Grabbing another breadstick, Mel bit into it angrily. She imagined that right now Mr. Bastian would be asking his employees what she had wanted to know. Quite likely, he’d even instruct them not to talk to her anymore. Bastian’s, she thought glumly, was going to be a dead end.
She’d glossed over that fact when she’d called the lawyer, Leon Aldrich, half an hour ago, to report her findings. He’d been rather peeved that she hadn’t checked in last night, claiming to have been concerned about her safety. While she’d explained about being tired and the poor driving conditions, she’d inwardly acknowledged the real reason for his attitude.
Aldrich appeared to be waiting for her to abscond with the large cash advance he’d given her. He didn’t seem too keen on her, nor on his client’s interest in Ryne Taylor, for that matter. Mel knew Aldrich felt she was under-qualified for the job, but Mr. Greyson had picked her out of all the other applicants. The sour look on Aldrich’s face when he delivered this news, made it obvious that the wealthy man was ignoring his lawyer’s recommendations. It was strange how Aldrich seemed to have taken an instant dislike to her; Mel usually got along with almost everyone. Maybe it was because she was spending his client’s money on a project that he felt was foolish.
Whatever the case, Mel hated reporting to the man. He always made her feel guilty and desirous of a thorough washing that would remove any traces of their interaction, even if it had been only over the phone. This morning was no different. She’d stated the facts as succinctly as possible; she’d arrived safely at the Grey Goose, had been to Bastian’s, but unfortunately hadn’t found any new information. Her next move was going to be checking the archives of the local paper. Aldrich had reluctantly agreed with her plan and she’d hung up, feeling his disapproval oozing down the phone lines.
At least now that the unpleasant task of talking to the man was over, she was free to sit and brood about her morning in relative peace and quiet. Mel was doing so with great success, mowing down breadsticks and leaving a little array of crumbs all over the white linen tablecloth, oblivious of her surroundings. When a shadow fell across the table, she gave a start, having forgotten she was in a public restaurant. Looking up, she saw Elise standing beside her.
“Hi! You look a bit down. Having a bad morning?” Elise’s concerned inquiry immediately made Mel feel a bit better. Here, at least, was one friendly face.
“Yeah. I was at Bastian’s Gallery all morning. There’s one particular artist that I’m trying to get some background on for my article, but I struck out.”
“And they didn’t have any information for you?” Elise seemed rather surprised by the fact.
“Well, they said they didn’t, but I think they’re holding out on me.”
“That’s strange. Wouldn’t an artist welcome publicity?”
Mel snorted. “You would think so.”
Someone called Elise’s name and she glanced over her shoulder. “Oops, my order for table three is ready. Here’s the menu. Our luncheon specials are listed on the front. I’ll be back in a minute to take your order.”
Mel watched Elise’s retreating form, thinking she could ask her about Ryne Taylor. Bastian’s was a dead end, but maybe the local people knew something about the man. After all, he had lived in the area before disappearing off the face of the earth. Determined not to be quite so eager for information this time, she purposely engaged Elise in casual conversation when the girl returned.
“I saw you getting out of a pickup this morning. Was that your husband?”
“Yes.” Elise rolled her eyes and appeared exasperated. “Kane’s so over-protective right now. He wouldn’t even let me drive in by myself this morning because of the snow.”
“You mean he’s not always like that?”
Elise blushed prettily. “Well, a bit, but it’s getting worse now. I just found out that I’m pregnant and I swear, he’d have me sitting with my feet up for the next eight months if I didn’t demand otherwise.
Mel grinned inwardly. She’d been right last night when she had seen Elise rubbing her stomach. “Eight months? So you really did just find out. Those home pregnancy tests are getting more and more accurate, aren’t they?”
“Pregnancy test?” Elise frowned. “Actually, Kane just scented that… ” She stopped and looked flustered for a moment. “I mean, Kane just… er… ” Someone called her name again, and she appeared relieved to have a reason to abandon the conversation.
