Needful Things - Stephen King [149]
4
Alan pulled in behind the Municipal Building and got out of the cruiser. His station wagon was parked next to Norris's dilapidated VW Beetle on the far side of the lot.
"You headed right home?" he asked Norris.
Norris offered a small, embarrassed grin and dropped his eyes.
"Soon's I change into my civvies."
"Norris, how many times have I told you about using the men's room as a changing booth?"
"Come on, Alan-I don't do it all the time." They both knew, however, that Norris did just that.
Alan sighed. "Never mind-it's been a hell of a long day for you.
I'm sorry."
Norris shrugged. "It was murder. They don't happen around here very often. When they do, I guess everybody pulls together."
"Get Sandy or Sheila to write you up an overtime chit if either of them is still here."
"And give Buster something else to bitch about?" Norris laughed with some bitterness. "I think I'll pass. This one's on me, Alan."
"Has he been giving you shit?" Alan had forgotten all about the town's Head Selectman these last couple of days.
"No-but he gives me a real hairy eyeball when we pass on the street. If looks could kill, I'd be as dead as Nettle and Wilma."
"I'll write up the chit myself tomorrow morning."
"If your name's on it, that's okay," Norris said, starting for the door marked TOWN EMPLOYEES ONLY. "Goodnight, Alan."
"Good luck with the fishing."
Norris brightened at once. "Thanks-you should see the rod I got down at the new store, Alan-it's a dandy."
Alan grinned. "I bet it is. I keep meaning to go see that fellow-he seems to have something for everyone else in town, so why not something for me?"
"Why not?" Norris agreed. "He's got all kinds of stuff, all right.
You'd be surprised."
"Goodnight, Norris. And thanks again."
"Don't mention it." But Norris was clearly pleased.
Alan got into his car, backed out of the lot, and turned down Main Street. He checked the buildings on both sides automatically, not even registering his own examination but storing the information just the same. One of the things he noticed was the fact that there was a light on in the living area above Needful Things.
It was mighty late for small-town folks to be up. He wondered if Mr. Leland Gaunt was an insomniac, and reminded himself again that he had that call to make-but it would keep, he reckoned, until he had the sad business of Nettle and Wilma sorted out to his satisfaction.
He reached the corner of Main and Laurel, signalled a left turn, then halted in the middle of the intersection and turned right instead.
To hell with going home. That was a cold and empty place with his remaining son living it up with his friend on Cape Cod.
There were too many closed doors with too many memories lurking behind them in that house. On the other side of town there was a live woman who might need someone quite badly just now. Almost as badly, perhaps, as this live man needed her.
Five minutes later Alan killed the headlights and rolled quietly up Polly's driveway. The door would be locked, but he knew which corner of the porch steps to look under.
5
"What are you still doing here, Sandy?" Norris asked as he walked in, loosening his tie.
Sandra McMillan, a fading blonde who had been the county's part-time dispatcher for almost twenty years, was slipping into her coat. She looked very tired.
"Sheila had tickets to see Bill Cosby in Portland," she told Norris. "She said she'd stay here, but I made her go-practically pushed her out the door. I mean, how often does Bill Cosby come to Maine?"
How often do two women decide to cut each other to pieces over a dog that probably came from the Castle County Animal Shelter in the first place? Norris thought but did not say. "Not that often, I guess."
"Hardly ever." Sandy sighed