THE CLOVERLEAF DEVELOPMENT
drooping. ‘You folks is looking at more trouble than what you know about,’ he said. ‘Ah. But. You see. Crawley Investment has determined,’ said the architect, with closed eyes, ‘that the development currently under construction will revitalize the economy of this entire region and encourage substantial expansion of the, as it were, metropolitan area.’ ‘Suppose we don’t want no expansion?’ ‘We all have to move with the times…’ ‘Why?’ Charlie’s face darkened dangerously. ‘Because the times will move without us, whether we like it or not and my goodness, I have to be moving, too, thank you for introducing me to your clientele, Red. Nice place you have here. Rustic. I imagine the Cloverleaf Development will put a little more business your way…’ The architect slid through the door as he was speaking, and smartly crossed the sidewalk to where his sleek little automobile was parked. ‘We don’t want no more business!’ Charlie hurled after him, abandoning politeness altogether. The autumn leaves swirled in spirals behind the architect’s car as it purred off down Main. ‘Overlook City is fine as it is,’ Charlie said. ‘Right, Red?’ ‘Damn straight, Charlie.’ Red swung a towel across his shoulder and returned to his position behind the bar. ‘Damn straight.’ *** The Malarkey Mansion was once the largest and easily the most magnificent dwelling in a small settlement which had evolved fairly close to Newton’s Ferry, where the east–west Complication Trail crossed the Timber River. By the time Complication Trail developed 6
THE CLOVERLEAF DEVELOPMENT
into an actual road, another settlement, pleasantly situated some thirty miles downstream between the placid west and temperamental east forks of the Timber, had become the City of Overlook and Environs. Since, in those days, travel by river invited fewer collisions with catastrophe than the overland routes, the original settlement declined and was eventually abandoned, while Overlook thrived to the point where it needed looking after. It was during this fondly remembered period of Overlook’s prosperity that Little Jack Malarkey arrived from somewhere back east in a flashy roadster, wearing a fancy vest and sporting an expensive silver watch, in search of somewhere to live and someone to marry. Little Jack soon became a popular figure in Overlook, despite the fact that he was no native and the source of his livelihood, while apparently reliable, was invisible. Ever the perfect gentleman, of which there were regrettably few examples in Overlook County, his way of sweeping off his hat when opening the door for a lady, of carelessly setting up whole rounds of drinks for the fellers to be dispensed after he had quit the Cattledrive for the night, and the happy smile with which he greeted each member of the congregation by name on Sunday mornings, turning to rapt and serious attention the instant the service began, established Jack Malarkey as an outstanding citizen whose opinions on all matters, civic and social were always inquired after and sometimes even considered. While exploring the territory in his shiny roadster, Little Jack somehow came across the old ghost town without a name up near Newton’s Ferry, buried so deep in the woods it could not be seen from Complication Trail Road. Although most of the buildings had long since collapsed and were gradually being pulled below the surface of the ground by morning glory and ivy, one house, an impressive three7
THE CLOVERLEAF DEVELOPMENT
story Victorian with a wraparound porch and extravagant gingerbread, still stood proudly and defiantly, and Jack Malarkey fell in love with it. Shortly thereafter he fell in love with Sarah Fitch, a lady notorious for being fallen in love with and for returning affection generously and who, to the incredulity of the citizens of Overlook, accepted Little Jack’s proposal of monogamous bliss in an overgrown ghost town. As the first of two daughters to be married, Sarah had her choice of inheriting the family property or the family portables. With Jack’s encouragement, Sarah chose to leave the farm to her sister Margaret and make do with the heirlooms. Jack investigated the old Victorian mansion through his contacts back east and managed to secure the house in return for only a portion, so it was said, of the Fitch family jewels. And one balmy spring afternoon Little Jack and Sarah drove from their solemn wedding ceremony the twenty-five miles along the road from Overlook to Newton’s Ferry, and five winding miles along an almost indistinguishable old dirt track which a brand-new hand-painted sign at the junction now identified as Malarkey Drive. The attendant cortege of merrymaking Overlookers was considerably surprised and agreeably impressed by the expanse of newly landscaped grounds, beyond the perimeter of which odd shapeless masses of greenery appeared to be crawling slowly through the woods. The reception, consisting of a banquet laid out on long tables arranged on trim lawns, was as lavish as promised but, as Little Jack was mortified to have to explain, the renovations to the interior of the house were not yet complete and he could allow no-one inside until the rooms were decorated to his absolute satisfaction. The guests agreed that he was such a perfectionist, and insisted that the repairs and paint job Jacky had paid for on the outside went a long way 8
THE CLOVERLEAF DEVELOPMENT
toward restoring the house to its former dignity. Most impressive of all was the long, high, professionally painted gilt-edged waterproof sign suspended from the top balcony proclaiming the couple’s new home in ornate and graceful lettering, Malarkey Mansion. The promised tour of the premises never took place. Sarah Malarkey nÊe Fitch bore a child quite soon after the marriage, a strapping boy who grew at an unanticipated rate and when old enough to attend Overlook School immediately became warrior chieftain of the playground, his position rarely being disputed. During those years Sarah was seen less and less frequently in town, and then rarely, and eventually not at all. At first, Overlookers familiar with the stories of her youth joked good-naturedly that Jack Malarkey was probably pretty smart to keep her at home, but soon a sad rumor spread throughout the district. It came to the understanding of the good citizens of Overlook that the mansion of which Little Jack Malarkey was so proud housed a great unhappiness: a wife who, for reasons shrouded in the obscurity of her own mind, confined herself for most of the hours of most of her days to a darkened bedroom on the second floor. But Jack Malarkey was generously spoken of by those who occasionally shared his table in the hotel restaurant, and the jaunty figure in the fancy vest strolling the sidewalk in the afternoons, twirling his ornamental cane, came to represent for the residents of the little town of Overlook a man ever cheerful in the face of adversity, who had made something of himself and who, despite domestic travail, had become a pillar of the community and an example to others, even if he had never done a lick of real work in his life. Consequently, when the Malarkeys disappeared from Overlook one day, leaving their small son in the care of relatives, the surprise to 9
THE CLOVERLEAF DEVELOPMENT
the citizens fueled their imaginations, and many and lurid were the tales about what had really been going on behind the fancy façade of Malarkey Mansion. More time passed – slowly, as it does in places like Overlook City, like a great bird flapping across an endless plain – and Complication Trail Road developed into a highway and finally into a full-blown four-lane freeway. An old Indian trail following the south bank of the east fork of the Timber became a blacktop running from Newton’s Ferry to the progressive town of Buckboard, and Overlook City found itself well to the side of all beaten tracks. Eventually the intersection of the Complication Freeway with Buckboard Highway became important enough to require an honest-to-God cloverleaf, with onramps and off-ramps and its own exit signs, and interest began to revive once more in the site of the original settlement which was by then – with the exception of the indomitable Malarkey Mansion – barely distinguishable from the undergrowth which had grown through, around and over it. *** ‘Hey, Red! Seen House, Red? Where’s House at?’ Red Bartender, frowning at Hank’s brash disturbance of the usually peaceful Cattledrive early evening, nodded in the direction of the pool table in the far corner. House was lying along the edge of the table with one foot scrupulously on the floor, squinting down his cue. The shaded light reflected in his smooth pink head. ‘House!’ shouted Hank, just as House made his shot. The cue ball flipped onto the floor and rolled under a table. ‘House! Get on over to the sheriff’s office. Now!’ 10