Sipping her water, Mel pondered what Elise had meant to say. Kane just scented… what? ‘Scented’ was a strange word to use. Dogs scented things, and from the glimpse she’d had of the man, he was anything but a mutt. For all that she’d love to pursue the conversation, it obviously made Elise uncomfortable, so Mel decided to drop it before risking alienating what was possibly her newest source. Elise’s husband, while gorgeous, was not her primary concern.
Eventually, Elise returned with the lasagna Mel had ordered. She looked a bit leery, as if fearing further questions. Trying to reassure her, Mel commented idly on the weather and Elise started to relax. Through the course of the meal, Mel kept the conversation light whenever the waitress happened to stop by her table offering more water or breadsticks. By the time she finished the meal, Elise was chatting easily to her once again. Deciding to make her move, Mel cautiously introduced the subject that was foremost in her mind.
“Well, I suppose I’d better hit the streets again and see if anyone is willing to talk to me about the local artists.”
“Who, in particular, are you interested in?” Elise asked idly, while writing up the bill for the meal.
“A local photographer, named Ryne Taylor. He used to live around here, but no one seems to know where he went.” If she hadn’t been watching, Mel probably wouldn’t have noticed the way Elise’s fingers suddenly gripped the pen tightly. “Do you know anything about him?”
“Ryne… Taylor did you say? No, I don’t believe I do. Of course, I only moved here in October.” Elise shrugged and kept her eyes on the bill.
“Oh. That’s too bad. Well, I’ll just ask around town then.” Mel could sense that Elise was lying, but having learned from her experience at Bastian’s, decided not to press the issue, in case she needed the young woman for something else in the future.
Elise handed her the bill and turned to leave, but then hesitated. Mel watched as she chewed on her lip. The server seemed to be gathering her courage before turning and posing a question in an overly casual voice. “Why are you asking about this particular photographer? I’ve never heard of him, so his work can’t be that good.”
“Someone who bought one of Mr. Taylor’s pictures raved about the quality of his work, and I thought I’d better check him out.”
“Oh.” Elise frowned and traced an idle pattern on the table cloth with her finger. “Um… do you know what the subject of the picture was? If it was displayed at Bastian’s, I might have noticed it once when I was shopping in the mall.”
Mel hesitated, but could see no problem in admitting the truth. “I’ve seen a few of Taylor’s pictures but not that one in particular. Supposedly, though, it was a picture of some wolves.”
Elise swallowed hard and nodded. “Well, I have to get back to work. Maybe I’ll see you later.” She looked at Mel briefly, worry apparent on her face, and then left.
“Right. Later.” Mel raised her hand in a perfunctory salute then narrowed her eyes as she watched Elise walk briskly away. The girl knew something, the question was what? What was the mystery surrounding this photographer and his present whereabouts?
*****
Mel spent the afternoon at the Smythston library, looking through back issues of the local paper for any mention of Ryne Taylor. He did have an exhibit a year ago, but the article didn’t include a picture of the man, nor any other useful particulars. She rubbed her forehead in frustration. Obviously, the man was very ordinary or there would have been some mention of him. But, if he was so ordinary, then why were the gallery and Elise withho
lding information about him? It wasn’t as if her article would harm him. There was no malicious intent.
And, as far as she knew, her benefactor, Mr. Greyson, just wanted background on a favourite artist. Maybe Greyson felt Mr. Taylor was an up-and-coming talent, and wanted to purchase more of his work as an investment, before the pictures became too expensive. Whatever the reason, she was being paid handsomely for the job—a job that wasn’t progressing very satisfactorily and would leave her with nothing to report to Mr. Aldrich, if she didn’t get moving. Arching her back, she pulled out yet another edition of the paper and got back to work.
Several hours later, Mel stood on the steps of the library, muttering under her breath and contemplating her next move. There must be a way to find Taylor. She had long ago dropped the honorific ‘Mr.’ when thinking of the man—he was now just plain ‘Taylor’ in her mind. Anyone who was causing her this much frustration wasn’t deserving of the extra title.
