Under the Dome

on the pillow before she fell into a deep sleep.

When she woke up, she saw with panic that the shadows in her bedroom had grown long. It was late afternoon. And Horace! He would’ve wet in some corner and would give her his most shame-faced look, as though it were his fault instead of hers.

She slipped on her sneakers, hurried into the kitchen, and found her Corgi not by the door, whining to go out, but peacefully asleep on his blanket bed between the stove and the refrigerator. There was a note on the kitchen table, propped up against the salt and pepper shakers.

3 PM

Julia

—

Pete F. and I collaborated on the supermarket story. It ain’t great, but will be when you put your stamp on it. The pix you got aren’t bad, either. Rommie Burpee came by & says he still has plenty of paper, so we’re OK on that score. Also says you need to write an editorial about what happened. “Totally unnecessary,” he said. “And totally incompetent. Unless they wanted it to happen. I wouldn’t put it past that guy, and I don’t mean Randolph.” Pete and I agree that there should be an editorial, but we need to watch our step until all the facts are known. We also agreed that you needed some sleep in order to write it the way it needs to be written. Those were suitcases under your eyes, boss! I’m going home to spend some time with my wife & kids. Pete’s gone to the PD. Says “something big” has happened, and he wants to find out what.

Tony G.

PS! I walked Horace. He did all his business.

Julia, not wanting Horace to forget she was a part of his life, woke him up long enough for him to gobble half a Beggin’ Strip, then went downstairs to punch up the news story and write the editorial Tony and Pete were suggesting. Just as she was starting, her cell rang.

“Shumway, Democrat. ”

“Julia!” It was Pete Freeman. “I think you better get down here. Marty Arsenault’s on the desk and he won’t let me in. Told me to wait out-goddam-side! He’s no cop, just a dumb pulp-jockey who picks up a little side-money directing traffic in the summertime, but now he’s acting like Chief Big Dick of Horny Mountain.”

“Pete, I’ve got a ton of stuff to do here, so unless—”

“Brenda Perkins is dead. So are Angie McCain, Dodee Sanders—”

“What?” She stood up so suddenly her chair tipped over.

“—and Lester Coggins. They were killed. And get this—Dale Barbara’s been arrested for the murders. He’s in jail downstairs.”

“I’ll be right there.”

“Ahh, fuck,” Pete said. “Here comes Andy Sanders, and he’s cryin his goddam eyes out. Should I try for a comment, or—”

“Not if the man lost his daughter three days after losing his wife. We’re not the New York Post. I’ll be right there.”

She broke the connection without waiting for a reply. Initially she felt calm enough; she even remembered to lock up the office. But once she was on the sidewalk, in the heat and under that tobacco-stained sky, her calm broke and she began to run.

20

Joe, Norrie, and Benny lay twitching on the Black Ridge Road in sunlight that was too diffuse. Heat that was too hot blared down on them. A crow, not in the least suicidal, landed on a telephone wire and gazed at them with bright, intelligent eyes. It cawed once, then flapped away through the strange afternoon air.

“Halloween,” Joe muttered.

“Make them stop screaming,” Benny groaned.

“No sun,” Norrie said. Her hands groped at the air. She was crying. “No sun, oh my God, there’s no more sun.”

At the top of Black Ridge, in the apple orchard that overlooked all of Chester’s Mill, a brilliant mauve light flashed.

Every fifteen seconds, it flashed again.

21

Julia hurried up the police station steps, her face still puffy from sleep, her hair standing up in back. When Pete made to fall in beside her, she shook her head. “Better stay here. I may call you in when I get the interview.”

“Love the positive thinking, but don’t hold your breath,” Pete said. “Not long after Andy showed up, guess who?” He pointed at the Hummer parked in front of a fire hydrant. Linda Everett and Jackie Wettington were standing near it, deep in conversation. Both women looked seriously freaked out.

Inside the station, Julia was first struck by how warm it was—the air-conditioning had been turned off, presumably to save juice. Next, by the number of young men who were sitting around, including two of the God- knew-how-many Killian brothers—there was no mistaking those long beaks and bullet heads. The young men all seemed to be filling out forms. “What if you didn’t have no last place of employment?” one asked another.

There was tearful shouting from downstairs: Andy Sanders.

Julia headed toward the ready room, where she had been a frequent visitor over the years, even a contributor to the coffee-and donuts fund (a wicker basket). She had never been stopped before, but this time Marty Arsenault said, “You can’t go back there, Miz Shumway. Orders.” He spoke in an apologetic, conciliatory voice he probably had not used with Pete Freeman.

Just then Big Jim Rennie and Andy Sanders came up the stairs from what Mill PD officers called the Chicken Coop. Andy was crying. Big Jim had an arm around him and was speaking soothingly. Peter Randolph came behind them. Randolph’s uniform was resplendent, but the face above it was that of a man who has barely escaped a bomb-blast.

“Jim! Pete!” Julia called. “I want to talk to you, for the Democrat!”

Big Jim turned around long enough to give her a glance that said people in hell wanted icewater, too. Then he began leading Andy toward the Chief’s office. Rennie was talking about praying.

Julia tried to bolt past the desk. Still looking apologetic, Marty grabbed her arm.

She said, “When you asked me to keep that little altercation with your wife last year out of the paper, Marty, I did. Because you would have lost your job otherwise. So if you’ve got an ounce of gratitude in you, let me go. ”

Marty let her go. “I tried to stop you but you wouldn’t listen,” he muttered. “Remember that.”

Julia trotted across the ready room. “Just a damn minute,” she said to Big Jim. “You and Chief Randolph are town officials, and you’re going to talk to me.”

This time the look Big Jim gave her was angry as well as contemptuous. “No. We’re not. You have no business back here.”

“But he does?” she asked, and nodded to Andy Sanders. “If what I’m hearing about Dodee is right, he’s the last person who should have been allowed downstairs.”

“That sonofabitch killed my precious girl!” Andy bawled.

Big Jim jabbed a finger at Julia. “You’ll get the story when we’re ready to give it out. Not before.”

“I want to see Barbara.”