Rosalie smiled distractedly.

Gaunt glanced at the woman in the kerchief again. "Who is she?"

Rosalie wrinkled her nose. "Wilma Jersyck," she said. "Excuse me ... I really ought to catch up with Nettie. She's high-strung, you know."

"Of course," he said, and watched Rosalie out the door. To himself he added, Aren't we all."

Then Cora Rusk was tapping him on the shoulder. "How much is that picture of The King?" she demanded.

Leland Gaunt turned his dazzling smile upon her. "Well, let's talk about it," he said. "How much do you think it's worth?"

CHAPTER THREE.

1.

Castle Rock's newest port of commerce had been closed for nearly two hours when Alan Pangborn rolled slowly down Main Street toward the Munic.i.p.al Building, which housed the Sheriff's Office and Castle Rock Police Department. He was behind the wheel of the ultimate unmarked car: a 1986 Ford station wagon. The family car. He felt low and half-drunk. He'd only had three beers, but they had hit him hard.

He glanced at Needful Things as he drove past, approving of the dark-green canopy which jutted out over the street, just as Brian Rusk had done. He knew less about such things (having no relations who worked for the d.i.c.k Perry Siding and Door Company in South Paris), but he thought it did did lend a certain touch of cla.s.s to Main Street, where most shopowners had added false fronts and called it good. He didn't know yet what the new place sold-Polly would, if she had gone over this morning as she had planned-but it looked to Alan like one of those cozy French restaurants where you took the girl of your dreams before trying to sweet-talk her into bed. lend a certain touch of cla.s.s to Main Street, where most shopowners had added false fronts and called it good. He didn't know yet what the new place sold-Polly would, if she had gone over this morning as she had planned-but it looked to Alan like one of those cozy French restaurants where you took the girl of your dreams before trying to sweet-talk her into bed.

The place slipped from his mind as soon as he pa.s.sed it. He signaled right two blocks farther down, and turned up the narrow pa.s.sage between the squat brick block of the Munic.i.p.al Building and the white clapboard Water District building. This lane was marked OFFICIAL VEHICLES ONLY.

The Munic.i.p.al Building was shaped like an upside-down L, and there was a small parking lot in the angle formed by the two wings. Three of the slots were marked SHERIFF'S OFFICE. Norris Ridgewick's b.u.mbling old VW Beetle was parked in one of them. Alan parked in another, cut the headlights and the motor, reached for the doorhandle.

The depression which had been circling him ever since he left The Blue Door in Portland, circling the way wolves often circled campfires in the adventure stories he had read as a boy, suddenly fell upon him. He let go of the doorhandle and just sat behind the wheel of the station wagon, hoping it would pa.s.s.

He had spent the day in Portland's District Court, testifying for the prosecution in four straight trials. The district encompa.s.sed four counties-York, c.u.mberland, Oxford, Castle-and of all the lawmen who served in those counties, Alan Pangborn had the farthest to travel. The three District judges therefore tried as best they could to schedule his court cases in bunches, so he would have to make the trip only once or twice a month. This made it possible for him to actually spend some time in the county which he had sworn to protect, instead of on the roads between Castle Rock and Portland, but it also meant that, after one of his court days, he felt like a high school kid stumbling out of the auditorium where he has just taken the Scholastic Apt.i.tude Tests. He should have known better than to drink on top of that, but Harry Cross and George Crompton had just been on their way down to The Blue Door, and they had insisted that Alan join them. There had been a good enough reason to do so: a string of clearly related burglaries which had occurred in all of their areas. But the real reason he'd gone was the one most bad decisions have in common: it had seemed like a good idea at the time.

