Free Murder Follows Money by Lora Roberts Page B

little house, my refuge, had never been more desirable.
    “But can you come to the City early tomorrow? It’s another long day. That radio interview at seven, and then the Cordon Bleu in Sonoma County at ten, and a bookstore in Santa Rosa at one P.M., then Berkeley at seven P.M. Lots of riding in the car."
    I must have cringed, because she searched my face with concern. “Would you just as soon not do anymore?”
    I thought of that lovely money. With the money Judi was giving me for these four days, I could easily pay my property tax and have a bit left over for the emergency fund. Then I could write next week instead of looking for more temp work.
    “I’ll do it. The worst is probably over.” Even as I said the words, I knew it was a lie. Driving around the Bay Area with Hannah and Naomi, no matter how luxurious the automobile, was going to be awful. But a lot of temp work is awful, and not nearly so well paid.
    “Great.” Judi looked relieved. “Get along, now. Just be there tomorrow before seven A.M. so you can facilitate the radio interview, then herd them around to the other events."
    The limo was waiting when I stepped out of the FanciFoods store. Judi had called the driver, and he opened the back door with a flourish. I had it all to myself for the forty-five-minute ride to Palo Alto, and I reveled in every minute. I opened the refrigerator, though I didn’t drink anything for fear that Hannah had counted all the little bottles of wine and booze. I found controls for music, air, even humidity, and played with them all.
    The driver let me off in front of Paul Drake’s house. Both houses on the long lot had come to me, but Paul was buying the house in front; I kept the little cottage in back. My half of the lot was roomy enough for a good-sized garden as well as running space for Barker.
    I could hear Barker; Drake had let him out, and he was charging up and down the fence that separated my house from Drake’s parking area. I went to quiet him.
    He was happy to see me, but no happier than I was to be home. While I petted him and smoothed his black and white fur and kept him from planting his big paws on my shoulders, Drake’s kitchen door opened.
    “So you’re back.” He stood in the doorway, rumpled, his wiry hair standing out around his face, holding his place in a book with one finger. “How was your day as a worker bee?”
    “You wouldn’t believe the half of it.”
    He shivered. “Don’t stand out in the cold. Bring your dog and tell me about it. I saved you some dinner.”
    I opened the gate for Barker, and we hustled into the golden light of Drake’s warm kitchen.
     

Chapter 8
     
    I drove into San Francisco early the next morning with the commuters, instead of taking the train. The train has many advantages, but in case there was more shopping to do, I wanted some transportation. My ‘69 VW bus, called Babe because it was blue and somewhat ox-like in disposition, was actually a great commute car that traveled well at thirty to forty miles an hour. I didn’t have much occasion during my drive to reach its top speed of sixty.
    The sky was still dark when I got to the city. I made my way to Nob Hill, dodging delivery trucks, bike messengers, and homeless people. The entrance to the hotel’s parking garage was guarded by a gnome who peered suspiciously at me and my clunky transportation.
    “Are you a guest? This garage is for guests only.”
    “I’m working for one of your guests. Hannah Couch.” I didn’t remember the room number. “One of the big suites. Possibly the Presidential one.”
    He turned away to speak into a telephone, then let me in, directing me to a parking place far to the back, I guess so the bus was less visible amongst the Mercedes and Jaguars and even Rolls-Royces I saw as I drove to my corner. On the way to the elevator I stopped to tell him, “It’s a classic, you know. Extremely valuable. Don’t let anyone steal it.” Judging from his blank stare, he