"Picoult, Jodi - Salem Falls v4.0 com" - читать интересную книгу автора (Picoult Jodi)

Is there no good penitence but it be public?
-THE CRUCIBLE



March 2000
Salem Falls,
New Hampshire
On the second worst day of Addie PeabodyТs life, her refrigerator and dishwasher both died, like long-term lovers who could not conceive of existing without each other. This would have been a trial for anyone, but as she was the owner of the Do-Or-Diner, it blossomed into a catastrophe of enormous proportions. Addie stood with her hands pressed to the stainless steel door of the subzero walk-in, as if she might jump-start its heart by faith healing.
It was hard to decide what was more devastating: the health violations or the loss of potential income. Twenty pounds of dry ice, the most the medical supply store had to offer, wasnТt doing the job. Within hours, Addie would have to throw away the gallon buckets of gravy, stew, and chicken soup made that morning. УI think,Ф she said after a moment, УIТm going to build a snowman.Ф
УNow?Ф asked Delilah, the cook, her crossed arms as thick as a blacksmithТs. She frowned. УYou know, Addie, I never believed it when folks around here called you crazy, but-Ф
УIТll stick it in the fridge. Maybe itТll save the food until the repairman gets here.Ф
УSnowmen melt,Ф Delilah said, but Addie could tell that she was turning the idea over in her mind.
УThen weТll mop up and make more.Ф
УAnd I suppose youТre just gonna let the customers fend for themselves?Ф
УNo,Ф Addie said. УIТm going to get them to help. Will you get ChloeТs boots?Ф
The diner was not crowded for 10 A.M. Of the six booths, two were occupied: one by a mother and her toddler, the other by a businessman brushing muffin crumbs off his laptop. A couple of elderly regulars, Stuart and Wallace, slouched at the counter drinking coffee while they argued over the local paperТs headlines.
УLadies and gentlemen,Ф Addie proclaimed. УIТm pleased to announce the start of the Do-or-DinerТs winter carnival. The first event is going to be a snow-sculpture contest, and if youТd all just come out back for a moment, we can get started-Ф
УItТs freezing out there!Ф cried Wallace.
УWell, of course it is. Otherwise weТd be having a summer carnival. Winner of the contest gets . . . a month of breakfast on the house.Ф
Stuart and Wallace shrugged, a good sign. The toddler bounced on the banquette like popcorn in a skillet. Only the businessman seemed unconvinced. As the others shuffled through the door, Addie approached his table. УLook,Ф the businessman said. УI donТt want to build a snowman, all right? All I came here for was some breakfast.Ф
УWell, weТre not serving now. WeТre sculpting.Ф She gave him her brightest smile.
The man seemed nonplussed. He tossed a handful of change on the table, gathered his coat and computer, and stood up to leave. УYouТre nuts.Ф
Addie watched him leave. УYes,Ф she murmured. УThatТs what they say.Ф
Outside, Stuart and Wallace were huffing through their scarves, crafting a respectable armadillo. Delilah had fashioned a snow chicken, a leg of lamb, pole beans. The toddler, stuffed into a snowsuit the color of a storm, lay on her back making angels.
Once Chloe had asked: Is Heaven above or below the place where snow comes from?
УYou got the DevilТs own luck,Ф Delilah told Addie. УWhat if there was no snow?Ф
УSince when has there been no snow here in March? And besides, this isnТt luck. Luck is finding out the repairman could come a day early.Ф
As if Addie had conjured it, a manТs voice called out. УAnybody home?Ф
УWeТre back here.Ф Addie was faintly disappointed to see a young cop, instead of an appliance repairman, rounding the corner. УHi, Orren. You here for a cup of coffee?Ф УUh, no, Addie. IТm here on official business.Ф
Her head swam. Could the accountant have reported them to the board of health so quickly? Did a law enforcement officer have the power to make her close her doors? But before she could voice her doubts, the policeman spoke again.
УItТs your father,Ф Orren explained, blushing. УHeТs been arrested.Ф
Addie stormed into the police department with such force that the double doors slammed back on their hinges, letting in a gust of cold wind. УJeez Louise,Ф said the dispatch sergeant. УHope Courtemanche found himself a good hiding place.Ф
УWhere is he?Ф Addie demanded.
УMy best guess? Maybe in the menТs room, in a stall. Or squeezed into one of the empty lockers in the squad room.Ф The officer scratched his jaw. УCome to think of it, I once hid in the trunk of a cruiser when my wife was on the warpath.Ф
УIТm not talking about Officer Courtemanche,Ф Addie said through clenched teeth. УI meant my father.Ф
УOh, RoyТs in the lockup.Ф He winced, remembering something. УBut if youТre here to spring him, youТre gonna have to talk to Wes anyway, since it was his arrest.Ф He picked up the phone. УYou can take a seat, Addie. IТll let you know when Wes is free.Ф
Addie scowled. УIТm sure IТll know. You always smell a skunk before you see it.Ф
УWhy, Addie, is that any way to speak to the man who saved your fatherТs life?Ф
In his blue uniform, his badge glinting like a third eye, Wes Courtemanche was handsome enough to make women in Salem Falls dream about committing crimes. Addie, however, took one look at him and thought-not for the first time-that some men ought to come with an expiration date.
УArresting a sixty-five-year-old man isnТt my idea of saving his life,Ф she huffed.
Wes took her elbow and led her gently down the hall, away from the dispatch sergeantТs eyes and ears. УYour father was driving under the influence again, Addie.Ф
Heat rose to her cheeks. Roy PeabodyТs drinking wasnТt any secret in Salem Falls, but heТd gone one step too far last month, wrapping his car around the townТs statue of Giles Corey, the only man whoТd been a casualty of the Puritan witch hunts. RoyТs license had been revoked. For his own safety, Addie had junked the car. And her own Mazda was safely parked at the diner. What vehicle could he have used?
As if he could read her mind, Wes said, УHe was in the breakdown lane of Route 10, on his ride-on mower.Ф
УHis ride-on mower,Ф Addie repeated. УWes, that thing canТt go more than five miles an hour.Ф
УFifteen, but thatТs neither here nor there. The point is, he doesnТt have a license. And you need one if youТre gonna operate any self-propelled vehicle on the street.Ф
УMaybe it was an emergency . . .Ф
УGuess it was, Addie. We confiscated a brand-new fifth of vodka from him, too.Ф Wes paused. УHe was on his way home from the liquor store in North Haverhill.Ф He watched Addie knead her temples. УIs there anything I can do for you?Ф
УI think youТve done enough, Wes. I mean, gosh, you arrested a man joyriding on a lawn mower. Surely theyТll give you a Purple Heart or something for going to such extremes to ensure public safety.Ф
УNow, just a second. I was ensuring safety . . . RoyТs. What if a truck cut the curve too tight and ran him down? What if he fell asleep at the wheel?Ф