Suddenly the bell rang. Riggan put the phone to his ear, without taking his eyes off the magazine.
Good morning. Sheriffs Office. How can I help?
Riggan listened to the person on the other end of the line for a couple of minutes, then hung up and hurriedly began calling the sheriffs car over the radio. Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed the keys to the front doors and ran to the exit.
When Bernard Hughes gave a speech to those present, often wiping the damp skin under his eyes with a handkerchief, the distinct sounds of someones footsteps began to be heard inside the church. Despite the fact that Riggan was wearing sneakers, his steps still echoed throughout the entire room, because he no longer bothered about decency and all that. He jogged on his tiptoes and stopped between the rows, looking for the sheriffs head. Like everyone else, Desmond also looked back when he heard loud footsteps. He saw Riggans face, very alarmed by something, who motioned for him to come out for a few words. Desmond was greatly surprised by this. He understood that the guy would not just leave the office and rush here with all his might, as evidenced by his deep and frequent sighs, which were so difficult for him. The sheriff immediately stood up from his seat, heading towards the exit.
Maurice Callaham worked as a security guard at a dance school. At the age of sixty-three he was no longer particularly worried about spasms throughout his body and pain in his knees. It is unlikely that with such a physical form he would be able to repel unauthorized entry into the building. But since he was not guarding gold and foreign exchange reserves, the school management decided not to deprive him of his job. Instead, they paid attention to the conscientiousness with which Maurice approached his work. Even the fact that, with a height of one hundred and sixty-four he already weighed more than eighty, did not cause any concern to the school director or his deputy. They valued the reliability of employees, since a new security guard, like a potential employee for any other position, was perceived by them as a pig in a poke.
Maurice was in the habit of constantly smoothing his mustache in both directions, thereby checking its smoothness and levelness, so that he knew when it was time to cut it. For his age, Maurice had a rare quality: he had a good knowledge of modern musical art. In addition to the fact that the school taught dances to various music, across the street there was a video and music rental store, where an acoustic speaker was installed on the street side, from which some kind of music was constantly playing. Maurice liked most of the compositions, so when he got bored, he went out onto the terrace or opened the entrance doors, after which he began to walk around the nearest rooms and dance, and when the music was already familiar to him, he also began to silently move his lips, as if singing along. These were one of the few times Maurice put stress on his knees, but did not experience absolutely any discomfort. He simply danced and sang, and his soul rejoiced. At the same time, he did not go through any particular genres or styles. He liked pop, retro, blues, jazz, rock, disco and much more.
That morning Maurice started his next shift. He stepped off the bus, holding his lunch bag in his hand, heading towards the dance school, which was a two-minute walk from the bus stop. Every time he got off the bus, Maurice was interested in his sixty-four-year-old colleague Anthony Herb, whom he most often replaced. He wondered how soundly Anthony slept, since only twice in Maurices memory had he found Anthony awake when he went on shift. As soon as the noise of the bus died down, music began to reach Maurices ears. It was still difficult for him to understand what kind of song it was, but he was already in a hurry to find out. Halfway through, he recognized the notes of Stop by Sam Brown. And from that moment on, Maurices steps slowed down. He did not walk, but swam in the calm waves of music. At moments he even lowered his eyelids and made more characteristic movements with his hands, moving to the beat of the music. While Maurice walked to school at this pace, Sam Brown had just finished singing. She was replaced by Rammstein, and the eyes of Maurice Callaham saw the body of Gloria Nelson on the main staircase with her face broken and hidden under a layer of dried blood.
10. The shortest path
Darkness has not yet filled the streets of Heartstone, but the last rays of the sun have already dissolved. There was less and less traffic on the roads. The lights of street lamps and advertising signs were already evident, and the light in the windows of houses was clearly visible.
Deborah Minton was bustling around the kitchen like a top, not stopping for a minute. Watching her from the outside, there would hardly be anyone who would believe that this woman was a teacher who taught children the fine arts. In terms of her activity, Deborah was more suitable for the work of an athlete or a courier who, even on her own two feet, would never be late with a delivery. She was almost finishing stuffing the chicken with vegetables when she suddenly decided to check the top shelf on the refrigerator door. Deborah discovered that she had no yeast and called her daughter:
Ursula.
