"Charles L. Grant - Raven" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Charles L)

He pulled at his nose, scratched a cheek. A curious thingтАФwhen there were people in here, the rough-pine walls
and airy ceiling made the place seem much larger; when it was empty, it didn't look much bigger than a closet.
He walked around the display counter, set perpendicular to the entrance, and opened the cash drawer of the register
atop it. The afternoon had been fair, the dinner hour not half bad. A handful of boisterous skiers escaping the city a
day early, the usual late lunchers from Hunter Lake and Deerfield, a few tourists passing through on their way to
Pennsylvania needing directions and a cup of coffee; noth-ing spectacular, nothing disastrous. Early February had
al-ways been a dead time here. The wont ol winter's stormsтАФif they came at all; not much in the way of casual
weekend sightseers, and the locals hadn't quite been struck yet with cabin fever. Fair. What the hell. He would survive
until spring the way he always did, making a decent profit, banking some, spending some, making sure the small
res-taurant didn't look as if it were on its last legs while, at the same time, keeping up repairs on the seven one-room
cabins tucked in the trees and invisible from the road.
so what more do you want
He yawned, blinked rapidly in surprise and rubbed his eyes, told himself things would probably liven up later in the
evening; after all, it was Friday night. A roll of his eyes to prove he didn't much believe it. The most he could
reasonably expect this time of year would be a handful of people returning from the movies down in Sparta or New-ton
who might drop in for coffee or a drink; a few more late getting home from the city might drop in for a quick bite. And a
drink.
February.
The dead time.
But it was the territory; it all goes with the territory. And it sure beat getting his face shot off by some drug dealer
or crazy. Or lousy cigarette smuggler. A nod to himself, an-other yawn, and he made his way through the tables to the
gap in the middle of the foliage wall. Beyond it, two wide steps down, was the lounge: curved leather-and-brass-stud
booths along the left-hand wall, a handful of smaller tables in the center, the bar itself on the right.
The back wall was virtually all glass above darkwood wainscoting waist-high; the ground below and beyond
cleared and carefully sloped some sixty feet down to the wide, shallow creek. A few years ago, tired of looking at his
reflection in the glass, he had set a handful of low-wattage bulbs into the trees along the bank, three more into the
base of the foundation, so that drinkers and diners could see the water, could see the woodland and hill, could once in
a while see deer or possum, raccoons or just shadows. He had once considered building a deck off the lounge, a
pleasant way to spend a spring or summer evening, filtered through the leaves and setting sun; then he considered
the mosquitoes, the flies, the bees, the gnats, and changed his mind. Besides, with people out there, the animals
wouldn't come; it had taken them forever to get used to the light.
A scraping of chairs behind him.
He turned and saw that the families were ready to leave. He gave them their checks, took their payment, held the
door open and wished them a warm night. No waitress today. He could handle it himself and preferred it that way.
"Hey, Neil, got a minute?"
He looked to the occupied booth to the immediate left of the door. A young man, ruddy cheeks, freckled nose, a
mass of dark hair and a suit not quite large enough for his shoulders, beckoned with a grin. The woman seated
oppo-site him could have been his twin, except she wore a well-fitted ski sweater and jeans and her hair wasn't quite as
long.
"He lied," she complained lightly as Neil walked over. A high voice. Not childlike, but child-soft. "He said I didn't
have to get fancy or anything, then he went and wore his good clothes."
Neil stood there, waiting, patiently smiling. Ken Hav-vick and Trish Avery had been going together, off and on, for
what he figured from the gossip had been most of their lives. He wondered how they stood it. The gossip also
mentioned that Trish had been seeing other men as well, on the sly.
Havvick released his hold on her hand, exposing a small diamond ring on her finger. "We're gonna get married." A
wider grin pulled thick lips away from his teeth.
Trish giggled.
Neil made a show of scanning the empty room before looking back and shaking his hand. "You know, Ken, I have
always admired your dramatic sense of the romantic." He leaned over the table. "You mean to tell me you asked this
gorgeous woman hereтАФwho could certainly do a hell of a lot better, if I do say so myself, but it's her life, I