"Jeff Hecht - The Saucer Man" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hecht Jeff)

signed her copy.
The second looked uncannily like Abigail Waverly, but wore a different
dress. Before I could ask, she explained, "I'm Abigail's sister Hester." I
signed her book, then glanced at the sales desk. Over half my books were gone,
always nice even if I didn't make that much per copy. All I needed now was a
place to unwind and sleep before driving 180 miles to my next gig.
I slipped my pen into my pocket, stood, and stretched as politely and
obviously as I could. It was a few minutes after ten; I'd earned my pay, and
it was time to move on. "Excuse me, Miss Waverly. You said you'd made
reservations at a motel?"
Abigail Waverly looked blank briefly, then turned to face me fully.
"Not exactly a motel, Mr. Mills. We operate a small guest house..."
"Er ... I really can't impose on you..." I could see myself trapped
into talking all night. They didn't seem the sort who would want more.
"I'm afraid the local motel is closed."
"I can drive to the one in Wilson's Crossing."
"Good heavens!" the president of the Ladies' Club broke in. "You don't
know anything about _that_ place, do you?"
I shook my head.
"It's a house of ill repute, I'll have you know. Anything goes in that
place. They rent rooms to unmarried couples! The Waverly sisters operate a
proper guest hotel, and that's the only fit place for a respectable gentleman
to stay."
I was stuck. I followed the Waverly sisters' big Ford to a big,
well-preserved old house. The neatly painted sign, "Lawrence Hotel," was
reassuring, but I would have felt better if I had seen lights inside.
The place was a model of mid-century midwestern gentility. Flowered
wallpaper covered the parlor walls; neat but slightly faded slipcovers covered
the furniture. Not a thing was out of place; no sloppy pile of newspapers, or
even a magazine open on an end table. It was the sort of place you see only in
old pictures. I paused, looking for the stairs so I could plead tiredness and
make a quick exit.
They didn't let me. "We're so pleased you could come, Mr. Mills," said
Abigail. "We've wanted to talk with you for a long time, about things that we
couldn't mention at the meeting."
I must have shown some trace of my internal dismay. "Don't be afraid,"
Hester said, "We believe in the Brysst way. We just want to meet them."
I used my standard explanation, that I had to protect the privacy of
the Brysst until they were ready to reveal themselves.
"This is something very different, Mr. Mills," Abigail explained as if
to a child. "We also come from another planet. We were sent here to
investigate your culture, without revealing ourselves. We didn't know the
Brysst were here."
They were not the first, but my heart still skipped a beat. That
craziness reminded me of the bad times with Melinda, or the sad old man who
had walked up to me last year and said that aliens had given him a very
important message, but he had lost it. I ignore letters from people claiming
they are aliens, but I had no place to hide in the little guest house.
Abigail seemed as bewildered as I must have looked. "What's the
matter?" she asked.