Salem's Lot

5

Ben and Jimmy Cody got to the Glick home around one-thirty. Tony Glick’s car was sitting in the driveway, but the house was silent. When no one answered the third knock, they crossed the road to the small ranch-style house that sat there-a sad, prefab refugee of the 1950s held up on one end by a rusty pair of house jacks. The name on the mailbox was Dickens. A pink lawn flamingo stood by the walk, and a small cocker spaniel thumped his tail at their approach.

Pauline Dickens, waitress and part owner of the Excellent Café, opened the door a moment or two after Cody rang the bell. She was wearing her uniform.

‘Hi, Pauline,’ Jimmy said. ‘Do you know where the Glicks are?’

‘You mean you don’t know?’

‘Know what?’

‘Mrs Glick died early this morning. They took Tony Glick to Central Maine General. He’s in shock.’

Ben looked at Cody. Jimmy looked like a man who had been kicked in the stomach.

Ben took up the slack-quickly. ‘Where did they take her body?’

Pauline ran her hands across her hips to make sure her uniform was right. ‘Well, I spoke to Mabel Werts on the phone an hour ago, and she said Parkins Gillespie was going to take the body right up to that Jewish fellow’s funeral home in Cumberland. On account of no one knows where Carl Foreman is.’

‘Thank you,’ Cody said slowly.

‘Awful thing,’ she said, her eyes straying to the empty house across the road. Tony Glick’s car sat in the driveway like a large and dusty dog that had been chained and then abandoned. ‘If I was a superstitious person, I’d be afraid.’

‘Afraid of what, Pauline?’ Cody asked.

‘Oh… things.’ She smiled vaguely. Her fingers touched a small chain hung around her neck.

A St Christopher’s medal.