Chapter 29

Lunch was toasted bagels, with slices of salami and pepper jack cheese, and then I spent some more time online.

Google let me find the news I was looking for from the Blackwood area newspapers. Harold Lee Scoville had died and the reporting was very kind. I found references to several obituaries in some of the larger national print publications as well, thanks to my ties to the newspaper and publishing industries.

I had been too old too long to be worried about how any of my children, grandchildren and even great grandchildren were doing without me. I had left the empire my father had begun in fine shape, and to the best of my knowledge my children had only improved it.

I planned to poke and prod at the edges of my old life, just to satisfy my curiosity. I could walk in my oldest son's house and claim to be a relative, if I had a need to, and Cooper James' DNA would back me up.

But I had no desire to. That was my old life and this was my new, and this one was going to be very, very different. After all, the disembodied voice in my head told me so.

I took the Harley into town for my meeting, thinking I might stop at a place I'd found online that looked like a good place to have it serviced when the time came. I was thinking I should have it looked at anyway, since it was so new, just to make sure there were no surprises. There was an actual Harley dealership just down highway 101 in Cotati, but I'd prefer someone local for repairs and servicing, if possible.

The offices of Howes Investments were easy enough to find, in a small but standalone three story building that was very distinguished looking, faced in a blue-gray slate and granite with the name across the front in rough-cut letters in the same stone. I parked the bike right in front of their doors and walked in with my collection of documents and correspondence in one hand and my helmet in the other.

The receptionist looked very much as I expected, and I wondered if this was Della. I wasn't sure because she smiled as I walked across the small lobby to her desk. "Mr. James?" she asked as I approached.

"Yes," I answered. She held out her hand and we shook. Her hand was cool and smooth and her handshake was firm yet still feminine.

"We've been expecting you sir," the smile continued unabated. "I'm Simone. Let me call up to Mr. Guilford's office and let them know you're here," she turned partially away without waiting for my answer and very quickly spoke a few brief words in hushed tones. "Someone will be down to get you momentarily."

We stood together there as we waited and I saw her glance at the motorcycle helmet. We waited a few minutes at most before the elevator door behind her and to my left chimed softly and opened. An elegantly dressed woman with very classy features walked over to where we were.

"Della, this is Mr. James," Simone introduced. "Mr. James this is Della Conrad, Mr. Guilford's administrative assistant. Della Conrad held her hand out as we were introduced, and we shook.

"A pleasure meeting you Mr. James," adding a smile equal to the one Simone the receptionist was wearing. "If you'll come with me, Mr. Guilford is looking forward to meeting you."

Simone offered to take my helmet and then I followed Della and wondered at the magnitude of the reception I was being given. There was something at work here I didn't understand yet.

I wasn't sure how much of the third floor was dedicated to Michael Guilford's office, but it must have been the majority of it because it was a huge space with a large desk, a conference table large enough for ten or twelve people and a small couch and easy chair in a corner next what looked like a bar. Michael Guilford was waiting about halfway between his desk and the door, and he to broke into a broad, cheery smile when he saw me.

"Cooper!" he strode forward with hand outstretched.

I don't know what Cooper might have picked up during his career in the Marines, but my years of experience in board rooms and executive's offices as Harley Scoville had taught me a lot. One of the things I knew was that this kind of behavior was usually from men who felt I had the advantage in our business positions.

I was dying to find out why that was. "Michael," I replied, holding out my hand. We shook, the proverbial hearty handshake, after which I was guided deftly over to the conference table where I saw several small piles of neatly stacked papers.

"Lets sit here. It'll be easier to work. Would you like something to drink?"

"Something cold and non-alcoholic if you've got it," I answered.

"How about some iced tea for the both of us Della?" she nodded and left us then as we sat at the table. "Now, Cooper..." there was finally a pause in what I was starting to think of as a well prepared performance by everyone I'd met here so far. Mr. Guilford leaned back in his chair and swiped the fine, graying hair on his head back out of his eyes. Except it wasn't in his eyes, but it was done with what seemed the force of habit.