“I’m sorry, I don’t have coffee or a soda to offer you,” he said, hanging another ornament. “My girl called in sick this morning, and I wanted to get this tree decorated. I know most people don’t do their tree trimming until closer to Christmas, but the holidays mean big revenue for the town. So, everyone hops right into Christmas after Thanksgiving.”
“No problem. I actually just had coffee with a new acquaintance, Martha Eggleston.”
The mayor paused, seeming concerned, but then recovered, smiled, and picked up another ornament from a box.
“Oh? How is Martha today? She’s had a pretty rough time of it as you’ve probably heard.”
“Her emotions are fragile,” Goldie agreed.
“How do you know Martha?” he asked, hanging the next ornament.
“Actually, we met at St. Mark’s. When Peter walked me home after dinner at your place, I saw some people goin’ into the church, thought there might be an evenin’ service, and went back there to check it out.”
“I see,” Banyan said. “It’s very sad what happened to her husband.”
“And likewise sad she’s so financially strapped.”
“She told you about that, huh?”
“Allabout it,” Goldie confirmed.
“Well,” Banyan shrugged, “she’s not as strapped as she used to be. This company just bought her house yesterday. So, come Monday, she can go to the bank and have access to funds. I’m also allowing her to stay in the house rent-free through the holidays. So, she’ll have plenty of time to make new plans.”
“Yes,” Goldie agreed. “But I’m sureyoudid well on the deal, too.”
“Not right now,” Banyan chuckled, reaching for a little wooden fire truck. “The housing market is very slow, and now I’m in charge of its upkeep. But we can’t have Martha out on the streets. And that’s where she was headed had I not stepped in and offered to buy her place.”
“She tells a little different story about you coming to her rescue,” Goldie replied, realizing she was taking a bit of a chance and upsetting her host.
“I’m sure she does,” Banyan replied, hanging the truck ornament and apparently unfazed. He looked out the window and saw a couple walking across the street. The man of the couple was the one in the red bathrobe that Goldie had run into a couple of times outside of her hotel room door. “C’mere. I want to show you something.”
Goldie stepped over to the window as he pointed to the pair.
“See that couple? They’re from Fort Collins. They come here every year for a week or so. They have a nice Thanksgiving dinner at the Sparkledove Arms, shop, take a scenic train ride, and maybe take a couple of evening walks to the covered bridge. Kicking off their holiday season in Sparkledove has become their tradition. Over the next four weeks, hundreds of other families will do the same. Christmas is our biggest money-making time of the year, Goldie. Eli Johnson’s family brought him here when he was a boy, and Bucky and Martha Eggleston likewise fell in love with the town during our Christmas season. And it’s not just the mountains or the quaint stores on River Street that keep bringing people back. It’s also the Victorian homes and how wonderfully they’re preserved. It’s tradition. Continuity.
“But those homes require a lot of maintenance. This is harsh country. The elements are tough on structures. Everyone who buys a historic house in Sparkledove consents to live under conditions set by the historical society. Homeowners have a responsibility to their properties as well as monthly dues. Dues, incidentally, that are paying for your room and meals. As both president of the historical society and mayor, I suppose I’m the enforcer of those responsibilities and dues. Over time, some people may become a little resentful of my role. I understand that. But let’s also keep things in perspective. Martha and Bucky agreed to the terms of the historical society. Nobody prevented Martha from working and bringing in a second income except her husband, and Bucky chose not to protect his wife with life insurance. So, once again, my buying the house from Martha really actually saved her skin.”
Goldie had to admit, Banyan made a persuasive argument. But some things still didn’t sit well with her. Martha Eggleston’s resentment of him was pretty strong, suggesting maybe he’d badgered her and her husband. Lupe’s comment of, “You don’t know Señor Banyan,” also stuck out in her mind. Then there was the way he and Peter had fought over almost everything at Thanksgiving dinner. Her years with Markie had taught her to smell hidden intentions from a mile away, and although she wasn’t sure why, Charles Banyan was beginning to stink to her.
As she was leaving the realty office, Eli Johnson drove down the street and pulled up next to her in his Ford sedan. He beeped his horn, which caused her to stop and turn. He smiled and rolled down his window.
“Howdy,” he said.
She waited for him to say something more, but then realized he expected her to greet him. “Howdy,” she replied, a little impatiently and tiring of his Roy Rogers routine.
“Got a second?”
“Sure.”
“Hop in.”
She rounded the cruiser and climbed in on the passenger side.
“What’s up, Dick Tracy?” she began.
“I did what you asked. Looked back at the incident reports, and therewassomeone who jumped off the covered bridge and committed suicide. Happened about five years ago.”
“Really?”
