“I want to go visit Glen in jail,” she announced as he took her suitcase into the suite’s bedroom.
“Exhibit A,” he murmured, watching the first of the complications manifest.
“I feel badly that he’s there.” Her warm gaze cooled. “You didn’t have to call the police.”
“He was breaking the law.”
“I know and I appreciate that you were also looking out for me, but I think we should find another way.”
With luck, his room would have a minibar, he thought grimly. Then he wouldn’t even have to go downstairs.
“Glen is fine.”
“You don’t know that. I’m going to see him.”
He recognized stubborn, mostly because he’d inherited it from her. “Give me a half hour to check in with the office and I’ll come get you. We’ll go together.”
The smile returned. “Thank you.”
Sure, now that she was getting her way she smiled. He promised to be back in thirty minutes, then escaped to his own room at the end of the hall.
He used the card key and stepped into the quiet, mother-free space. The room faced the mountains, and the drapes were parted enough for him to see the Sierra Nevada peaks aiming for the heavens.
He walked into the bedroom, tossed his duffel on the king-size bed, then returned to the living room of the suite and removed his tie. Instead of searching for the minibar, he grabbed his cell phone and called his office.
“Mr. Stryker’s office,” his businesslike assistant answered on the first ring.
“Hello, Ms. Jennings.”
“Mr. Stryker. You’re in Fool’s Gold with your mother?”
“Yes, and it looks like I’m going to be here awhile.”
“I gathered that when Mr. Jefferson mentioned he would be joining you. It’s a lovely town.”
Rafe felt his eyebrows rise. Ms. Jennings never mentioned anything personal. He wasn’t sure if the woman was married, a grandmother or living with a rock band.
“You’ve visited?”
“Several times. They have wonderful festivals.”
There was no accounting for taste, he thought. “I’ll have to check them out.”
“I can send you a schedule. It’s on the city’s website, www.FoolsGoldCA.com.”
“Uh, not right now, but thanks for the offer. I’m going to need you to rearrange my calendar. Cancel what isn’t important and reschedule everything else.”
There was a pause when Rafe knew she was taking notes.
“Not a problem,” she told him. “I’m checking the next two weeks now, and it’s all things I can handle. Except for your meeting with Nina Blanchard.”
Rafe sank onto the sofa and held in a curse. “I’ll call her myself.”
“Of course.”
They finished the rest of their business, then hung up. Rafe returned to the bedroom, quickly changed out of his suit, into jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, then shrugged on his leather jacket.
He couldn’t avoid Nina Blanchard forever, he thought. After all, he was the one who had hired her. But there was no way he could take advantage of her services while he was in Fool’s Gold. She was going to have to wait until he’d solved the problem that was his mother.
* * *
AFTER LEAVING FOOL’S GOLD, Rafe had been determined to experience what the world had to offer. He’d gone to Harvard on a scholarship, had toured Europe and made friends with the rich and powerful. But he’d never been to jail before.
While he was sure they all looked somewhat similar, he had a feeling the Fool’s Gold jail was considered one of the better places to be incarcerated.
For one thing, instead of industrial colors, the walls were a warm yellow, trimmed in cream. Bright posters advertised the festivals his assistant so adored. Rather than inhaling the scent of cleaning supplies or something less pleasant, Rafe smelled chili and fresh-baked bread. The woman who signed them in to visit Glen was young and friendly, not the grim-faced officer usually found in the movies.
“We’ve been busy tonight,” Officer Rodriguez said. Her shiny, dark hair was pulled back into a bouncy ponytail.
Rafe studied the hairstyle. Weren’t ponytails a bad idea in law enforcement? Didn’t they give criminals something to grab on to, thereby giving them physical control of the situation? Or was Fool’s Gold so close to nirvana that they didn’t deal with serious crime here?
“Glen Simpson is a very popular man.” Officer Rodriquez grinned. “The town’s averages are getting better, but there’s still a shortage for our ladies of a certain age, and Glen’s a charmer.”
May signed the clipboard. “What averages?”
“We had a man shortage. The news about that all came out last year, and it was a mess. The media came crawling in, and there was a reality show here and everything.”
“I think I remember that,” his mother said thoughtfully. “True Love or Fool’s Gold. It went off the air before it was finished.”
“No one was watching, which is too bad. I thought it was good. Anyway, since word got out about our man shortage, we’ve been getting plenty of them moving in. Which has made my life more interesting.” Her brown eyes sparkled. “But most of them have been younger. So when Glen came, he was considered hot stuff. He’s only been in jail a few hours, and we’ve already had six…” She glanced at the clipboard.
“…make that seven visitors for him.”
May looked uneasy. “I assure you, I’m not here on any romantic mission. I wanted to make sure Glen, ah, Mr. Simpson, was all right.” She leaned toward the officer and lowered her voice. “My son’s the one who put him in jail.”
“Way to be supportive, Mom.”
“We could have worked things out.”
“Not if you planned to get your money back.”
May’s expression tightened, a sure sign she was getting her stubborn on. He held up both hands. “You’re right. We’ll check on him. It’s the right thing to do.”
He resisted glancing at his watch, confident they would be back at the hotel long before the bar closed.
Officer Rodriguez led them down a long, brightly lit hallway, then through a set of double doors. The delicious smells grew more intense, reminding Rafe he hadn’t had lunch and it was closing in on dinner time.
“Here we are,” the officer said, pulling open another door and motioning for them to enter. “Glen, you have more visitors.”
Rafe’s only experience with jail came from what he’d seen on TV and in the movies. So he wasn’t sure where Fool’s Gold stood on the “grim” spectrum. But nothing had prepared him for Glen’s current living conditions.
The old man lay stretched out in his cell. There was the requisite cot, although this one was covered with a beautiful quilt, and there were at least a dozen pillows propped up on the bed. A brightly colored rug covered most of the floor. Flowers spilled from vases, and TV trays served as tables.
Just outside the barred front, a large, flat-screen TV sat on a stand. The sound of an action movie spilled into the space. A long shelf to the side of the television served as a kind of buffet. Nearly a dozen covered dishes and Crock-Pots stood waiting to serve.