She thought for a moment. “Yeah, your dad mentioned something about a gingerbread house competition during Thanksgiving dinner.”
He smiled and picked up a Calendar of Events flier off his desk.
“Here. I guess you didn’t get one of these at the tree lighting.”
“No, I didn’t,” she admitted, embarrassed. “But thanks.”
She stuffed the flier into her overcoat pocket, then changed subjects. “Actually, I’m here because I need a favor.”
“Name it.”
“I wanna explore some of the surroundin’ area on my own and was hopin’ I could borrow your car tomorrow.”
“Sure. But I’d also be happy to be your chauffeur.”
“Thanks. But in every article I write, there’s got to be a certain element of self-discovery. Oh, I don’t mind bein’ spoon-fed stuff with a calendar of events, but there also has to be some self-exploration. Otherwise, the piece won’t read as authentic. Does that make sense?”
“Perfect sense. Okay. Just let me know what time you want it, and I’ll have it all gassed up for you. Damn the rationing,” he grinned.
“Great. Thanks, Peter.”
“So, what’re you up to for the rest of today?”
“Father Fitz is doing some photography for me, I have notes to type up from a visit to the historical society, I’ve got to call my publisher—lots of things.”
These last two items weren’t really in Goldie’s plans, but she wanted to create the illusion that she was a busy journalist with an agenda. She also wanted to slow things down with Peter and was afraid that if she said she was free for the rest of the day, he’d invite her to do something. She liked Peter. She really did. But she didn’t see the wisdom in turning up the heat on having a relationship. For now, a low simmer was fine.
Within a half hour of Goldie leaving Peter’s office, Charles called his son to meet him at Sparkledove Realty and had sent his secretary out on an errand so they could have some privacy.
“She saw everything between Horace and Alice Mason!” the senior Banyan complained, seated behind his desk. “It’s a public relations nightmare!”
“No, it’s not,” Peter assured. “She knows all towns have drama. Especially small towns. Believe me, she’s staying focused on a nice, positive article.”
“Harriettedidsay they had a good chat before all hell broke loose, but I don’t know.”
“I spoke to Goldie, and I really think you’re getting worked up over nothing.”
“What do you mean, you spoke to her?” Charles said with renewed anxiousness. “When was this?”
“Not long after Horace went to jail,” the son replied. “She stopped by my office and both Jack and I told her the Masons weren’t really news.”
“And she bought it?”
“She bought it because it’s true,” Peter reminded.
“Why was she at your office?”
“She’s a fellow journalist and was probably curious about the paper,” he shrugged. “She’s also borrowing my car tomorrow.”
“What?”Charles bellowed. “To go where? To do what?”
“Her job!” Peter answered impatiently. “Jesus Christ, relax, will you? Stop trying to manage everything.”
Peter spoke with his father for a few more minutes, trying to alleviate his concerns, but failed. After he left the realty office and returned to his own, Charles made a call from his desk. When a voice answered on the other end of the line, the mayor began with:
“Got a job I need you to do tomorrow.”
Eighteen
