“Yeah.”

“I saw a coupla County deputies walkin around in the background, plus a fella I reckonized from Jaquard’s Funeral Home in Motton.”

“That’s bizarre,” I said. “Ayuh, body still upstairs, most likely, while Whitmore was runnin her gums. . but she claimed she was just followin the boss’s orders. Said he left a tape sayin he’d done it on Friday night so as not to affect the cump’ny stock price and wanted Rogette to call in the press right off and assure folks that the cump’ny was solid, that between his son and the Board of Directors, everythin was going to be just acey-deucey. Then she told about the services in Palm Springs.”

“He commits suicide, then holds a two A.M. press conference by proxy to soothe the stockholders.”

“Ayuh.

And it sounds just like him.” A silence fell between us on the line. I tried to think and couldn’t. All I knew was that I wanted to go upstairs and work, aching head or no aching head. I wanted to rejoin Andy Drake, John Shackleford, and Shackleford’s childhood friend, the awful Ray Garraty. There was madness in my story, but it was a madness I understood.

“Bill,” I said at last, “are we still friends?”

“Christ, yes,” he said promptly. “But if there’s people around who seem a little stand-offy to you, you’ll know why, won’t you?” Sure I’d know. Many would blame the old man’s death on me. It was crazy, given his physical condition, and it would by no means be a majority opinion, but the idea would gain a certain amount of credence, at least in the short run—I knew that as well as I knew the truth about John Shackleford’s childhood friend.

Kiddies, once upon a time there was a goose that flew back to the little unincorporated township where it had lived as a downy gosling. It began laying lovely golden eggs, and the townsfolk all gathered around to marvel and receive their share. Now, however, that goose was cooked and someone had to take the heat. I’d get some, but Mattie’s kitchen might get a few degrees toastier than mine; she’d had the temerity to fight for her child instead of silently handing Ki over. “Keep your head down the next few weeks,” Bill said. “That’d be my idea. In fact, if you had business that took you right out of the TR until all this settles down, that might be for the best.”

“I appreciate the sense of what you’re saying, but I can’t. I’m writing a book. If I pick up my shit and move, it’s apt to die on me. It’s happened before, and I don’t want it to happen this time.”

“Pretty good yarn, is it?”

“Not bad, but that’s not the important thing. It’s… well, let’s just say this one’s important to me for other reasons.”

“Wouldn’t it travel as far as Derry?”

“Are you trying to get rid of me, William?”

“I’m tryin to keep an eye out, that’s all—caretakin’s my job, y’know. And don’t say you weren’t warned: the hive’s gonna buzz. There’s two stories going around about you, Mike. One is that you’re shacking with Mattie Devore. The other is that you came back to write a hatchet-job on the TR. Pull out all the old skeletons you can find.”

“Finish what Jo started, in other words. Who’s been spreading that story, Bill?” Silence from Bill. We were back on earthquake ground again, and this time that ground felt shakier than ever.

“The book I’m working on is a novel,” I said. “Set in Florida.”

“Oh, ayuh?” You wouldn’t think three little syllables could have so much relief in them. “Think you could kind of pass that around?”

“I think I could,” he said. “If you tell Brenda Meserve, it’d get around even faster and go even farther.”

“Okay, I will. As far as Mattie goes—”

“Mike, you don’t have to”

“I’m not shacking with her. That was never the deal. The deal was like walking down the street, turning the corner, and seeing a big guy beating up a little guy.” I paused. “She and her lawyer are planning a barbecue at her place Tuesday noon. I’m planning to join them. Are people from town going to think we’re dancing on Devore’s grave?”

“Some will. Royce Merrill will. Dickie Brooks will. Old ladies in pants, Yvette calls em.”

“Well fuck them,” I said. “Every last one.”

“I understand how you feel, but tell her not to shove it in folks’

faces,” he almost pleaded. “Do that much, Mike. It wouldn’t kill her to drag her grill around back of her trailer, would it? At least with it there, folks lookin out from the store or the garage wouldn’t see nothing but the smoke.”

“I’ll pass on the message. And if I make the party, I’ll put the barbecue around back myself.”

“You’d do well to stay away from that girl and her child,” Bill said. “You can tell me it’s none of my business, but I’m talkin to you like a Dutch uncle, tellin you for your own good.” I had a flash of my dream then. The slick, exquisite tightness as I slipped inside her. The little breasts with their hard nipples. Her voice in the darkness, telling me to do what I wanted. My body responded almost instantly. “I know you are,” I said.

’2kll right.” He sounded relieved that I wasn’t going to scold him—take him to school, he would have said. “I’ll let you go n have your breakfast.”

“I appreciate you calling.”

“Almost didn’t. Yvette talked me into it. She said, “You always liked Mike and Jo Noonan best of all the ones you did for. Don’t you get in bad with him now that he’s back home.’”

“Tell her I appreciate it,” I said. I hung up the phone and looked at it thoughtfully. We seemed to be on good terms again… but I didn’t think we were exactly friends.

Certainly not the way we had been. That had changed when I realized Bill was lying to me about some things and holding back about others; it had also changed when I realized what he had almost called Sara and the Red-Tops. You can’t condemn a manor what may only be a figment of your own imagination. True, and I’d try not to do it… but I knew what I knew. I went into the living room, snapped on the TV, then snapped it off again. My satellite dish got fifty or sixty different channels, and not a one of them local. There was a portable TV in the kitchen, however, and if I dipped its rabbit-ears toward the lake I’d be able to get WMTW, the ABC affiliate in western Maine. I snatched up Rogette’s note, went into the kitchen, and turned on the little Sony tucked under the cabinets with the coffee-maker. Good Morning America was on, but they would be breaking for the local news soon. In the meantime I scanned the note, this time concentrating on the mode of expression rather than the message, which had taken all of my attention the night before. Hopes to return to Calij3rnia by private jet very soon, she had written. Has business which can beput off no longer, she had written. If you promise to let him rest in peace, she had written. It was a goddam suicide note. “You knew,” I said, rubbing my thumb over the raised letters of her name. “You knew when you wrote this, and probably when you were chucking rocks at me. But why?” Custody has its responsibilities, she had written. Don’t jrget he said so. But the custody business was over, right? Not even a judge that was bought and paid for could award custody to a dead man. GMA finally gave way to the local report, where Max Devore’s suicide was the leader. The TV picture was snowy, but I could see the maroon sofa Bill had mentioned, and Rogette Whitmore sitting on it with her hands folded composedly in her lap. I thought one of the deputies in the background was George Footman, although the snow was too heavy for me to be completely sure. Mr. Devore had spoken frequently over the last eight months of ending his life, Whitmore said. He had been very unwell.

He had asked her to come out with him the previous evening, and she realized now that he had wanted to look at one final sunset. It had been a glorious one, too, she added. I could have corroborated that; I remembered the sunset very well, having almost drowned by its light.