Salem's Lot - Stephen King [126]
But still: the fear.
It rose suddenly, emotion overspilling logic and the bright Formica reason of the cerebrum, filling her mouth with a taste like black copper.
And she knew someone was behind her even before the hand fell on her shoulder.
9
It was almost dark.
Ben got up from the wooden folding chair, walked over to the window that looked out on the funeral parlor’s back lawn, and saw nothing in particular. It was quarter to seven, and evening’s shadows were very long. The grass was still green despite the lateness of the year, and he supposed that the thoughtful mortician would endeavor to keep it so until snow covered it. A symbol of continuing life in the midst of the death of the year. He found the thought inordinately depressing and turned from the view.
‘I wish I had a cigarette,’ he said.
‘They’re killers,’ Jimmy told him without turning around. He was watching a Sunday night wildlife program on Maury Green’s small Sony. ‘Actually, so do I. I quit when the surgeon general did his number on cigarettes ten years ago. Bad PR not to. But I always wake up grabbing for the pack on the night stand.’
‘I thought you quit.’
‘I keep it there for the same reason some alcoholics keep a bottle of scotch on the kitchen shelf. Will power, son.’
Ben looked at the clock: 6:47. Maury Green’s Sunday paper said sundown would officially arrive at 7:02 EST.
Jimmy had handled everything quite neatly. Maury Green was a small man who had answered the door in an unbuttoned black vest and an open-collar white shirt. His sober, inquiring expression had changed to a broad smile of welcome.
‘Shalom, Jimmy!’ He cried. ‘It’s good to see you! Where you been keeping yourself?’
‘Saving the world from the common cold,’ Jimmy said, smiling, as Green wrung his hand. ‘I want you to meet a very good friend of mine. Maury Green, Ben Mears.’
Ben’s hand was enveloped in both of Maury’s. His eyes glistened behind the black-rimmed glasses he wore. ‘Shalom, also. Any friend of Jimmy’s, and so on. Come on in, both of you. I could call Rachel-’
‘Please don’t,’ Jimmy said. ‘We’ve come to ask a favor. A rather large one.’
Green glanced more closely at Jimmy’s face. "‘A rather large one,"‘ he jeered softly. ‘And why? What have you ever done for me, that my son should graduate third in his class from North-western? Anything, Jimmy.’
Jimmy blushed. ‘I did what anyone would have done, Maury.’
‘I’m not going to argue with you,’ Green said. ‘Ask. What is it that has you and Mr Mears so worried? Have you been in an accident?’
‘No. Nothing like that.’
He had taken them into a small kitchenette behind the chapel, and as they talked, he brewed coffee in a battered old pot that sat on a hot plate.
‘Has Norbert come after Mrs Glick yet?’ Jimmy asked.
‘No, and not a sign of him,’ Maury said, putting sugar and cream on the table. ‘That one will come by at eleven tonight and wonder why I’m not here to let him in.’ He sighed. ‘Poor lady. Such tragedy in one family. And she looks so sweet, Jimmy. That old poop Reardon brought her in. She was your patient?’
‘No,’ Jimmy said. ‘But Ben and I… we’d like to sit up with her this evening, Maury. Right downstairs.’
Green paused in the act of reaching for the coffeepot. ‘Sit up with her? Examine her, you mean?’
‘No’ Jimmy said steadily. ‘Just sit up with her.’
He looked at them closely. ‘No, I see you’re not. Why would you want to do that?’
‘I can’t tell you that, Maury.’
‘Oh.’ He poured the coffee, sat down with them, and sipped. ‘Not too strong. Very nice. Has she got something? Something infectious?’
Jimmy and Ben exchanged a glance.
‘Not in the accepted sense of the word,’ Jimmy said finally.
‘You’d like me to keep my mouth shut about this, eh?’
‘Yes.