She shoved her hands in her pocket and tilted her face to the sky, wishing inspiration would descend upon her. A few snowflakes were drifting lazily down and catching on her lashes, causing her to blink rapidly. If she hadn’t been feeling grumpy about her unproductive day, Mel might have appreciated the lacy white precipitation. As it was, she merely brushed the flakes from her face, stomped down the steps and along the sidewalk, morosely noting how her pant cuffs were becoming soaked from the slush. She was heading for the post office now, in the vain hope of finding a lead there.
Possibly, some mail was still being delivered to Ryne’s old, local address. The local postmaster would need to redirect it to his new location, so maybe there was some information to be had from that sector. Privacy laws would likely prevent her from having access to what she needed to know, but at this point, anything was worth a try.
Pushing open the heavy metal and glass doors, Mel entered the buff coloured building and glanced around. The ‘lovely’ impersonal atmosphere that habitually permeated of all government offices greeted her. Scuffed terrazzo flooring, a bedraggled fig tree, and bland paint were the extent of the decorating in the cavernous space. Post office boxes lined two walls and several kiosks stood in the middle of the room, displaying posters and various government brochures. At the far end of the room, people stood in a trance-like state waiting for their turn while others huddled around a nearby table, writing addresses on packages or affixing stamps.
Deciding that she’d have a greater chance of success if there wasn’t a long line, Mel pretended to peruse the various posters while keeping an eye on the number of individuals awaiting service. No one spared her a glance, everyone seeming to be busy with their own agendas. The outer door opened, letting in a rush of cold air, causing the various papers and pamphlets to rustle in the breeze before settling down again. Mel glanced towards the source of the mini disturbance and was surprised to see Elise entering with her hunky husband. They appeared to be having a heated discussion, and some inner voice told Mel to make herself scarce.
Quickly positioning herself on the far side of the kiosk, she strained to hear what the two were saying. Their voices were low, but she managed to catch most of the conversation.
“I said I’d never heard of him, but I don’t know if she believed me or not.” Elise whispered to her husband. Mel frowned. What had Elise said his name was? Kyle… ? Ken… ? Kane! That was it.
A male voice rumbled in reply. “And you say she mentioned the wolf picture?”
“Uh- huh. She said that someone had told her about it and now she wants to write an article on him.”
“Damn! I knew that picture was bad news. I’ve tried to get it back without letting anyone know why. Hell, I’ve even offered to buy it for an exorbitantly ridiculous amount, but the agent representing the buyer claims it’s not for sale at any price. Whoever owns it must know its significance.”
“Maybe not. We might be jumping to conclusions. It was a good picture and possibly someone likes it simply for its artistic value.”
Something growled and Mel had to resist the urge to peek out from her hiding spot. Did they have a dog with them?
“Kane! Shh! You know better than to do that in public.” Elise admonished and Mel frowned. Apparently the man had been doing the growling. That was a strange habit.
“Sorry. It’s just that this is my worst nightmare. Someone discovering— “
Elise interrupted her husband and Mel nearly started growling herself. Discover what? Inwardly, she urged Kane to continue, but of course he didn’t. Elise spoke in soothing tones. “Even if the owner of the painting is suspicious, there’s no way they’ll ever discover where the picture was taken because the land is private. You've never allowed outsiders into the territory unsupervised. And we’ve covered Ryne’s tracks carefully. After the debacle of the missing payments for Ryne’s other work, Bastian’s doesn’t want to be sued, so they’re bending over backwards to keep us happy. They won’t say anything. And the rest of the pack has always kept a low profile. No one really knows much about Ryne, least of all, where he moved to.”
Kane muttered something indiscernible and the two moved out of hearing range.
Mel inhaled deeply and tried to quiet her pounding heart. These people knew where Ryne was and there really was some form of mystery surrounding the man and his photograph. Not for the first time, she wished she could have seen the picture in question, but the lawyer who had hired her said his client didn’t allow casual viewings. She decided it must be something pretty special to warrant all the money that was being spent just to find the photographer.
After what seemed like an interminable amount of time, Mel saw that the line consisted of only Elise and Kane. Edging closer, she buried her head in a brochure and eavesdropped some more.
