"04 - Mortal Remains in Maggody Txt" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hess Joan)

You better if you want to keep your farm. She's mine, and I ain't gonna stand for him or anyone else taking what I aim to take for myself. Now come on, Loretta. We don't got all night. Not yet, anyways.

He takes her wrist and pulls her out the door. Martha and Zachery exchange looks, but neither speaks.


DISSOLVE TO:


"But is it a sin?" Mrs. Jim Bob repeated, determined to remain on her knees but increasingly aware of the graininess of the floor. The windows of the Voice of the Almighty Lord Assembly Hall were open, but the air inside was as fusty and stagnant as the contents of an old trunk.

Beside her, Brother Verber rumbled thoughtfully while he tried to decide what to say. He knew he had to say the right thing, that being defined as what she wanted to hear, but nothing in his correspondence classes from the seminary in Las Vegas had dealt with the sinfulness--or lack thereof--of having your house in a movie. He clasped his hands more tightly against his white-bread soft belly and rolled his eyes upward to stare at a cobweb on the ceiling. A drop of sweat formed on the tip of his nose, and hung there with the tenacity of a stalactite.

"Well?" she prompted him.

"It's a matter of conscience," he said piously. "In that you, Sister Barbara, serve as the conscience of the whole town and have never let even your pinkie stray off the path of righteousness, I think it's safe to assume that whatever you choose to do will be the Christian thing." Mrs. Jim Bob fought back a flash of annoyance as she sat on the edge of the pew and dusted off her knees. "If I saw clearly what the proper thing was, I wouldn't have driven all the way over here to ask you, Brother Verber. I was planning to take a coffee cake to Eula, who's been so feeling poorly that she hasn't decided how to vote in the upcoming Missionary Society election. Then Ruby Bee called on me with this crazy story about a Hollywood company wanting to make a movie in town, with my house in it."

"It's troubling," Brother Verber said, aware he wasn't behaving like the spiritual dictator of his flock. He normally didn't have any problem telling folks what to do and when to do it (and usually made a practice of doing just that), but a recent episode with an inflatable doll and a sackful of dirty magazines had undermined his conviction in the sanctity of his own opinions.

Mrs. Jim Bob had lost a little faith in him, too, but he was still the shepherd and she but a humble lamb, so she figured it was only fitting that she give him a chance. "The problem is," she said through a smile so tight the corners of her mouth didn't move, not even one tiny millimeter, "that everyone knows what kinds of immoral things go on in Hollywood. Every last one of those people takes drugs, drives too fast, sops up liquor like a sponge, and commits... well, unnatural acts during the day. What if they were to start doing that sort of thing in my newly redecorated living room? What if they were to sneak upstairs to the guest room and commence fornicating on that ruffly pink bedspread that I had dry-cleaned less than a month ago?" Brother Verber's mind strayed for a moment, but he managed to avoid any onslaught of tattletale sweat. "Right there with the sun shining through the window?"

"That is not the issue."

"No, of course it ain't." He banished the image from his mind, wiped his forehead with his handkerchief, and did his best to concentrate. "What does Jim Bob say about your house being in a movie?"

"He asked how much they would pay," she said with a sniff. "I do not feel we can welcome immorality into our home for three hundred dollars, but Jim Bob seemed to feel otherwise." Her eyes narrowed as she remembered the last time she'd been obliged to confront Jim Bob with certain violations of the Ten Commandments. Some of them she'd rewritten for the occasion, but she felt her revisions were just as good, if not better, than the originals.

"Do they have any use for a religious setting?" asked Brother Verber. There was a variety of good works he could accomplish with that kind of money. Like a new television in the trailer that served as the rectory, for starters.

"I doubt it. The name of this movie is Wild Cherry Wine, and I think that says it all, don't you? I simply will not have strangers drinking alcoholic beverages in my living room." Her decision made for herself, Mrs. Jim Bob stood up, smoothed away the wrinkles in her skirt, and put on her white gloves. "I really must run by Eula's and see how she's feeling. My duty is to the members of the congregation, not to outsiders with their trashy Hollywood morals.Ф УPraise the Lord," Brother Verber muttered to her back as she marched toward the door. He waited until she was gone before allowing himself to ponder the wicked, lascivious ways of the outsiders, at least one of whom was bound to be a starlet with big breasts, a tiny waist, a firm derriere, wet lips, and sultry, smoldering eyes. He was so overcome by his vision that he thudded to his knees, entwined his fingers, and earnestly began to pray.

...

Dahlia O'Neil sighed as she and Kevin sipped cherry limeades in front of the Dairee Dee-Lishus.

"What's the matter?" Kevin asked, swallowing hastily so he could inquire about his beloved's obvious state of depression. Why, she'd shook her head when he'd suggested cheeseburgers and onion rings. Now all three hundred plus pounds of her quivered in distress, as if she were the goddess of a volcano about to erupt in tears. He would have dropped to his knees to entreat her to pour out her soul to him, but the parking lot was muddy and he was wearing new jeans.

"Ain't nothing the matter," Dahlia growled, her teeth clamped on the plastic straw. A gargly noise came from her cup as she sucked up the last few drops. "Nothing at all, so there ain't any point in you asking me over and over again. Take me home, Kevin."

"Home? But I thought we was going to drive out to Boone Creek and--"

"And what?" She sounded so unfriendly that Kevin's mind went blank. This happened a lot, and according to some folks in town, it stayed that way more often than not, but this time Kevin was blinded with panic. His father had let him take the car, which he hardly ever did after Kevin had experienced a few mishaps (though no one had been killed). There was a blanket in the trunk, along with a cooler filled with soda pop and a package of vanilla sandwich cookies. He'd even brought a transistor radio so the night could be filled with music, the breeze with the heady perfume of honeysuckle, the sky with twinkly stars, and his arms with as much as he could hold of the woman he loved.

He turned on all his manly charm. "Ah, but Dahlia, my dumpling, the night is young."

"The night may be young, but your brain ain't been born yet," she said without mercy. Her cheeks bulged out, and several chins appeared as she lowered her face and glared at him like a bull getting ready to charge.

"But what did I do?" Kevin forgot about his new jeans and dropped to his knees.

She looked down at his teary eyes, trembling mouth, and undulating Adam's apple, and for a moment felt something akin to pity for him. "Nothing, Kevin."