“No?”
“No. Señor Banyan may have done something very wrong, and I’m tryin’ to get to the bottom of it. You once said: I don’t know him. But I’m tryin’ to learn. So, no. I don’t want to tell them. But Idoappreciate you tellin’ me. How did you learn about this?”
“I was working late at the Banyans in the basement and heard men talking in the kitchen.”
“These two men. Were their names Tully and Crosby?”
“I don't know.”
“Were they in their forties? Muscular. One has red hair and a mustache?”
“Si. These are bad men, I think.”
“I think so, too. Listen, let’s keep this between you and me. It’s our secret. Don’t tell Stephie, Peter, or anyone about what you heard. It’sreallyimportant, Lupe. Okay?”
“Okay, Señorita Goldie. I promise. Our secret!”
Twenty-Three
MISSED NEARNESS
Forty minutes later, as the band was playing a spot-on rendition of “I’ve Got A Gal In Kalamazoo,” Goldie was slowly walking by and examining each gingerbread house lined up on the tables. She carried a little pad and pencil that she’d taken out of her purse before she checked it with her overcoat at the coat check. She really didn’t need to take notes, but it made her look like an official judge. As she paused and looked at each offering, some contestants stood nearby and watched her anxiously, which made her feel self-conscious.
While she judged, a dressed-up Clara and Stu Frey were also watching her from a distance.
“I’m telling you there’s something off about her,” Clara confided.
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t get me wrong,” Clara qualified. “I like Goldie, okay? But when she first got to town, she didn’t seem to know where she was, or the month, or the year. Then, another time, she came into the store, and I mentioned I’d just been reading about the Sullivan boys. You know who I’m talking about?”
“Sure. The five brothers who went down on the Juneau.”
“She didn’t know that. I mean, sheactedlike she did. But she didn’t. It was obvious.”
“Not everyone keeps up with the news, Clara,” Stu suggested. “It’s mostly depressing.”
“Yeah, but she’s a journalist,” Clara noted. “She didn’t know that a brass works would make munitions. She didn’t know Mount Elbert was the tallest mountain in the state, yet she’s in Colorado writing for a travel magazine. It’s like—she’s totally disconnected with what’s going on.”
The big man thought for a moment, then queried, “Who’s having the best Christmas season? Sears & Roebuck, Woolworth’s, or Macy’s?”
“What? I-I don’t know that.”
“Gee, Clara,” he smiled. “But you’re a retailer.”
She looked at him and pursed her lips but got the point.
After Goldie had carefully examined all of the entries and made the last of her notes, a woman approached her. She was blonde and in her mid-fifties. She was naturally attractive, carried a small black patent leather purse with handles, and wore a nice but inexpensive dress with a cardigan draped over her shoulders. She was naturally attractive, wore little make-up, and looked like someone Goldie had already met, but she couldn’t place
“Miss Maraschino?” she began.
“Call me Goldie.”
“I’m Mary Louise Johnson,” she said, extending a hand. “Eli’s mother. We’re from Brownsville, about eight miles away.”
“Oh, hey!” Goldie smiled, now realizing why she looked familiar. “So nice to meet ya!”
The two women shook hands while the band started to play a somewhat jazzy version of “The First Noel.”