Now he sat behind the wheel of what had been the family car, reaping what he had sown of his own free will. His head ached gently. He felt more than a touch of nausea. But the depression was the worst-it was back with a vengeance.

h.e.l.lo! it cried merrily from its stronghold inside his head. it cried merrily from its stronghold inside his head. Here I am, Alan! Good to see you! Guess what? Here it is, end of a long hard day, and Annie and Todd are still dead! Remember the Sat.u.r.day afternoon when Todd spilled his milkshake on the front seat? Right under where Your briefcase is now, wasn't it? And you shouted at him? Wow! Didn't forget that, did you? You did? Well, that's okay, Alan, because I'm here to remind you! And remind you! And remind you! Here I am, Alan! Good to see you! Guess what? Here it is, end of a long hard day, and Annie and Todd are still dead! Remember the Sat.u.r.day afternoon when Todd spilled his milkshake on the front seat? Right under where Your briefcase is now, wasn't it? And you shouted at him? Wow! Didn't forget that, did you? You did? Well, that's okay, Alan, because I'm here to remind you! And remind you! And remind you!

He lifted his briefcase and looked fixedly at the seat. Yes, the stain was there, and yes, he had shouted at Todd. Todd, why do you always have to be so clumsy? Todd, why do you always have to be so clumsy? Something like that, no big deal, but not the sort of thing you would ever say if you knew your kid had less than a month left to live. Something like that, no big deal, but not the sort of thing you would ever say if you knew your kid had less than a month left to live.

It occurred to him that the beers weren't the real problem; it was this car, which had never been properly cleaned out. He had spent the day riding with the ghosts of his wife and his younger son.

He leaned over and popped the glove compartment to get his citation book-carrying that, even when he was headed down to Portland to spend the day testifying in court, was an unbreakable habit-and reached inside. His hand struck some tubular object, and it fell out onto the floor of the station wagon with a little thump. He put his citation book on top of his briefcase and then bent over to get whatever it was he had knocked out of the glove compartment. He held it up so it caught the glow of the arc-sodium light and stared at it a long time, feeling the old dreadful ache of loss and sorrow steal into him. Polly's arthritis was in her hands; his, it seemed, was in his heart, and who could say which of them had gotten the worst of it?

The can had belonged to Todd, of course-Todd, who would have undoubtedly lived lived in the Auburn Novelty Shop if he had been allowed. The boy had been entranced with the cheapjack arcana sold there: joy buzzers, sneezing powder, dribble gla.s.ses, soap that turned the user's hands the color of volcanic ash, plastic dog t.u.r.ds. in the Auburn Novelty Shop if he had been allowed. The boy had been entranced with the cheapjack arcana sold there: joy buzzers, sneezing powder, dribble gla.s.ses, soap that turned the user's hands the color of volcanic ash, plastic dog t.u.r.ds.

This thing is still here. Nineteen months they've been dead, and it's still here. How in the h.e.l.l did I miss it? Christ.

Alan turned the round can over in his hands, remembering how the boy had pleaded to be allowed to buy this particular item with his allowance money, how Alan himself had demurred, quoting his own father's proverb: the fool and his money soon parted. And how Annie had overruled him in her gentle way.

Listen to you, Mr. Amateur Magician, sounding like a Puritan. I love it! Where do you think he got this insane love of gags and tricks in the first place? No one in my family ever kept a framed picture of Houdini on the wall, believe me. Do you want to tell me you didn't buy a dribble gla.s.s or two in the hot, wild days of your youth? That you wouldn't have just about died to own the old snake-in-the-can-of-nuts trick if you'd come across one in a display case somewhere?

He, hemming and hawing, sounding more and more like a pompous stuffed-shirt windbag. Finally he'd had to raise a hand to his mouth to hide a grin of embarra.s.sment. Annie had seen it, however. Annie always did. That had been her gift... and more than once it had been his salvation. Her sense of humor-and her sense of perspective as well-had always been better than his. Sharper.

Let him have it, Alan-he'll only be young once. And it is sort of funny.

So he had. And- -and three weeks after that he spilled his milkshake on the seat and four weeks after that he was dead! They were both dead! Wow! Imagine that! Time surely does fly by, doesn't it, Alan? But don't worry! Don't worry, because I'll keep reminding you! Yes, sir! I'll keep reminding you, because that's my job and I mean to do it!

