“Wax a piece of furniture? Probably.” Dee sat up. “I pitched my historic trail idea to Verity Gillespie, and it did not go well.” She filled Jeff in on her ill-fated exchange with the tourism director. “But the gorgon did make one good point. I get what you said about Michael being under no pressure to tell us about his past in the area. But why is he staying at the Golden instead of Verity’s incredibly perfect B and B? She’s not exaggerating. I looked it up on my phone.”
She passed her phone to Jeff. He scrolled through a gallery of photos. “Wow. I gotta say, she earned that five-star rating.”
“It’s like a Victorian dollhouse you see at a museum.”
“With modern touches.” Jeff handed Dee’s phone back to her. “I’ve never seen a hot tub designed to look like a wishing well. That’s some serious extra. But in a good way.”
“Like I was saying, why would Michael—” Her cell pinged a text. “It’s him.”
Jeff cast a nervous glance at the door. “Do you think he heard us talking about him?”
Dee jumped up from the bed. “No. The toilet in his room won’t stop running and he thinks it’s going to overflow.”
Jeff dropped his waxing rag and grabbed his phone. “I’ll search for a tutorial.”
“No time!”
Jeff held up his phone triumphantly. “Found one!” He pressed Play. “Ugh, it’s in German.”
Dee ran out of the motel room to the triangle dangling from the far corner of the lodge. Panicked, she banged on it for what felt forever.
“You can stop.”
“Agh!” Startled, Dee turned to see Ma’am. With her shapeless dress, long gray hair, and silent steps, she resembled an apparition.
Ma’am gestured to the triangle. “You rang. What’s up?”
“A plumbing issue with our guest. The toilet.”
“Got it.”
Ma’am went to the supply room located in the middle of the motel rooms. She pushed aside the ancient industrial vacuum cleaner and dug around. Eventually she emerged, holding a plunger, and followed Dee to Michael’s cabin.
The writer stood on the steps outside the cabin, holding an open laptop. “Good timing. It’s getting dicey in there.”
“Gimme five minutes.”
Ma’am disappeared into the cabin, leaving Michael and Dee. There was an awkward beat of silence as Dee debated the best way to bring up what she’d learned from Verity. “Sorry your writing day got interrupted.”
Michael snapped his computer shut, as if he forgot it was open. “No worries. I needed a break.”
“Been there,” Dee said with a commiserating writer’s nod. “Oh, this morning I met someone who knows you. Verity Gillespie.”
“Verity. Ha.” Michael grinned. “I bet she never mentioned she’s descended from the Donner family.”
“Ha.” Dee forced a chuckle. “She mentioned she was hurt you’re not staying with her.”
“Oh, man.” Michael rolled his eyes and shook his head. “I was so glad there was another option up here besides her place. I mean, it’s great and all. But she is a lot. Too much.”
Having gotten a heavy dose of Verity, this rang true for Dee. “I can see that. She made me nervous, so I overcompensated with a bad joke and wound up making a terrible impression.”
Michael lifted a corner of his mouth in a conspiratorial half smile. The expression created a dimple in his left cheek Dee castigated herself for noticing. “So,” he said, “what was the joke?”
Dee winced as she repeated it, but he chuckled. “Good one. A little cheap. Puns always are. But solid.”
“Thanks,” Dee said, preening slightly. She’d forgotten how good it felt getting respect from a peer. Even for a bad joke from a possibly sketchy guest.
Ma’am exited the cabin. She held her tools in one hand and a plastic bag in the other. “You’re good to go.”
“You think she meant that literally?” Michael said to Dee under his breath. She stifled a laugh. “Thanks. The Golden gets an extra star for prompt and courteous service.” He disappeared into his cabin.
Dee and Ma’am started the walk back to the motel. “You’re a lifesaver,” Dee said to the woman.
“All I ask is you pay me in cash.” Ma’am handed Dee the plastic bag. “There was a leak in the sink, and I fixed that too, but not before it did a number on this.” Dee looked inside the bag and saw a soggy four-pack of toilet paper. “Leave it in the sun to dry and it’ll be good as new. In the meantime, your guest has a spare.”
“Uh-huh,” Dee said, hiding her horror at the thought of sun-dried toilet paper. Then she stopped in her tracks. “Wait. Are you saying Michael has another four-pack in his bathroom?”
“Yup. Barely touched.”
Ma’am veered off into the woods, leaving a steaming-mad Dee. She knew now Jeff was right: He had stocked Michael’s room with the necessary guest supplies. Which meant the writer lied to her when she caught him in her apartment.
Dee deposited the ruined toilet paper in one of the motel’s bearproof trash containers, then marched to her car, determined to uncover exactly what Michael Adam Baker was up to. Because she was now positive he was up to something.
* * *
In Hollywood, there was rarely a better source for gossip than a high-powered agent. Luckily for Dee, Foundgold had Callan Katz, Serena’s husband, who came up to the rural outpost on most weekends. Dee learned from Elmira that after a midmorning job he always stopped by the All-in-One’s café for coffee, so she timed a visit within the range of his arrival.
The minute Dee stepped into the store, Elmira greeted her with a friendly wave, saying, “I’ve got homemade lemon bars—a tasty treat for your guests.”
