“Coming right up,” he smiled. “Anything for you?” he asked his father.
“No, thank you. And why aren’t you taking pictures of the dance forThe Wing?”
Peter pointed at Father Fitz as he headed toward the bar in front of the storage closet, not far away. “I’ll get ‘em Sunday,” he called.
The mayor humphed and turned to Goldie.
“Whiskey on the rocks, eh? Pretty strong drink.”
“I’m a pretty strong lady,” Goldie answered.
“I, uh, I understand you borrowed Peter’s car and did some exploring of the area.”
“I did. I was a tourist for an hour on the Rocky Mountain Western Railroad, and it was fabulous.”
“Good. Good. Go anywhere else?”
“Yeah, actually. An old acquaintance of mine teaches at Midland Elementary, and I dropped by to say hello. We hadn’t seen each other in years.”
“Oh. Lovely. And who was that?”
Goldie picked the first name that popped into her mind.
“Um, Diana Ross,” she answered, leaning on her penchant for 60s and 70s music.
“Teacher there?”
“Yes,” she lied. “She’s brand new. Just started,” she added, to explain away why her name wouldn’t be on a staff list if Banyan’s men ever obtained one.
“It’s always great to reconnect with old friends,” he agreed.
“Absolutely.”
“Well, I’d better get back to Mother,” he said, referring to Stephie. “Once again, nice comments on stage. Enjoy the dance.”
After the mayor left, Goldie spotted one of the few still unoccupied four-seat tables, went over to it, and sat down. Within another minute, and with drinks in hand, Peter found her.
“Great, you got a table.” He set the drinks down. “Whiskey on the rocks for you. Gin and tonic for me.”
“Thank you,” she said.
“And again, for once, my dad and I are in sync. You look fabulous! Although psychologically, there might be something wrong with me. I’m having a little fantasy about you in a dress that belongs to my mother.”
“As long as the fantasy is about me andnotyour mother.”
He smiled. Then they took sips of their drinks.
“So, why were you so late tonight?” she asked. “I thought you’d be roaming around getting tidbits about the dance?”
“You know how you get in the swing of writing something and you don’t want to stop?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s why I’m late.” He reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a piece of typing paper. It was folded in threes like a letter, and he handed it to her.
She took it, opened it, and read the headline aloud:
“Visiting Writer Merits Her Own Story.”
