Sunny commanded herself, Breathe slow. In and out. In and out. The command didn't work.
She was so angry she hit her fist against the steering wheel. When she reached the entrance to Mr. Grant's property she slammed her brakes on, reached for her cell phone, and punched speed dial to a private number.
"Hello, Sunny. Are you in Sedona? This must be important since you used my private number."
She inhaled a long, calming breath, but sounded breathless when she said, "Adam I want you to locate all the property bordering the land owned by Mr. Grant. If it's for sale, buy it. If not, make the owners an offer they can't refuse."
There was silence on the other end and then Adam said, "Whoa, girl. What's going on?"
Sunny sucked another breath and said evenly, "Mr. Grant is the biggest jerk I've ever met and I've decided to pull out all the stops to own the homestead that belonged to my family."
"Sunny! That's not like you."
She thought about that for an instant and replied, "You're right, but Mr. Grant has forced my hand. I want that land and if it means squeezing him out, so be it." Sunny heard Adam's sharp inhalation.
He said, "Okay. I'll get right on it."
She abruptly ended the call. Her anger now morphed into something akin to nostalgia or longing. Reading the journal had shifted something inside her and when she thought about how close she was to the cabin her family had lived in, it brought tears to her eyes. Callously, Mr. Grant had refused to allow her to see it, but she knew he was aware of it. She had seen a flicker in his eyes when she mentioned the cabin. Maybe it no longer existed, maybe it had been torn down years ago, but something remained. She was sure of it.
She brushed away tears and pulled onto the road, not bothering to refasten the chain. Her mind busily ticked a "to do" list. First, she would find an off the beaten path, nondescript motel, and then she would relax in a hot bath before firing up her laptop and doing her own due diligence in locating property for sale in the area.
Feeling somewhat placated, she headed back to the highway. Since the homestead her family had once owned was on the outskirts of Sedona, closer to a community known as the Village of Oak Creek, she concentrated her motel search there.
The main highway ran through the village and she traveled its ten minute length back and forth twice before spotting a small sign advertising "Bell Rock Motel," with an arrow pointing down a side street. She turned onto the street and followed it for some distance. The motel was cute and painted a cheery yellow. She pulled into the parking lot and thought, This place is perfect.
When she entered the office through an entry decorated with orange gingerbread trim, she immediately felt welcomed. A full-figured, salt-and-pepper haired woman stood behind the countertop and cheerily asked, "How can I help you, ma'am?" She smoothed a hand over her topknot and smiled warmly.
Sunny couldn't help but return her smile. "I'm looking for a room for several days. I'm not exactly sure how long."
The woman's smile widened and she tapped her chin. Her faded blue eyes twinkled. "Well, my daughter just finished cleaning the pink room. I think it will be perfect for you."
Sunny had read somewhere that pink created a calming influence on criminals and the insane. She inwardly chuckled. Maybe the color was just what she needed. "I love pink. I'll take it."
The proprietress stretched out her hand. "My name is Angelica. Welcome to Bell Rock Motel. I came to the area as a young girl with my mother and father, and never left. As soon as we saw the red rocks, we knew we were home."
Sunny shook Angelica's hand and then the kindly woman handed her a form.
Angelica said, "Just fill this out, show me your driver's license, and you're all set."
Sunny reached into a pretty green vase filled with colorful plastic, flower-topped pens, answered the questions on the form, and reached into her wallet for her driver's license. Would she be recognized? Her license listed her as Sunny Jones—she'd reverted to her maiden name after her divorce—and the picture had been taken while she was purposely free of makeup and her black hair pulled tightly back. Angelica barely glanced at the photo before handing it back to her. Breathing a sigh of relief, Sunny returned it to her wallet and pulled out cash to pay for her room, but Angelica said, "No, dear. You can pay when you leave."
The "pink" room turned out to be really pink—pink walls with fuchsia trim, frilly pink bedspread with frou-frou pillows in multiple shades of pink, white shower curtain with large pink and purple butterflies, pink telephone, and even a small round table painted pink with two chairs upholstered in a fabric of swirling rose shades. For some people the room would have been gaudy, but Sunny found it to be quite charming.
After she unpacked her belongings into an antique cherry wood chest with an old television sitting atop it, she headed for the bathroom and the hot bubble bath she had promised herself. She did her best thinking while immersed in hot water. In fact, several of her hit songs had been written in that manner.
She soaked and thought about cranky Mr. Jason Grant. Her attorney had previously told her the man had gone through a nasty divorce, but that was no excuse for his awful behavior. Into the room she said aloud, "That doesn't excuse you. I went through a nasty divorce myself, but I don't treat people like dirt." After she'd lambasted Mr. Grant in her mind, thinking of how she would tell him off the next time they met, she finally closed her eyes and relaxed.