When he arrived at the highly polished beige granite counter, he was greeted by a young woman whose name tag announced she was Maggie. Maggie appeared way too perky for the middle of the night.

Summoning a tired smile, Matt gave her his confirmation number by handing her the fax he'd received that morning from Maxximum's travel agent.

"Oh, yes, Mr. Davidson, you're all set," Maggie said with a friendly grin. She handed him a key card and a pamphlet. "This explains all our amenities. Take the elevators on your left to the third floor. Room 312 will be at the end of the hallway."

Room 312 sounded like Utopia, and the only amenity he needed right now was a bed. "I'd like to have a wakeup call, please, for six-thirty." That would give him plenty of time to relax and look over his notes before meeting with Jack Witherspoon at nine. He did his best thinking in the morning, and he was too exhausted to contemplate work now. What he needed now was sleep. He just hoped he'd find his bed before he passed out.

Nodding his thanks, Matt hoisted his overnight bag onto his shoulder and headed across the lobby, his tired gaze skimming over the lush, yet understated neoclassic decor. Christmas wreaths decorated with colorful glass ornaments hung on the walls, and long, fragrant boughs of pine draped the mantel. The entire back wall was glass and, he presumed, overlooked the vineyards. Vaulted ceilings, supported by marble columns wrapped in holiday twinkle lights, dotted the perimeter of the lobby. Lush foliage, planted in huge urns painted with scenes of pastoral vineyards, lent the room a gardenlike atmosphere. Thick rugs, their borders decorated with grapes, vines and leaves, were scattered around the room, as were plush, inviting chairs. An ivory grand piano stood majestically in the corner, near a curving staircase that led up to a loft area. There, a brightly lit Christmas tree glowed with jewel-tone lights.