“I like that idea,” I said as I got the last unpainted spot on the ceiling. The ceiling was a warm white and the walls a kind of peachy pink. Every color would be uplifting, except for the indica rooms. Those would be painted in cool, soothing shades of blues and greens in keeping with the relaxing effects of that strain. Some of our men were working on drywall in the rooms, as much of it needed replacing, so we really didn’t have a single room finished yet.
Lots of the Leaves of Grass Mexican workers were helping us. Right now, two of them were tiling the lobby entryway. They also worked on linoleum in the rooms. Some repaired the roof, some ripped out dead vegetation, and some worked on outdoor pathways. The motel had been built to lodge people visiting Mormon Lake, before global warming had turned it into Mormon Pond. Aboveground wooden sidewalks led down to docks at the old lake, now pointless sitting areas. We’d decided to put picnic tables out there with umbrellas so people enjoying a hit of flower could have a private spot to sit away from the road. Each dock would correspond to a room number. Lytton had obviously put up most of the money for the motel, but Fox had made noises about buying him out.
I knew Fox was there to stay. He’d made some irrevocable decisions since arriving in P and E, and I didn’t know what he was saying to Jones about not having iced me yet. It wasn’t a subject we discussed.
We also hadn’t discussed Travis McShane since the Phoenix airport hotel. It was bad enough he’d put himself in harm’s way to protect a woman who was cuckolding him. But to go to jail for that? I agreed with Fox—he needed to preserve his own ass at that point. And yes, Lola had moved into Kightlinger’s house after leaving Fox, adding insult to injury.
Maddie said, “Well, make sure you do it before you have the grand opening. Slushy likes to cut ribbons, so he might walk in on you.”
Tracy said, “Remember when he was cutting the ribbon at that new aquarium store downtown with that giant pair of scissors?” Slushy had his very own giant ribbon-cutting scissors, he loved doing it so much. “He cut the city manager’s tie.”
I was giggling as I descended the ladder. June stuck her head in the front door, saying, “Guys. This is my bestie Emma Flantz. And this is her fiancé, Paul Goodhue. He’s the P and E building inspector.”
“Oh!” I wiped my hand of nonexistent paint on my apron and held it out for the other two to shake. It was pretty handy that June’s BFF’s fiancé was the building inspector. Not that I expected any breaks from him. I didn’t want to cut corners anyway. But it was nice to be on a first name basis.
June said, “Where’s Fox? I wanted our newest member to meet Paul.”
“Oh, he’s not a Bare Boner,” I said.
“Yet,” said Tracy, still painting her wall.
I frowned and smiled at the same time. “What do you…?” I looked to Maddie for assistance. As the Prez’ old lady, she’d know the most.
And she smiled mysteriously. “I’m not saying anything.”
“Yet,” repeated Tracy.
Shit! Did everyone know something I didn’t? I decided to take it directly to the source. Ford was working on drywall a few rooms down. Fox himself had gone out to the opposite side of town where the raptor rescue was to talk to the director. It was a long shot—he couldn’t provide any references from the falconer who had taught him his skills down in Nogales. He could only impress the guy with his knowledge of birds. He couldn’t even let the director know he was a lawyer. That would involve dredging up Travis McShane.
I went into the little office kitchen where some workers had brought produce and things they’d cooked. There was a bunch of salsa, ceviche in the fridge, delicious flautas, and a cheese quesadilla divided like a pizza. Strangely, there was a cake baked in the shape of two boobs. That must’ve come from a sweetbutt. I cut Ford a piece of green melon, grabbed a plastic spoon, and went outside to walk a few rooms down.
Even with the lake so tiny, the views were expansive. Elk often wandered across the dry lake bed. From some of the docks, you could see the red rocks of Pure and Easy that Fox had allegedly come here to see. This time of year, fields of buttery calliopsis blanketed where the lake used to be, all ringed with stands of ponderosa pine.
Ford was in Room 5 with Kneecap and Knoxie. They were taping and mudding the new drywall. It sounded like whoever was next door was drilling in the panels.
“I brought you guys some melon,” I said lamely, obviously holding only one spoon.
“Oh, good,” said Kneecap, eager for a chance to rest. He yanked his face mask down around his chin to take the whole giant slice of melon from me.
I went to stand beneath Ford’s ladder. “Ford. There was some office chatter about Fox joining the Bare Bones?”
Kneecap guffawed. “You can’t just join. You have to Prospect first.”
“He’s right,” said Ford, ignoring my direct question. “Anyone who gets invited to join has to Prospect for awhile first. Shitty work no one else wants to do. Escorting old ladies places.”