“Bucky’s car is a light tan color, and there’s about a three to four-inch scratch of black paint on the driver’s side door. His wheels were turned right, and the scratch is on the left. Meaning, it’s possible another vehicle went over the centerline, he swerved to avoid the oncoming vehicle, and as they passed, the other vehicle grazed Bucky’s car. That swerve could’ve been the impetus for all those rolls when he went off the road.”
She looked at him, surprised. “And the state police missed all this?”
“I went to the outpost that handled the call that night and spoke to a sergeant. He said there were a lot of things that could’ve caused the dark scratch on that door. A rock or a fallen tree limb that the car rolled over.”
“But you didn’t buy that?”
“No, ma’am. I used to work at a body shop in high school to make a little extra money, and I know black paint from another vehicle when I see it.”
“Did you tell the sergeant this?”
“Yep.”
“What’d he say?”
“He said I was young and he understood why I’d like to sink my teeth into some real police work, considering I was the sheriff of a sleepy little tourist town like Sparkledove.”
She looked intently at him for a moment.
“That’s it? That’s all he said?”
“That’s it.”
“Un-freakin’-believable!” she exclaimed. “So, he’s not doin’ nothin’?”
“The official conclusion is it was a single car accident,” he confirmed. “ButIthink there’s a good possibility another vehicle was involved. How and why, I don’t know.”
She thought for a moment. “So, what’s your next move?”
The lawman rubbed his chin. “I’m not sure Ihavea next move. The incident didn’t happen in my jurisdiction. I shared my findings with the state police and could maybe talk with Martha about ‘em. Then, she and her lawyer could pursue it if they want. Beyond that, all I can do is keep an eye open in town for a black vehicle with about a three to four-inch scratch of light-tan paint on the driver’s side. If another car was involved, it might be local. But that’s a big might.”
She pursed her lips, frustrated. “If that’s all you can do, why’d you tell me this in the first place?”
“You asked me to talk to Martha and I said I would, then I looked into things as best I could.”
She nodded, reluctantly acknowledging his efforts, but was still suspicious of him. He glanced over his shoulder back at the hotel.
“You cold? Y-you wanna cup of coffee, or hot chocolate, or something?”
“No,” she said, moving past him. “I gotta go. But thanks.”
At about 7:50 that evening, Goldie, now back in slacks and her new jacket and stocking cap, decided to go for a walk. It was snowing outside, and other than flurries, this was the first substantial snowfall she’d seen since she’d arrived in town. She wanted to be somewhere with lots of sky around her, considering she started the day in the bowels of an old mine. She’d packed a lot into this day and was tired. She wasn’t bored anymore by a lack of internet, social media, or TV.
She focused instead on trying to figure out her mission and how everything fit together. But she wasn’t focused on this at the moment. She was simply enjoying the snowflakes falling on her eyelashes, walking past the beautiful Victorian houses, and noticing how the decorations had changed from Thanksgiving to Christmas. Tomorrow was Tuesday, December 1st, and she couldn’t help but think of kids getting more and more excited with each passing day. Christmas lights on bushes or lampposts were noticeably absent because of blackout restrictions, but many houses had a lantern with a candle in their front window that matched the lanterns from the town’s Christmas tree lighting. She passed a man walking his Golden Retriever. He greeted her by name. She was embarrassed that she didn’t know him, but delighted to be in a place where people were starting to recognize her, even if it was under the guise of a journalist for a famous travel magazine.
Even though she didn’t start out heading for the covered bridge, by 8:12, that’s where her feet took her. She decided she wanted to try an experiment. She knew that Claude Bolton would appear soon, and she wanted to stand directly in front of the window which he always jumped through to see what would happen. Would he acknowledge her? Push her aside? Use the window on the other side of the bridge?What’s he gonna do?She wondered.Kill me? For all I know, I could be dead already.
As her footsteps echoed on the wooden planks, she thought about the war. With everything she had to adjust to, and her purpose in Sparkledove still unclear, the world being at war seemed like almost an afterthought. Yet, it was everywhere around her: in war bond posters hanging in shop windows, in food shortages at the grocery store, in blackout restrictions and the town’s Christmas tree and covered bridge lights being illuminated only from 6:00 to 10:00 p.m.
Within a minute of her coming to the middle of the bridge and stopping to stare out of its glassless viewing window at the beautiful snowy night, she looked left and saw Claude Bolton walk onto the bridge. He wore the same clothes he always did, had the same forlorn look, and walked straight toward the window and Goldie without giving her any recognition.
“Ay, Claude,” she called. “How’s it goin’?”
She started walking toward him. “That was probably a dumb thing to say, huh? I mean, Iknowhow it’s goin’. Andwhereyou’re goin’. Sorry, man. But I need to talk to ya. So, if you could delay your daily self-destruction for just one minute?—”
She extended her hands, intending to stop him with a hand on each shoulder. But it didn’t happen. Bolton passed right through Goldie’s body as if he were smoke. When he did, a sharp, chilling pain shot through her head like a Slurpee brain freeze. It was so overwhelming, she lost her balance and fell to her knees. But Claude Bolton just kept on walking, then did what he did every night. He stopped at the window, looked out at the view, looked down at the water, and after a few moments, raised a foot and stepped onto the windowsill.
Goldie closed her eyes, put her gloved hands on the sides of her head, and waited for the rush of cold pain to subside, which it did in another thirty seconds. During this time, she was unaware of the glare of headlights coming down Bridge Street toward her. She muttered“Shit!”as a car door opened and the silhouette of someone came running toward her.
