Mindy Cowls left the bank and stood on the sidewalk staring up at the sky and taking a deep, exhilarating breath. She stepped to the curb and hailed a cab, climbing in and giving him the airport as her destination. She sat back and gazed at the passing tableau of life on the Los Angeles streets. The bank had been most accommodating to their new client and had done everything she asked without question.

She opened her purse and admired the new passport with her photograph showing the rather striking blonde she had become since leaving Santa Gordo. It certainly made her stand out on a black woman. The name suited the image, she was pleased to note, and she rolled it on her tongue with pleasure—Tania Squire. Blonde-haired black women exuded that attitude of, take me or leave me, and Tania was prepared to test the results of that characteristic.

She put the passport away and opened the bank form she had filled out, smiling at the balance deposited in the bank and almost getting giddy at the amount transferred to her new offshore account. She opened her cell and placed a call, speaking long enough to confirm her actions.

Jeannette's undertaking had provided the incentive for her own departure from her normal, ethical behavior. Hadn't she worked hard all these past months tracking the woman down? Wasn't she the one that financed her investigation without extra help from the church? What would they do with money anyway, she rationalized, scoffing at the new building as an unnecessary undertaking.

They could hold more bake sales and craft shows and eventually they would have enough to start again. Meanwhile, she was creeping closer to thirty-five and her future didn't suggest gold strikes like the one she had just made; it was only right she benefit from her efforts. Damn right!

She folded up the forms and stuffed them back in her purse. Mindy Cowls could take off her shoes and relax from now on, Tania Squire was about to enjoy the good life.

******************

Gordon stood up from the desk and watched the small entourage parade across the patio in front of the guests and through the glass doors to the office. Led by Wilfred Putnam and flanked by Warren Biggs, Bradley Marchmount and trailed by a bustling Roger Dortmund.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Hardy." Wilfred held out a hand that Gordon studied briefly before grasping.

"What can I do for you gentlemen?"

"We would like to discuss a matter that has been the focus of everyone's attention recently." Wilfred said.

"You mean the Whysts."

"Precisely."

"What has that to do with me?"

"Well . . . could we perhaps retire to a spot with a little more privacy?"

Gordon led the group into the living room behind the office and indicated seats for all.

"The young woman who started all the fuss, Miss Cowls, she was a guest here for a period early last month."

Gordon shrugged a nod.

"Well, we are concerned about what she might have discussed with you or any of your guests during her stay."

"And I'm supposed to do what?" Gordon looked at the group. The expressions ranged from concern to outright fear.

"Impart to us any such information, Mr. Hardy. In case you don't understand the full impact of Miss Cowls' visit to Santa Gordo, let me bring you up to date." Wilfred told Gordon about the installation of Mrs. Whyst in the Colonial Palm on a permanent basis, including her husband's intention in that situation. The resignation of Mayor Brewster and his subsequent departure from the town. The realignment of the city council and the need to quell all sources of information and gossip regarding the agreements reached with Miss Cowls and Mrs. Whyst."

Gordon sat back and studied the group. "There is nothing I can tell you fellows. Miss Cowls was simply a guest here. She came. She stayed. She paid and left. Period."

"Not quite period, Mr. Hardy. You recall we visited her here and she was meeting with Mr. Redbird. We also have it on good authority that she met with Jeremy Callum. Now," Wilfred leaned forward confidentially, "we both know she wouldn't have known about Jeremy without help."

"If you want to ask questions about me, then ask me." Deborah stood in the kitchen doorway, arms folded and her, I'm ready any time you are, look on her face.

The men twisted in their seats to feel the hot glare from Deborah. A flurry of adjusting positions and coughing filled the few seconds before she snapped out.

"Well?"

It took an hour to not only get the questions answered, but to divulge a lot more than intended, under Deborah's stubborn interrogation. When they had gone and the couple were flaked out on the sofa with a large glass of wine each, they finally looked at one another with complete relief.

"If we're keeping score, I think you won that bout," Gordon acknowledged.

"Did you get from that our Mrs. Whyst will be, uhm- operating from a suite at the Colonial Palm in an entertainment capacity?"

"That seems to be the local gossip. Clifford is keeping her a virtual prisoner under threat of extradition to Kansas."

"Can you believe how far her influence was spreading? What if she had become Mayor or, God forbid, Governor!"

"I'm more concerned about the people left who will be filling those offices." He took a slug of his wine. "They're the very ones she was compromising. Doesn't say much for morals or ethics in a town council does it?"

"Why don't you run?"

Gordon snorted some wine through his nose and jerked forward on the sofa, cupping his face with a dripping hand.

"Are you serious?" He coughed and went to the kitchen for some paper towel.

"Why not?" She followed him out. "You're a businessman with an investment in the town. You know plenty of the people and you're on different committees around town."

"Jesus, Deborah, I judged the Christmas windows along with two other people for the Chamber and I've been on a few hotel inspections."

"Okay. You opened this hotel here because you had a vision about Santa Gordo. One that you wanted to see come true for tourists and citizens alike. Make it happen; get people excited about it and run for council . . . or even Mayor."

"Oh indeed. Mayor Hardy- har, har." Gordon finished his wine and rinsed the glass in the sink. "Deborah, don't put any more brain matter into that idea, okay? I just want to run my little hotel, make a decent living and enjoy life as it comes."

"You probably couldn't do the job anyway."

"Swell, rip a guy down. At least I was able to book this weekend pretty full while you were busy being Nancy Drew."

"What I learned might come in handy down the road, Gordon. You can always hint at things if you want changes on the Chamber agendas or when the hotel committee comes around with their room tax projections."

"My God, I'm in business with a Jeannette clone!"

"In more ways than one, partner."