Chapter 11
Ismeralda
Thankfully the incident with Charles W. Paddington was the only hiccup in last evening’s book signing. Not a single fire or other attack in sight. Despite the stalker’s threats, it’s still a joy to meet and engage with my fans. I’m delighted at their enthusiasm for my tips and tricks and for keeping Best Face Forward at the top of the bestsellers list.
Gabe was subdued on our drive back to the hotel. Even though he overreacted, I’m comforted knowing he’ll protect me, even if it’s neutralizing a fancy pen. His part in the incident was a mixture of James Bond, Bruce Lee, and Frank Drebin.
The morning dawns bright and beautiful. Gabe talked me into making a quick stop at Montezuma Castle National Monumenton our way to Reno. It will be a short side trip that he feels I will find “touristy.” Um... looking at an ancient structure carved into limestone doesn’t exactly turn my crank, and the name conjures up Montezuma’s revenge, which isn’t a pleasant thought. Frankly, I was planning on editing a new makeup video as we drive, but he acted so disappointed when I suggested we skip the castle, I relented.
As agreed, Gabe stops to collect me at the door to my suite because I’m no longer allowed to roam free and meet him in the lobby. When I open the door, the Grumpy Gus demeanor is back—no funny and joking Gabe in sight.
Today I’m wearing a pair of designer blue jeans paired with a V-neck T-shirt and sandals. This is about as casual as I get. But Gabe doesn’t so much as utter one comment about my attire, which immediately disappoints me. I was just waiting for a “I see you figured out what casual means” comment or something equally snarky, but all I get is crickets.
He grunts when he sees my stack of luggage beside the door. Rather than simply bringing in one suitcase last evening, I had him bring two so I could reshuffle some of my outfits. Business professional was in one case and more casual in the other. In addition to the two suitcases, there’s my laptop bag and oversized purse sitting in the pile.
“Good morning!” I chirp, hoping to elicit a smile.
“G’morning,” he grumbles as he collects my suitcases. I grab my laptop bag and purse and we’re off; I jog to keep up with Gabe’s long strides.
Conversation is nonexistent as we ride down the elevator. I’m greeted by the cheery person at the checkout desk and rejoice in finally having a talkative human being to interact with. She’s efficient, comments on the lovely weather, and reminds us of the complimentary coffee in the lobby. “Have a great day!” she croons as she hands me my receipt.
Grumpy Gus strides off, ignoring the free coffee comment. He loads the bags while I slide into the front seat. When he sees me sitting here, he arches an eyebrow but says nothing as he starts the vehicle and navigates through morning traffic.
“Are we taking the interstate or backroads?” I ask when he merges onto I-17.
“Interstate,” he says in a clipped voice.
At this rate, I should have sat in the back seat and stuck my nose in my laptop to edit that new makeup video. My every other day posting schedule can be stressful, but I strictly adhere to it, no matter what. Wish I could lighten up, but I constantly feel beholden to my over-two-million followers.
We fly down the road, and each blue exit information sign entices me to ask my surly driver to stop for a quick breakfast. Starbucks... Dunkin’ Donuts... McDonalds. I’d even settle for one of those McMuffins right now.
After we clear the city, fewer and fewer signs proclaim that a fast-food joint is located off the exit. Slumping in my seat, I wonder whether I’ve got a granola bar hidden inside my purse. This is going to be a long, hungry trip.
The miles roll by as I stare at cacti, tumbleweeds, and the occasional roadkill. Looks like possums don’t fare well on this stretch of highway.
“Wanna grab a coffee?” my driver asks about thirty minutes later.
“Where?!” I snipe. “All the fast-food breakfast stops are behind us,” I grumble.
He throws me a side-eye look. “There’s a McDonalds at every exit. Don’t get your knickers in a twist.”
I grunt, his grumpy attitude now rubbing off on me. What I thought was going to be a fun drive has deteriorated into a miserable trip. I’m hangry and annoyed. He’s really making me regret agreeing to the tourist excursion. Any remote chance of that being fun is ruined if he’s this grumpy the whole time. At our next stop, I’m climbing into the back seat. Grumpy Gus can just sit up front by himself.
Exits fly by with the occasional sign advertising a gas station, but no fast-food joints.
“Look, there’s a gas station advertising food!” Gabe says in the most upbeat tone he’s used so far this morning.
“Gas and Grub?” I say, reading the sign. Skepticism leaks through my voice.
He nods as he steers the big car onto the exit ramp. “I’m sure they’ll have donuts and coffee.”