A twelve-year-old golden-blond girl in a blue long-sleeved T-shirt and garnet breeches came running at her mothers voice. Ursula had dozens of thin braids on her head. She had been begging for such a hairstyle for a long time, although the parents did not understand where their child saw such a style, because Ursula herself had no idea why it was suddenly happening. Since Deborah was very late at work those days and did not have time to braid her daughters hair, she asked Ursula to wait until the end of the week. But the husband, running his hand over his hair, said that it was time for him to get a haircut and it would be better for him to take his daughter with him, so that while he was getting his hair cut, someone would do the girls braids at the same time. John Minton owned a local bakery, so he never spared money for his daughter. He told Ursula that her hair should be done by a professional stylist, although he knew that three of the four hairdressers who worked in the salon were self-taught. But it was more important for him to present his daughter with information that would make her feel like a princess.
Ursula ran up to her mother and said, looking at her with a questioning glance:
What?
Without lowering her head, Deborah took out a few coins from the box, gave them to her daughter and said:
Bunny, go to the supermarket for yeast.
Im already flying the girl barely said before she immediately rushed off.
Ursula Deborah slowed her down. You dont fly, you walk. And look both ways when you cross the street.
Okay the girl answered on autopilot.
Deborah said the same words every time she sent Ursula to the store. Despite the fact that the supermarket was located directly opposite the house, and there were almost no cars on the street, Deborah blindly followed her habit.
Ursula entered the sales area and said, waving to the cashier:
Hello.
Hello sweetie nineteen-year-old Cassandra Bello answered with sleepy eyes, yawning at the end of the phrase.
How are you? Ursula asked, approaching the cash register.
Cassandra rested her head on her palm, leaning on a relaxed elbow, and answered, almost closing her eyes:
I am sleepy.
Well, what about the rest?
The rest is fine.
Well, make sure that no one robs the cash register.
Cassandra smiled and replied:
Yes, it will be a Greek tragedy.
Each trip, even for the smallest purchase, kept Ursula in the supermarket for at least half an hour. All the employees here knew her, with whom she chatted out of habit, without knowing the brakes.
Ursula began to walk between the aisles, where along the way she came across the owner of the store, Yann Leblanc, who, standing on a stepladder and leafing through documents in his hands, checked the purchase prices with the prices on the shelves.
Hello Mr. Leblanc.
Hi.
How are you doing?
Basically, nothing good. But without a fire and without a robbery, this is also good.
They both laughed and Ursula added:
I dont know about the fire, but without a robbery its great.
These words caused even more laughter from the supermarket owner.
Ursula walked a little deeper into the trading floor. There she met Raymond Rafferty, who, like Cassandra, sometimes worked at the checkout, but most often either laid out goods in the hall or worked in the warehouse. At that moment, Raymond was arranging goods on shelves with dairy products.
Oh! Socialite Raymond almost exclaimed when he noticed the approaching girl.
When Ursula had just started school, one day Raymond asked her, arranging goods in the next row: What do you want to become when you grow up and finish studying?, to which Ursula replied: A socialite. Since then, Raymond has called Ursula a socialite.
Raymond was twenty-six. After school, he got a job at Leblancs supermarket and since then he has only known one job in his life. This is largely why Raymond knew all the visitors by sight. But for Yann Leblanc, what was more important was that this guy knew every corner of the store, every rack, every product item. He could place goods on a shelf without taking his eyes off the box, and the goods would be placed with precision down to the last millimeter. The speed of servicing the trading floor at Raymonds was perfected to the point of automaticity. He alone, in a couple of hours, could complete the amount of work that three other people could do in half a day. For this reason, Yann rarely put Raymond at the checkout, knowing how much productivity he would lose on the sales floor.
How are you? Raymond asked, continuing to arrange packets of cookies.
Tolerable. And you?
The same bullshit. Socialite, where have you gone? I havent seen you for a couple of weeks?
Weeks. But not years.
