“Absolutely not.”
There was an awkward pause as Elmira rang up the purchase and counted out what she owed Michael. He thanked her and then, in an obvious attempt to recover, tossed a casual “see you back at the Golden” to Dee and left the store.
Dee faced Elmira. “Is it my imagination or do you know Michael?”
The terse expression returned. “I do. You know the nice houses on the lake between here and Goldsgone?”
“Golden Lake Cottages. Which is a bit of a misnomer, since the houses are way nicer than cottages.”
“Yes. Michael’s family owned one and he spent summers there. After his parents divorced, he moved up from the San Fernando Valley and finished his last two years of high school in Goldsgone.” Her expression darkened. “He was a big smack face.”
Dee reacted to the hostility in Elmira’s voice. “Wow. That’s kind of harsh. He was just a kid.”
“Sorry. I’ll put it another way. He was a little smack face.” She checked a calendar on the wall behind her. “Why don’t we hold the board meeting tomorrow night?”
“Sure,” Dee said, recognizing a change of subject when she heard one. “But are we giving people enough notice?”
“I think so. We’re between seasons, so it’s not like anyone’s got anything better to do right now.”
“Sounds like a plan. I’ll get Jeff to make a flyer tonight.”
A timer sounded. “That’s my scones,” Elmira said, back to her friendly self. “Good thing I made a second batch, seeing as how you bought out the first. Watch the register for me?”
“Sure.”
Elmira disappeared into the back. Dee made sure she was gone, then whipped out her cell phone. She texted Jeff: Can u talk?
He gave the question a thumbs-up and she called him.
“I need you to make me a flyer I can print out tonight, but I’ll get to that in a minute.”
“How did it go with Michael?”
“Between him and me, fine. But here’s the weird part.” She detailed what she’d witnessed between Elmira and the writer, along with Elmira’s disparaging take on him. “He never said a word about having almost grown up here. He acted like everything was new to him. You’d think he would have said something about his connection to the area.”
“Huh.” Jeff thought for a moment. “Well . . . maybe he doesn’t have great memories from it.”
“Then why would he come stay with us?”
“Cheap rates?”
Dee frowned. “No. Although I’m sure that didn’t hurt. Something’s going on. Something funky. I can feel it.”
“Uh-oh.”
“What?”
“Your storyteller’s kicking in.”
“No, it’s not,” Dee said, defensive.
“Yes, it is. You’re doing that thing where you turn a small situation into a big deal. Next come the plot points. Look, Dee, this guy Michael heard about the Golden. It brought back memories, some bad, some good. Maybe he decided it was fate that a writer he knew bought a motel in an area where he had a special connection. Who knows? But he’s under no obligation to tell you his backstory, as you like to call it.”
“You’re right. My bad. And thanks.”
“No problem. So tell me what this flyer is for.”
* * *
The All-in-One’s rustic theme extended to its café, with sturdy, utilitarian oak two-top and four-top tables planted on a solid pine floor. But the café also featured a show-stopper: Running the length of the back wall was the most elaborate bar Dee had ever seen. Curlicues, cherubs, and rosettes carved from walnut covered every inch of it. Carved Doric columns three feet high framed a huge mirror gilded in gold that at the moment reflected Dee’s anxious expression back to her.
Elmira’s “treats” sat untouched on the bar counter. Dee wished she could blame it on their lack of gustatory appeal. Instead, the blame lay with the empty room meant to host the tourism meeting.
Dee checked her watch. The meeting was due to start in three minutes. “Do people usually run late around here?” she said to Elmira, who was putting up a pot of coffee behind the bar. “Is that a country thing?”
“Sure,” Elmira said with much sympathy.
The All-in-One front door opened and Dee perked up. Ma’am and Mister Ma’am marched down the length of the general store to the café. “The flyer said there was free food,” Ma’am declared, skipping the niceties.
“Savory and sweet,” Elmira said with pride. “Cheese biscuits and tea cakes.”
“Lucky us,” Mister said with forced heartiness.
The door opened again. A wraith of a young blond woman pushing a baby carriage and wearing a baby sling came toward them. Beautiful to the point of being ethereal, she didn’t walk so much as float. Years in show business had taught Dee to know a trophy wife when she saw one, and the apparition was definitely a trophy wife. The vision confirmed this when she introduced herself in a soft voice as “Serena Finlay-Katz. I’m so happy you’ve moved to Foundgold. Elmira told me you’re a TV writer. Do you know my husband, Callan Katz?”
“Not personally.” But it was impossible not to know of one of L.A.’s most simultaneously hated and admired agents, who’d earned the nickname “Killer Katz” for breaking the will of many business affairs executives in his quest to wring every possible dime out of them for his clients.
“It’s why we got great Wi-Fi,” Elmira said. “When they moved up here during the pandemic, he needed a good connection for his Zooms, so he pulled some strings. He’s here mostly on weekends now, but we got superspeed internet 24/7/365.”
