kept turning off last winter.
“Come on up, Maggie. I need your seal of approval.”
“Not right now, Hal.” She wished he’d stop. She felt something weird in the intensity with which he was pressing her; remembered then the look he’d got on his face when she’d gone out with him that one time. When she’d not invited him into her house for coffee. But surely she was being silly.
For just a moment her vision of him twisted, of the village twisted. There was hatred here, she thought. Hatred in her heart, hatred perhaps in Hal’s heart, and who knew where else. Her expression must have changed because Hal backed off. He turned his attention to a thin young man in a suit.
The crowd’s attention drifted away from her and Maggie might have drifted away herself, except that she noticed Joe Mangione standing near the front of the ambulance corps building. Now, there was a port in the storm. She made her way over to him.
“Thanks for coming so quickly last night,” she said.
“It’s my job,” Joe replied, his voice sounding of Boston. “Don’t forget to call 911 next time.”
“Right. Say, have you seen Peter today?”
“Nah, well, it’s only three o’clock. He’ll be up and around soon.”
“Three o’clock? Has he gotten that bad?”
“We’ve all got our demons, Mrs. Dove. Right?”
“Did he get in trouble for not calling Campbell right away?”
Mangione looked up and down the street as though Campbell might be hiding somewhere, which was laughable. The man was easily six-foot-eight. There were statues smaller than Walter Campbell, and statues with more warmth to them, Maggie suspected. He was one cold son of a gun. But he was certainly not the sort of man who lurked.
“Ah, Peter’s his own worst enemy.” Joe shook his head.
“Was he having trouble with Bender, do you know? Did they have an argument?”
Joe crossed his arms. He was so small and brave, but in this society only his smallness was noticed. He was a passionate Red Sox fan and always aggrieved about them. Even when they won, he couldn’t get the memory of their losses out of his head.
“Bender,” he said. “Now, there was a piece of work.”
“Why didn’t you like him?” Maggie asked.
“Bend-uh,” he said. “Thought he owned this town, thought he owned everything, him and his money. His mother died of a heart attack when he was a boy, so what’s he got to do? Has to make sure the village has the best emergency supplies. He donates money for the 911 system. He arranges for us all to take special certification classes. He wants the village to have New York City–caliber regulations.”
“You didn’t want that?”
Joe crossed his arms. He spit into one of the begonias the gardening club had planted in front of the firehouse. “He wanted to improve the physical capacity of the firefighters. He wanted to make the requirements more standard.”
“What do you mean?”
“He wanted a height requirement. His mother died because none of the firefighters was big enough to lift her. He wanted all firefighters to be over five-foot-ten.”
“Is that legal?”
“No. He couldn’t force the village to go along with his demands, but he wouldn’t donate his money if we didn’t comply. He gave us a month to make up our minds. We had until May first.”
He rocked back on his feet. She wondered if she’d ever seen him without his ambulance jacket on.
“The guys would never have voted you out.”
“No,” he said. “I was going to quit. I couldn’t ask them to make a sacrifice like that for me. I planned to quit today. But now it’s all over. He’s dead.”
Yet another person who hated Bender, Maggie thought. The whole village was full of people who wanted Marcus Bender dead. She shivered. Why move to a small community and then do everything you could to make people hate you? Surely that was an attitude more suited to the anonymity of the city.
Suddenly the crowd hushed, and Maggie, following the direction
“Come on up, Maggie. I need your seal of approval.”
“Not right now, Hal.” She wished he’d stop. She felt something weird in the intensity with which he was pressing her; remembered then the look he’d got on his face when she’d gone out with him that one time. When she’d not invited him into her house for coffee. But surely she was being silly.
For just a moment her vision of him twisted, of the village twisted. There was hatred here, she thought. Hatred in her heart, hatred perhaps in Hal’s heart, and who knew where else. Her expression must have changed because Hal backed off. He turned his attention to a thin young man in a suit.
The crowd’s attention drifted away from her and Maggie might have drifted away herself, except that she noticed Joe Mangione standing near the front of the ambulance corps building. Now, there was a port in the storm. She made her way over to him.
“Thanks for coming so quickly last night,” she said.
“It’s my job,” Joe replied, his voice sounding of Boston. “Don’t forget to call 911 next time.”
“Right. Say, have you seen Peter today?”
“Nah, well, it’s only three o’clock. He’ll be up and around soon.”
“Three o’clock? Has he gotten that bad?”
“We’ve all got our demons, Mrs. Dove. Right?”
“Did he get in trouble for not calling Campbell right away?”
Mangione looked up and down the street as though Campbell might be hiding somewhere, which was laughable. The man was easily six-foot-eight. There were statues smaller than Walter Campbell, and statues with more warmth to them, Maggie suspected. He was one cold son of a gun. But he was certainly not the sort of man who lurked.
“Ah, Peter’s his own worst enemy.” Joe shook his head.
“Was he having trouble with Bender, do you know? Did they have an argument?”
Joe crossed his arms. He was so small and brave, but in this society only his smallness was noticed. He was a passionate Red Sox fan and always aggrieved about them. Even when they won, he couldn’t get the memory of their losses out of his head.
“Bender,” he said. “Now, there was a piece of work.”
“Why didn’t you like him?” Maggie asked.
“Bend-uh,” he said. “Thought he owned this town, thought he owned everything, him and his money. His mother died of a heart attack when he was a boy, so what’s he got to do? Has to make sure the village has the best emergency supplies. He donates money for the 911 system. He arranges for us all to take special certification classes. He wants the village to have New York City–caliber regulations.”
“You didn’t want that?”
Joe crossed his arms. He spit into one of the begonias the gardening club had planted in front of the firehouse. “He wanted to improve the physical capacity of the firefighters. He wanted to make the requirements more standard.”
“What do you mean?”
“He wanted a height requirement. His mother died because none of the firefighters was big enough to lift her. He wanted all firefighters to be over five-foot-ten.”
“Is that legal?”
“No. He couldn’t force the village to go along with his demands, but he wouldn’t donate his money if we didn’t comply. He gave us a month to make up our minds. We had until May first.”
He rocked back on his feet. She wondered if she’d ever seen him without his ambulance jacket on.
“The guys would never have voted you out.”
“No,” he said. “I was going to quit. I couldn’t ask them to make a sacrifice like that for me. I planned to quit today. But now it’s all over. He’s dead.”
Yet another person who hated Bender, Maggie thought. The whole village was full of people who wanted Marcus Bender dead. She shivered. Why move to a small community and then do everything you could to make people hate you? Surely that was an attitude more suited to the anonymity of the city.
Suddenly the crowd hushed, and Maggie, following the direction
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