Chapter 18
Eighteen
KIDS last I knew, he was near Casablanca.”
“Is he okay? Safe?”
“As far as I know, but he doesn’t write a lot of details. It’s more general stuff.”
Goldie nodded. “Was it hard for your dad to go from, y’know, investigatin’ big city crimes to arrangin’ sleigh rides?”
“No. He got a lot of what he called his humanity back after movin’ to Sparkledove. He really liked bein’ sheriff there. Except for maybe the last couple of years.”
“What happened the last couple of years?” Goldie asked.
“Scott?” Evie called out. “No, sir! Your hands don’t belong there.” Then, she answered the question. “A certain pain-in-the-ass city council member became the new mayor, and he and dad locked antlers a lot.”
“Charles Banyan?” Goldie asked.
“Yeah,” Evie realized. “Guess you would know who he is since you’re writin’ a story ‘bout the town, huh? Scott?” she called out again. “What did I just say?”
“Why didn’t they get along?” Goldie asked.
“I don’t know for sure. My dad and me were close, but we had a million other things to talk about.
My mom got sick and died of cancer, I got married, moved to Denver, and had a couple of kids.
So, I wasn’t exactly followin’ the day-to-day events of my dad’s job.
But I do know he thought Banyan was kind of sleazy and only out for himself.
He mentioned it more than once. And I do remember Dad sayin’ he thought he might have somethin’ on him. ”
“Really? Like what?”
“Don’t know. He died not too long after that. But it could’ve been anything, y’know? From not havin’ a huntin’ license to a DUI charge in another state.” She looked at Goldie apologetically. “Geez. I’m sorry. You want happy stuff about Dad and Sparkledove, huh?”
“No, actually. This is exactly the kind of stuff I want.”
The teacher looked at Goldie quizzically. “Why?”
“Lemme ask you somethin’,” the visitor continued. “When your father passed away? Had he been sick? Was it a surprise?”
“He was in his early seventies, but—yeah—it was. We were surprised. Dad always took care of himself. He’d been fightin’ some sort of bug before he passed, but other than that…” Evie called out to a little girl on the playground. “Georgia? Keep your coat buttoned, please. And where’s your hat?”
“What kind of bug?” Goldie asked. “How long had he been fighting it?”
“A week. Ten days, maybe. It was some kind of stomach virus. Aching. Vomiting. I guess his weakened condition made him more vulnerable to the heart attack.” She looked at Goldie curiously. “Why’re you so interested in how my dad died?”
“One more question, then I’ll tell ya,” Goldie persisted. “After your father passed, why’d you sell his house to Charles Banyan? A man who, according to you, your dad thought was shady?”
“Convenience,” she shrugged. “I’ve got two small kids and a husband overseas.
With the war on, nobody was buyin’ houses in Sparkledove, and Banyan had cash in hand.
The sale of the house and Dad’s life insurance provided a very helpful cushion for us to move and get settled here.
It didn’t matter to me if Dad didn’t like the guy. Sellin’ our house gave me options.”
“Yeah,” Goldie nodded, understandingly. “As a mother alone on the home front, that makes sense.”
“So, what’s goin’ on?” Evie asked. “What’s this really about?”
“Evie, to tell ya the truth. I’m not sure.
I came to town to write one kind of story, but seemed to have stumbled onto another.
But I can tell ya this, Charles Banyan has been buyin’ up all the houses on the side of Falcon Drive where you used to live, and I have reason to believe another homeowner on the street recently died under suspicious circumstances. ”
The teacher looked at her. “Wait—are you sayin’ my dad didn’t die from a heart attack?”
“I don’t know. If you told me he had a history of heart problems, or had been sickly for a long time, or was in poor health generally… but that’s not what I’m hearin’. Right?”
Evie looked at Goldie as the color slowly drained from her face. “Are, are you sayin’ my dad was murdered?”
“Charles Banyan has been buyin’ up houses on your parents’ side of the street.
There are questions about another neighbor’s death.
Your father had some suspicions about Banyan and even told you so.
And I’ve recently discovered that a tunnel from an old silver mine runs under Falcon Drive that might not be played out like everyone in town assumed it was.
So, am I takin’ two and two and coming with thirty-seven?
Or four? What would your conclusion be?”
Evie thought for another long moment, then gazed at the kids on the playground and called, “Five-minute warning, everyone.”
Then she turned to her visitor with slightly moist eyes. “Whatdoya want from me?”
“Did your dad have an autopsy?”
“No. His doctor said it was a heart attack.”
“I’m sorry to ask, but would you consider one now?”
