Chapter 26
Twenty-Six
LEAP OF FAITH
“You really think so?” he asked, wanting to relish the moment.
“You know these are great,” she affirmed like a supportive kid sister. “You’ve got a truly gifted eye for faces, lighting, and angles. You’re like Andy Warhol without the weird hair.”
“Thank you! Uh, who’s Andy Warhol?”
“Some guy back east. It’s not important.”
In no particular order, Father Fitz had captured a six-year-old Patty Bellows throwing the oversized light switch at the community tree lighting with a smile to match the tree’s wattage, a four-year-old boy looking mesmerized at the tree, a couple holding hands while walking through the covered bridge, an overview of the town taken from a serious hike up one of the mountains, the sealed-up entrance to the main Maynard mine, the pastry chef from the Pine River Inn presenting his homemade streusel-topped cherry pie to the camera, the line of gingerbread houses Goldie had judged at the community dance, and several others.
“Wow, this is going to be hard,” she said. “We’re probably only going to use four to six of these, and you’ve given me three times that many.”
“Well, I wanted to give you a choice of color or black-and-white,” Father said. “I’ve seen both in the magazine.”
“The photos are still predominantly black and white,” she noted, having reviewed several issues. “Color ain’t all that cost-effective yet.”
She picked up and handed him the photo of the sealed-up mine entrance.
“Better put this one away. After me draggin’ you up there, I’m not sure I’ll use it.
If you get a photo credit for the article, people will know you trespassed to take it.
Better to use a photo from the historical society from when the mine was still active. ”
“I wish you’d thought of that in the first place,” Father said, taking the photo and slipping it into a thin box for photography paper. “So, you’re going to write a complimentary story about the town, but still go after the mayor?”
“One doesn’t have anything to do with the other,” she replied.
“I mean, yes, there’s a connection, but why should an entire town be damned because of one guy?
So, yeah, my magazine is gonna run a story about Sparkledove bein’ the perfect place for Christmas next year, while the Associated Press might run a story about Banyan much sooner. I mean—that’s the plan, anyway.”
“And Evie Hines is going to exhume her father’s body?”
Goldie nodded. “She called the hotel, left me a message, and we spoke last night. She’s gonna petition a judge who happens to be an old friend of her dad’s to have his body dug up and perform an autopsy.”
“What are you expecting to find?” Father asked.
“That he was poisoned,” Goldie said with certainty. “Arsenic, rat poison, drain cleaner or somethin’. Once we determine that, I think the Associated Press story is a lock.”
“Can they determine that from an autopsy?” Father asked. “After all this time? After the body has been embalmed?”
“If the doctor knows what he’s lookin’ for, absolutely. Findin’ poison in embalmed bodies dates back to the 1880s. I researched it at the library.”
“Amazing,” the priest said.
“And if poison is found, that sure supports Martha Eggleston’s suspicions about Bucky.”
“I have to admit, Goldie, I challenged you to find more proof. The mere fact that Evie Hines is even considering her father might’ve been poisoned is very compelling. It’s also very disturbing. Like somebody wanting to hear the mass in English instead of Latin.”
“Yeah. Don’t get too attached to that, Father,” she advised.
About five minutes later, Goldie stepped out the front door of the church and into a gleaming white winter’s day.
A nice nativity creche with plastic figures had recently been put on the small front yard of the church, and she turned to look at it before noticing that Peter was waiting for her.
He was dressed for work in a suit with no tie, wearing his winter overcoat, and leaning against his station wagon parked on the street.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said as she approached.
“How did you know where I—” but then she stopped and realized. “Maddie,” she said. “I told her I was walkin’ to St. Mark’s.”
“What’s the deal, Goldie?” he said seriously.
“We slept together Friday night, but ever since then, I haven’t heard a peep out of you.
I came by your hotel on Saturday and dropped off the dress you left at the community center.
You weren’t in your room, so I left a note at the front desk to see if you wanted to have dinner Saturday night. You never called.”
“I know,” she conceded.
“I dropped by Sunday morning to see if you wanted to have brunch at the Brown Palace in Denver, but again, you weren’t around. I also got my mom’s dress and returned it to her. Thanks for getting it cleaned, by the way.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I totally left you alone on Monday, figuring you probably wanted some space. Now, it’s Tuesday afternoon and still no word?
