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The Colorado Kid :: Кинг Стивен
Страница: 11 из 81The mystery of thePretty Lisa — the solution to which almost certainly has to do with gunhappy bootleggers runninghooch down from Canada, although no one will ever know for sure—has been around for years. It’s been written up in half a dozen books, not to mention bothYankee andDowneast magazines. And, say, Vince, didn’t theGlobe —?”
Vince was nodding. “Maybe. Seven, maybe nine years ago. Sunday supplement piece. Although it might have been the ProvidenceJournal. I’m sure it was the Portland SundayTelegram that did the piece on the Mormons that showed up over in Freeport and tried to sink a mine in the Desert of Maine…”
“And the 1951 Coast Lights get a big play in the newspapers almost every Halloween,” Dave added cheerfully. “Not to mention the UFO websites.”
“And a woman wrote a book last year on the poisonin’s at that church picnic in Tashmore,” Vince finished up. This was the last ‘unexplained mystery’ they had hauled out for theGlobe reporter over lunch. This was just before Hanratty had decided he could make the onethirty ferry, and in a way Stephanie guessed she now didn’t blame him.
“So you were having him on,” she said. “Teasing him with old stories.”
“No, dear!” Vince said, this time sounding shocked for real. (Well, maybe, Stephanie thought.) “Every one of those is abona fide unsolved mystery of the New England coast—our part of it, even.”
“We couldn’t be sure he knew all those stories until we trotted em out,” Dave said reasonably. “Not that it surprised us any that he did.”
“Nope,” Vince agreed. His eyes were bright. “Pretty old chestnuts, I would have to agree. But we got a nice lunch out of it, didn’t we? And we got to watch the money go around and come out right where it should…partly in Helen Hafner’s pocket.”
“And those stories are really the only ones you know? Stories that have been chewed to a pulp in books and the big newspapers?”
Vince looked at Dave, his longtime cohort. “Did I say that?”
“Nope,” Dave said. “And I don’t believe I did, either.”
“Well, what other unexplained mysteriesdo you know about? And why didn’t you tell him?”
The two old men glanced at each other, and once again Stephanie McCann felt that telepathy at work. Vince gave a slight nod toward the door. Dave got up, crossed the brightly lit half of the long room (in the darker half hulked the big oldfashioned offset printing press that hadn’t run in over seven years), and turned the sign hanging in the door from open to closed. Then he came back.
Vince was nodding. “Maybe. Seven, maybe nine years ago. Sunday supplement piece. Although it might have been the ProvidenceJournal. I’m sure it was the Portland SundayTelegram that did the piece on the Mormons that showed up over in Freeport and tried to sink a mine in the Desert of Maine…”
“And the 1951 Coast Lights get a big play in the newspapers almost every Halloween,” Dave added cheerfully. “Not to mention the UFO websites.”
“And a woman wrote a book last year on the poisonin’s at that church picnic in Tashmore,” Vince finished up. This was the last ‘unexplained mystery’ they had hauled out for theGlobe reporter over lunch. This was just before Hanratty had decided he could make the onethirty ferry, and in a way Stephanie guessed she now didn’t blame him.
“So you were having him on,” she said. “Teasing him with old stories.”
“No, dear!” Vince said, this time sounding shocked for real. (Well, maybe, Stephanie thought.) “Every one of those is abona fide unsolved mystery of the New England coast—our part of it, even.”
“We couldn’t be sure he knew all those stories until we trotted em out,” Dave said reasonably. “Not that it surprised us any that he did.”
“Nope,” Vince agreed. His eyes were bright. “Pretty old chestnuts, I would have to agree. But we got a nice lunch out of it, didn’t we? And we got to watch the money go around and come out right where it should…partly in Helen Hafner’s pocket.”
“And those stories are really the only ones you know? Stories that have been chewed to a pulp in books and the big newspapers?”
Vince looked at Dave, his longtime cohort. “Did I say that?”
“Nope,” Dave said. “And I don’t believe I did, either.”
“Well, what other unexplained mysteriesdo you know about? And why didn’t you tell him?”
The two old men glanced at each other, and once again Stephanie McCann felt that telepathy at work. Vince gave a slight nod toward the door. Dave got up, crossed the brightly lit half of the long room (in the darker half hulked the big oldfashioned offset printing press that hadn’t run in over seven years), and turned the sign hanging in the door from open to closed. Then he came back.