I figured by now, Henry had fetched Rosie from the airport, dropped her off at the tavern, and returned to St. Terry’s. I had no idea how to find him. He’d be in range of the ICU, but I doubted they accepted long-distance calls, and the nursing staff certainly wouldn’t interrupt their work long enough to send out a runner. I dropped a couple of coins in the slot and dialed his home number. Sure enough, his machine picked up and I left a message indicating that my plans had changed. I told him not to look for me at all that night. Even if my meeting with Ellen ended at 9:00, by some miracle, I didn’t want to embark on a two-and-a-half-hour drive. I paid for my gas and then I cruised the downtown area looking for a motel. I passed a McDonald’s and circled back. While 5:30 wasn’t exactly supper time, I paused long enough to scarf down a Quarter Pounder with Cheese, accessorized with fries and a Coke. I was nearly cross-eyed with carbs and fat grams when I wadded up the wrapping from my QP and tucked it in the french fry box. Once back on Truxtun, already my favorite street in Bakersfield, I spotted a Holiday Inn. It looked like a palace compared to the Thrifty Lodge. Since at that point I’d denounced thrift, the rates seemed entirely reasonable.

As soon as I reached my room, I stripped down and took a shower, emerging from the bathroom fifteen minutes later with clean hair and a pure heart. I stretched out on the bed, thinking to close my eyes for twenty minutes while I worried about Felix. I had no idea what was going on. All I knew was the Boggarts had attacked him in retaliation for the raid on the camp. I woke with a start an hour and forty-five minutes later and had to scramble to throw on my clothes, retrieve the Mustang from the parking lot, and reach the Brandywine by 8:00.

The club was largely deserted at that hour, as Anna had predicted. I paused inside the door to get my bearings. Two bartenders were setting up, moving bottles and stemware, dumping ice from a plastic bucket into one of the wells. A waitress stood at one end of the bar, leaning on her elbows while she chatted with the two. The music from the jukebox played at a muted level. I picked up a portion of the sound track from Dirty Dancing, which I thought might bode well. The raucous thumping numbers would come later when I was gone . . . I hoped.