Chapter 9 #2
“It’s okay,” the younger woman reassured. “Anything you say to me is off the record and won’t have any effect on the article. Part of the reason I’m here today is that I thought you might need to vent.”
“Vent?”
“Talk things out. Believe me, I understand having no one to talk to when things turn to crap.”
Martha rose from the table, folded her arms, and went to her kitchen window, staring out pensively at the overcast day.
“We moved here six years ago because of the charm of the town and the beautiful old houses, nestled in between the mountains and the river. We liked the idea of living in a place where people wanted to go for the holidays… the Fourth of July, Christmas… things like that.
“But the town’s historical society really expects you to keep your houses just so.
Especially on the outside. Owning an old home is like owning a boat.
You just keep pouring more and more money into this big hole.
Exterior painting, a new roof, landscaping, and even the type of curtains we hang are dictated.
Besides the upkeep, we were also paying dues to the historical society for street maintenance, upkeep of the covered bridge, flowers in common areas in the summer—you name it.
With Bucky commuting and me not working, we never saved a dime. ”
“Did you ever think about goin’ to work?” Goldie asked.
“Of course. But I’ve got no car now, and that really limits work options.
I also have no skills. I never worked before because Bucky wanted his wife to be a homemaker like his mother.
We were hoping to raise a family. We tried for years to have kids, but it never happened.
Actually, in an odd way, that turned out to be a blessing.
We had to take out a second mortgage because we weren’t keeping up with things.
Mayor Banyan actually makes home inspections. Did you know that?”
“No, I didn’t,” Goldie replied.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s taking some of those historical society dues and lining his own pockets.”
Just then, the tea kettle started to whistle.
“When the war broke out, things got even tougher,” Martha continued, rising and going over to the stove. “There were manpower shortages at Bucky’s office. He was working longer and longer hours.”
“Yes. I heard he’d fallen asleep and gone off the road comin’ home one night,” Goldie said. “I’m so very sorry.”
Martha stopped in mid-reach for two coffee cups and turned to her visitor.
“He didn’t fall asleep,” she said with certainty.
“He called me just before he left the office that night and said he’d been drinking coffee all day.
I distinctly remember. It was a Wednesday, and he joked on the phone about how he’d be up until Friday. He didn’t fall asleep.”
“He could’ve been drinkin’ decaf?” Goldie suggested.
“Bucky hated decaf,” the hostess replied. “Said there was a big taste difference.”
Goldie paused and thought while her hostess turned back to get the coffee cups.
“Okay… so, what do you think happened?”
“I think he either swerved to avoid something on the highway, or…”
“Or, what?”
“Or he was purposely run off the road. Maybe by another car following or an oncoming car from the opposite direction. Possibly a drunk driver that weaved over the centerline.”
Goldie paused again and considered what she was hearing while Martha spooned coffee from a can into the cups, poured in the hot water, then stirred.”
“I don’t have any milk or sugar,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay… was there any evidence to suggest Bucky was run off the road?”
“No,” Martha admitted, still stirring. “There were no skid marks on the pavement or damage done to our car that suggested he was rammed from behind. But then, the car was also a mess, so how could they tell? It went off the highway at a steep embankment and rolled over several times before—” she stopped as tears filled her eyes.
She set her spoon down, excused herself, then went into the bathroom to get some toilet tissue and blow her nose.
While she was gone, Goldie got up and brought the filled cups over to the table.
She put Martha’s cup in front of the chair where she’d been sitting.
“Sorry,” Martha said, returning about a minute later. “I still fall apart rather easily.”
“Totally understandable,” Goldie assured. “So, the cops suspect no foul play, huh?”
“No,” Martha said, shaking her head and sitting down again. “And now the house is sold. I mean, I had to. I was destitute.”
“Sold?” Goldie queried. “But there’s a For Sale sign in the yard.”
“Yes. It’s for sale because I sold it yesterday to Sparkledove Realty. You probably saw me bawling my eyes out on the street with the mayor.”
“Yeah, I did.”
“We’d just finished signing the paperwork at city hall. Then he put up a sign in the yard late yesterday afternoon. The bastard sure didn’t waste any time, if you’ll pardon my language.”
Goldie took a sip of her coffee. So did Martha. The two women were quiet for a few moments. Finally, Goldie asked:
“Look, it’s not any of my business, but what do you mean you were destitute? Didn’t Bucky have life insurance?”
“No. He was only thirty-eight. Everything went into the house. Like I said, we had no savings, I have no job, and we had a first and second mortgage. My parents offered to help for a little while, but they live out of state. Bucky certainly didn’t come from money, so selling was my only option.”
“Well—did you at least get a good price?”
“During a war, when no one can afford to buy houses? Ha!” Martha exclaimed.
“I sold it for a little over half of what we paid, even after all the improvements. That Charles Banyan, he shakes your hand in friendship with one hand while his other is reaching for your wallet. He’s a snake!
I can’t believe he and Peter are even related.
They’re so different. You should’ve seen the beautiful obituary Peter wrote for Bucky.
It was actually more like a short story.
He wrote about how everyone liked him, about how he helped the local scout troop here in town and taught boys to fly cast down at the river.
” She looked around. “I’ve got a copy in the other room if you’d care to see it. ”
“I would,” Goldie said.
Martha rose and got a copy of The Sparkledove Wing from another room, then returned and handed it to Goldie.
As the visitor read it, she agreed with Martha’s assessment.
The obituary read more like a four-hundred-word compassionate short story about a local resident who was well-liked and went out of his way to be a part of the small town, instead of the gory details of his death.
Goldie certainly appreciated learning more about Bucky through the obituary, but the thoughtful way it was written also made her all the more attracted to Peter Banyan.
After another twenty minutes of visiting, Goldie left the Eggleston house and stepped back outside and onto the sidewalk of Falcon Drive.
She hadn’t noticed it before, but when she returned to the sidewalk, something caught her eye.
Falcon Drive was a short side street with only ten houses on the street, five on each side.
There was a red Sparkledove Realty For Sale sign in the front yard of the Eggleston house, but there was also another one in the yard of the house next door.
There was no sign in the yard of the next house, but there was in the yard of the house after that.
Three out of five houses are for sale on the same side of the street, she thought. She didn’t know what that meant, but she didn’t think it was a mere coincidence.