Lisey's Story(27)

"It matters to me," she said, and was astounded at her businesslike tone of voice. How could such a brisk, nononsense sentence emerge from such a suddenly dry mouth? And then, whoomp, just like that, where she'd heard the voice before came to her: that very afternoon, on the answering machine attached to this very phone. And it was really no wonder she hadn't been able to make the connection right away, because then the voice had only spoken three words: I'll try again. "You identify yourself this minute or I'm going to hang up."

There was a sigh from the other end. It sounded both tired and good-natured. "Don't make this hard on me, Missus; I'm tryin-a help you. I really am."

Lisey thought of the dusty voices from Scott's favorite movie, The Last Picture Show; she thought again of Hank Williams singing "Jambalaya." Dress in style, go hog-wile, me-oh-my-oh.

She said, "I'm hanging up now, goodbye, have a nice life."

Although she did not so much as stir the phone from her ear.

Not yet.

"You can call me Zack, Missus. That's as good a name as any.

All right?"

"Zack what?"

"Zack McCool."

"Uh-huh, and I'm Liz Taylor."

"You wanted a name, I gave you one."

He had her there. "And how did you get this number, Zack?"

"Directory Assistance." So it was listed - that explained that. Maybe. "Now will you listen a minute?"

"I'm listening." Listening...and gripping the silver spade...and waiting for the wind to change. Maybe that most of all.

Because a change was coming. Every nerve in her body said so.

"Missus, there was a man came see you a little while ago to have a look through your late husband's papers, and may I say I'm sorry for your loss."

Lisey ignored this last. "Lots of people have asked me to let them look through Scott's papers since he died." She hoped the man on the other end of the line wouldn't be able to guess or intuit how hard her heart was now beating. "I've told them all the same thing: eventually I'll get around to sharing them with - "

"This fella's from your late husband's old college, Missus. He says he is the logical choice, since these papers're apt to wind up there, anyway."

For a moment Lisey said nothing. She reflected on how her caller had pronounced husband - almost husbun, as though Scott had been some exotic breakfast treat, now consumed. How he called her Missus. Not a Maine man, not a Yankee, and probably not an educated man, at least in the sense Scott would have used the word; she guessed that "Zack McCool" had never been to college. She also reflected that the wind had indeed changed. She was no longer scared. What she was, at least for the time being, was angry. More than angry. Pissed like a bear.

In a low, choked voice she hardly recognized, she said: "Woodbody. That's who you're talking about, isn't it? Joseph Woodbody. That Incunk son of a bitch."

There was a pause on the other end. Then her new friend said: "I'm not following you, Missus."

Lisey felt her rage come all the way up and welcomed it. "I think you're following me fine. Professor Joseph Woodbody, King of the Incunks, hired you to call and try to scare me into...what? Just turning over the keys to my husband's study, so he can go through Scott's manuscripts and take what he wants? Is that what...does he really think..." She pulled herself down. It wasn't easy. The anger was bitter but it was sweet, too, and she wanted to trip on it. "Just tell me, Zack. Yes or no. Are you working for Professor Joseph Woodbody?"

"That's none of your bi'ness, Missus."

Lisey couldn't reply to this. She was struck dumb, at least temporarily, by the sheer effrontery of it. What Scott might have called the puffickly huh-yooge (none of your bi'ness) ludicrosity of it.

"And nobody hired me to try and do nothing." A pause. "Anything, I mean. Now Missus. You want to close your mouth and listen. Are you listen to me?"

She stood with the telephone's receiver curled against her ear, considering that - Are you listen to me? - and said nothing. "I can hear you breathing, so I know you are. That's good. When I'm hired, Missus, this mother's son don't try, he does.

I know you don't know me, but that's your disadvantage, not mine. This ain't...iddn't just brag. I don't try, I do. You are going to give this man what he wants, all right? He is going to call me on the telephone or e-mail me in this special way we have and say, 'Everything's okay, I got what I want.' If that don't...if it dutn't happen in a certain run of time, I'm going to come to where you are and I'm going to hurt you. I am going to hurt you places you didn't let the boys to touch at the junior high dances."

Lisey had closed her eyes at some point during this lengthy speech, which had the feel of a memorized set-piece. She could feel hot tears trickling down her cheeks, and didn't know if they were tears of rage or...

Shame? Could they actually be tears of shame? Yes, there was something shameful in being talked to like this by a stranger.

It was like being in a new school and getting scolded by the teacher on your first day.

Smuck that, babyluv, Scott said. You know what to do.

Sure she did. In a situation like this you either strapped it on or you didn't. She'd never actually been in a situation like this, but it was still pretty obvious.