The can was labeled TASTEE-MUNCH MIXED NUTS. Alan twisted off the top and five feet of compressed green snake leaped out, struck the windshield, and rebounded into his lap. Alan looked at it, heard his dead son's laughter inside his head, and began to cry. His weeping was undramatic, silent and exhausted. It seemed that his tears had a lot in common with the possessions of his dead loved ones; you never got to the end of them. There were too many, and just when you started to relax and think that it was finally over, the joint was clean, you found one more. And one more. And one more.

Why had he let Todd buy the G.o.ddam thing? Why was it still in the G.o.ddam glove compartment? And why had he taken the G.o.ddam wagon in the first place?

He pulled his handkerchief out of his back pocket and mopped the tears from his face. Then, slowly, he jammed the snake-just cheap green crepe-paper with a metal spring wound up inside it-back into the bogus mixed-nuts can. He screwed on the top and bounced the can thoughtfully on his hand.

Throw the G.o.ddam thing away.

But he didn't think he could do that. Not tonight, at least. He tossed the joke-the last one Todd had ever bought in what he considered the world's finest store-back into the glove compartment and slammed the hatch shut. Then he took hold of the doorhandle again, grabbed his briefcase, and got out.

He breathed deeply of the early-evening air, hoping it would help. It didn't. He could smell decomposed wood and chemicals, a charmless odor which drifted down regularly from the paper mills in Rumford, some thirty miles north. He would call Polly and ask her if he could come over, he decided-that would help a little.

A truer thought was never thunk! the voice of depression agreed energetically. the voice of depression agreed energetically. And by the way, Alan, do you remember how happy that snake made him? He tried it on everyone! Just about scared Norris Ridgewick into a heart attack, and you laughed until you almost wet your pants! Remember? Wasn't he lively? Wasn't he great? And Annie-remember how she laughed when you told her? She was lively and great, too, wasn't she? Of course, she wasn't quite as lively at the very end, not quite as great, either, but you didn't really notice, did you? Because you had your own fish to fry. The business with Thad Beaumont, for instance-you really couldn't get that off your mind, What happened at their house by the lake, and how, after it was all over, he used to get drunk and call you. And then his wife took the twins and left him... all of that added to the usual around-town stuff kept you pretty busy, didn't it? Too busy to see what was happening right at home. Too bad you didn't see it. If you had, why, they might still be alive! That's something you shouldn't forget, either, and so I'll just keep reminding you... and reminding you... and reminding you. Okay? Okay! And by the way, Alan, do you remember how happy that snake made him? He tried it on everyone! Just about scared Norris Ridgewick into a heart attack, and you laughed until you almost wet your pants! Remember? Wasn't he lively? Wasn't he great? And Annie-remember how she laughed when you told her? She was lively and great, too, wasn't she? Of course, she wasn't quite as lively at the very end, not quite as great, either, but you didn't really notice, did you? Because you had your own fish to fry. The business with Thad Beaumont, for instance-you really couldn't get that off your mind, What happened at their house by the lake, and how, after it was all over, he used to get drunk and call you. And then his wife took the twins and left him... all of that added to the usual around-town stuff kept you pretty busy, didn't it? Too busy to see what was happening right at home. Too bad you didn't see it. If you had, why, they might still be alive! That's something you shouldn't forget, either, and so I'll just keep reminding you... and reminding you... and reminding you. Okay? Okay!

There was a foot-long scratch along the side of the wagon, just above the gasoline port. Had that happened since Anne and Todd died? He couldn't really remember, and it didn't matter much, anyway. He traced his fingers along it and reminded himself again to take the car to Sonny's Sunoco and get it fixed. On the other hand, why bother? Why not just take the d.a.m.ned thing down to Harrie Ford in Oxford and trade it in on something smaller? The mileage on it was still relatively low; he could probably get a decent trade-in- But Todd spilled his milkshake on the front seat! the voice in his head piped up Indignantly. the voice in his head piped up Indignantly. He did that when he was ALIVE, Alan old buddy! And Annie- He did that when he was ALIVE, Alan old buddy! And Annie- "Oh, shut up," he said.

