Chapter 8

Paul had the right idea about getting ahead of the weather front moving in but the spontaneous shopping excursion and a road construction detour had cost them dearly in time and extra miles as they were routed down some back-country roads, stuck behind a stream of local traffic. The men breathed easier when they finally navigated their way east on U.S. 50. An hour or more later they had reached the mighty Sierra Nevada's foothills outside of Placerville. The rain had turned to snow as they gradually went up in elevation and the temperature dropped. The weather report on the radio was forecasting heavy snow and wind gusts creating possible white-out conditions on mountain roads. A travel advisory was in effect for I-80 to their north and the stretch of U.S. 50 they were on. Perry turned in the front passenger seat to check on Della. The men had made her as comfortable as they could on the bench backseat, she had a pillow under her head and a blanket tucked around her for additional warmth. She had slept fitfully on her side since they left the hospital, every now and then they could hear a moan escape her lips, a murmur of protest as she dreamed. Hearing her discomfort made Mason wince in regret for agreeing to the trip. Drake spoke his mind. "I'm not liking this, Perry. I'm a southern California boy. I don't "do" snow. I realize this Jeep has four-wheel drive but if it keeps up at this rate, we might end up being the next Donner Party. Maybe it'd be better to stop and find someplace to hole up out of this weather before it gets too late?" There was genuine concern in his voice.

"You're probably right, Paul." The Jeep's wipers struggled to keep pace as fat snowflakes splotted wet and thick against the windshield. Snow was beginning to accumulate on the roadway despite a recent pass by a snowplow. The white dividing lines between the east and west lanes were barely visible. "Let's go on a little further and see if we can find somewhere to stop for the night. Otherwise, we'll have to turn around and head back down. Della's in no shape to be stuck in a car overnight in the middle of a blizzard."

Fortunately, luck was on their side. Dim lights of a roadway oasis became visible a few miles up ahead. A flickering neon sign beckoned them to "Edna and Ed's Pitstop." There were two gas pumps, a 12-room motel and a small café in back of the service station. Drake steered the Wagoneer into the snow-covered driveway. Two semi-trucks and a half dozen cars or more had sprawled haphazardly across the small parking lot. "Uh-oh," Paul said as he yanked the parking brake. "I hope they're not full up. Looks like we might be too late."

Mason frowned in agreement. He glanced back at his secretary who still seemed to be asleep. "Leave it running, she needs the heater, Paul." He turned his coat collar up and opened his door, careful not to slam it shut and wake Della. The men hustled inside the tiny motel's office, there was hope. The neon sign in the window still said "VACANCY". They were greeted by an elderly woman they both presumed to be Edna.

"Hello there, fellers!" Her hair was as white as the snow coming down, she wore a bright red sweater covered in part by a cheerful gingham apron. She immediately reminded the lawyer of Mrs. Santa Claus.

"Miss Edna, we presume?"

"Nope. I'm Geralynn. My husband was just too lazy and cheap to change the sign. He runs the filling station and I keep the motel going. The café is run by some other folks. I can clean but my cooking would choke a hog. Need a room for the night, I suppo?"

Perry and Paul exchanged tired smiles. The woman was humorous and likeable. "Yes, two rooms if they're available," Mason clarified.

"They are not. I got one room left, but it's got two beds. Take it or leave it, gents. You're getting late to the party, so to speak."

Mason hesitated. "You wouldn't happen to have a roll-a-way bed we could add to the room? You see my-," he gestured towards the door but was immediately interrupted by the no nonsense Geralynn.

"Nope. Rented the last one out to a family with little kids in Room #10. So, what'll be? You want my last room or not?"

Paul Drake had his wallet already out. "We'll take it-gladly. How much do we owe you?"

"That'll be $8.00 and $2.00 more if want extra towels." She gave him a friendly smile.

Paul handed her a $10 bill. "We'll need the extra towels, ma'am."

Geralynn opened a cash register drawer and slid the money into place. She gave it a nudge with her hip and it closed with a *thwack* as she pushed a registration ledger towards them at the same time. "Okie dokie, if you'll sign in, I'll go fetch you some extra towels." She disappeared into a back room. Paul took a pen from a nearby cup on the counter and wrote down his information. He handed the pen to his lawyer friend, "Here you go, Counselor. This should be interesting." He wanted to see how his friend would account for Della's presence in the motel room.

Mason's tired smile held a touch of innocence. "Della & Perry Mason would be honest," he said quietly as he scrawled his signature. "She is wearing a wedding ring, Paul."

"Huh?"

