“So now what, Christian?” Colleen said into the phone, her cowboy boots up on her office desk. She took a sip of strong, fresh-brewed coffee, softened by rich cream and two heaping spoons of brown sugar.
“I’ll put in a call to the parole office,” Christian Newell said on the other end. “But it’s after hours. We won’t hear anything until tomorrow at the earliest.”
“You think the Thunderbird Hotel is going to work as a verifiable address?”
“We’ll say it’s interim lodging. Even if they don’t accept it, it shows good faith.”
“You don’t know Randy Ferguson. I don’t think the term ‘good faith’ exists in his vocabulary.”
“Is there any way you can get him on your side?”
“Oh, there’s a way, all right. He’s made it pretty clear. But I’m not going that far.”
The line crackled. “So he’s one of those.”
“Yep,” she said, sipping.
“You should have told me.”
“It’s not something I felt like talking about.”
“It gives me more to go on.”
“I prefer to fight my own battles in that department. And, to be honest, I kind of thought you had already taken care of things. That was part of the deal.”
“I am taking care of things,” he said defensively. “In the meantime, don’t answer the door. Especially if the people on the other side look like cops. You could be on your way back to Colorado while we’re still trying to straighten this mess out.”
“Let me know. I can’t do squat stuck here.”
When the sun went down, she did the rounds of the rubble-strewn plant, checking for any new disturbances. She patrolled the perimeter, walking along the water, finishing up by the dead delivery truck. No new garbage around back. She walked around the front to the cab, shone her flashlight on the door.
“Hola?”
Ramon wasn’t there. She kind of wished he were.
She finished the rounds as it started to rain again, then went back upstairs, turned on her new transistor radio, dialed in some classical music, set the radio on the desk.
Time to call Mary Davis again? No. Too soon. She couldn’t risk incurring Mary’s wrath and cutting off all communication. She’d give her time to let the sugar bowl incident fade.
What had happened to Jim Davis? Had he simply blown her off? Or was it something more ominous?