Raymond smiled as he put the empty box in his cart and pulled out a new one.
So do not worry. I cant live without you Ursula said. In the end who will get me fresh yogurt, and not the two-week old trash that is on the shelf?
After these words, Raymond laughed louder, answering:
So thats why youre friends with me: just for the sake of fresh yogurt and chocolate.
What else is it for? If friends cannot bring you benefits, then they are no longer friends.
Raymond was struck by the thought that if he had seen this girl for the first time, he would have decided that she was the daughter of some Jew. But Ursula had a sense of humor that was not without sarcastic language.
The girl chatted with Raymond for some more time, after which she took the yeast and went to the checkout, where she paid and advised Cassandra to drink coffee instead of nodding off.
Ursula went out into the street and, out of habit, began to cross the sidewalk, approaching the curb. She never looked around at night because it seemed to her that she would definitely notice car headlights if they appeared. But that evening an unusual car was approaching from the right. Its headlights were too dim to be noticeable from afar. But Ursula felt the car approaching even before her eyes noticed the dim glow of the headlights. The car drove slowly along the adjacent lane. Ursula froze, as if her legs were covered with a thick layer of ice, which could not be said about her heart. It was filled with blood, pounding like crazy and was ready to explode.
Passing in front of the supermarket building, the car turned around, moving from the far lane to the near one and stopped in front of the curb opposite the supermarket, where Ursula was standing.
On any other day this would not have been strange. But that evening was unusual. Because it was the Dodge.
11. Gambler
On the day of bread and shamelessness, Carter Beckran decided, if not to indulge in sin, then at least to stop one step away from it. He bought two lottery tickets for himself and his father, thereby trying to get into a little excitement. Carter treated excitement as a kind of need and preferred to satisfy it on a harmless scale, so as not to cause significant harm to his pocket. In many ways, Saul Beckran developed this trait in his son. He was already in his seventy-second year. He was half a head shorter than Carter, with gray hair around a wide bald spot on his head, a beard that was never completely shaved, and a noticeable paunch that had begun to appear since Saul began to experience problems with his back and legs, which is why he stopped run the business, leaving everything to Carter. After retiring, Saul became interested in fishing and literature. His collection consisted of more than a thousand books in the field of history and philosophy. Saul also began to develop skills in assembling ships in glass bottles. But not all the time was spent on entertainment and hobbies. Saul was constantly looking for where and what to repair. When his youngest granddaughter had a flat tire on her bicycle, he was happy because there could be nothing better for him than restoring his granddaughters favorite toy. True, a week later Saul decided to buy a new bicycle for the girl. But over the years, the opportunity to work around the house began to narrow. The back and joints in the legs were making themselves felt more and more. He lost his wife at thirty-two to a cerebral hemorrhage. Saul endured the tragedy with difficulty. Having raised his only son, he considered his grandson and two granddaughters as a healthy compensation for separating from his wife too early. Carters wife, Giselle, became like a daughter to him. Sometimes Saul thought that his relationship with his daughter-in-law worked out from the first day due to the fact that Giselle practically did not know her father, who abandoned her mother when she was three and a half, and her mother was then still pregnant with her sister. This was partly true. Having met such a smiling and friendly father-in-law, who at every meeting hugged her like his own blood, Giselle highly appreciated this attitude and for the first time understood what paternal warmth was. The presence of her mother became something natural for her, but she never knew her fathers closeness and could hardly imagine what it was.
Since her student days, Giselle wore the same hairstyle, slightly shortening her hair, which fell about twenty centimeters below her shoulders. For all thirty-nine years, Giselles hair has not used a drop of dye, forever retaining its chestnut shade. She had large black irises, neat eyebrows with a graceful curve at the outer edge, slightly convex pinkish lips with small dimples on her cheeks and eyelashes so thick that if Giselle had become some kind of celebrity, the whole world would have forgotten about Elizabeth Taylor.
She perfectly mastered the entire list of her husbands addictions and passions and therefore, until the last moment, she tried not to distract him from the lottery, but too many dishes had accumulated after dinner and she could no longer wait: