But from where?
CHAPTER 4
The next day, Dee added the final touches to Michael’s cabin—a gold nugget–shaped bar of soap from the All-in-One’s souvenir section—just as a black Porsche Carrera with tinted windows pulled into the Golden’s circular driveway.
She was greeting the motel’s first guest on her own, because Jeff had an impromptu meeting in San Francisco with a potential client for his new content creation business. He’d expressed concern about leaving Dee to deal with her former nemesis without him, but she assured him she’d be fine. Now, watching Michael Adam Baker emerge from his six-figure sports car, a surge of doubt overwhelmed Dee. But she fought it back, plastered on her best motelier smile, and waved to him.
“Michael. Hi.”
He responded with a mock salute. “Dee. Deester.”
“Welcome to the Golden Motel, where we hope you’ll make memories as precious as gold.” Hearing this out loud for the first time, Dee winced. “We’re still working on our slogan.”
“It’s cute.” Dee knew he was lying, but appreciated the support.
Michael took off his sunglasses and put them in the inside pocket of his black leather bomber jacket. He walked toward Dee and held out his arms for a friendly hug. “Everyone in town is talking about you. Remember Mark from On the John? We’re still in touch, and when I told him where I was going, he said, ‘Dee got out? Tell her congrats and I’m jealous.’ ”
Dee found it hard to believe that a man who was paid like a Saudi prince to basically come up with fart jokes envied her career change, but she kept the skepticism to herself. “He wouldn’t be if he saw what it’s going to cost us to repair the pool,” she half-joked.
“Don’t worry. We’ll get the motel on the map, and you’ll be able to resurface the pool in actual gold.” Michael walked a few steps back to his car and popped the trunk. He removed a high-end carry-on suitcase. Dee noticed a studio logo placed discreetly on the suitcase’s front corner. The suitcase was the kind of swag studios only gifted to the highest echelon of writer-producers.
Feeling guilty for shirking her hospitality duties, she joined Michael at his car. “Let me help you with your luggage.”
“No need. I got it.” He pulled out a leather laptop case sporting the logo of a different studio from the one decorating his carry-on. “I’ll stick everything in my room; then I want a tour of the whole place.”
“Sure.”
While they made small talk on the short stroll to Michael’s lodgings, Dee subtly took inventory of the writer. He was a few years younger than she was, and still handsome, but his face was more lined than she remembered, and his blond hair was flecked with white. He’d dodged the weight gain that came with the sedentary lifestyle of a writers’ room, unlike Dee, who fought a constant battle against the twenty pounds she’d put on over the course of her career. Dee attributed Michael’s lean frame to the fact he’d spent the last few years on overall deals that stressed development over staffing jobs, giving him control over his own schedule. She’d expected their conversation to revolve around gossip about their mutual acquaintances and was pleasantly surprised that Michael was far more interested in her current motel adventure than rehashing the past.
They arrived at Michael’s cabin. Butterflies swarmed in Dee’s stomach as she led him inside, but to her relief, he seemed genuinely enthusiastic about the space. He deposited his belongings in the bedroom, and they left for what Dee assumed would be a brief tour of the property, given that except for his cabin, the rest of the Golden was a work in progress. But Michael insisted on scoping out every inch of the property, even peeking into the windows of each guest room. “Good bones,” he said, peering into a room in the main lodge. “The whole vintage thing still seems to be popular, so that’s in your favor. Looks like you’re missing some artwork, though.”
“The frames are filthy, so I’m cleaning them up. I live in the old owner’s quarters.”
Michael stepped back from the window. “Jasper Gormley was an odd guy. At least that’s what the gas station attendant told me when I stopped to fill up.” He checked his smartwatch. “I almost forgot, I’ve got an online meeting with an exec. I gotta go. Hey, if you need an assist around here—doing laundry, cleaning frames, walking Nugget—let me know.” He flashed a grin. “I’m always looking for ways to procrastinate.”
Dee returned the grin. “I can relate.”
They parted ways. Happy that the reunion with Michael had gone so well, Dee practically skipped back to her place. She treated herself to a spirited game of fetch with Nugget, had a bite to eat, then opted to spend a few hours going through one of Jasper Gormley’s old trunks instead of cleaning another print frame. She was delighted to discover a collection of ephemera and gadgets dating back to the founding of Foundgold. Land deeds, a century-old map, photos, and even daguerreotypes of the late owners’ ancestors and friends—while Dee doubted the collection had monetary value, she considered its historical significance priceless.
Debating what to do with the memorabilia, Dee had a brainstorm. Excited, she grabbed her car keys. She knew exactly to whom she should pitch her idea.
* * *
“Hello there!” Elmira’s greetings had grown increasingly warm with each pastry purchase on the part of Dee or Michael. She gestured to the bakery case with a come-hither expression. “I made chocolate espresso scones. You know you want one.”
“One?!” Dee exclaimed, knowing the lousy taste would belie the scone’s delicious name. “I’ll take a dozen. We have our first guest. I’ll serve them to him with breakfast.” She crossed her fingers behind her back. “So I had an idea I wanted to run by you.”
“Shoot.” Elmira began boxing the scones. “Oops, I shouldn’t say that. Lotta guns around here. People could take it literally.”
“I’ve been going through Mr. Gormley’s trunks and they’re a treasure trove of historical items. I know Foundgold has a hard time competing with Goldsgone for tourists. What if the town’s tourism board put together a Foundgold Historical Trail?”
Elmira snorted. “I love how you think we have a tourism board.”
“You don’t?” The news disappointed Dee. But she refused to let it quash her enthusiasm. “Then I’ll start one. I’ll set a meeting, make flyers, and distribute them to every household in town. Which shouldn’t be too hard, since there are only about fifty of them.”
“Good for you.” Elmira sealed the bakery box. “I think it’s a wonderful idea. Why don’t you hold the meeting here, in the café! I’ll donate baked goods.”
“Yay,” Dee said weakly.
The general store door opened, and Michael stepped inside. Dee gave him a friendly wave. His response came as a surprise. He seemed taken aback to see her. “Hi. I didn’t expect to run into you.”
“It’s my favorite store in town,” she said, wondering why he seemed so uncomfortable. “And that’s not because it’s the only store in town.” She leaned an elbow on the counter and whispered to Elmira, “That’s our guest.”
“Really.” The store owner pursed her lips.
“If I’d known you’d needed anything, I would have picked it up for you,” Dee said to Michael.
“That’s okay. I had a good writing day, so I’m rewarding myself with a six-pack of Sierra Nevada.” Michael nodded to Elmira. “Hey.”
“Hello,” she replied, her tone terse. “How have you been?”
“Not bad. You?”
“Can’t complain.”
Dee raised an eyebrow. The exchange, while close to monosyllabic, indicated Elmira and Michael knew each other. What exactly is going on here?
Michael grabbed a six-pack. He plunked down a twenty-dollar bill on the counter. “Keep the change.”
