"Edward L. Ferman - Best From F&SF, 23rd Edition" - читать интересную книгу автора (Ferman Edward L)

Detweiler's flush of health was wearing off that afternoon. He wasn't ill, just beginning to feel like the
rest of us mortals. And I was feeling my resolve begin to crumble. It was hard to believe this beguiling kid
could possibly be involved in a string of bloody deaths. Maybe it was just a series of unbelievable
coincidences. Yeah, "un-believable" was the key word. He had to be involved unless the laws of
probability had broken down completely. Yet I could swear Detweiler wasn't putting on an act. His
guileless innocence was real, damn it, real.
Saturday morning, the third day since Miss Herndon died, I had a talk with Lorraine and Johnny. If
Detweiler wanted to play cards or something that night, I wanted them to agree and suggest I be a fourth.
If he didn't bring it up, I would, but I had a feeling he would want his usual alibi this time.
Detweiler left his room that afternoon for the first tune since I'd been there. He went north on Las
Palmas, dropped a large Manila envelope in the mailbox (the story he'd been working on, I guess), and
bought groceries at the supermarket on Highland. Did that mean he wasn't planning to move? I had a
sudden pang in my belly. What if he was staying because of his friendship with me? I felt more like a son
of a bitch every minute.
Johnny Peacock came by an hour later acting very conspiratorial. Detweiler had suggested a bridge
game that night, but Johnny didn't play bridge, and so they settled on Scrabble.
I dropped by number seven. The typewriter had been put away, but the cards and score pad were
still on the table. His suitcase was on the floor by the couch. It was riveted cowhide of a vintage I hadn't
seen since I was a kid. Though it wore a mellow patina of age, it had been preserved with neat's-foot oil
and loving care. I may have been mistaken about his not moving.
Detweiler wasn't feeling well at all. He was pale and drawn and fidgety. His eyelids were heavy and
his speech was faintly blurred. I'm sure he was in pain, but he tried to act as if nothing were wrong.
"Are you sure you feel like playing Scrabble tonight?" I asked.
 He gave me a cheerful, if slightly strained, smile. "Oh, sure. I'm all right I'll be fine in the morning."
"Do you think you ought to play?"
"Yeah, it ... takes my mind off my ... ah ... headache. Don't worry about it I have these spells all the
time. They always go away."
"How long have you had them?"
"Since ... I was a kid." He grinned. "You think it was one of those brews the old witch-woman gave
me caused it? Maybe I could sue for malpractice."
"Have you seen a doctor? A real one?"
"Once."
"What did he tell you?"
He shrugged. "Oh, nothing much. Take two aspirin, drink lots of liquids, get plenty of rest, that sort of
thing." He didn't want to talk about it. "It always goes away."
"What if one time it doesn't?"
He looked at me with an expression I'd never seen before, and I knew why Lorraine said he had a
lost, doomed look. "Well, we can't live forever, can we? Are you ready to go?"
The game started out like a Marx Brothers routine. Lorraine and Johnny acted like two canaries
playing Scrabble with the cat, but Detweiler was so normal and unconcerned they soon settled down.
Conversation was tense and ragged at first until Lorraine got off on her "career" and kept us entertained
and laughing. She had known a lot of famous people and was a fountain of anecdotes, most of them
funny and libelous. Detweiler proved quickly to be the best player, but Johnny, to my surprise, was no
slouch. Lorraine played dismally but she didn't seem to mind.
I would have enjoyed the evening thoroughly if I hadn't known someone nearby was dead or dying.
After about two hours, in which Detweiler grew progressively more ill, I excused myself to go to the
bathroom. While I was away from the table, I palmed Lorraine's master key.
In another half hour I said I had to call it a night. I had to get up early the next morning. I always
spent Sunday with my mother in Inglewood. My mother was touring Yucatan at the time, but that was
neither here nor there. I looked at Johnny. He nodded. He was to make sure Detweiler stayed at least