Goldie paused again and considered what she was hearing while Martha spooned coffee from a can into the cups, poured in the hot water, then stirred.”
“I don’t have any milk or sugar,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay… was there any evidence to suggest Bucky was run off the road?”
“No,” Martha admitted, still stirring. “There were no skid marks on the pavement or damage done to our car that suggested he was rammed from behind. But then, the car was also a mess, so how could they tell? It went off the highway at a steep embankment and rolled over several times before—” she stopped as tears filled her eyes. She set her spoon down, excused herself, then went into the bathroom to get some toilet tissue and blow her nose. While she was gone, Goldie got up and brought the filled cups over to the table. She put Martha’s cup in front of the chair where she’d been sitting.
“Sorry,” Martha said, returning about a minute later. “I still fall apart rather easily.”
“Totally understandable,” Goldie assured. “So, the cops suspect no foul play, huh?”
“No,” Martha said, shaking her head and sitting down again. “And now the house is sold. I mean, Ihadto. I was destitute.”
“Sold?” Goldie queried. “But there’s a For Sale sign in the yard.”
“Yes. It’s for sale because I sold it yesterday to Sparkledove Realty. You probably saw me bawling my eyes out on the street with the mayor.”
“Yeah, I did.”
“We’d just finished signing the paperwork at city hall. Then he put up a sign in the yard late yesterday afternoon. The bastard sure didn’t waste any time, if you’ll pardon my language.”
Goldie took a sip of her coffee. So did Martha. The two women were quiet for a few moments. Finally, Goldie asked:
“Look, it’s not any of my business, but what do you mean you were destitute? Didn’t Bucky have life insurance?”
“No. He was only thirty-eight. Everything went into the house. Like I said, we had no savings, I have no job, and we had a firstandsecond mortgage. My parents offered to help for a little while, but they live out of state. Bucky certainly didn’t come from money, so selling was my only option.”
“Well—did you at least get a good price?”
“During a war, when no one can afford to buy houses? Ha!” Martha exclaimed. “I sold it for a little over half of what we paid, even after all the improvements. That Charles Banyan, he shakes your hand in friendship with one hand while his other is reaching for your wallet. He’s a snake! I can’t believe he and Peter are even related. They’re so different. You should’ve seen the beautiful obituary Peter wrote for Bucky. It was actually more like a short story. He wrote about how everyone liked him, about how he helped the local scout troop here in town and taught boys to fly cast down at the river.” She looked around. “I’ve got a copy in the other room if you’d care to see it.”
“I would,” Goldie said.
Martha rose and got a copy ofTheSparkledove Wingfrom another room, then returned and handed it to Goldie. As the visitor read it, she agreed with Martha’s assessment. The obituary read more like a four-hundred-word compassionate short story about a local resident who was well-liked and went out of his way to be a part of the small town, instead of the gory details of his death. Goldie certainly appreciated learning more about Bucky through the obituary, but the thoughtful way it was written also made her all the more attracted to Peter Banyan.
After another twenty minutes of visiting, Goldie left the Eggleston house and stepped back outside and onto the sidewalk of Falcon Drive. She hadn’t noticed it before, but when she returned to the sidewalk, something caught her eye. Falcon Drive was a short side street with only ten houses on the street, five on each side. There was a red Sparkledove Realty For Sale sign in the front yard of the Eggleston house, but there was also another one in the yard of the house next door. There was no sign in the yard of the next house, but there was in the yard of the house after that.
Three out of five houses are for sale on the same side of the street,she thought. She didn’t know what that meant, but she didn’t think it was a mere coincidence.
Ten
CLAUDE BOLTON
It was a short walk from Martha Eggleston’s house back to River Street. Spotting the storefront office of Sparkledove Realty, Goldie decided to see if Charles Banyan was there, and without insulting him or putting his patronage at risk, see if she could learn anything more about what Martha Eggleston had claimed.
The realty office was small. It consisted of an outer office for a secretary and a larger and more richly appointed rear office, which was Banyan’s. There was also a beautiful five-foot-high Christmas tree in the front picture window of the office that Banyan, himself, was decorating with tinsel and wooden ornaments. Seeing Goldie approach from outside, he smiled warmly and gestured for her to come inside.
“Good morning, Goldie,” he greeted as she entered. “How are you?”
“Fine, Charles. How’re you?”
“Good. Say, that was a beautiful tree you and the McCaw brothers brought to town. Just beautiful. It’s nearly decorated, and we’ll have the official lighting ceremony tomorrow night. I hope the McCaw boys behaved themselves with you up in the mountains.”
“They were fine,” she replied. “And gettin’ the tree was fun.”
“Well, I’m glad you had an adventure,” he said, hanging a small wooden sled on the tree and reaching for another ornament. “I meant to tell you about it at Thanksgiving dinner. But the conversation got a little sidetracked. Peter and I push each other’s buttons sometimes.”
“It’s all good,” she assured.
