Excerpt From Mourning

The following morning I ordered room service, a double espresso and a couple of sweet pastries. Then I went to the oceanfront balcony to watch the morning roll in. The waves licked lazily at the shoreline, like an old dog with a reluctance to clean; the sun hung just above the horizon, warmed the clouds away; couples strolled the beach, let the sand-laden waves flow over their feet. I called room service again. The coffee came, as did two pre-packaged cheese Danish. I took the coffee and my cell phone back to the balcony, punched in the number Garcia had given me. A man with a southern drawl answered. I told him I would be there by eleven o’clock. Then I drank my coffee and tried unsuccessfully to ignore the fresh-from-the-package Danish pastries.