JК
The Colorado Kid :: Кинг Стивен
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“Rhoda must have poisoned the coffee to kill her lover for jilting her and then drank it herself to commit suicide. The other four—plus the ones who only got sick—were whatdoyoucallit, collateral damage.”
Vince snapped his fingers. “Ayuh, that’s the story people tell themselves. The newspapers and magazines never come right out and print it because they don’t have to. They know that folks can connect the dots. What’s against it? Quick as your life again.”
But this time her life would have been forfeit, because Stephanie could come up with nothing against it. She was about to protest that she didn’t know the case well enough to say when Dave got up, approached the porch rail, looked out over the reach toward Tinnock, and remarked mildly: “Six months seems a long time to wait, doesn’t it?”
Stephanie said, “Didn’t someone once say revenge is a dish best eaten cold?”
“Ayuh,” Dave said, still perfectly mild, “but when you kill six people, that’s more than just revenge. Not sayin itcouldn’t have been that way, just that it might have been some other. Just like the Coast Lights might have been reflections on the clouds…or somethin secret the Air Force was testin that got sent up from the air base in Bangor…or who knows, maybe itwas little green men droppin in to see if the kids from Hancock Lumber could turn a double play against the ones from Tinnock Auto Body.”
“Mostly what happens is people make up a story and stick with it,” Vince said. “That’s easy enough to do as long as there’s only one unknown factor: one poisoner, one set of mystery lights, one boat run aground with most of her crew gone. But with the Colorado Kid there was nothingbut unknown factors, and hence there was no story.” He paused. “It was like a train running out of a fireplace or a bunch of horses’ heads showing up one morning in the middle of your driveway. Not that grand, but every bit as strange. And things like that…” He shook his head. “Steffi, people don’t like things like that. They don’twant things like that. A wave is a pretty thing to look at when it breaks on the beach, but too many only make you seasick.”
Stephanie looked out at the sparkling reach—plenty of waves there, but no big ones, not today—and considered this in silence.
“There’s something else,” Dave said, after a bit.
“What?” she asked.
“It’sours,” he said, and with surprising force. She thought it was almost anger. “A guy from theGlobe, a guy from away—he’d only muck it up. He wouldn’t understand.”
“Do you?” she asked.
“Rhoda must have poisoned the coffee to kill her lover for jilting her and then drank it herself to commit suicide. The other four—plus the ones who only got sick—were whatdoyoucallit, collateral damage.”
Vince snapped his fingers. “Ayuh, that’s the story people tell themselves. The newspapers and magazines never come right out and print it because they don’t have to. They know that folks can connect the dots. What’s against it? Quick as your life again.”
But this time her life would have been forfeit, because Stephanie could come up with nothing against it. She was about to protest that she didn’t know the case well enough to say when Dave got up, approached the porch rail, looked out over the reach toward Tinnock, and remarked mildly: “Six months seems a long time to wait, doesn’t it?”
Stephanie said, “Didn’t someone once say revenge is a dish best eaten cold?”
“Ayuh,” Dave said, still perfectly mild, “but when you kill six people, that’s more than just revenge. Not sayin itcouldn’t have been that way, just that it might have been some other. Just like the Coast Lights might have been reflections on the clouds…or somethin secret the Air Force was testin that got sent up from the air base in Bangor…or who knows, maybe itwas little green men droppin in to see if the kids from Hancock Lumber could turn a double play against the ones from Tinnock Auto Body.”
“Mostly what happens is people make up a story and stick with it,” Vince said. “That’s easy enough to do as long as there’s only one unknown factor: one poisoner, one set of mystery lights, one boat run aground with most of her crew gone. But with the Colorado Kid there was nothingbut unknown factors, and hence there was no story.” He paused. “It was like a train running out of a fireplace or a bunch of horses’ heads showing up one morning in the middle of your driveway. Not that grand, but every bit as strange. And things like that…” He shook his head. “Steffi, people don’t like things like that. They don’twant things like that. A wave is a pretty thing to look at when it breaks on the beach, but too many only make you seasick.”
Stephanie looked out at the sparkling reach—plenty of waves there, but no big ones, not today—and considered this in silence.
“There’s something else,” Dave said, after a bit.
“What?” she asked.
“It’sours,” he said, and with surprising force. She thought it was almost anger. “A guy from theGlobe, a guy from away—he’d only muck it up. He wouldn’t understand.”
“Do you?” she asked.