Raider uttered his single, severe bark and looked at her. Don't you know what you're supposed to do when the telephone rings? his eyes asked her. Even I know that, and I'm only the dog. dog.

"I won't," Nettie said.

I know what you did, you crazy b.i.t.c.h, I know what you did, I know what you did, and I... am going to... GET you!

"I won't answer it. I'm going to work. She's the one who's crazy, not me. I never did a thing to her! Not one solitary thing!"

Raider barked agreement.

The telephone stopped ringing.

Nettie relaxed a little... but her heart was still pounding hard.

"You be a good boy," she told Raider, stroking him. "I'll be back late, because I'm going in late. But I love you, and if you remember that, you will be a good doggy all day long."

This was a going-to-work incantation which Raider knew well, and he wagged his tail. Nettie opened the front door and peered both ways before stepping out. She had a bad moment when she saw a bright flash of yellow, but it wasn't the crazy Polish woman's car; the Pollard boy had left his Fisher-Price tricycle out on the sidewalk, that was all.

Nettie used her housekey to lock the door behind her, then walked around to the rear of the house to make sure the shed door was locked. It was. She set off for Polly's house, her purse over her arm and her eyes searching for the crazy Polish woman's car (she was trying to decide if she should hide behind a hedge or simply stand her ground if she saw it). She was almost to the end of the block when it came to her that she had not checked the front door as carefully as she should have done. She glanced anxiously at her watch and then retraced her steps. She checked the front door. It was locked tight. Nettie sighed with relief, and then decided she ought to check the lock on the woodshed door, too, just to be safe.

"Better safe than sorry," she muttered under her breath, and went around to the back of the house.

Her hand froze in the act of pulling on the handle of the woodshed door.

Inside, the telephone was ringing again.

"She's crazy," Nettie moaned. "I didn't do anything!" anything!"

The shed door was locked, but she stood there until the telephone fell silent. Then she set sail for work again with her purse hanging over her arm.

4.

This time she had gone almost two blocks before the conviction that she still might not have locked the front door recurred, gnawing at her. She knew she had, but she was afraid she hadn't. hadn't.

She stood by the blue U.S. mailbox at the corner of Ford and Deaconess Way, indecisive. She had almost made up her mind to push on when she saw a yellow car drift through the intersection a block down. It wasn't the crazy Polish woman's car, it was a Ford, but she thought it might be an omen. She walked rapidly back to her house and checked both doors again. Locked. She got to the end of her walk before it occurred to her that she ought to double-check the cupboard door of the armoire as well, and make sure it was also locked.

She knew that it was was, but she was afraid that it wasn't. wasn't.

She unlocked the front door and went inside. Raider jumped up on her, tail wagging wildly, and she petted him for a moment-but only a moment. She had to close the front door, because the crazy Polish woman might come by anytime. Anytime at all.

She slammed it, turned the thumb-bolt, and went back out to the woodshed. The cupboard door was locked, of course. She went back into the house and stood in the kitchen for a minute. Already she was beginning to worry, beginning to think she had made a mistake and the cupboard door really wasn't wasn't locked. Maybe she hadn't tugged on the pull hard enough to be really absolutely one hundred per cent sure. It might only be stuck. locked. Maybe she hadn't tugged on the pull hard enough to be really absolutely one hundred per cent sure. It might only be stuck.

She went back to check it again, and while she was checking, the telephone began to ring. She hurried back into the house with the key to the armoire clutched in her sweaty right hand. She barked her shin on a footstool and cried out in pain.

By the time she got to the living room, the telephone had stopped again.

"I can't go to work today," she muttered. "I have to... to..."

(stand guard) That was it. She had to stand guard.

She picked up the phone and dialled quickly before her mind could start to gnaw at itself again, the way Raider gnawed at his rawhide chewy toys.

"h.e.l.lo?" Polly said. "This is You Sew and Sew."

"Hi, Polly. It's me."

"Nettie? Is everything all right?"

"Yes, but I'm calling from home, Polly. My stomach is upset." By now this was no lie. "I wonder if I could have the day off. I know about vacuuming the upstairs... and the telephone man is coming... but..."

"That's all right," Polly said at once. "The phone man isn't coming until two, and I meant to leave early today, anyway. My hands still hurt too much to work for long. I'll let him in."

"If you really need me, I could-"

"No, really," Polly a.s.sured her warmly, and Nettie felt tears p.r.i.c.k her eyes. Polly was so kind. kind.

"Are they sharp pains, Nettie? Shall I call Dr. Van Allen for you?"

"No-just kind of crampy. I'll be all right. If I can come in this afternoon, I will."

"Nonsense," Polly said briskly. "You haven't asked for a day off since you came to work for me. Just crawl into bed and go back to sleep. Fair warning: if you try to come in, I'll just send you home."

"Thank you, Polly," Nettie said. She was on the verge of tears. "You're very good to me."

"You deserve goodness. I've got to go, Nettie-customers. Lie down. I'll call this afternoon to see how you're doing."

"Thank you. "

"You're more than welcome. Bye-bye."

