Page 14 of Running to the Mountain Man

I chuckle. “For what? I believe you didn’t mean to kill anybody.”

“For running away from my husband.”

“Honey, that’s your business. I don’t know where you come from, but in the America that I know, it’s not illegal to do that.”

She nods, but her face is confused.

I have to ask, “He hit you?”

She shakes her head and sweeps the tears away from her face.

“What did he do to you?”

“He didn’t do anything, not directly.”

“What the fuck happened to you that you wanted to hurt your husband?”

Goldie inhales a wavering breath and says, “They made me marry him.”

I want to tell her that forced marriage is not a thing here, but she’s either not playing with a full deck or wherever she comes from is another planet.

“And then what happened? He forced himself on you?”

She laughs. “Hell no. I put root of snow-on-the-mountain in his spaghetti and meatballs.”

The surprised laughter that bursts out of me is uncontrollable. “What the hell? You did not!”

Goldie sits up straight in defiance. “I sure did! I didn’t think it would work so well it would turn him into a popsicle!”

“No, darling. Someone shot him.”

“Shot him! Who?”

“I guess we’re going with the story that it wasn’t you.”

“Itwasn’tme!”

I lean in and study her closely. There’s no attempt to escape my gaze; she meets me head-on. She’s not changing the details of her story or trying to over-explain things. On top of that, I don’t detect any actual malice in her. A killer is different, and I’ve interviewed plenty in my day.

“Listen to me, Goldie. You need to relax. You can’t kill a man with that shit, but you probably did give him a bad stomachache.”

Her brows come together in deeper confusion, but she’s calming down now and listening.

“And as much as I don’t buy the story that someone pointed a gun to your head and forced you to marry somebody, that’s a pretty good yarn you’re spinning.”

“It’s not?—”

“Doesn’t matter, sweetheart. I’m not going to kick you out, and I’m not calling the cops. What I am going to do is take a shower and get something to eat. So if you’re planning on robbing me blind, go right ahead. But if you want to stay, that’s fine too. I could use the entertainment. Ain’t fuck all on TV these days anyway.”

I step over the busted door, head to the bathroom, and turn on the news while I shower.

If she’s still here when I’m finished getting clean, okay. If not, that’s okay, too.

But a part of me really hopes she stays.

Chapter Seven

Goldie

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