A Hideous Beauty by Jack Cavanaugh

Author:Jack Cavanaugh
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Howard Books

CHAPTER 16

It felt good to pull on a clean pair of socks. I had coffee grounds between my toes from Shelby to Great Falls, then for four hours in the air with a layover in Salt Lake City, a shuttle to the rental car company, and even when I registered at the historic U.S. Grant Hotel in San Diego. Next time I tracked a dead man in Montana I would be sure to use his garden hose to clean my feet before driving away.

Other than the gritty feeling in my shoes, the trip from Montana to California was uneventful, just the way I like my flights, and the final approach into Lindbergh Field was spectacular. Whenever I fly into San Diego I request a window seat on the port side. Starboard side passengers get a nice view of Balboa Park, but it’s nothing compared to the picturesque panorama of the bay, the strand, and the San Diego bridge.

The bridge is two majestic miles of blue, curved ribbon stretched across mission arches that rise up to two hundred feet above the bay, tall enough for naval ships to pass under, the exception being the humongous aircraft carriers that are docked on the Coronado side of the bay at North Island.

Nothing says San Diego to me like this bird’s-eye view of the bridge set against a deep blue, rippling bay that is splattered with dozens of white sails. To me, it says, “Welcome Home.”

I think we were somewhere over Nevada when I decided that on this trip I was going to treat myself to a classy hotel for winning the Pulitzer Prize. What better way to do that than to stay at a hotel with history?

Originally built in 1910, the U.S. Grant had recently undergone a $52 million renovation. Thirteen presidents had lodged here and the clerk was giddy when he informed me that the fourteenth would soon be arriving and that if I’d be staying that long I might encounter a few minor inconveniences due to heightened security.

“I can imagine,” I replied.

“But it’ll be worth it, don’t you think?” he said, bouncing on his feet. “To be able to tell your grandchildren that you once stayed at the U.S. Grant at the same time as President Douglas?”

I didn’t tell him I’d stayed at the White House and at Camp David with the president. I didn’t tell him I’d slept on Air Force One on the way to Paris with the president. Neither did I tell him that I hoped to do more than just stay in the same hotel with the president.

As I signed the register, I wondered what he’d say if he knew that in my biography I’d threatened to kill the president. This time anonymity worked in my favor.

My plan was simple. Gain an audience with the president. Achieving that goal . . . well, not so simple. The key was Jana.

No longer smelling like a stale cup of coffee, I tried her cell phone. As it rang I thought of places I could take her for dinner.

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