Dolores Clairborne, eBooks txt
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Stephen King"Dolores Clairborne"WHAT did you ask, Andy Bissette?Do I 'understand these rights as you've explained em to me'?Gorry! What makes some men so numb?No, you never mind - still your jawin and listen to me for awhile. I got anidearyou're gonna he listenin to me most of the night, so you might as well get usedtoit. Coss I understand what you read to me! Do I look like I lost all m'brainssinceI seen you down to the market? That was just Monday afternoon, in case you losttrack. I told you your wife would give you merry hell about buying that day-oldbread - penny wise and pound foolish, the old saying is - and I bet I was right,wasn't I?I understand my rights just fine, Andy; my mother never raised no fools. Iunderstand my responsibilities too, God help me.Anything I say might be used against me in a court of law, you say? Well willwonders never cease! And you can just get that smirk off your face, FrankProulx.You may be a hot-shot town cop these days, but it hasn't been too long since Iseenyou runnin around in a saggy diaper with that same foolish grin on your face.I'llgive you a little piece of advice -when you get around an old biddy like me, youjust want to save that grin. I c'n read you easier'n an underwear ad in theSearscatalogue.All right, we've had our fun; might as well get down to it. I'm gonna tell youthree a hell of a lot startin right about now, and a hell of a lot of it prob'lycould be used against me in a court of law, if anyone wanted to at this latedate.The joke of it is, folks on the island know most of it already, and I'm justabouthalf-past give-a-shit, as old Neely Robichaud used to say when he was in hiscups.Which was most of the time, as anyone who knew him will tell you.I do give a shit about one thing, though, and that's why I come down here on myown hook. I didn't kill that bitch Vera Donovan, and no matter what you thinknow,I intend to make you believe that. I didn't push her down that friggingstaircase.It's fine if you want to lock me up for the other, but I don't have none of thatbitch's blood on my hands. And I think you will believe that by the time I'mfinished, Andy. You was always a good enough boy, as boys go - fair-minded, iswhatI mean - and you've turned into a decent man. Don't let it go to your head,though;you grew up same as any other man, with some woman to warsh your clothes andwipeyour nose and turn you around when you got y'self pointed in the wrongdirection.One other thing before we get started - I know you, Andy, and Frank, accourse,but who's this woman with the tape-recorder?Oh Christ, Andy, I know she's a stenographer! Didn't I just tell you my Mammadidn't raise any fools? I may be sixty-six come this November, but I still gotallmy marbles. I know a woman with a tape-recorder and a shorthand pad's astenographer. I watch all those courtroom shows, even that LA Law where nobodycanseem to keep their clothes on for fifteen minutes at a time.What's your name, honey?Uh-huh. . . and whereabouts do you hail from?Oh, quit it, Andy! What else you got to do tonight? Was you plannin to go overtothe shingle and see if you could catch a few fellas diggin qua-hogs without alicence? That'd prob'ly be more excitement than your heart could take, wouldn'tit?Ha!There. That's better. You're Nancy Bannister from Kennebunk, and I'm DoloresClaiborne from right here on Little Tall Island. Now I already said I'm going todoa country-fair job of talking before we're done in here, and you're going tofind Iwasn't lyin a bit. So if you need me to speak up or to slow down, just say so.Youneedn't be shy with me. I want you to get every goddam word, startin with this:twenty-nine years ago, when Police Chief Bissette here was in the first gradeandstill eatin the paste off the back of his pitchers, I killed my husband, Joe StGeorge.I feel a draft in here, Andy. Might go away if you shutcha goddam trap. I don'tknow what you're lookin so surprised about, anyway. You know I killed Joe.Everybody on Little Tall knows it, and probably half the people across the reachinJonesport know it, too. It's just that nobody could prove it. And I wouldn't behere now, admittin it in front of Frank Proulx and Nancy Bannister fromKennebunkif it hadn't been for that stupid bitch Vera, gettin up to more of her nasty oldtricks.Well, she'll never get up to any more of em, will she? There's that forconsolation, at least.Shift that recorder a little closer to me, Nancy, dear - if this is going to getdone, it'll get done right, I'll be bound. Don't those Japanese just make themostcunning little things? Yes indeed . . . but I guess we both know that what'sgoingon the tape inside that little cutie-pie could put me in the Women'sCorrectionalfor