He reached the building, then paused. Parked close by, so close that the office door would have dented in its side if pulled all the way open, was a large red Cadillac Seville. He didn't need to look at the license plates to know what they were: KEETON 1. He ran a hand thoughtfully over the car's smooth hide, then went in.

2.

Sheila Brigham was sitting in the gla.s.s-walled dispatcher's cubicle, reading People People magazine and drinking a Yoo-Hoo. The combined Sheriff's Office/Castle Rock Police Department was otherwise deserted except for Norris Ridgewick. magazine and drinking a Yoo-Hoo. The combined Sheriff's Office/Castle Rock Police Department was otherwise deserted except for Norris Ridgewick.

Norris sat behind an old IBM electric typewriter, working on a report with the agonized, breathless concentration only Norris could bring to paperwork. He would stare fixedly at the machine, then abruptly lean forward like a man who has been punched in the belly, and hit the keys in a rattling burst. He remained in his hunched position long enough to read what he had written, then groaned softly. There was the click-rap! click-rap! click-rap! click-rap! click-rap! click-rap! sound of Norris using the IBM's CorrecTape to back over some error (he used one CorrecTape per week, on the average), and then Norris would straighten up. There would be a pregnant pause, and then the cycle would repeat itself After an hour or so of this, Norris would drop the finished report into Sheila's IN basket. Once or twice a week these reports were even intelligible. sound of Norris using the IBM's CorrecTape to back over some error (he used one CorrecTape per week, on the average), and then Norris would straighten up. There would be a pregnant pause, and then the cycle would repeat itself After an hour or so of this, Norris would drop the finished report into Sheila's IN basket. Once or twice a week these reports were even intelligible.

Norris looked up and smiled as Alan crossed the small bullpen area. "Hi, boss, how's it going?"

"Well, Portland's out of the way for another two or three weeks. Anything happen here?"

"Nah, just the usual. You know, Alan, your eyes are red as h.e.l.l. Have you been smoking that wacky tobaccy again?"

"Ha ha," Alan said sourly. "I stopped for a couple of drinks with a couple of cops, then stared at people's high beams for thirty miles. Have you got your aspirin handy?"

"Always," Norris said. "You know that." Norris's bottom desk drawer contained his own private pharmacy. He opened it, rummaged, produced a giant-sized bottle of strawberry-flavored Kaopectate, stared at the label for a moment, shook his head, dropped it back into the drawer, and rummaged some more. At last he produced a bottle of generic aspirin.

"I've got a little job for you," Alan said, taking the bottle and shaking two aspirins into his hand. A lot of white dust fell out with the pills, and he found himself wondering why generic aspirin always produced more dust than brand-name aspirin. He wondered further if he might be losing his mind.

"Aw, Alan, I've got two more of these E-9 boogers to do, and-"

"Cool your Jets." Alan went to the water-cooler and pulled a paper cup from the cylinder screwed to the wall. Blub-blub-blub Blub-blub-blub went the water-cooler as he filled the cup. "All you've got to do is cross the room and open the door I just came through. So simple even a child could do it, right?" went the water-cooler as he filled the cup. "All you've got to do is cross the room and open the door I just came through. So simple even a child could do it, right?"

"What-"

"Only don't forget to take your citation book," Alan said, and gulped the aspirin down.

Norris Ridgewick immediately looked wary. "Yours is right there on the desk, next to your briefcase."

"I know. And that's where it's going to stay, at least for tonight."

Norris looked at him for a long time. Finally he asked. "Buster?"

Alan nodded. "Buster. He's parked in the crip s.p.a.ce again. I told him last time I was through warning him about it."

Castle Rock's Head Selectman, Danforth Keeton III, was referred to as Buster by all who knew him... but munic.i.p.al employees who wanted to hold onto their jobs made sure to call him Dan or Mr. Keeton when he was around. Only Alan, who was an elected official, dared call him Buster to his face, and he had done it only twice, both times when he was very angry. He supposed he would do it again, however. Dan "Buster" Keeton was a man Alan Pangborn found it very easy to get angry at.

