“Her soul will be fine,” Stu assured. “I promise. Your family will be fine, too.”
She thought for a couple of moments.
“Are my efforts back in New York goin’ to help nail Markie? Are the diaries by themselves gonna be enough to convict?” She paused for a moment. “You know about the diaries, right? I mean, I’m assumin’ you do.”
“The diaries without your testimony won’t be enough to convict. But Bruno Carmichael left your ID with your body in the Sparkledove cemetery, and that was sloppy. Markie won’t be convicted because of the dairies, but your death begins a series of events where Markie loses his standing in the Lombardo family, and those events eventually cost him Kristen. Don’t worry, Goldie. Justice will come to Markie Santina. Bruno Carmichael, too, for that matter.”
She nodded, neither happy nor sad with the news, and looked out at the day. It was windless and overcast, as if it might snow.
“So, what do I do? How does this work?” she asked anxiously.
“Live your life,” he advised. “Just live your life. And realize I’m not going to reveal any big things to you about God, Jesus, soul swapping, or mysteries of the universe. I can’t intervene in most things, either. I’m not God, and there’s a natural order to things. What you already know, what you’ve already been given, is a tremendous gift. One that should last a lifetime. Don’t waste it, Goldie.”
“I won’t,” she promised.
“Uh, and please don’t go reciting song lyrics to people by artists who aren’t even born yet. The containment is bothersome.”
She smiled. “I’ll talk to Clara about it.”
“Between the two of you, youcoulddo a lot of good in town. You could become great friends and help champion some progressive thinking about all sorts of things. You two could help spread a lot of love, peace, and optimism.”
She looked at him, amused. “You sound like an old hippie.”
“How do you know I’m not?” he teased.
“S-so what’s goin’ on here? Did Harriette Noise recover?”
“Harriette’s going to be fine. The Banyans are still in jail, a trial date has just been set, and it could be the town will have a major new benefactor in Stephie Banyan. That is, if the tunnel you found out about has a vein as rich as Charles thought.”
Within another five minutes, they got off the highway and went into Brownsville, which was a town even smaller than Sparkledove. They arrived at a modest but nicely painted blue-and-yellow two-story wooden house on a quiet street corner. As Stu pulled over, Goldie saw Eli’s police car in the driveway.
“There you go,” he said.
She hesitated for a moment.
“What if he hates me for running out on him like Lila Hemmings?”
“Then it’s a long walk back,” Stu figured. “‘Cause I can’t hang around. It’s Christmas.”
She nodded while an idea came to Stu. He reached behind Goldie’s seat into the cab of his truck, opened a nearby ice chest behind her, pulled out a package wrapped in brown paper and tied with a string, and handed it to her.
“Here. Take this as a Christmas gift for Eli’s mom.”
“What is it?” she asked.
“Two ribeye steaks.”
She took the package and looked at it.
“You’re an angel. You couldn’t have pulled out a nice bottle of Mondavi?”
“You don’t want ‘em? Give ‘em back,” he said, holding out a hand.
“No… I’ll take ‘em… thanks.”
“Steaks are expensive these days,” he reminded. “It’s a nice gift.”
She nodded again, repeated her thanks, then climbed out of the truck as some snowflakes began to descend. She walked up a short sidewalk, then up a few steps to the front porch. As Stu drove away, she knocked.
