Bag of Bones   ::   Кинг Стивен

She promised to keep her mouth open the whole time if I’d keep mine shut—is that what you want to hear? Is, Jo said. Very likely that is what he wants to hear. Very likely what he wants to believe. Don’t let him provoke you into a burst of your sophomore sarcasm, Mike—you could regret it. Why was I bothering to protect Mattie Devore, anyway? I didn’t know. Didn’t have the slightest idea of what I might be getting into here, for that matter. I only knew that she had looked tired, and the child hadn’t been bruised or frightened or sullen. “There was a car.

An old Jeep."

“That’s more like it.” Satisfaction. And sharp interest.

Greed, almost. “What did—”

“I guess I assumed they came in the car together,” I said. There was a certain giddy pleasure in discovering my capacity for invention had not deserted me—I felt like a pitcher who can no longer do it in front of a crowd, but who can still throw a pretty good slider in the old back yard. “The little girl might have had some daisies.” All the careful qualifications, as if I were testifying in court instead of sitting on my deck. Harold would have been proud.

Well, no. Harold would have been horrified that I was having such a conversation at all. “I think I assumed they were picking wildflowers.

My memory of the incident isn’t all that clear, unfortunately. I’m a writer, Mr. Devore, and when I’m driving I often drift off into my own private—”

“You’re lying.” The anger was right out in the open now, bright and pulsing like a boil. As I had suspected, it hadn’t taken much effort to escort this guy past the social niceties. “Mr. Devore. The computer Devore, I assume?”

“You assume correctly.” Jo always grew cooler in tone and expression as her not inconsiderable temper grew hotter. Now I heard myself emulating her in a way that was frankly eerie. “Mr. Devore, I’m not accustomed to being called in the evening by men I don’t know, nor do I intend to prolong the conversation when a man who does so calls me a liar. Good evening, sir.”

“If everything was fine, then why did you stop?”

“I’ve been away from the TR for some time, and I wanted to know if the Village Cafe was still open. Oh, by the way—I don’t know where you got my telephone number, but I know where you can put it. Good night.” I broke the connection with my thumb and then just looked at the phone, as if I had never seen such a gadget in my life. The hand holding it was trembling.