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She took the ring out of her blouse pocket and dropped it into his hand。
Ben turned it over； then tilted it toward the window to let the light pick out the initials。 'MCR。 Mike Ryerson？'
'Mike Corey Ryerson。 I dropped it and then made myself pick it up again…I thought you or Matt would want to see it。 You keep it。 I don't want it back。'
'It makes you feel…？'
'Bad。 Very bad。' She raised her head defiantly。 But all rational thought goes against this； Ben。 I'd rather believe that Matt somehow murdered Mike Ryerson and invented that crazy vampire story for reasons of his own。 Rigged the screen to fall off。 Did a ventriloquist act in that guest room while I was downstairs； planted Mike's ring…'
'And gave himself a heart attack to make it all seem more real；' Ben said dryly。 'I haven't given up hope of rational explanations； Susan。 I'm hoping for one。 Almost praying for one。 Monsters in the movies are sort of fun； but the thought of them actually prowling through the night isn't fun at all。 I'll even grant you that the screen could have been rigged…a simple rope sling anchored on the roof would do the trick。 Let's go further。 Matt is something of a scholar。 I suppose there are poisons that would cause the symptoms that Mike had…maybe undetectable poisons。 Of course； the idea of poison is a little hard to believe because Mike ate so little…'
'You only have Matt's word for that；' she pointed out。
'He wouldn't lie； because he would know that an examination of the victim's stomach is an important part of any autopsy。 And a hypo would leave tracks。 But for the sake of argument； let's say it could be done。 And a man like Matt could surely take something that would fake a heart attack。 But where is the motive？'
She shook her head helplessly。
'Even granting some motive we don't suspect； why would he go to such Byzantine lengths； or invent such a wild cover story？ I suppose Ellery Queen could explain it somehow； but life isn't an Ellery Queen plot。'
'But this 。 。 。 this other is lunacy； Ben。'
'Yes； like Hiroshima。'
'Will you stop doing that' she whipcracked at him suddenly。 'Don't go playing the phony intellectual！ It doesn't fit you！ We're talking about wives' tales； bad dreams； psychosis； anything you want to call it…'
'That's shit；' he said。 'Make connections。 The world is ing down around our ears and you're sticking at a few vampires。'
〃Salem's Lot is my town；' she said stubbornly。 'If something is happening there； it's real。 Not philosophy。'
'I couldn't agree with you more；' he said； and touched the bandage on his head with a rueful finger。 'And your ex packs a hell of a right。'
'I'm sorry。 That's a side of Floyd I never saw。 I can't understand it。'
'Where is he now？'
'In the town drunk tank。 Parkins Gillespie told my mom he should turn him over to the county … to Sheriff McCaslin； that is…but he thought he'd wait and see if you wanted to prefer charges。'
'Do you have any feelings in the matter？'
'None whatever；' she said steadily。 'He's out of my life。'
'I'm not going to。'
She raised her eyebrows。
'But I want to talk to him。'
'About us？'
'About why he came at me wearing an overcoat； a hat； sunglasses and Playtex rubber gloves。'
'What？'
'Well；' he said； looking at her； 'the sun was out。 It was shining on him。 And I don't think he liked that。'
They looked at each other wordlessly。 There seemed to be nothing else on the subject to say。
5
When Nolly brought Floyd his breakfast from the Excellent Café； Floyd was fast asleep。 It seemed to Nolly that it would be a meanness to wake him up just to eat a couple of Pauline Dickens's hard…fried eggs and five or six pieces of greasy bacon； so Nolly disposed of it himself in the office and drank the coffee； too。 Pauline did make nice coffee you could say that for her。 But when he brought in Floyd's lunch and Floyd was still sleeping and still in the same position； Nolly got a little scared and set the tray on the floor and went over and banged on the bars with a spoon。
'Hey！ Floyd！ Wake up； I got y'dinner。'
Floyd didn't wake up； and Nolly took his key ring out of his pocket to open the drunk…tank door。 He paused just before inserting the key。 Last week's' Gunsmoke' had been about a hard guy who pretended to be sick until he jumped the turnkey。 Nolly had never thought of Floyd Tibbits as a particularly hard guy； but he hadn't exactly rocked that Mears guy to sleep。
He paused indecisively； holding the spoon in one hand and the key ring in the other； a big man whose open…throat white shirts always sweat…stained around the armpits by noon of a warm day。 He was a league bowler with an average of 151 and a weekend bar…hopper with a list of Portland red…light bars and motels in his wallet right behind his Lutheran Ministry pocket calendar。 He was a friendly man； a natural fall guy； slow of reaction and also slow to anger。 For all these not inconsiderable advantages； he was not particularly agile on his mental feet and for several minutes he stood wondering how to proceed； beating on the bars with the spoon； hailing Floyd； wishing he would move or snore or do something。 He was just thinking he better call Parkins on the citizen's band and get instructions when Parkins himself said from the office doorway：
'What in hell are you doin'； Nolly？ Callin' the hogs？'
Nolly blushed。 'Floyd won't move； Park。 I'm afraid that maybe he's 。 。 。 you know； sick。'
'Well； do you think beatin' the bars with that goddamn spoon will make him better？' Parkins stepped by him and unlocked the cell。
'Floyd？' He shook Floyd's shoulder。 'Are you all r…'
Floyd fell off the chained bunk and onto the floor。
'Goddamn；' said Nolly。 'He's dead； ain't he？'
But Parkins might not have heard。 He was staring down at Floyd's uncannily reposeful face。 The fact slowly dawned on Nolly that Parkins looked as if someone had scared the bejesus out of him。
'What's the matter； Park？'
'Nothin'；' Parkins said。 'Just 。 。 。 let's get out of here。' And then； almost to himself； he added： 'Christ； I wish I hadn't touched him。'
Nolly looked down at Floyd's body with dawning horror。
'Wake up；' Parkins said。 'We've got to get the doctor down here。'
6
It was midafternoon when Franklin Boddin and Virgil Rathbun drove up to the slatted wooden gate at the end of the Burns Road fork； two miles beyond Harmony Hill Cemetery。 They were in Franklin's 1957 Chevrolet pickup； a vehicle that had been Corinthian ivory back in the first year of Ike's second term but which was now a mixture of shit brown and primer…paint red。 The back of the truck was filled with what Franklin called Crappie。 Once every month or so； he and Virgil took a load of Crappie to the dump； and a great deal of said Crappie consisted of empty beer bottles； empty beer cans； empty half…kegs； empty wine bottles； and empty Popov vodka bottles。
'Closed；' Franklin Boddin said； squinting to read the sign nailed to the gate。 'Well I'll be dipped in shit。' He took a honk off the bottle of Dawson's that had been resting fortably against the bulge of his crot