Jeff checked something on his phone. He made a face, then placed it back on the coffee table.
“What?” Dee asked, filled with dread.
“Nothing,” Jeff responded, doing his best to sound casual.
“Wrong!” Dee jumped up from the chair and it flew backward, colliding with the wall. “I know you! You’re hiding something!”
“No, I’m not!”
“Yes, you are!”
“No, I’m not!”
“You are, you are, you are!” Dee punctuated this with a foot stomp.
“Okay, fine!” Jeff stopped yelling. He spoke in a quiet, defeated voice. “Our guests canceled.”
Dee let out a wail. “No!” She paced the room, distraught. “This is the biggest mistake of my life. Instead of saving the Golden, I’m going to ruin it and I’ll drag you down with me. It’ll end up on that social-media site I follow about dead motels.”
Dee grabbed Jeff’s phone from the coffee table and opened an app. She thrust the phone in his face. “Look at the old pictures. The motel is alive. Vibrant. Filled with families and women in those great bathing suits from the sixties. But ‘After,’ meaning now”—Dee swiped left—“it’s dead as our motel careers.” She began to hyperventilate. “I’ll buy you out, Jeff.” She gasped for air. “I don’t know how, but I will. Run! Run while you can.”
Jeff grabbed her by the shoulders. “Dee, stop! Now! I’m not going anywhere and neither are you. But you have to calm down. Close your eyes.”
Dee sucked in a deep breath, then followed Jeff’s order.
“Now picture yourself on the 405 at six p.m. on a Friday driving back to the Valley after a meeting in Culver City. Are you picturing it?”
Dee gave a small nod.
“Good. Now picture yourself exiting the 99 for 41. You’re passing through the outskirts of Fresno. You’re in the country. You’re on the quiet, rolling road to Foundgold.” He paused, waiting.
Dee’s breathing slowly returned to normal. She opened her eyes. “Thank you. I’m back.”
“Good. We are gonna get through this. Together. Go home and walk Nugget. Inhale some awesome Foundgold fresh air. I’ll be by in ten or fifteen minutes. We’ll have breakfast together and come up with ways to save the Golden.”
Dee gulped back tears. “ ’Kay.”
“And, Dee”—Jeff held tightly to her shoulders and looked her in the eye—“stop blaming yourself for getting me into this. I’m an adult. I invested in the Golden with you because I wanted to. Everything you said was right. I was sick of paying a fortune for about three feet of living space. I did want to start my own website and consulting business. Except for the murders and fear of bankruptcy, I’ve never been happier. So thank you for getting me into this.”
He released Dee. She threw her arms around him and let the tears flow. “You’re the best friend ever,” she sobbed.
“Ditto.” He peeled her off. “Now go. I’ll see you in a few.”
Feeling better, Dee returned Jeff’s phone to him and went back to her place. She leashed up Nugget and they strolled through the bucolic forest surrounding the old motel, their steps cushioned by the pine needles carpeting the ground, which released a refreshing scent with each step.
Dee took Jeff’s advice, relishing every breath of the crisp mountain air she inhaled. She gazed upward at the majestic granite peaks of the Sierras standing sentry over the valley and the villages, like Foundgold nestled below.
I love this place and we will make it work, she thought while waiting for Nugget to finish sniffing what she hoped wasn’t bear scat.
But what if we don’t? the devil on her shoulder hissed. And just like that, Dee’s anxiety level trended up again.
The walk finished, she fed Nugget his breakfast and set about making hers and Jeff’s, scrambling eggs with mushrooms, spinach, and cheddar. By the time Jeff showed up, the eggs were ready, along with orange juice and toasted English muffins.
“Looks great,” he said, taking a seat at the kitchen counter. He held up his tablet. “Since my family packages did actually generate bookings, I think that’s the way to go. More crafting ideas for the kids that no one else in the area is doing. Making soap is hot right now. What do you think about a DIY package where guests make soap shaped like gold nuggets?”
“I like it.”
Dee took a container of heavy cream from the refrigerator. She poured some into a jar and began shaking it. “I just thought of something. I know O’Bryant hasn’t ruled us out as suspects in either murder. But you know who’s been around the Golden all this time besides us? Ma’am and Mister Ma’am. And there’s something about Mister. I feel like I’ve seen him before, but I can’t figure out where. Maybe it was on a Most Wanted poster at the post office.”
“If he was on that list, I think law enforcement would know about it,” Jeff said as he tucked into his eggs.
“You’re right. Besides, a couple that has a son as handsome as Hunk—Huck—can’t be killers.”
Jeff dropped his fork and gaped at her. “That’s the most L.A. thing I’ve ever heard you say.”
“You’re the one who said Serena can’t be the killer because she’s too pretty,” Dee shot back, feeling defensive.
“That’s based on fact. Like I pointed out, if Callan’s career was going south, thanks to Michael’s murder, based on studies of women of similar appearance to Serena who’ve ended relationships with successful men caught in a scandal, she could easily dump him and either make a lateral move or trade up.”
Dee gave him a look. “I don’t think you can classify reading online gossip as a scientific study. Still, the Ma’ams are hiding something. I’m sure of it.”
She continued vigorously shaking her jar. Jeff watched, curious. “What exactly are you doing?”
“Turning heavy cream into butter,” Dee said, her voice vibrating as she shook. “If this works, it could be a family activity for our guests. Everyone gets a jar and heavy cream and they shake it until they make their own butter.”
Jeff stared at her, dumbfounded. “You’ve lost your mind.”
Dee ignored him and continued shaking. “I feel like none of our ideas are enough. We need to do more, but I don’t know what. Maybe I should learn to play the banjo. Or you should learn to play the harmonica. That’s very olden days.”
