SALEM'S LOT XXVII / BEN (IV)
“I doubt that. You don’t want to forget that only one person has actually seen anything.” “Hardly the town drunk.” “He’d be crucified if a story like this got out,” Jimmy said. “By whom? Not by Pauline Dickens, that’s for sure. She’s ready to start nailing hex signs on her door.” “In an era of Watergate and oil depletion, she’s an exception,” Jimmy said. They drove the rest of the way without conversation. Green’s Mortuary was at the north end of Cumberland, and two hearses were parked around back, between the rear door of the nondenominational chapel and a high board fence. Jimmy turned off the ignition and looked at Ben. “Ready?” “I guess.” They got out. The rebellion had been growing in her all afternoon, and around two o’clock it burst its bonds. They were going at it stupidly,
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