"Toodle-oo," Nettie said, and hung up.

She went at once to the window and twitched the curtain aside. The street was empty-for now. She went back into the shed, used the key to open the armoire, and took out the lampshade. A feeling of calm and ease settled over her as soon as she had it cradled in her arms. She took it into the kitchen, washed it in warm, soapy water, rinsed it, and dried it carefully.

She opened one of the kitchen drawers and removed her butcher knife. She took this and the lampshade back into the living room and sat down in the gloom. She sat that way all morning, bolt upright in her chair, the lampshade in her lap and the butcher knife clenched in her right hand.

The phone rang twice.

Nettie didn't answer it.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

1.

Friday, the eleventh of October, was a banner day at Castle Rock's newest shop, particularly as morning gave way to afternoon and people began to cash their paychecks. Money in the hand was an incentive to shop; so was the good word of mouth sent around by those who had stopped in on Wednesday. There were a number of people, of course, who believed the judgments of people crude enough to visit a new store on the very first day it was open on the very first day it was open could not be trusted, but they were a minority, and the small silver bell over the front door of Needful Things jingled prettily all day long. could not be trusted, but they were a minority, and the small silver bell over the front door of Needful Things jingled prettily all day long.

More stock had been either unpacked or delivered since Wednesday. It was hard for those interested in such things to believe there had been a delivery-no one had seen a truck-but it really didn't matter much, one way or the other. There was a lot more merchandise in Needful Things on Friday; that was the important thing.

Dolls, for instance. And beautifully crafted wooden jigsaw puzzles, some of them double-sided. There was a unique chess set: the pieces were chunks of rock crystal carved into African animals by some primitive but fabulously talented hand-loping giraffes for knights, rhinos with their heads combatively lowered for castles, jackals for p.a.w.ns, lion kings, sinuous leopard queens. There was a necklace of black pearls which was clearly expensive-how expensive n.o.body quite dared to ask (at least not that that day)-but their beauty made them almost painful to look at, and several visitors to Needful Things went home feeling melancholy and oddly distraught, with the image of that pearl necklace dancing in the darkness just behind their eyes, black on black. Nor were all of these women. day)-but their beauty made them almost painful to look at, and several visitors to Needful Things went home feeling melancholy and oddly distraught, with the image of that pearl necklace dancing in the darkness just behind their eyes, black on black. Nor were all of these women.

There was a pair of dancing jester-puppets. There was a music box, old and ornately carved-Mr. Gaunt said he was sure it played something unusual when it was opened, but he couldn't remember just what, and it was locked shut. He reckoned a buyer would have to find someone to make a key for it; there were still a few old-timers around, he said, who had such skills. He was asked a few times if the music box could be returned if the buyer did did get the lid to open and discovered that the tune was not to his or her taste. Mr. Gaunt smiled and pointed to a new sign on the wall. It read: get the lid to open and discovered that the tune was not to his or her taste. Mr. Gaunt smiled and pointed to a new sign on the wall. It read: I DO NOT ISSUE REFUNDS OR MAKE EXCHANGES.

CAVEAT EMPTOR!.

"What does that that mean?" Lucille Dunham asked. Lucille was a waitress at Nan's who had stopped in with her friend Rose Ellen Myers on her coffee break. mean?" Lucille Dunham asked. Lucille was a waitress at Nan's who had stopped in with her friend Rose Ellen Myers on her coffee break.

"It means that if you buy a pig in a poke, you keep the pig and he keeps your poke," Rose Ellen said. She saw that Mr. Gaunt had overheard her (and she could have sworn she'd seen him on the other side of the shop only a moment before), and she blushed bright red.

Mr. Gaunt, however, only laughed. "That's right," he told her. "That's exactly exactly what it means!" what it means!"

An old long-barreled revolver in one case with a card in front of it which read NED BUNTLINE SPECIAL; a boy puppet with wooden red hair, freckles, and a fixed friendly grin (HOWDY DOODY PROTOTYPE, read the card); boxes of stationery, very nice but not remarkable; a selection of antique post-cards; pen-and-pencil sets; linen handkerchiefs; stuffed animals. There was, it seemed, an item for every taste and-even though there was not a single price-tag in the entire store-for every budget.

Mr. Gaunt did a fine business that day. Most of the items he sold were nice but in no way unique. He did, however, make a number of "special" deals, and all of these sales took place during those lulls when there was only a single customer in the store.

"When things get slow, I get restless," he told Sally Ratcliffe, Brian Rusk's speech teacher, with his friendly grin, "and when I get restless, I sometimes get reckless. Bad for the seller but awfully awfully good for the buyer." good for the buyer."

Miss Ratcliffe was a devout member of Rev. Rose's Baptist flock, had met her fiance Lester Pratt there, and in addition to her No Casino Nite b.u.t.ton, she wore one which said I'M ONE OF THE SAVED! HOW 'BOUT You? The splinter labeled PETRIFIED WOOD FROM THE HOLY LAND caught her attention at once, and she did not object when Mr. Gaunt took it from its case and dropped it into her hand. She bought it for seventeen dollars and a promise to play a harmless little prank on Frank Jewett, the princ.i.p.al at Castle Rock Middle School. She left the shop five minutes after she had entered, looking dreamy and abstracted. Mr. Gaunt had offered to wrap her purchase for her, but Miss Ratcliffe refused, saying she wanted to hold it. Looking at her as she went out the door, you would have been hard-put to tell if her feet were on the floor or drifting just above it.

2.

The silver bell jingled.

Cora Rusk came in, determined to buy the picture of The King, and was extremely upset when Mr. Gaunt told her it had been sold. Cora wanted to know who had bought it. "I'm sorry," Mr. Gaunt said, "but the lady was from out of state. There was an Oklahoma plate on the car she was driving."

"Well, I'll be butched!" butched!" Cora cried in tones of anger and real distress. She hadn't realized just how badly she wanted that picture until Mr. Gaunt informed her that it was gone. Cora cried in tones of anger and real distress. She hadn't realized just how badly she wanted that picture until Mr. Gaunt informed her that it was gone.

Henry Gendron and his wife, Yvette, were in the shop at that time, and Mr. Gaunt asked Cora to wait a minute while he saw to them. He believed he had something else, he told her, which she would find of equal or perhaps even greater interest. After he had sold the Gendrons a stuffed teddy bear-a present for their daughter-and seen them out, he asked Cora if she could wait a moment longer while he looked for something in the back room. Cora waited, but not with any real interest or expectation. A deep gray depression had settled over her. She had seen hundreds of pictures of The King, maybe thousands, thousands, and owned half a dozen herself, but this one had seemed... special, somehow. She hated the woman from Oklahoma. and owned half a dozen herself, but this one had seemed... special, somehow. She hated the woman from Oklahoma.

Then Mr. Gaunt came back with a small lizard-skin spectacles case. He opened it and showed Cora a pair of aviator gla.s.ses with lenses of a deep smoky gray. Her breath caught in her throat; her right hand rose to her quivering neck.

"Are those-" she began, and could say no more.

"The King's sungla.s.ses," Mr. Gaunt agreed gravely. "One of sixty pairs. But I'm told these were his favorites."

Cora bought the sungla.s.ses for nineteen dollars and fifty cents.

"I'd like a little information, as well." Mr. Gaunt looked at Cora with twinkling eyes. "Let's call it a surcharge, shall we?"

"Information?" Cora asked doubtfully. "What sort of information?"

"Look out the window, Cora."

Cora did as she was asked, but her hands never left the sungla.s.ses. Across the street, Castle Rock's Unit 1 was parked in front of The Clip joint. Alan Pangborn stood on the sidewalk, talking to Bill Fullerton.

"Do you see that fellow?" Gaunt asked.

"Who? Bill Ful-"

"No, you dummy," Gaunt said. "The other other one." one."

"Sheriff Pangborn?"

"Right."

"Yes, I see him." Cora felt dull and dazed. Gaunt's voice seemed to be coming from a great distance. She could not stop thinking about her purchase the wonderful sungla.s.ses. She wanted to get home and try them on right away... but of course she couldn't leave until she was allowed to leave, because the dealing wasn't done until Mr. Gaunt said said the dealing was done. the dealing was done.

"He looks like what folks in my line of work call a tough sell," Mr. Gaunt said. "What do you you think about him, Cora?" think about him, Cora?"

"He's smart," Cora said. "He'll never be the Sheriff old George Bannerman was-that's what my husband says-but he's smart as a whip."

"Is he?" Mr. Gaunt's voice had taken on that nagging, tired edge again. His eyes had narrowed to slits, and they never left Alan Pangborn. "Well, do you want to know a secret, Cora? I don't much care for smart people, and I hate hate a tough sell. In fact, I a tough sell. In fact, I loathe loathe a tough sell. I don't trust people who always want to turn things over and look for cracks before they buy them, do you?" a tough sell. I don't trust people who always want to turn things over and look for cracks before they buy them, do you?"

Cora said nothing. She only stood with The King's sungla.s.ses case in her left hand and stared blankly out the window.

"If I wanted someone to keep an eye on smart old Sheriff Pangborn, Cora, who would be a good choice?"

"Polly Chalmers," Cora said in her drugged voice. "She's awful sweet on him."

Gaunt shook his head at once. His eyes never left the Sheriff as Alan walked to his cruiser, glanced briefly across the street at Needful Things, then got in and drove away. "Won't do."

"Sheila Brigham?" Cora asked doubtfully. "She's the dispatcher down at the Sheriff's Office."

"A good idea, but she won't do, either. Another tough sell. There are a few in every town, Cora-unfortunate, but true."

Cora thought it over in her dim, distant way. "Eddie Warburton?" she asked at last. "He's the head custodian at the Munic.i.p.al Building."

Gaunt's face lit up. "The janitor!" he said. "Yes! Excellent! Fifth Business! Really excellent!" excellent!" He leaned over the counter and planted a kiss on Cora's cheek. He leaned over the counter and planted a kiss on Cora's cheek.