"Come on! on!" Norris said. "You do it, Alan, okay?" do it, Alan, okay?"

"Can't. I've got that appropriations meeting with the selectmen next week."

"He hates me already," Norris said morbidly. "I know he does."

"Buster hates everyone except his wife and his mother," Alan said, "and I'm not so sure about his wife. But the fact remains that I have warned him at least half a dozen times in the last month about parking in our one and only handicapped s.p.a.ce, and now I'm going to put my money where my mouth is."

"No, I'm going to put my job job where your mouth is. This is really mean, Alan. I'm sincere." Norris Ridgewick looked like an ad for where your mouth is. This is really mean, Alan. I'm sincere." Norris Ridgewick looked like an ad for When Bad Things Happen to Good People When Bad Things Happen to Good People.

"Relax," Alan said. "You put a five-dollar parking ticket on his windshield. He comes to me, and first he tells me to fire you."

Norris moaned.

"I refuse. Then he tells me to tear up the ticket. I refuse that, too. Then, tomorrow noon, after he's had a chance to froth at the mouth about it for awhile, I relent. And when I go into the next appropriations meeting, he owes me a favor."

"Yeah, but what does he owe me?"

"Norris, do you want a new pulse radar gun or not?"

"Well-"

"And what about a fax machine? We've been talking about a fax machine for at least two years."

Yes! the falsely cheerful voice in his mind cried. the falsely cheerful voice in his mind cried. You started talking about it when Annie and Todd were still alive, Alan! Remember that? Remember when they were alive? You started talking about it when Annie and Todd were still alive, Alan! Remember that? Remember when they were alive?

"I guess," Norris said. He reached for his citation book with sadness and resignation writ large upon his face.

"Good man," Alan said with a heartiness he didn't feel. "I'll be in my office for awhile."

3.

He closed the door and dialled Polly's number.

"h.e.l.lo?" she asked, and he knew immediately that he would not tell her about the depression which had come over him with such smooth completeness. Polly had her own problems tonight. It had taken only that single word to tell him how it was with her.

The l l-sounds in h.e.l.lo were lightly slurred. That only happened when she had taken a Percodan-or perhaps more than one-and she took a Percodan only when the pain was very bad. Although she had never come right out and said so, Alan had an idea she lived in terror of the day when the Percs would stop working.

"How are you, pretty lady?" he asked, leaning back in his chair and putting a hand over his eyes. The aspirin didn't seem to be doing much for his head. Maybe I should ask her for a Perc, he thought.

"I'm all right." He heard the careful way she was speaking, going from one word to the next like a woman using stepping-stones to cross a small stream. "How about you? You sound tired."

"Lawyers do that to me every time." He shelved the idea of going over to see her. She would say, Of course, Alan, and she would be glad to see him-almost as glad as he would be to see her-but it would put more strain on her than she needed this evening. "I think I'll go home and turn in early. Do you mind if I don't come by?"

"No, honey. It might be a little better if you didn't, actually."

"Is it bad tonight?"

"It's been worse," she said carefully.

"That's not what I asked."

"Not too bad, no."

Your own voice says you're a liar, my dear, he thought.

"Good. What's the deal on that ultrasonic therapy you told me about? Find anything out?"

"Well, it would be great if I could afford a month and a half in the Mayo Clinic-on spec-but I can't. And don't tell me you can, Alan, because I'm feeling a little too tired to call you a liar."

"I thought you said Boston Hospital-"

"Next year," Polly said. "They're going to run a clinic using ultrasound therapy next year. Maybe."

There was a moment of silence and he was about to say goodbye when she spoke again. This time her tone was a little brighter. "I dropped by the new shop this morning. I had Nettie make a cake and took that. Pure orneriness, of course-ladies don't take baked goods to openings. It's practically graven in stone."

"What's it like? What does he sell?"

"A little bit of everything. If you put a gun to my head, I'd say it's a curios-and-collectibles shop, but it really defies description. You'll have to see for yourself."

"Did you meet the owner?"