“I don’t get any,” she answered honestly. “Hence the infrequently.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re here now,” he replied good naturedly.
The side hallway led to some stairs that went down to a finished basement. It was a meeting room painted white where about twenty-five to thirty people were gathered: some sitting at tables, some standing and chatting, and small children darting around here and there. Although there was no formal kitchen, a serving area was sectioned off with two long tables covered in tablecloths and several hot plates with extension cords plugged into wall sockets. On the hot plates were platters with three golden-brown turkeys, ready for carving. There were also bowls of mashed potatoes and gravy, cranberry sauce, pots of coffee, pitchers of milk and juice, plates of carrots and celery, cookies, two pumpkin pies and one apple, and a stacked collection of plates, silverware, and napkins from several homes. Over in a corner, a small radio sat on a box while the Andrews Sisters sang “Don’t Sit Under The Apple Tree With Anyone Else But Me.” It took Goldie just a couple of seconds to figure out she’d walked into a Thanksgiving potluck.
“Hang your coat on the coat rack over there, and there’s a clean apron under the serving tables,” Father Fitz instructed. “Once you’re suited up, go ahead and start carving one of the birds.”
Goldie looked around with a bemused smile, realizing that since she’d told the priest that she wasn’t the hot bun lady and that she’d already eaten, he assumed she was there to work.
“Okay, Father,” she said gamely. “You got it.”
The clergyman thanked her and went to set the box he was carrying down behind the serving tables while Goldie went to hang up her coat. As she did, she noticed some wonderful black-and-white framed photos, evenly spaced and hanging on the walls around the room. There was a photo of two young mothers waving from the front porch of one of the town’s historic houses in autumn. There was another of a young girl holding her pet cat up close to her right cheek. Still another of a grandfather and grandson walking away from the camera hand-in-hand in the woods, just as a beam of dappled sunlight struck them. They were just simple slices of life, but they were executed with Annie Leibovitz precision.
Goldie admired them for a few moments, then slipped off and hung up her coat. Next, she went over behind the serving tables and tied on an apron. She also spotted some rubber dish gloves and slipped them on, keeping her cut hand in mind. Then, she removed a turkey from a hot plate, put it on an empty plate, picked up a carving knife and fork, and started to carve it, putting the warm slices on an empty platter. It wasn’t until she was well into her carving that Sheriff Johnson noticed her. He’d been talking to an elderly woman at a table, giving her his full attention. Stu Frey had spotted her before the Sheriff, but he, too, was engaged in conversation.
Finally coming over to her, the lawman looked at her, surprised.
“Howdy.”
“Doody,” she replied.
He looked at her, not understanding.
“See, I thought we were doin’ a Marco Polo kind of thing,” she joked, knowing he had no idea what she meant. But then, she waved it off. “Never mind. Happy Thanksgiving.”
“Same to you. What’re you doing here?”
“I’m workin’,” she said, slicing some white meat off the back of the turkey. “What’reyoudoin’?”
“I heard you were having dinner with Mayor Banyan and his family.”
“I did,” she said matter-of-factly. “Now, I’m here.”
“How did you even know about this?”
“I’m a journalist with razor-sharp investigative abilities.”
Eli looked at her dubiously, so she amended her response.
“I was walkin’ home from the mayor’s and saw you, Stu, and some people comin’ into the church, and there’s squat to do back in my hotel room except count the roses in the wallpaper.”
He smiled a little. “Okay.”
“So, whatisthis?” she asked, wanting his explanation for the event.
“Some people in town don’t have much,” he explained in a slow, low voice. “Others are alone. Still others work at places like the hospital in Denver but don’t get off until late and don’t have time to prepare a meal.” He glanced around. “This dinner serves a lot of needs so nobody gets left out.”
“Including sheriffs who have to work and can’t be with their family?”
“That too,” he agreed. “It was all Stu’s idea, but me and Father Fitz hopped right onto it.”
Eli limped his way around the tables to where she was, then grabbed and tied on an apron. As he did, the young clergyman came by.
“Everything coming along all right here?” he asked.
“Just fine, Father,” the sheriff replied. “Stu will be over in a minute, and then we can start the serving line. I guess you’ve already met our illustrious writer fromAdventure Escape Magazine,eh?”
“Adventure Escape Magazine?”Father Fitz said, surprised. He looked at Goldie. “You-you mean, y-you’re not a?—”