This isn’t fair. This is: Get-out-of-my-life-Peter-I-never-want-to-see-you-again stuff.
I mean, not to sound crude, but ever since you opened your legs for me, you’ve totally closed me out of your life. ”
“That does sound crude,” she agreed.
“Okay, I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ve been standing out here waiting for you, thinking about what I might say and liked the word play of it; opened, closed—doesn’t matter… I haven’t done anything to you that you didn’t agree to. All I’m guilty of is liking you.”
Her shoulders slumped. “Yeah—I know… and I’ve never lied to you. I like you, too. But—”
“I know,” he interrupted. “There are complications. I have a theory about that. Want to hear it?”
“Peter—”
“I don’t think you want to get back with your former boyfriend.
I don’t even think the distance thing between us bothers you.
I think you’re a smart journalist who maybe unintentionally uncovered something that doesn’t have anything to do with your story but involves my ol’ man.
And if we’re a thing, then that creates a conflict. ”
Her green eyes widened as her mouth slowly fell open.
“Is that it?” he said, noticing her reaction. “Jesus! I was guessing. You mean—that’s it!”
“W-we need to go somewhere and talk,” she decided.
“Okay, let’s go to my office.”
“Not your office. Or my hotel. Or your house. Somewhere neutral.”
“Are we suddenly at war?” he asked, surprised. “We need a Switzerland?”
“Please, Peter.”
He looked behind her at St. Mark’s. “Okay. How ‘bout the church?”
She turned and looked at it. “Yeah… if Father will leave us undisturbed for a few minutes. Why don’t you go ask him?
He’s down in the basement working on a spread of photos for my article.
There’s a hallway to the right of the altar that’ll lead downstairs.
He’s got a selection of photos spread out that he’s taken for the article.
You should go see ‘em. They’re wonderful.
You should also arrange to get him the negatives of the photos you took when we got the community tree.
That way, I’ve got one keeper of all the photos for the article. ”
She glanced around at the day.
“I’ll wait out here while you talk to him. I want your honest opinion of the best photos and don’t want to influence you.”
“Yeah, okay,” he agreed. “Be right back.”
After Peter reviewed the photos, Father said he had some errands to run and agreed to let him and Goldie speak in the church.
So, they took off their coats and talked for about twenty minutes.
Knowing she was risking any type of future relationship they might have, Goldie decided to take a leap of faith and tell him her suspicions about his father, Bucky Eggleston, Maynard “22,” Jason Shirk, and the likely millions Charles was going to make.
But she left out the part about Father Fitzsimmons going with her to the mine for the sake of his reputation.
All in all, Peter absorbed the information about his dad potentially being a land swindler and murderer better than she expected.
He didn’t get indignant, argumentative, or vehemently deny her allegations.
He mostly just sat in a pew and listened with folded arms and eyes that seemed to occasionally fight back a tear.
After Goldie was all talked out, she waited for several seconds for a quiet Peter to respond. He stood, slipped his hands into his pockets, and looked at the large crucifix hanging over the altar.
“We’re not Catholic,” he finally said. “In fact, we’re not much of anything.
” He turned and looked at her. “I don’t want to believe a damn thing you’re saying…
but… what you’ve said does fill in some gaps I’ve long wondered about.
My father actually came from money… my grandfather made some good deals in Denver real estate.
He’s taken that money, plus his own savings, and sunk most everything he has into buying a string of houses on the same side of the same street.
Believe me, he’s not that concerned about helping destitute widows or anyone else in a slack economy.
I couldn’t understand why he was being so generous.
It also fills in possibilities about Tully and Crosby.
I honestly don’t know what they do for him, although as I’ve said before, Tully worked in town for a while. ”
“So—you believe me?” she asked a little timidly.
“I-I don’t not believe you… I also now understand your hesitancy about a relationship with me.”
“I didn’t want this, Peter. I didn’t want any of this! I didn’t even want or intend to come to Sparkledove.”
“This geologist’s report, have you seen it? Studied it?”
“No. It’s in a glass case under lock and key at the historical society. Harriette Noise told me about the contents.”
“But this tunnel, number 22, that you have seen?”