"Capron, Bill - Color Blind Detective - Color Me Dead" - читать интересную книгу автора (Capron Bill)

Another male voice said, "Who cares. Let's get this over with."

A few chimed in with a "Here, here."

John again, "Anyone against the motion to proceed?"

There was no sound, then he said, "Motion approved. I'll wait til Friday to inform Mr. X, and by Monday we'll be figuring out how to run our company."

There was no cheering, and no complaint. The cars started leaving immediately. It was Tuesday. What was I going to tell Marion?

* * * *

Marion banged the gavel at the head of the table and the conversations slowly died. I was sitting to her right. She made eye contact as her gaze traveled in a circle, then said, "I've called you here now to review the results of our analysis."

She hit the play button on the tape recorder:

"Okay guys, it's time to get this show on the road." The scuffling of chairs, shushing, the banged cup, then "I think it's time we dealt with Marion." The murmur, "I did some research, and it's quite possible that my good sister could live another five years. I don't think we want that."

All eyes at the table were focused, a few blushed their shame, but most just held hate.

When the voice responded to, "Is she going to be in pain?" with "Who cares. Let's get this over with," Marion turned fiery eyes to her aged uncle Robert.

No one even breathed as John said, "Motion approved. I'll wait til Friday to inform Mr. X, and by Monday we'll be figuring out how to run our company."

Marion hit the stop button, then turned her head again to take in the progeny of hatred. When one started to protest, she said, "Cool it, Janice." Her eyes roamed again, then her thin shoulders sagged, "All of you. Do you hate me so much." Silence. "Well, I'm going to explain a few options to you. In fact, they're not options at all, they're what I've done." Fifteen sighs sounded like a choreographed murmur.

Marion didn't look up from her notes. "I transferred fifteen million dollars to an account yesterday. That's one million for each of you. A contract on each of your lives." Fear suddenly competed with hatred on their faces. "If I die for any, any reason without turning those contracts off, two men will start killing you all, and they will get a million for each of you that dies in the first two years. If you can stay alive for two years, you can take heart in the fact that your million will benefit one of my favorite charities."

John stuttered, "But ..."

Marion interrupted, "But, nothing. From this moment on we will forget that any of this has happened, and I'm sure all of you will do your best to ensure I stay out of harm's way."

She stood up and left the room without looking back. I followed her.

* * * *

Marion died last week. She fainted going down the stairs between the two executive floors and broke her neck. The local rag described how broken up her family was, crying and tears were the order of the day, for hours. Her brother John was named acting chairman.

I spoke to her secretary, Babs, and she told me how cousin Sandra held Marion's head and pleaded, "Don't die." She said Marion whispered something, with no help from her breathless lungs. No one could make it out, but it sounded like "Thanks for the callers." But I knew, it was, "Thanks for the colors." Maybe deep down where I couldn't really see it, I was jealous, but I don't think so. I sort of think about Marion's experience as a loss of insight, a departure of the first of her senses as a stalking death overcame her.

Babs also told me the place was overrun with security people these days, and the company had paid for a fleet of sixteen bulletproof cars as well as putting home security on the company's tab. The joy of their new status, now that they actually owned their six percent, was tinged by the never-ending fear. They'd get used to it, sort of, until one of them died in an accident, or even of natural causes, then the fear would well up again. I was tempted to tell them Marion never hired any killers, that the money drawn from the account went anonymously to a charity, but in my world of black and white, bad and good, lies and truth, I didn't think they deserved that. Let them sweat, a final justice.

I am, though, a little worried that Marion did not take her shadow of death with her to the grave. Instead it divided and attached itself like leaches to her family, like a value-added inheritance. If I believed in curses, which I don't, two years from now a large oil company will be needing a new president, someone without such a well developed shadow of death.