“You mean, you’re not even a real cop? You’re a pretend cop?”
“No. I’m a real sheriff. But I’m trying to improve myself by learning more. Nothing wrong with that, is there?”
“No,” she said. “‘Course not. I’m just surprised.”
The waitress brought their drinks. After she left, Goldie took a sip, nodded her approval, then changed directions. “Did you ever investigate Bucky Eggleston’s death?”
He looked at her, surprised. “Bucky Eggleston? How do you know about—” Then he remembered. “Oh, Martha. She was at the potluck dinner.”
“And I had coffee with her today,” she added.
“Uh, no. I wasn’t involved in the investigation,” he answered, sipping his beer. “The state police handled that.”
“What’d they say?”
“He fell asleep and went off the road on an embankment. His car rolled over several times, and he was killed. Very tragic, but pretty cut and dry.”
“Have you spoken to Martha about it? She thinks otherwise.”
“What does she think happened?”
“She thinks he didn’t fall asleep. She thinks there’s more to the story, and she might have good reason to believe that. You should talk to her.”
“You saying it was foul play, or something?”
“I’m sayin’, you should talk to Martha, and don’t discount a woman’s intuition.”
He thought for a moment and took another sip of beer. “Okay. I will.”
She likewise took another sip of her whiskey on the rocks, then continued:
“I also wanted to ask you about the road at the end of the covered bridge. It goes up into the woods, but there’s a fence and a gate that says, ‘No Trespassing.’”
“It leads up to the old Maynard Silver Mine,” he nodded. “It was the biggest mine in town back in the day. There’s the mine itself, an office, even a house where the director of operations used to live. They say it used to be every bit as nice as some of the homes here in town, but it’s all dilapidated now.”
“Why is the area fenced off?” she asked.
“Safety. The main mine entrance leads into dozens of tunnels and can go down a quarter of a mile into the mountain. The entrance is sealed off, but you know how tourists or kids can be. If someone got in there, they might never find their way out, and the town doesn’t have the resources for a search and rescue. Then there’s the buildings. Like I said, they’re falling apart. It’s too much of a temptation for wannabe explorers, so the entire area is fenced off.”
“Can I go up there?”
“What? No. I just told you, it’s dangerous.”
“Yeah, but the mining history of the town is part of what makes Sparkledove, Sparkledove.”
“No, Goldie,” he insisted, taking another sip of beer. “The mayor’s got pretty strict instructions about that.”
“Aw, pleeease,” she said, batting her green eyes. “I mean, if the big, strong, handsome sheriff goes with me…”
“Look, I’ve only been up there twice myself. There’s nothing to learn that you can’t learn at the historical society. The mine was played out and abandoned years ago. End of story.”
Goldie shrugged and took another sip of her drink while glancing around the busy bar. As she did, Eli looked her over.
“You, uh, you don’t like your job very much, do you?”
“What do ya mean?
“I mean, you seem to be more interested in sensational things: people jumping off bridges, car accidents that you suspect might not be accidents?—”
