Читаем Dead Man's Song полностью

“Yeah, glad to see you,” Vic said and jerked his door open. “You’re a gift from God, let me tell you.”

“Everything okay?”

“Oh, well it is and it ain’t,” Vic said, flashing his grin. “I hit a deer a couple miles back. Mashed the son of a bitch but good and slung him in the back.” He jerked a thumb toward the truck bed. “But I just heard a thump and I think the poor bastard ain’t dead after all. Mind taking a look?”

Without waiting for an answer he started walking back toward the tailgate, knowing that Golub would follow. He just hoped he wouldn’t call it in, but didn’t think he would. Vic was a townie and everybody knew Vic. Vic never got drunk, never got into trouble, and he was a buddy with Polk.

Golub said, “Sure, but I’m no vet,” and got out.

As he crunched along the gravel on the shoulder, Vic waited, one hand inside the cab holding onto the corner of the tarp, sizing Golub up. The kid was huge, maybe six-five and beefy tending toward soft. Vic knew he could take him if he had to, but that wasn’t on the menu.

“Let me see what you got,” Golub said, putting one hand on the rim of the bed and using the other to shine his light at the tarp. “If it’s still wounded I can call someone to bring out one of those humane-killer things, and—”

As he said this, Vic whipped back the tarp. There was nothing humane about what happened next.

(3)

Val parted the curtains just slightly and peered out. The kitchen was dark and she could see Terry and Crow outside. “What do you think they’re talking about?” she asked.

“Besides what’s going on in town?” Sarah asked from the doorway. She had her arms folded and was leaning against the frame. “Probably talking about Terry’s dreams.”

Val let the curtains fall closed and turned to Sarah. “Dreams?”

“Come in to the parlor.” When they were seated on opposite sides of the fireplace, Sarah leaned close, taking Val’s hand. “I know you and Terry don’t get along that well…”

“That’s ancient history.”

“No, it isn’t,” Sarah said, “but it’s good of you to say it. The point is, Terry loves Crow like a brother, and if I had to guess what he’s doing out there, he’s opening up to him about some stuff he should have told him weeks ago. You see…Terry has been having some problems.” She paused. “Psychological problems.” Val squeezed Sarah’s hand, and Sarah took a breath and plunged ahead. “Terry is telling Crow, and I need to tell someone, too, and I was going to call you a few days ago, and then all of this stuff happened with your dad, and the farm and all.”

“It’s been bad for all of us, honey, but if you need to get something off your chest don’t worry about how I’m going to take it. Tell you the truth, right now I need to be somebody’s rock, if you know what I’m saying. I’m not good at being vulnerable—I need to be the strong one. That make sense?”

Sarah smiled and there were tears in her eyes. “Of course it does, Val. Sometimes I think you’re the toughest one of all of us. I know Crow thinks that, too; and it may surprise you to know, but so does Terry.” She dabbed at her eyes. “I don’t know if he’s ever managed to say it, but he’s really sorry about what happened. He knows he betrayed you, he knows he broke your heart. It was a bad time for him and if he could take it back and make it right, he would, but sometimes Terry is wound so tight he doesn’t know how to reach people. Sure, he’s great at press conferences, but he’s never been very good at getting to the heart of things. You know that as well as anyone.”

Val nodded, and thinking about the grudge she’d been holding for almost sixteen years she felt suddenly ashamed. She sighed, and then gave Sarah a rueful smile. “Okay, sweetie, as far as I’m concerned that stuff is ancient history. I’m officially calling a truce.”

“Thank God,” Sarah said, and the relief was plain on her face, “because right now I need you to help me with what Terry’s going through. If you want to…if you can.”

“Sarah…” Val said, squeezing her hand again. “We’re all in this together.”

Sarah took another deep breath and let it out as a sigh, her eyes shifting from Val to the fire and then to her hands, which were wriggling and knotting in her lap. “It’s…well…I think Terry is losing his mind,” she said.

(4)

“More…like what?” Crow asked slowly.

It took Terry a full minute to make his mouth form the words. “Crow…my dead sister, Mandy’s been following me lately.” When Crow’s mouth dropped open, Terry added, “And she’s been trying to get me to kill myself.”

“Holy leaping ratshit!”

“How well you put it,” Terry said with a weak smile, but his voice cracked. He looked at the coffee in his cup, sighed, and emptied the cup over the rail, stood up without a word, and went inside. When he came out he had a bottle of Weyerbacher Imperial Pumpkin Ale. He unscrewed the cap, tossed it out into the shadows, and took a long pull.

Crow forced himself to say, “Why, Terry? Why would Mandy want you dead?”