Ian tasted several replies and settled on, “The next room spent a long time shouting.”
“That would be the Armenians. They show up every week or so. Noisy, but otherwise never any trouble, I’m happy to say. They’ve got a relative who’s a guest of the state.”
Suddenly, the guests crowding the next room made sense. “There’s a jail near here?”
“Prison. Jail is county. Lompoc is federal and state both.” The manager smiled across the counter. “First time in California?”
Ian had actually visited the state twice before, once to perform at the Hollywood Bowl, the other time to record an album with the San Francisco Symphony. But it seemed safer to reply, “Sort of.”
“Lompoc’s the state’s largest prison. Most of these other guests have somebody doing time.” He handed Ian the bill. “A lot of hard-luck tales in that room, if you have a mind to listen. Which I don’t.”
Ian rejoined the highway and continued north. By the time he entered San Luis Obispo, the sweltering heat had again defeated the Kia’s AC. He parked in a multistory garage and headed out on foot.
The lawyer’s office was done in warm desert tones, with attractive artwork and comfortable seating and a smiling receptionist, who introduced herself as Regina and asked if she could get him anything. Three minutes later, a tall, attractive woman in her early thirties strode confidently into the reception area.
“Mr. Hart? Megan Pierce. I’m afraid I have only a few minutes. I’m between conference calls with clients.” She inspected his rumpled, sweaty appearance. “I was expecting you yesterday afternoon.”
“I was caught behind an accident near Santa Barbara.”
“Told you,” the receptionist said. Regina was a cheerful, heavyset Latina with skin the color of warm caramel. To Ian, “I saw it on the news. The tailback was over twenty miles long.”
“I waited there for almost three hours,” he said. “When I finally started moving, I was so tired I gave up and spent the night in Lompoc.”
Both women were aghast.
Megan demanded, “Why on earth did you stop there?”
“Because I didn’t know any better. I heard about the prison only this morning.”
Megan addressed the receptionist. “Call the inn. See if the room is still available.” She inspected him again, then asked, “Why didn’t you call and let us know you’d been detained?”
He shrugged. “No phone. They cut off my service.”
“Who did?”
“The lawyers forcing me into bankruptcy. They froze my accounts. Which canceled my credit cards.” He watched a different light enter her dark gaze. “I thought you knew.”
“Of course, we’d heard about the scandal.” Megan inspected him. “Let me make sure I understand. Attorneys representing groups who were defrauded by your manager—”
“Ex-manager.”
“Seek to holdyouaccountable forhisdebts.”
“That pretty much sums up my life these days.”
Her words took on a sharper edge as she told Regina, “Call the clients. See if they’ll let me reschedule our conference for an hour later. Is Sol in?”
“Working on motions. Not to be disturbed under any circumstances. By anyone. No exceptions.”
“We’ll see about that.”
Regina smiled. “Should I tell him you’re on your way?”
“Don’t bother.” To Ian, she said, “Make yourself comfortable. This may take a few minutes.” Megan started down the side corridor, then turned back. “When I called and you said the movers had just arrived . . .”
“They’re kicking me out. I was putting everything in storage. My home is going on the block next week.”
“That’s what they think.” She walked down to the corner office, knocked, and opened the door.
