Страница 45 из 52
"Good, 'cause Jonah's away at college." The woman laughed then as at a favorite joke, one that never palled no matter how many times she played it. "Jerry's out back havin' his cigarette. I'm Lydia." Lydia led the way back into the refrigerated house. They passed through a formal parlor with wing-backed chairs which A
A
The severed parts; Karl unhooking the kitten's claw. Two more pieces clicked in. Suddenly A
Guns finished the decor. The collection was impressive. German dueling pistols from near the turn of the century, a pearl-handled revolver, several long rifles, an ornate iron tube that could only be a custom-made silencer.
The owner and sole inhabitant of this lair was seated in a bentwood rocker looking out over a flagstone patio to the brown hills beyond. He held a cigarette between his thumb and index finger, smoking with careful pleasure. Though surely he had heard their clattering entrance a second or two before, he turned with evident surprise.
"Mr. Paulsen, this is…" Lydia turned to let A
"Miss A
They had. Twice that A
He rose and took A
A Good Old Boy, A
"You're looking fit," he remarked when his duties had been done and he sat again in the bentwood opposite her. His eyes took all of her in from stem to stern. Or withers to rump. He had the look of a man admiring a bit of horseflesh.
"I heard you'd taken a tumble above Turtle Rock."
"Stepped into nothing," A
Paulsen drank his steaming hot and black. "Bad luck. Y'all have had a rash of bad luck from what I hear. Some old boy just got himself snakebit? Hate those damn things. I know you folks over at the park coddle 'em like new calves but by God I still stomp every one that slithers across my path. Hating snakes is the natural state of man."
A
Jerimiah D. Bells rang in A
"What's the 'D' for?" she asked suddenly. "Jerimiah D. Paulsen."
"Well, now, where did you hear that?" he drawled and the twinkle in his eyes grew, if anything, brighter. A
Unable to remember where she'd heard it, A
Paulsen rocked back, crossed his legs, resting his ankle on his knee, and gri
Now she knew it was of no value. Or he was going to tell her a lie.
"Dalrimple. My momma's maiden name. Daddy built this house for her. Jerimiah D. Paulsen. My old friends call me Jerimiah D."
With a start, A
Sheila had seen something-probably stumbled on it by accident while patrolling the park perimeter for lightning strikes. They, in turn, had stumbled on her. Whatever the specifics were, A
Time had come to leave.
"You've an impressive collection," A
Paulsen, following her gaze, stood and walked over to the fireplace. He lifted the weapon down with the reverence of a pilgrim handling a piece of the true cross.
"This is my baby." He sounded as if it were the literal truth. "Finest weapon ever made. Bar none."
A
He all but snatched it away, holding it possessively to his chest, then chuckling at his own reaction. "Sorry, honey. Nobody touches her but Jerimiah D. Nobody. A man's got to have something that's all his own." Reverently he replaced the rifle on its stone pegs.
"Now," he said turning to A
"I've been nosing around about the Dog Canyon ranger's death," A
Paulsen laughed, a series of voiceless gusts that came out his nose. "Hell, we've been trying to do that for years. Y'all breed 'em up there in that damned park. It's a wonder there's a cow left west of the Pecos."
A
Paulsen was used to the ineffectual flattery and pleas of environmentalists. A
He draped an arm around her shoulders. "It ain't go
A
The snorty chuckle followed her as far as the butler's pantry.