“Everything all right?” she asked.
“Yeah. Just the usual guff from my ol’ man,” he downplayed. “I swear, I could win a Pulitzer Prize for literature, and he’d say: ‘What? You don’t keep it dusted?’”
She smiled, then they turned and started to meander toward the lit tree.
“Speaking of Pulitzer, that was quite a nice obituary you wrote for Bucky Eggleston.”
“You saw that?”
“Yeah. His wife showed it to me. You have a terrific sense of prose.”
“Well, thanks. I’ve read some ofyourarticles, and you’re not too bad yourself. Although who you are in person and who you are on paper seem to be two different personalities.”
“Huh. Interesting,” she replied, a little coquettish.
As they came closer to the tree, Peter pointed out some of the historical ornaments on it and their significance to the community. They talked, smiled, and sipped their hot chocolate like two people clearly attracted to one another.
Observing them from a distance was Eli Johnson. He and Goldie hadn’t spoken since she left him in a huff at the Pine River Inn, and the regret of the episode was clear on his face. He slowly leaned forward and rubbed a gloved hand up and down his bad leg that sometimes got irritated by the cold weather until he heard a voice behind him.
“Someone steal your girl?”
He turned to see white-haired Stu Frey standing there and smiling.
“Oh… hi, Stu. Uh, she’s not my girl. She’s just a lady here to do a job.”
“Looks like Peter has other intentions,”Stu observed.
Eli glanced at Goldie and Peter again. “Yeah—well—they’re both adults. I gotta go make my rounds. I’ll see ya.”
Later that evening, at about 10:40, the streets of Sparkledove were mostly clear. The Christmas tree was off, the barricades used to close off River Street had been moved, and the vendors who had brought in their trailers were buttoning up their rigs for the drive home. At the back of the corn dog trailer, Charles Banyan, Tully, and Crosby came up to the trailer’s owner.
“Good night tonight, Lou?” Banyan asked.
“Not bad, not bad,” Lou answered. He looked around to make sure no one was watching, then dipped into the pocket of his winter coat and handed Banyan a white letter-sized envelope.
“There ya are, Mr. Mayor,” Lou said. “My vendor fee for settin’ up on River Street.”
Banyan opened the envelope, ran his thumb over a stack of bills, then closed it.
“I’m afraid you’re a little light, Lou. I’m going to need another fifty.”
“Fifty dollars more?” Lou blurted, astonished. “Forwhat?”
“Proximity to the post office, hook-up to power, and we had a larger crowd than last year.”
“Yeah, but that don’t mean people bought more corn dogs. With the war, I had to pay extra for all my food staples. If you charge me an extra fifty, it will havecostme money to come here.”
“Fortunes of war,” Banyan replied. “You want to come back for other festivities, don’t you? We’ll have a new crowd of tourists for the Tour of Homes, and you can make it up then.”
“Until you charge me even more the next time.”
“Let’s see what the next time brings,” the mayor smiled. “But, for now, I’m going to need that fifty. All the other vendors kicked in extra; you should too.”
Lou looked at Banyan’s menacing associates, then shook his head, took off a glove, and dug a hand into his trouser pockets.
“This ain’t right,” he complained. “This ain’t fair at all!”
Lou produced a wad of bills, peeled most of them off, then handed them over to the dapperly dressed mayor. As this was happening, all of the men were unaware that Goldie was watching from a darkened doorway.
