“She knowssomething,”Banyan realized. “She’s seen Martha Eggleston, she’s been to the historical society, now she’s seen Evie Hines… she obviously has suspicions. But how much does she know? That’s the question.”
“What do you want me to do?” Tully asked.
“I think I need to have another talk with Harriette Noise about Miss Maraschino’s visit with her. I’m missing something. Go find Eli Johnson. Tell him I want to see him. I want to know if our guest has asked him about the old Maynard site or has been poking around it.”
“I can put wheels in motion to do containment,” Tully suggested.
“But who do we contain?” Banyan responded. “Evie Hines? Goldie Maraschino? I need to gather more information before we put plans like that into action. Goldie knows something’s going on with me, butIknow she lied about Diana Ross, so that’s an advantage. We’ve got ourselves a little chess game, Tully, and I’m a very, very good chess player.”
Within a half hour after Tully and Banyan spoke, Goldie walked into the sheriff’s office to find Eli studying one of his correspondence course textbooks behind his desk. “Light A Candle in the Chapel” by the Tommy Dorsey Orchestra, featuring a young Frank Sinatra on lead vocal, was playing on the radio. She came in carrying a dozen wrapped roses and a gift-wrapped package.
“Hi,” she said. “How ya doin’, Sheriff?”
He leaned back in his chair and cracked a faint smile.
“Goldie, good morning.”
“What? No howdy?” she asked.
“What brings you in?” he queried, keeping things businesslike.
“Embarrassment. Humility. Contriteness. And roses, I bought you roses to say how sorry I am that I missed our dance Friday night.”
“Oh, right. Our dance. I kinda forgot about that,” he lied.
She stepped forward and placed the wrapped bundle of flowers on his desk. He looked at them, not quite knowing what to say.
“I, uh, I—nobody’s ever gotten me flowers before.”
“First time for everything,” she said, unzipping the jacket she got at Miller’s. “I also wanted to say I met your mom Friday night, and she was really nice. I liked her a lot.”
“Yes, she mentioned you two met.”
“Ialsowanted to say I know this is an unhappy anniversary for you. Well, for everyone in the country, but especially you. So, that’s another reason for the roses.”
He looked at the flowers again, realizing his mother must have explained how he was injured at Pearl Harbor.
“Well, this is very nice, but it really isn’t?—”
“I messed up, Eli,” she said, cutting to the chase. “I should’ve never forgotten my promise to you, even if you did, and I’m sorry.”
He rose from his chair.
“It’s thoughtful, but I don’t have a vase for these.”
She handed him the gift-wrapped package.
“Yes, you do.”
He unwrapped the offering to find a nice hand-thrown gold, blue, and bright-yellow vase with a mountain landscape on it. He recognized it from one of the storefront windows in town and remembered liking it.
“This was very kind of you, Goldie,” he said sincerely. “Thanks.” He took the vase to the bathroom to fill it with water, and on the way, turned off the radio. “So, eh, is that what happened Friday? Our dance slipped your mind?”
“I left early,” she confessed. “Peter Banyan wrote this really nice article about me that he wanted to publish inThe Wing,but it was inappropriate. I’m not the story. Sparkledove is. I needed to talk him out of it.”
“I see,” he said, filling the vase with his back to her. “I agree with you. You’re not the story.”
“I think he wrote it just to have his way with me,” she joked.
