CHAPTER 18Bannister checked out of his motel in Santa Barbara at 10:00 a.m. and climbed into a convertible. The rental agency didn’t have the Ford Mustang he’d reserved but gave him keys to a Mitsubishi Eclipse Spyder for the weekend. The weather prediction was for blue skies and a high of ninety. As he drove south through Goleta, he stopped at a florist and picked out a dozen multi-colored roses and a vase. He put the wrapped bouquet on the passenger floor mat. The vase fit securely under the seat. The convertible let him savor the scenery of the ocean to his right and the mountains to his left as he continued down the Pacific Coast Highway toward Thousand Oaks. The hospice was an hour away and after driving thirty miles, he called Jennifer’s room.
“Good morning,” she said.
“I hope it w
