Page 14 of His Gilded Cage

In many ways, I still felt like a grieving, angry boy throwing punches at the world. Was it time for me to grow up?

The wind drew tears from the corners of my eyes. I concentrated on my final memory of my mother wishing I’d asked her more questions.

All these years I’d assumed that she had wanted to say good-bye. The psychologist my father hired for me said that suicide victims often organize a final event with their families to put their house in order before dying. The boat trip had supposedly been my mother’s way of letting go.

Veronica was right. I hadn’t allowed myself to question this theory since that would have forced me to admit I had doubts.

What if my mother hadn’t been saying goodbye to me? What if she really did have something important to tell me before we anchored in Sayulita?

The car slowed. I opened my eyes as Veronica pulled into a circular drive. We were in front of a small white hotel with stucco walls and wisteria climbing over the front door.

Casa Flores.

Just reading the sign outside the building made it hard to breathe.

I remembered this place. My mother had talked about it frequently when I was a boy. She was born in Sayulita and she worked as a housekeeper at this hotel before she married my father. She loved this place because it reminded her of where she had come from. It reminded her to remember her roots.

I had never stayed in this hotel.

“Christ,” I murmured, willing myself to be strong.

A man in a dark suit stood outside the main doors. He wore mirrored sunglasses and watched us as we parked. “You made good time,” he said, opening the door for Veronica.

“Marco, this is my colleague Fox,” Veronica said, nodding at the man in the suit.

“Fox,” I said. “Your government agency friend is named Fox.”

“No jokes,” he said, his voice stern. It was hard to read his expression behind those mirrored sunglasses. He handed Veronica a stack of folders.

“Fox is just leaving,” Veronica said.

“I’ll stay out front,” he said. He raised his glasses and his gaze lingered on Veronica for a moment longer than seemed professional. I wondered if he knew he didn’t have a shot with her. I almost told him that he wasn’t her type.

“Suit yourself,” Veronica said. “And thanks for pulling this all together.”

“Cabana three,” Fox said, handing her a brass key.

“This way,” Veronica said to me. I glanced over my shoulder in time to see Fox standing guard at the front door, one hand casually at his waist. The glint of his firearm was hard to miss in the sunlight.

We walked along a winding garden path between a series of small white cabanas.

“My mother worked here when she was a girl,” I said. “Why are we here now?”

“According to hotel records. Your mother had a reservation booked to arrive here two days after she died.”

Veronica stopped in front of a door.

“Why would she book a hotel room if she planned to kill herself?” I said.

“Exactly,” Veronica said. She held up the key. “You ready for this?”

I nodded and she unlocked the door.

We walked inside Cabana three. There was a small sitting room with French doors that opened onto a private patio. We passed a closed door that I assumed led to a bedroom. Outside there was a white gazebo with a sleek infinity pool running parallel to the ocean.

Veronica pulled two canvas lawn chairs together and we sat beside each other facing the water.

I remembered my mother telling me about this place when I was a boy, but I was ashamed that I’d never visited this place on my own, even after living in Sayulita. I had been afraid that seeing a place she considered so dear would cause me pain. Instead a sense of gratitude flickered inside of me. I didn’t feel afraid to ask questions. I wanted to know her more instead of collapsing under the weight of my grief.

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