Chapter 8

The last letter I had in the collection of correspondence from the law office had been a personal letter from Darius Booker to me. In it, he gave me his direct number, so I called it. It was obvious that he didn't give the number to a great number of people when he answered.

"Booker!"

"Mr. Booker, this is Cooper James."

"Mr. James! I've been hoping I'd hear from you soon, where are you?"

"I'm in Santa Rosa, more or less. I'm at the Hillside Inn, which I think might be considered the edge of town."

"I know where that's at. Its near the Flamingo. So are you ready to come downtown and get this done?"

"You bet," I said, though I was still uncertain what all it would be. Cooper James must've known what his parents might have left him, but Harley Scoville pretending to be Cooper James was completely lost. I gave my new cell number to Mr. Booker then warned him I was riding a motorcycle, so wouldn't be able to answer if he called while I was on the way in.

"You'll probably want to use the City parking garage on First & B street. Our offices are right across the street from it on First."

"Sounds good, see you soon."

The GPS, and it still struck me as odd that Cooper had this expensive piece of equipment, but no cell phone, told me that all I had to do was follow 4th street all the way into town until I hit B street, then take a left and follow B street until I hit 1st street. The garage would be on the corner. Nothing could be simpler, it seemed, as 4th street was the road in front of the inn.

It felt a bit odd not having to pack up to make this trip. The run to the store and to the radio shack had been too short to think of it as leaving the inn, but this trip would be longer, so felt more that way. It was nice to know I'd have someplace to come back to, even if it was a hotel room.

It was still beautiful California weather and the run into town was as simple as promised. I rumbled into the parking garage at 9:45. I got a thumbs up from the attendant as I entered and quickly found a ground floor parking spot. Since the Road King would fit into seldom used spaces set aside for bikes and sub-compacts, I found one that looked pretty safe right in the attendant's line of sight and walked back over to him.

"Nice ride," he offered immediately.

"Thanks, glad to find a spot where you'll be able to keep an eye on it for me."

"Where you headed?" he asked as he punched a parking ticket and handed it to me.

"I have an appointment at Preston & Roberts."
" Ahh, they're just across the street. The big Bronze and Copper doors right there" he pointed at the doors in question.

"Awesome, thanks!"

"No problem, and let them know you parked here, they'll validate your ticket so you won't have to pay."

I thanked the friendly fellow and slipped him a 5 spot at the same time, hoping it would ensure his keeping an eye on the bike. I had no sense of the character of Santa Rosa or its citizens, but thought it was better to try a little insurance. When I was Cooper's age a half dollar would have done the job, so figured these days that would make it a fiver.

The building in question was a bank, but the main lobby included a receptionist who sent me to an alcove with a row of elevators and instructions to take one to the fifth floor. Arriving at the fifth floor I found a lot of glass, bronze and lightly stained wood arranged in very modern, somewhat abstract ways, but more importantly, I found another receptionist.