Deeply Odd by Dean Koontz Read Free Book Online

ignorant.”
    Mrs. Fischer patted my shoulder. “Child, you’re no such thing. No one can know every word in the language. Viniculture is the study of winemaking. Penny already had some land, some vines, when she met Andy Shephorn. Every year she—they—grow the place a little more, sell another hundred cases above what they sold last year. Soon it’ll be another four hundred, then another seven hundred. State police can retire after thirty years. Then he’ll work with her in the winery. By the time they turn the place over to their kids—nine, not the eight they’re planning—the brand will be famous. They’ll have to build an entire trophy room at the winery just to display all their awards, and it’ll be their family business for generations.”
    “That’s really specific, ma’am. For a prediction, I mean.”
    “It’s not a prediction.”
    “It’s not? Then what is it?”
    “It’s what is.”
    I thought about that, but I wasn’t enlightened. “You remind me of a girl I know named Annamaria.”
    “About forty years ago, I knew an Annamaria Youdel. She was a gifted clothes designer and seamstress. She made all her own clothes. I guess she had to, considering she stood five feet two andweighed three hundred sixty pounds. She had two gold teeth right in front. She shaved her head every day and kept her eyebrows plucked. Her face was as smooth and pink and sweet as the face of a baby, though babies don’t have three chins.”
    “Different Annamaria,” I said.
    Theologians tell us that this is a fallen world, that Adam and Eve broke it when they fell from grace. Maybe you’re not a believer, but if you’re honest, you’ll have to agree that
something
is wrong with this place. Senseless violence, corrupting envy, greed, blind hatred, and willful ignorance seem to be proof that Earth has gone haywire, but so is the absurdity that we see everywhere. The people of a broken world, off the rails and wobbling trackless on their journeys to oblivion or meaning, are frequently going to be foolish, sometimes in entertaining ways. When amusing, their foolishness—and mine—can be a lamp that brightens my spirit in spite of all threats and suffering. I suspected that by the time this was done, Mrs. Fischer would leave me glowing.
    I said, “So I guess you even know how many grandchildren Mr. and Mrs. Shephorn will have.”
    “Thirty-two.”
    “How many will be girls?”
    “Eighteen.”
    I glanced away from the road. Mrs. Fischer’s smile was impish. Passing an eighteen-wheeler emblazoned with the Pepsi logo, recalling her answers to the peculiar questions that the policeman had asked, I said, “So I’ll be smoothed out and fully blue in no time.”
    “That’s right, child. You’re already remarkably advanced.”
    “What does that mean—to be smoothed out and fully blue?”
    “You’ll understand when you’re smooth and blue.”
    When I glanced at her, she winked at me again.
    I asked, “Who’s Heathcliff?”
    “Heath. My late husband. The one true love of my life. He died twenty-eight years ago this April.”
    “Officer Shephorn knew your husband was dead.”
    “Of course.”
    “But he asked if Heathcliff was ‘otherwise all right.’ ”
    “You’re an excellent listener. I like that.”
    “But then you said your husband was perfect.”
    “And he is.”
    “Dead but perfect.”
    Instead of explaining that apparent paradox, Mrs. Fischer extracted a roll of chocolate candies from her huge black purse. She said, “Treat?”
    Suddenly I felt
pulled
southward, not merely carried by the momentum of the hurtling Mercedes, but drawn by psychic magnetism. The rhinestone cowboy was no longer far ahead, and we were swiftly closing on him.

Five
----
    NO TRUCK STOP WILL EVER BE MISTAKEN FOR A FAR-FUTURE spaceport, but this one—Star Truck—had such a science-fiction feel that I would not have been much surprised if Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock had beamed down from an orbiting Starfleet retirement