My flight was delayed an hour so my early wake up was in vain. Killing time as I waited, I picked up a discarded newspaper on a vacated seat next to me. It was a Boston and I searched through it, searching to see if Ethel Reagan was still tracking the Psychic Tipster. All that business seemed months, not just weeks, ago. Ethel had moved on to a story of a new gambling ship sailing out of Lynn.
I moved to the want ads, speculating on what I'd be doing with my time in the future but nothing caught my eye. An article on young girl reported missing from her Worcester home brought back memories of Betsy searching for more details on similar disappearances. I said a silent prayer the young lady hadn't fallen into the hands of someone like our stalker. More depressing news filled the paper; a drive-by shooting in Dorchester, a knifing at a Boston bus stop and a baby abandoned in a rest room at Logan Airport. I put aside the paper and tried to nap.
Once aboard my flight I spent the next several hours squeezed between a talkative sailor and a woman with a fussy child. After a solid hour of the child crying, I wondered if the mother read about the abandoned child, perhaps with a fleeting hint of sympathy.
I had opted to skip the short flight to Santa Barbara as Betsy, the seasoned traveler, had no difficulty renting a car and maneuvering the traffic to pick me up at LAX. I searched the faces at baggage claim, one of many in the crowded facility, but didn't spot her. Nervously, I dialed her cell and felt a flood of relief when she picked up. When I spotted her, Molly and Julie were by her side with Molly holding hands with each.
The hundred mile drive up the coast to Santa Barbara took more than two hours during which we chatted the entire way. Howie's mood and disposition were unimproved though Julie was convinced he would come around now that we were together. Betsy had summarily vacated the expensive Four Seasons and in its place, booked us all into more modest accommodations. She left the humungous bill on Quinn's credit card, perhaps with a hint of spite. Quinn's equipment filled the trunk of the rental.
Our new quarters were in The Pacific Crest Inn on the east side of town. Betsy booked three adjoining room, on the first floor, with a view of the pool. A five minute walk found us at the waterfront and beach. There was no need for the high-rise quiet Quinn and Howie had required as we were no longer conducting sessions. Molly was thrilled with the pool, another first for her.