“Good afternoon, I’d like to mail this to Ryne Taylor in Stump River, Ontario, Canada. How much will that cost?” Mel hazarded a peek and saw Elise place a package wrapped in brown paper on the ledge. As the postal worker weighed the package, the girl smiled up at her husband. “Do you think Ryne will like the sweater I bought for his birthday?”
“He’d adore a potato sack if you sent it to him.” Kane sounded a bit disgruntled and Elise laughed.
“Kane, I can’t believe you’re still jealous of him. You must know there’s nothing between us. I’m having your child and I love you.”
He bent over and kissed her cheek. “I know and I love you, too. It’s never been a question of your affections. It’s Ryne’s interest in you that bothers me.”
“He was just joking, Kane.”
“Possibly, but like I always said, once he gets his own mate… ”
The conversation stopped as the postal worker announced the cost of mailing the parcel. Kane paid for the postage and the package was set to the side, being too large to fit in a regular mail slot. Mel watched them leave while tugging at her ear to try and fix her hearing. If she didn’t know better, she would have sworn Kane had used the word ‘mate.’
Shaking her head to clear it of the questions floating about in her active imagination, Mel approached the counter and smiled at the frazzled woman behind the counter. “Hi! I was wondering if you could help me… ” She paused as her gaze fell upon the package that sat only a foot away, awaiting mailing. It had Ryne’s address printed neatly on the front in large block letters. Cha-ching! Jackpot! Okay, now she just had to distract the woman in order to get a good look at the label.
“Yes? You were wondering… ?” The worker raised her brows, prompting Mel to continue.
“Oh, sorry. Yes… um… I was wondering if… anyone had turned in my car keys. I dropped them here yesterday.”
“I wasn’t working yesterday, but I'll just go check out back.” The postal employee gave her a distracted smile and turned away. Mel leaned forward, craning her neck in order to see the address on the package clearly. RR#1, Stump River, Ontario, Canada. Stump River? What kind of a name was that? And Canada? Good lord! Hearing the postal worker returning, Mel quickly finished me
morizing the address and was leaning casually against the counter by time the woman returned.
“Sorry. There were no keys turned in yesterday. Are you sure you lost them here?”
“Well, it could have been on the street, but with all this snow… ” Mel shrugged. “That’s okay. I have a spare set.”
The woman eyed her suspiciously. “You’re not from around here, are you?”
“No, I’m just passing through. Thanks for your help, though.” Mel started to walk away in case the woman began asking more questions. She wanted to get that address written down before she forgot it. Too bad it wasn’t more specific. A rural route, or RR address, could cover a lot of territory, but at least now she had some idea of where to look.
As she walked back to the Grey Goose, she began to plan her strategy. First she’d call Mr. Aldrich with an update. Then, she’d leave for home early the next morning. It would probably take her about a week to research Stump River, Ontario and look for any record of Ryne Taylor in Canada. Her previous search had focused on the United States since she’d never imagined the man would actually leave the country. It seemed sort of drastic. What possible reason could he have for heading so far north? Was he hiding something or was he hiding from someone?
Mel felt a little burst of excitement inside of her. Thus far, this assignment had only been appealing because of its monetary rewards. Researching an artist just hadn’t seemed that interesting. But now that an actual mystery might be involved, it was much more exciting. She wondered what Taylor might look like. If the fates were with her, he’d turn out to be attractive, like Elise’s husband. She snorted derisively. Dream on, girl. Guys like that didn’t grow on trees. Knowing her luck, this photographer would be seventy years old, balding, and pot-bellied.
Chapter 3
Stump River, Canada. Two Weeks Later…
Ryne sat quietly, nursing his drink in the local pub called The Broken Antler. Its name came from the old and weathered set of moose antlers that dangled precariously over the entrance on a rusty chain. At one time, there’d been an actual moose head adorning the front of the building and the pub had naturally acquired the name 'The Moose Head.' But when decay finally set in, and the trophy tumbled to the ground during an exceptionally windy storm, only the antlers remained in one piece. Armand St. John, the owner of the dubious establishment, was an eminently practical man and salvaged the almost intact, yellowing rack, hanging it over the door and renaming the pub to suit.