He checked the report again as Claude Bolton arrived at the viewing window and looked out at the river.
“Thirty-six,” he replied.
“And which side did he jump off?”
Eli clicked off his flashlight, then turned and used it as a pointer while Bolton was stepping up onto the windowsill. There was no possible way the lawman could miss seeing him. Unless he couldn’t see him.
“The downriver side,” he answered.
It was at this precise moment that Goldie realized something she suspected but didn’t know for sure until now. Claude Bolton was committing suicide every night at the exact same time that he’d originally committed suicide five years earlier. Furthermore, no one in Sparkledove could see his routine of misery. No one except her. That’s why she needed Eli Johnson on the bridge at this precise moment: to verify she was the only one who saw him.
Having lived with Markie for years and also having found herself in dozens of situations where she had to conceal her emotions and be as cool as a cucumber, Goldie’s green eyes shifted from Bolton silently falling through the window back to Eli.
“As you know, I write for a travel magazine,” she said. “I like my job. I’m grateful to have it, and I’ll write a wonderful story about Sparkledove that’ll be everythin’ your mayor is payin’ for. But there’s always been this other part of me that wants to do investigative journalism. Crime stories, or maybe a war correspondent. The thing is, there aren’t opportunities like that for women. So, when I saw the bridge with its open windows, I played a hunch. And since my hunch was right, I wanted to be here at the time of his death to sort of—I guess—feel Claude Bolton’s desperation. Try to understand it. Especially since none of his friends or family know what happened to him. Does that make sense?”
Goldie could lie with the best of them. But, in all fairness to her, what else could she say? She didn’t know why she could see something nobody else could see, but she felt like she was on some kind of mystical mission. A mission she had to figure out.
Eli’s blue eyes gazed into hers, and he nodded a little.
“Sure. I get that, I guess.” He hesitated for a moment, then asked: “You, uh, you maybe want to go get a drink?”
“Is this in your official capacity as sheriff?” she asked.
“No, ma’am. Uniform’s off,” he replied.
She, likewise, hesitated before answering, but then smiled slightly.
“Okay, copper. Let’s go.”
Eleven
THE PINE RIVER INN
The Pine River Inn was another hotel in town that was smaller than the Sparkledove Arms, but it had a full bar next to its restaurant, so it was every bit as popular. The walls of Pine River’s bar were pine logs, and mounted animals sat on wooden perches, staring down at customers. A mountain lion here, a horned ram there, and a moose head with Christmas tinsel hanging from its antlers behind the bar. The place was pretty busy, and Eli and Goldie got the last available booth. She ordered a whiskey on the rocks, and he ordered a beer.
“Since you’re missin’ dinner with your folks, go ahead and order somethin’ if you’re hungry,” Goldie offered.
“I made a sandwich at my apartment,” he said. “But if you’re hungry?—”
“No. I ate at my hotel.”
He nodded, and they were quiet for a moment. Finally, Goldie asked:
“So, your boss, the mayor, you like him?”
“He hired me, so sure.”
“And you’re the only cop in town?”
“Yeah. As you may’ve noticed, Sparkledove isn’t exactly a hotbed of crime. It’s actually more of a PR job.”
“And the guy you replaced?”
“Jason Shirk. He passed away after a heart attack. I never met him, but from what I understand, he had a great background as a lawman. He was a state trooper before he came to Sparkledove.
“And Banyan just hired you out of the blue?”
“Well, I did have military training, I’m pretty good with a weapon, plus, I’m taking a correspondence course in law enforcement.”
