JК
The Colorado Kid :: Кинг Стивен
Страница: 68 из 81”
“Hang on there, brother,” Vince said. “Them’s fightin words.” He put up his elderly dukes, but with a grin.
“I think he did all right,” Stephanie said. “In the end, I think he did just fine.” And then, thinking of the woman and baby Michael (who would by this time be in his midtwenties): “So did she, actually. Without Paul Devane and you two guys, Arla Cogan never would have gotten her insurance money.”
“Some truth to that,” Vince conceded. She was amused to see that something in this made him uncomfortable. Not that he’d done good, she thought, but that someoneknew he had done good. They had the Internet out here; you could see a little Direct TV satellite dish on just about every house; no fishing boat set to sea anymore without the GPS switched on. Yet still the old Calvinist ideas ran deep.Let not thy left hand know what thy right hand doeth.
“What exactly do you think happened?” she asked.
“No, Steffi,” Vince said. He spoke kindly but firmly. “You’re still expectin Rex Stout to come waltzin out of the closet, or Ellery Queen arm in arm with Miss Jane Marple. If we knew what happened, if we had any idea, we would have chased that idea til we dropped. And frig the BostonGlobe, we would have broken any story we found on page one of theIslander. We may have beenlittle newspapermen back in ’81, and we may be littleold newspapermen now, but we ain’tdead little old newspapermen. I still like the idea of a big story just fine.”
“Me too,” Dave said. He’d gotten up, probably with those invoices on his mind, but had now settled on the corner of his desk, swinging one large leg. “I’ve always dreamed of us havin a story that got syndicated nationwide, and that’s one dream I’ll probably die with. Go on, Vince, tell her as much as you think. She’ll keep it close. She’s one of us now.”
Stephanie almost shivered with pleasure, but Vince Teague appeared not to notice. He leaned forward, fixing her light blue eyes with his, which were a much darker shade—the color of the ocean on a sunny day.
“All right,” he said. “I started to think something might be funny about how he died as well as how he got here long before all that about the stamp. I started askin myself questions when I realized he had a pack of cigarettes with only one gone, although he’d been on the island since at least sixthirty. I made a real pest of myself at Bayside News.”
Vince smiled at the recollection.
“I showed everyone at the shop Cogan’s picture, including the sweepup boy.
“Hang on there, brother,” Vince said. “Them’s fightin words.” He put up his elderly dukes, but with a grin.
“I think he did all right,” Stephanie said. “In the end, I think he did just fine.” And then, thinking of the woman and baby Michael (who would by this time be in his midtwenties): “So did she, actually. Without Paul Devane and you two guys, Arla Cogan never would have gotten her insurance money.”
“Some truth to that,” Vince conceded. She was amused to see that something in this made him uncomfortable. Not that he’d done good, she thought, but that someoneknew he had done good. They had the Internet out here; you could see a little Direct TV satellite dish on just about every house; no fishing boat set to sea anymore without the GPS switched on. Yet still the old Calvinist ideas ran deep.Let not thy left hand know what thy right hand doeth.
“What exactly do you think happened?” she asked.
“No, Steffi,” Vince said. He spoke kindly but firmly. “You’re still expectin Rex Stout to come waltzin out of the closet, or Ellery Queen arm in arm with Miss Jane Marple. If we knew what happened, if we had any idea, we would have chased that idea til we dropped. And frig the BostonGlobe, we would have broken any story we found on page one of theIslander. We may have beenlittle newspapermen back in ’81, and we may be littleold newspapermen now, but we ain’tdead little old newspapermen. I still like the idea of a big story just fine.”
“Me too,” Dave said. He’d gotten up, probably with those invoices on his mind, but had now settled on the corner of his desk, swinging one large leg. “I’ve always dreamed of us havin a story that got syndicated nationwide, and that’s one dream I’ll probably die with. Go on, Vince, tell her as much as you think. She’ll keep it close. She’s one of us now.”
Stephanie almost shivered with pleasure, but Vince Teague appeared not to notice. He leaned forward, fixing her light blue eyes with his, which were a much darker shade—the color of the ocean on a sunny day.
“All right,” he said. “I started to think something might be funny about how he died as well as how he got here long before all that about the stamp. I started askin myself questions when I realized he had a pack of cigarettes with only one gone, although he’d been on the island since at least sixthirty. I made a real pest of myself at Bayside News.”
Vince smiled at the recollection.
“I showed everyone at the shop Cogan’s picture, including the sweepup boy.