"Never mind," Perry shushed him as Geralynn returned with a two additional bath towels and facecloths. She placed them in Drake's upturned arms.

She opened another drawer and extracted two large old-fashioned room keys with a plastic tag attached to each and handed them to her guests. "Room 12. The café's opened until 10 p.m. if you want to get some supper-which I 'spect you will. Open for breakfast at seven. Have a good evening!" As the men exited, they noticed the window sign now read "NO VACANCY." Perry glanced back at Geralynn and smiled. She gave him a friendly wave as they opened the door and went back into the falling snow.

Della Street had awakened while Mason and Drake were in the motel office. She was groggy and her thoughts disorganized, the motion of the car and the sounds of tires on pavement were gone as she opened her eyes. For a moment she was bewildered as to where she was, it was dark and sounds were muffled. Soon she felt a burst of cold air as Perry opened the door next to her head. He gently nudged up into an upright position. "We're in Tahoe already?" she asked in confusion and rubbed her eyes.

"Not exactly. We're stopping for the night. Roads are bad and I don't want to take a chance on losing you again, Miss Street. Come on," he helped her crawl awkwardly out of the vehicle. Then he flipped the hood of her jacket over her head and placed a protective arm around her shoulders. He steered her in the direction of their motel room.

Cold, wet flakes immediately fell upon her face and nose. She was a midwestern girl at heart and childhood memories suddenly flooded her brain of sledding and building snowmen. She stiffly tilted her head back and momentarily forgot her discomfort. "Snow! How lovely!"

Paul was busy unloading their luggage and the bags from the rear hatch. He heard Della. "Maybe, but you wouldn't say that if you had to drive in it, Beautiful."

The trio made themselves comfortable as best they could in their roadside sanctuary. Paul adjusted the knob on the radiator while Perry sat Della down on one of the twin beds. He then inspected the bathroom. It was small but all the essentials were spotless. Fuzzy bathmats hung across the tub, small wrapped packages of Lux soap were stacked atop the toilet tank and fluffy white towels awaited use on a multi-leveled rack. Home sweet home for the night. He crossed back into the room. Paul was now tinkering with the television set and vainly adjusting the rabbit-eared antenna to get a clearer picture on the screen. Mason helped Della when she tried to shrug out of her coat. Now she made herself comfortable, lying atop the bed covered by a homey Amish-inspired quilt. She sighed in grateful relief as she stretched out fully, alleviating a few of her bodily kinks. Perry removed her snow-crusted shoes and began to rub her stockinged feet. "How you doing?"

"I'll be okay. Just tired and sore is all," she opened her eyes and gifted him with an appreciative smile. She patted the narrow space on the bed beside her. "Come, sit." Mason obliged by settling himself next to her. "How are you doing, Counselor?" She lifted her hand to gently stroke his knee. "Fine," Perry assured her.

Across the small room Paul was listening. "Anybody going to ask how I am?" he pretended to pout.

The couple on the bed chuckled. Della responded for them both. "How are you, Paul?"

"Hungry!"

Mason teased his friend. "The question remains when aren't you hungry?"

"I keep telling you I'm a growing boy with a fast metabolism. You two never seem to believe me," he winked at Della from across the room.

"That reminds me," Mason got up and searched for Della's meds and the instructions for follow up care they were given when she was released from the hospital. "It says you need to take these muscle relaxants with food." He glanced at his watch. "You are overdue for a pill, Miss Street."

Della closed her eyes again. "I don't have much of an appetite, Perry."

He shook his head to reject her claim. "Nevertheless, we need you to eat. We'll see what the café serves and bring you back a little something. You stay here and rest for me."

Della smiled at his concern. "Yes, dear." The men put their jackets back on and went outside. Della could hear them lock the door securely behind them. The room had warmed nicely and Paul had left the T.V. on with the volume turned very low, a late afternoon soap opera's mumbling was soothing. She soon drifted back to sleep and let exhaustion overtake her.

Much to Paul Drake's relief the little café had a reputation amongst truckers as having excellent food. That was an equivalent to earning a Michelin star for small mom & pop restaurants as far as locals were concerned. The two L.A. men enjoyed their dinners of baked chicken and a very large ribeye steak with all the fixings. The snowstorm had ratcheted up to a full blizzard by the time they ventured back to Room 12. Della was awakened from sleep by the sound of their return. She struggled to sit up against the headboard of the bed. "What'd you bring me?"

"Tomato soup and a grilled cheese."

"Yummy." The men were taking off their snow-covered jackets when they saw her swing her legs slowly over the side of the bed and attempt to stand.