The exit information sign instructs Gabe to turn to the right, although there’s not a gas station in sight. After five minutes driving on this deserted backroad, I’m convinced this jaunt is a lost cause.
Six minutes . . . Seven minutes . . . Ten minutes . . .
“How far did the sign say to go?” I ask.
“It didn’t,” he mutters.
“Just turn around. The place probably went out of business,” I shoot back, still hangry and seeing no chance of food in my future.
Right after I say the words, a shiny new gas station appears on the horizon. It has rows and rows of gas pumps beside a neat and tidy brick building. A massive yellow and red sign declares “Gas and Grub.”
“It’s like the Buc-ee’s of the Southwest!” I exclaim, clapping my hands excitedly. The Buc-ee’s gas station chain prides itself in offering delicious freshly cooked foods on-site. My mouth waters in anticipation.
Gabe pulls into the lot, which has not another soul in sight, putting a slight damper on my enthusiasm.
“Stick close to me,” he says as we walk towards the building.
I snort. “You think my stalker is lurking inside just waiting for us to stop here ?”
I was trying to tease about how ludicrous his statement sounds, but he still glares at me as he makes sure to enter the building first.
The business is like a combination of a cheesy souvenir shop and small grocery. Rows and rows of shelves are filled with southwestern-looking mugs, keychains with names on them (I’ll never find one of those with Ismeralda on it), wooden Christmas ornaments in the shape of Arizona, T-shirts, cowboy hats, and even those tiny spoons for people who collect them. You can purchase a paperweight with a scorpion encased in glass. Salt and pepper shakers in the shape of a cactus. And even a Most Wanted poster that can be personalized with a picture of your face. Is the owner just hoping a lost tourist will stumble upon this place?
Leaving Gabe and the souvenirs behind—he’s inspecting those scorpion paperweights—I head to the grocery area in search of breakfast. Every kind of pre-packaged snack cake is available. Ding Dongs, Twinkies (they still make those?), Swiss Rolls, white powdered sugar Donettes, cinnamon pinwheels, and pink Snoballs line the shelves. Beef jerky sticks, pork rinds, and snack-size packages of every chip imaginable round out the “eat at your own risk” section. For the health food fanatic, they also stock granola bars in a variety of shapes and sizes. Unlike Buc-ee’s, this place doesn’t seem to offer any freshly made food. It’s pre-packaged stuff—and who knows how long it’s been on the shelf—or nothing.
“See anything to your liking?” Gabe asks, making me jump.
“I’m debating between these healthy pink Snoballs and the Ding Dongs,” I reply, hoping to make him laugh while also wishing I had one of Sofia’s delicious tamales instead of these choices. Even my sweet tooth is overwhelmed by the amount of sugar in this aisle. At least there’s little chance of getting a case of Montezuma’s revenge from this pre-packaged food.
He chuckles, the first sign that his bout of morning crabbiness is over. “I’m a Twinkies man myself,” he says, swiping a couple packages from the shelf.
I grab one of the pink confections and join Gabe at the coffee serving station. An ancient-looking carafe sits on an equally ancient warming burner. How did they get something so old in a place that looks so new? Gabe grabs a to-go cup and pours what looks like brown sludge into his cup. He sniffs the cup, shrugs, and pops on a lid. Because my need for caffeine has risen to desperation levels, I do the same.
We check out, paying almost double what we paid at Sofia’s store, then walk back to the limo. Despite Gabe’s grouchy mood, I slide in the passenger seat up front. I’ll just listen to tunes on my phone and ignore him, if needed. Maybe he’ll warm up now that he has some caffeine and sugar. Or maybe what he needs is a nice tourist excursion...
Riding in silence, the miles back to the interstate seem much shorter and we’re at the onramp in record time. Once we’re back on the interstate, Gabe sips his coffee, then says, “Sorry I’m such a grouch this morning. The General called, and there’s another stalker email in your inbox.”
I almost spew out the sip of coffee I just took. “What did it say?” I wheeze. The General and Gabriel are closely monitoring my email in an attempt to spare me finding these myself. I even turned off my notifications.
He hesitates for several beats.
“Come on! Tell me.”
“‘Don’t get too cozy at the resort.’”
My eyes go big as saucers and my heart rate increases. The coffee I just drank settles like a cesspool in my stomach, making me feel nauseous. I’m no longer hungry for the Snoball, although Gabe’s devouring those Twinkies like they’re delicious French pastries.
“How does the stalker know where we’re staying?” I whisper.
“That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?” he replies.