the rest of my life. Still, I don't have no choice. I swear before heaven Ialways knew that Vera Donovan'd just about be the death of me - I knew it fromthefirst time I saw her.. And look what she's done - just look what that goddamnedoldbitch has done to me. This time she's really stuck her gum in my gears. Butthat'srich people for you; if they can't kick you to death, they're apt to kiss you todeath with kindness.What?Oh, gorry! I'm gettin to it, Andy, if you'll just give me a little peace! I'mjust tryin to decide if I should tell it back to front or front to back. I don'ts'pose I could have a little drink, could I?Oh, frig ya coffee! Take the whole pot and shove it up your kazoo. Just gimme aglass of water if you're too cheap to part with a swallow of the Beam you keepinyour desk drawer. I ain't -What do you mean, how do I know that? Why, AndyBissette, someone who didn't know better'd think you just toddled out of aSaltinesbox yesterday. Do you think me killin my husband is the only thing the folks onthis island have got to talk about?Hell, that's old news. You, now - you still got some juice left in you.Thank you, Frank. You was always a pretty good boy, too, although you was kindahard to look at in church until your mother got you cured of the booger-hookinhabit. Gorry, there were times when you had that finger so far up y'nose it wasawonder you didn't poke your brains out. And what the hell are you blushin for?Wasnever a kid alive who didn't mine a little green gold outta their old pump everynow and again. At least you knew enough to keep your hands outta your pants andoffyour nuts, at least in church, and there's a lot of boys who never -Yes, Andy,yes- I am gonna tell it. Jeezly-crow, you ain't never shook the ants out of yourpants, have you?Tell you what: I'm gonna compromise. Instead of telling her front to back orbackto front, I'm gonna start in the middle and just kinda work both ways. And ifyoudon't like it, Andy Bissette, you can write it up on your TS list and mail it tothe chaplain.Me and Joe had three kids, and when he died in the summer of '63, Selena wasfifteen, Joe Junior was thirteen, and Little Pete was just nine. Well, Joedidn'tleave me a pot to piss in and hardly a window to throw it out of - I guessyou'llhave to fix this up some, Nancy, won't you? I'm just an old woman with a foultemper and a fouler mouth, but that's what happens, more often than not, whenyou've had a foul life.Now, where was I? I ain't lost my place already, have I?Oh - yes. Thank you, honeybunch.What Joe left me with was that shacky little place out by the East Head and sixacres of land, most of it blackberry tangles and the kind of trashwood thatgrowsback after a clear-cut operation. What else? Lemme see. Three trucks that didn'trun - two pickups and a pulp-hauler - four cord of wood, a bill at the grocery,abill at the hardware, a bill with the oil company, a bill with the funeral homeanddo you want the icing on the goddam cake? He wa'ant a week in the ground beforethat rumpot Harry Doucette come over with a friggin IOU that said Joe owed himtwenty dollars on a baseball bet!He left me all that, but do you think he left me any goddam insurance money?Nossir! Although that might have been a blessin in disguise, the way thingsturnedout. I guess I'll get to that part before I'm done, but all I'm trying to saynowis that Joe St George really wa'ant a man at all; he was a goddam millstone Iworearound my neck. Worse, really, because a millstone don't get drunk and then comehome smellin of beer and wantin to throw a fuck into you at one in the morning.Wasn't none of that the reason why I killed the sonofawhore, but I guess it's asgood a place as any to start.An island's not a good place to kill anybody, I can tell you that. Seems likethere's always someone around, itching to get his nose into your business justwhenyou can least afford it. That's why I did it when I did, and I'll get to that,too.For now suffice it to say that I did it just about three years after VeraDonovan'shusband died in a motor accident outside of Baltimore, which was where theylivedwhen they wasn't summerin on Little Tall. Back in those days, most of Vera'sscrewswere still nice and tight.With Joe out of the pitcher and no money coming in, I was in a fix, I can tellyou - I got an idear there's no one in the whole world feels as desperate as awoman on her own with kids dependin on her. I'd 'bout decided I'd better crossthereach and see if I couldn't get a job in Jonesport, checkin out groceries at theShop n Save or waitressin in a restaurant, when that numb pussy all of a suddendecided she was gonna live on the island all year round. Most everyone thoughtshe'd blown a fuse, but I w...
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