors. I thought you must know.” I remembered the woman I’d seen—black bathing-suit and black shorts somehow combining to give her an exotic cocktail-party lookand nodded. “I met his wife.”
Bill laughed heartily enough at that to feel in need of his handkerchief. He fished it off the dashboard (a blue paisley thing the size of a football pennant) and wiped his eyes.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
“Skinny woman? White hair? Face sort of like a kid’s Halloween mask?”
It was my turn to laugh. “That’s her.”
“She ain’t his wife, she’s his whatdoyoucallit, personal assistant.
Rogette Whitmore is her name.” He pronounced it roGET, with a hard G. “Devore’s wives’re all dead.