“What? You mean, dig him up?”
“It’s the only way to be sure his death was natural,” Goldie pressed.
“Look, Evie, I know you don’t know me. I’m just some broad who showed up.
But I didn’t start out lookin’ for any of this.
I got no secret agenda here other than the truth.
I understand what I’m askin’ is emotionally upsettin’ and will cost you money.
Plus, it might not reveal a thing. But then again, it might reveal your dad’s death was wrongfully caused.
For a man who made a life out of protectin’ the rights of others, doesn’t he deserve the same? ”
Evie didn’t answer with a definitive yes or no, but she did agree to think about it. All things considered, Goldie couldn’t ask for more. She made sure Evie had her contact information, requested absolute confidentiality, then left the school.
As she followed backroad directions to Sparkledove that Dean at the reception counter had given her, she mocked herself over her visit with Evie.
“I just asked a woman to exhume the body of her father. Geez, Goldie, why not ask her to do something simple, like believe the Dodgers have left Brooklyn?”
She came to a railroad crossing that cut across some pine woods.
The poles at the crossing were flashing and ringing, so she stopped and waited.
Within thirty seconds, she saw a long, continuous chain of puffing gray smoke belch into the sky.
Underneath it was an old steam locomotive that looked like it had just come out of the 1870s.
Cool! she thought. It reminded her of the train from the Will Smith movie, Wild, Wild West. It had a black smokestack that sprouted out of its front boiler, a clanging brass bell, and a wooden cowcatcher that fanned out over the tracks in front of the locomotive like a huge rake.
An engineer with a puffy gray hat leaned out a side engine window despite the cold.
This was followed by a black coal car, two brightly painted green-and-yellow passenger cars, then a red caboose.
The engineer waved to Goldie as the train rolled by, and she noticed it was slowing down with squeaking brakes as it did.
After the train passed, she saw a turn-off about an eighth of a mile ahead for the Rocky Mountain Western Railroad Company.
She remembered passing a sign that read “Scenic Old-Time Train Rides” on her way to the school, but she didn’t give it much thought.
Now, however, having seen the iron monster from the past go by, she was intrigued.
She took the turn, which, after a short drive, led into a half-full parking lot and a historic-looking train depot complete with a water tower.
Tourists could buy tickets and snacks, then board the train for an eighteen-mile loop that went through a picturesque mountain landscape that hadn’t changed since Chinese laborers built the railroad in the 1860s.
The train used to connect with mining operations and convey ore.
Now it carried parents with cameras and kids holding bags of popcorn.
Goldie purchased her one-dollar ticket, then climbed the two iron steps onto one of the passenger cars.
Since it was a weekday, the car didn’t fill up with tourists, but there were still enough visitors to make her feel like she was on vacation.
Each car had a conductor dressed in a three-piece dark suit, complete with a gold watch-chain hanging from his vest pocket and a stiff-brimmed conductor’s hat.
His purpose was to act as a tour guide during the one-hour ride.
When everyone was on board, and with two deep, “ROO-ROOS” from the throaty whistle, the train slowly chugged its way out of the station.
Goldie sat back in her leather seat and couldn’t help but feel like she was on an American version of the Hogwarts Express.
During the ride, Goldie didn’t think about time travel, the war, Charles Banyan and his schemes, where things might be going with Peter, or anything else connected with her strange circumstances.
Instead, she listened to the conductor talk about the locomotive that was pulling them and the laborers who built the railroad.
She listened to stories of card games, shoot-outs, and grimy-faced prospectors who struck it rich while others died in tragic cave-ins.
The scenery was breathtaking and dusted with snow.
The highlight of the trip was when the train went over a forty-foot gorge on a wooden bridge built in 1869.
The engineer slowed down so the passengers could get the full impact of just how narrow the iron rails were, how open the bridge was since it had no guardrails, and how, if you looked straight down, you could find yourself suddenly dizzy and disoriented.
Even though it was all tourist fodder, a city girl like Goldie found it fascinating.
She got off the train and returned to Peter’s station wagon with the same satisfied smile most of her fellow passengers had. After referring to her written directions, she started up the car and pulled out of the parking lot.
Two men were watching from a vehicle in the distance.
They were Tully and Crosby. Tully, with his short-cropped black hair and days’ worth of stubble, sat behind the wheel, and his red-haired companion with the bushy mustache watched from the passenger seat.
The beefy pair stared like ravens from the cab of a black pickup truck.
A truck with a three to four-inch scratch of light tan paint on its driver’s side front quarter panel.