I’m not real bent out of shape myself, mind you. I don’t like hat we lost half the town, but that was our fault. Other people, though, see ‘em as a threat. They dress funny, look weird, keep to themselves.
Hell, when you get down to it, I think it’s just the hippy thing all over again. They’re nature freaks they fertilize their gardens with their own shit; they don’t believe in zippers or in getting married; they call each other by funny names. And then there’s the sex.
Rumor has it everybody does it with everybody else and Sarris gets the pick of the litter. Doesn’t sound too bad to me, but people like Greta ain’t too fond of it. She always was a little strait-laced, I thought.”
“You told me once the restaurant was the only genuine business the town has.” He sighed. “Oh, it is-it’s real successful. It has a mailorder part to it, too, that sells ‘natural food,’ whatever the hell that is.
But with the town half-sold on, and the restaurant pulling whatever traffic comes y, Greta’s found herself pretty pinched. The whole town has, for that matter.” He shook his head and smiled sadly.
“Looks like maybe we sold our soul for a few quick bucks.” “How badly off is she?” “Greta? Who knows? She’s gotten pretty wild about them.
You want to get your ears burned, just mention the Order. This Wingate couple blowing into town has been like a fuse. She’s latched onto them like a mother hen, determined to help them find their daughter. I don’t know, though. They seem pretty weird to me, too.” Despite Buster’s amiable tone, the picture he was drawing was rim, of desperate people in a face-on, the backs of their heels on the edge of a chasm. “Has Wingate blown up before?” Buster frowned. “That was a first; course, he’s only been here a couple of days. It wouldn’t have happened if that damned fool Rennie hadn’t pushed.” I didn’t say anything. I wasn’t going to fault Rennie. It had seemed to me his irritation at Wingate’s tone had been justified, even if he had been a little lacking in sensitivity. Still, that was the Rennie of old ever afraid of being popped if he felt he was right. I’d always loved running in his wake as a kid, glorifying in his bravado.
It was the exact way Buster so disliked in him.
Buster resumed. “Except for tonight, old Bruce strikes me as a pretty tight drum, as buttoned down as his collars. I never seen him so much as smile, I don’t think.” He shook his head. ‘I’m not sure I’d be real keen to go home with folks like that.” We had reached the front steps of the Inn. “You coming inside?” I asked him.
“Nah, I think I’ll go home. Laura usually puts something in a Crockpot for dinner. I’ll leave it on for you, if you like.” “Hmm, I met her when I came in. Sounds like you’re getting decadent in your old age, hiring a housekeeper.
He smiled. “Nice kid. No… I helped her out a few years back-alcoholic family, lousy friends. She straightened herself out and thought I had a lot to do with it; said she wanted to return the favor somehow. I got tired of arguing, so she fixes me the odd meal now and then and cleans the house… well, catch you later.” I climbed the steps and looked back at him, heading toward the corner of North and 114. In the dark, barely visible from the Inn’s anemic lighting, he looked like some bear heading back to his cave.
I stepped inside the door and hung up my coat. Greta was coming out the cafe/’s double doors. “I thought you went home.” “I wanted to ask you something.” She looked at me warily. “What about?” “The Wingates.” She placed her hands on her hips, not the most subservient of gestures. “Is it true you’re working for the State’s Attorney now?” I hesitated, suddenly conscious of how I might be perceived here.
“I’m on temporary assignment for a specific case. It has nothing to do with Gannet, though.” “Are you going to help the Wingates?” “I don’t know if there’s anything legally I can do.” She let out a short bark of a laugh. “Those Order people kidnapped the Wingates’ daughter.
That’s against the law, isn’t it?” “If they kidnapped her. Sounds more like she ran away. There was a burst of laughter from the other room, followed by loud voices competing for attention. Greta scowled. “She’s like a zombie-she doesn’t know what the hell she’s doing. They’ve got her drugged or something.” She bent forward and thrust her face up at me. “Jesus, Joe, stop tiptoeing around. What do you think this Order is anyway-a summer camp?
It’s a cult, just like that Jonestown bunch. They’re sick. Did you see what happened when I asked the woman about Julie? She looked Tarzan for permission. These people can’t even think for themselves. they’re sick and I think they’re dangerous.” I opened my mouth but she wasn’t finished. “Did you see those kids tonight? They can’t read or write, they all act like robots.” She held up one hand like a traffic cop. “I know that Fox guy I’ve seen him round. He’s one of the big shots, one of Sarris’s flunkies. If we went back to that house a week from now, I guarantee you’d find him with different bunch of kids and a different woman. These people move round like rabbits.” I thought about pursuing it, but then I changed my mind, giving to one of those sudden emotional cave-ins that occur when you’re already close to throwing in the towel.
It had been a cop’s impulse to question Greta instead of going back home with Buster. But Greta was right. I should probably just get out of the way. I should go after my ticky-fingered town clerk for the State’s Attorney, avoid further complications in my life, and get the hell back to Brattleboro.
I realized I’d come up to Gannet with false expectations; I’d wanted to find the town unchanged, my friends waiting to greet me.
gannet was a kind of tonic I’d hoped would make me feel better. It had been a silly, self-serving notion. I turned back to the row of pegs on the wall and retrieved my coat. I don’t know, Greta. Seems to me everyone here’s a little too steamed up. If you like, I’ll tell the SA to keep an eye on this bunch.” She stepped forward and stopped me from putting on my coat. My ague, evasive tone had made her quite angry by now. “Don’t you pat me on the head, Joe Gunther. I don’t need you looking down on me.
I watched her eyes, narrow with fury, remembering a similar look n Wingate’s face, and Rennie’s as he had walked away after being punched.
Compared with theirs, Fox’s had been cool and superior, displaying an icier, perhaps more threatening anger.
I removed Greta’s hand from my coat and put it on, bidding her goodnight, suddenly eager to escape back into the cold. Outside, I shook my head. Anger is no byproduct of self-contentment. I couldn’t hake the ominous feeling that Wingate and his wife, Greta and Rennie, and God knew how many other people in this town were all in the process of slipping their mental anchor lines, yielding to the different frustrations that had consumed them over time. I wondered in how many of them this rage might be controllable, and in which ones it indicated a ship drifting toward the rocks.