“St. Louis?” Markie exclaimed, surprised. “She don’t know no one in St. Louis. The closest she’s ever been to St. Louis is drinkin’ a Budweiser.”
“Yeah, well, this is the wildest goose chaseI’veever been on,” the enforcer said,disgruntled.
“You keepin’ your distance?”
“Yeah. The new tracker’s workin’ great. I’m keepin’ at least a mile behind her.”
“She showin’ any signs of reachin’ a destination?” Markie asked.
“No. She just goes on endlessly like NCIS.”
Markie thought for a moment. “Why would she be drivin’ across country? Wait—wait a minute—that aunt of hers in Las Vegas. Five will get ya ten that’s where she’s goin’. Hell, I even suggested she might want to make a new start out there. But I want the damn diaries!”
“She’s probably got the diaries with her,” Bruno concluded.
“Maybe. But what if she don’t? What if she lied to Corning about bein’ able to easily access the diaries and she took ‘em out to her aunt’s for safekeepin’ after her uncle died? You stop her now, and we might never get ‘em.”
“I stop her now permanently, and it don’t matter.”
“Sure it does. What if somethin’ happens to Goldie, then the diaries materialize? Through her aunt? Or a friend? She’s too smart to leave ‘em with her mom, sister, or father. Naw, we gotta let this play out.”
“She betrayed you, man!” Bruno reminded.
“No. Shethreatenedto, but changed her mind.”
“Doesn’t matter, Markie. After everything you offered her—the apartment, the cash, the car, payin’ her medical expenses, she betrayed you by callin’ Corning.”
“You don’t know women, man,” Markie said. “Goldie’s still pissed about Kristen, but she’s not an idiot. I’m not gonna burn her just because she’s hurt and wants a fresh start. But Idowanna see those diaries. So, just play your favorite road tunes, keep followin’, and keep me posted.”
It was now Saturday, December 22nd, and Goldie was headed for Sparkledove. She knew nobody in town would recognize her, but she wanted to return to a place where she was once known, liked, and made smart choices. She didn’t expect to see Stu Frey again, but she hoped to kneel in a pew at St. Mark’s and maybe feel closer to God. She couldn’t return to 1942, but since she’d seen the town online and knew that many things were still the same, she felt like she was going home.
She finally arrived in the late afternoon on Sunday, December 23rd. She tried to check into the former Sparkledove Arms, now called the Silver Dollar, but there were no vacancies. It was odd being back in the same building. The lobby area was very contemporary, and the Christmas tree in it was small and filled with LED lights that were hard on the eyes. The registration counter was where the restaurant used to be, and the area where the 1940s registration counter and back office once were was now a gift shop. She found a room at a LaQuinta Inn just off Highway 70, where the community center once stood, and felt happy but sad at the same time.
By 8:10 p.m., Goldie had driven down Bridge Street, parked, and was walking toward the covered bridge. There was no seasonal roping affixed to its sides, and the three overhead lights that once lit the interior were gone. But the glassless viewing windows were still there, and there were still candles in most of the windows of the houses on Bridge Street, although they were electric. There was only a light dusting of snow on the ground, so there weren’t any horse-drawn sleighs, but she did see a group of young carolers going from door to door. She heard them from a distance as she walked onto the bridge and stood at the window where Claude Bolton killed himself. She looked out at the same beautiful view of the river, starry sky, and the mountains of eight decades ago and prayed: “Dear Lord, thank you for givin’ me the guts to leave New York and do what I did with the diaries. Maybe it won’t make much of a difference in the grand scheme of things, but it was the right thing to do. By the way, even though I’ve read December 25this more of a ceremonial date than the real thing—happy birthday.”
Just then, she heard something and suddenly turned toward Bridge Street. At first, she thought it might have been Claude Bolton, but it was just a man walking his dog.
The following morning, December 24th, Goldie slept in late. She took a shower with a plastic bag over her cast, then put on a turtleneck with a cut sleeve for her cast, some Merrell boots, and a down vest. Taking a stocking cap and gloves, she decided to get thoroughly reacquainted with Sparkledove. She began at Clara’s Gifts, which was now a Starbucks. Then, she walked up and down both sides of River Street, examining the stores. The sidewalks were busy with last-minute shoppers, and she was delighted to see that the stores still catered to tourists. She was likewise pleased to see a tall community Christmas tree standing once again in the brick courtyard of the post office. She went into Miller’s General Store, now called Sparkledove Mercantile, and looked around. She inquired about the Miller family, but the store manager was young and unfamiliar with the people who started the original business. Goldie then asked if he was taking employment applications, and, liking her looks, he said he was. So, she spent some time filling out an application with bogus information she hoped wouldn’t be checked. Next, she went a few blocks over to St. Mark’s Catholic Church. It looked exactly the same, except the nativity that had once been in the front yard was now replaced with a glass-enclosed sign that had a listing of services. The church was locked, but there was a 7:00 p.m. Christmas Eve Mass, and Goldie decided she’d attend. After that, she walked down Falcon Drive. All of the houses looked pretty much the same and were beautifully decorated for the holidays, but the old Eggleston house had been remodeled on the inside to accommodate multiple apartments, and there was an “Apartment For Rent” sign in the window. She knocked on the front door, met the current owner, and took a tour of a one-bedroom apartment on the second floor. She really liked it but said she wanted to look around and see what else might be available, and informed the owner she’d follow up with him after Christmas.
Wherever Goldie went on this Christmas Eve, Bruno was watching her from a distance. He’d seen her the previous night strolling on the covered bridge. He saw her filling out what looked like a job application through the front window of the Sparkledove Mercantile. He observed her going into a house on Falcon Drive where an “Apartment for Rent” sign was in one of the front windows. It seemed to him that Goldie was not headed for Las Vegas but had already reached her destination, although he had no idea why it was Sparkledove, Colorado. He had tried to call Markie the evening before, but the call went straight to voicemail. He had tried several more times this day, but the attempts likewise went to voicemail. He didn’t know what to do. But he had convinced himself that Goldie had the diaries, and he was going to get them.
Finally, a little after 4:00 p.m., just as things were starting to get dark in town from the sun setting behind the mountains, Bruno’s cell phone rang. It was a number he immediately recognized.
“Hello?” he said formally.
“Bruno? It’s Frank Lombardo. How are ya?”
Frank was head of the Lombardo family, Markie and Bruno’s boss, and the final word on all operations in New York.
“I’m fine, Frank,” Bruno said. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Listen, I know you’re doin’ some last-minute shoppin’ today, but you need to finish it up.” He was speaking in a type of code because he knew how easily cell phone calls could be monitored.
“Has somethin’ happened?” Bruno asked.
“Yeah. Markie’s been arrested by the DA’s office. Our attorneys don’t think they can hold him for long, and that the evidence is circumstantial, but you never know. As a friend, I’m sure he’d appreciate you bein’ here for moral support. We all would. So, finish things up, will ya?”
“Yeah, Frank. Sure. I just got one more thing to check off my list, and then I’ll come see ya.”