Perry rushed to her side. "Whoa, let me help you."

She steadied herself on his arm. "Perry, I'm not exactly a complete invalid. Let me use the restroom first," she wobbled unsteadily away from his grasp. By the time she emerged Mason had her meal set out on the small table in the corner of the room. He was pleased she managed to consume the entire cup of soup and half of the sandwich. He tapped out her evening medications and handed the pills to her along with a small carton of milk. She took them from his hand and said saucily, "Bottoms up." Perry then hovered close as she made her way back to the bed. She sat on the edge and looked at the two men fondly.

"What?" They asked in unison.

"I'm just wondering what the sleeping arrangements are meant to be?" She smiled demurely. "These are single beds."

Mason shrugged. "Two of us will have to share, I suppose."

Paul had eyed the leftover grilled cheese. He snatched it up and took a bite. He shook his head at Mason. "Don't look at me. I paid for the room. I call dibs on a bed. You can rough it on the floor for all I care. You'll live."

"Alright," Perry said gallantly and raised his hands in surrender of the situation. "I'll make the sacrifice on my lady's behalf. Just toss me a pillow and a blanket."

Della intervened. "Perry Mason. You are not sleeping on the floor. I'll share."

Perry's eyes twinkled with mischief. "You will?"

Della looked the mattress over more closely. "It'll be a tight squeeze but if we cuddle, we'll manage."

Paul Drake finished the rest of the sandwich in two bites and rolled his eyes. "You two! Please remember I have ears and can hear you."

It grew late and Della began feeling the intended effects of the muscle relaxants. "Perry…I think it's time I put on my pajamas." The men were watching a 1950's-era John Wayne movie on the television despite the bad reception the storm was causing.

"Pajamas?" Mason looked over at Paul who was comfortable on his claimed bed, propped up against the headboard with two pillows behind his neck and head.

"Yes, or a nightgown—whatever you bought will be fine," she assured him. She began to rouse herself and make her way to the restroom to change.

Mason had a chagrined expression. He stood up from his chair and peered down at the relaxed detective and asked a hushed question, "Did we buy her pajamas?"

Paul Drake indicated ignorance. "Don't know—did you? Sleepwear would have been your department."

The lawyer thought a moment. He had to improvise. He opened his suitcase and scattered some items until he located his own pajamas. He picked up the top and tossed the bottoms back. Once again, he handed clothing to her through a crack in a bathroom door. "Put this on Della, it'll probably fit you like an old-fashioned nightshirt." From behind the door, he heard her good-natured laugh.

"Oh, Perry…" But she carefully changed, taking care to support herself against the sink so she wouldn't topple over and require his help to stand. She looked down at the technicolor bruises on her calves not hidden by a swath of flannel fabric. She sighed in resignation. The guys were bound to see the extent of the bruising sooner or later. Della switched off the bathroom light and limped back into the outer room, once again waving away Mason's help when he started to rise from his chair. She got under the covers as quickly as she could manage with only the soft glow of the television providing light in the small motel room. An hour later the movie ended but was followed by the late-night news. Finally, the black and white set was switched off and the men prepared to go to bed themselves. Paul Drake stripped down to his boxers and undershirt, and crawled into his bed just as Mason doused the bathroom light. The lawyer eased himself down next to Della and arranged the bedclothes over them both carefully. He thought she was fast asleep but she immediately turned on her side with just the slightest of groans towards him to snuggled closer to his warmth, her head next to his on the pillow. In the darkness Paul punched his own pillow and settled himself for sleep by flopping over unto his belly. Della purred a whispered request of Mason. "Kiss?"

They sought each other's lips for a sweet goodnight, no words being necessary to convey their feelings. They were together and safe and that was all that mattered. Outside the wind howled and rattled the window pane of their motel room. The snow was still falling furiously and all traffic on the roadway had ceased hours before. People everywhere on the western slope of the Sierras were hunkered down for the night. Paul Drake's voice broke the stillness of Room #12. "Hey, Della?"

"Yes, Paul?'

"Where's my goodnight kiss?"

She smiled to herself and then Mason felt her lips upon him once more. "There, Paul. I've given your kiss to Perry. He can pass it along to you tomorrow morning."

"Oh gee, thanks," Drake shot back in the darkness.

Mason couldn't help but to laugh. His Della still had her sense of humor. It was then he knew she would recover fully from her ordeal. He pulled her closer to him as she settled her head under his chin. They both drifted to sleep peacefully as the blizzard winds howled outside their door.