The Keeping (3 page)

Elise nodded and
Mel noticed how she was rubbing her stomach. Hmm, was the girl
coming down with the ’flu, too? Or, was she pregnant? Mel recalled
how a fellow waitress, Nicole, had always been rubbing her belly
when she was expecting. Eyeing Elise speculatively, Mel wondered if
there was a slight thickening of her waist. It was hard to tell,
with the apron wrapped around her. Oh well, it really wasn’t any of
her business.

“Well, I really
should get back to work. I hope you enjoy your stay here.” Elise
headed towards the door.

“I’m sure I will.
It’s been nice talking to you, Elise.” Her stomach chose that
moment to rumble again and she pulled a self-deprecating face.

Elise laughed
softly and pulled the door shut behind her.

With Elise on her
way, Melody sat down to enjoy her dinner. As she’d suspected, the
food was delicious and soon her plate was empty. With a satisfied
sigh, she sat back and checked her watch. It was five-thirty. She
could walk down to Bastian’s Gallery and see what information she
could dig up about Ryne Taylor, but she was tired. Being charmingly
casual, while making subtle inquiries, seemed like too much of an
effort at that moment. A nap was eminently more appealing.

Getting to her
feet, Mel heaved her suitcase up onto the bed and dug out an old
t-shirt to sleep in. It wasn’t fancy, but then again no one was
going to be seeing her in it and it packed easily. Shaking the
wrinkles out, she took off her robe and pulled the grey t-shirt on.
Her skin immediately raised into goose bumps as the cool cotton
slid over her body. She shivered and pushed back the duvet,
climbing between the crisp sheets and curling up into a shivering
ball. Soon her body heat was warming the bed and she felt her
muscles relaxing. Stretching out, she sighed and closed her eyes.
She’d just take a little nap and then...

Chapter 2

Sun streamed in
through the lace covered curtains and fell upon the table situated
in front of the window. It glinted off the highly polished, wooden
surface, and cast a cheery glow over the whole room. The brightness
made Mel squint and grumble against the assault on her vision. Her
little nap yesterday had been much longer than she’d intended.
Despite sleeping for over twelve hours, or perhaps because of it,
she felt exceptionally groggy that morning. Perhaps it was due to
the fact to that this was the first time, in what seemed like ages,
that she had actually been able to get a decent night’s sleep.
Whatever the reason, her body was reluctant to let go of the
wonderful sensation of resting in a warm cloud of eiderdown and
fresh linen.

Back home in
Chicago, her little apartment had intermittent heating, a lumpy
mattress and paper thin walls. The latter provided her with the
privilege of hearing the tenants on all sides of her arguing,
watching TV or engaging in...er...physical relations, at all hours
of the day and night. That, on top of working two jobs in an effort
to try and raise money for her education, meant she was chronically
bleary-eyed and over-tired. Friends told her to move, but being
situated by the El—elevated train tracks—meant the rent was cheap
and with the building located mid-way between her two jobs, she
felt she could suffer through the inadequacies of her dwelling with
the ultimate goal of being able to afford better some day.

But now it
appeared all that would be behind her much sooner than anticipated.
Blinking sleepily, Mel propped her chin up with her hand while
sipping her coffee and pondering yet again the providential turn of
events that had landed her in her present situation. Researching
this photographer was going to be a piece of cake and the
substantial windfall the assignment was paying would mean she could
quit one of her jobs and go back to school earlier than planned.
With any luck, today she’d find out where Ryne Taylor resided and
tomorrow she would be on her way to his home. A few days of talking
to him and the preliminary part of the job would be done.

A smile passed
over her lips as she thought of how Mr. Taylor would react when he
finally heard the news that he was the focus of an article. He’d
probably welcome the attention given him. After all, trying to make
a name for yourself in the art world was no easy task. Perhaps, Mr.
Greyson even wanted to become the photographer’s patron and the
article was destined to be published in some fancy art magazine.
Mel brightened at that thought since it would help her own career
along, too. Hmm... Mr. Taylor and she might both end up benefitting
from their encounter in ways neither could even dream of at the
moment.

Feeling the
caffeine finally activating the synapses of her brain, Mel began to
take a more active interest in the happenings outside her window.
The snowstorm had passed by overnight and the sun was causing the
temperature to rise. Icicles dripped from the eaves and the fluffy
white snow of yesterday was slowly melting into a miserable, soggy
mess. Early morning commuters drove slowly down the narrow downtown
streets, streams of slush spewing behind them. Snowploughs must
have been working during the night, as piles of snow lined either
side of the roadway. Merchants were out shovelling walkways and
spreading salt on icy patches so that customers wouldn’t slip and
fall while purchasing their wares.

A silver pick-up
truck pulled in near the curb in front of the Grey Goose and Mel
watched the scene below her with increasing attentiveness. First, a
tall dark-haired man climbed out. From her second storey vantage
point, she could easily make out his features and her heart beat a
little faster in appreciation of his male beauty. He circled the
vehicle and opened the passenger side door, reaching in and lifting
a woman out and over the piles of snow onto the safety of the
sidewalk.

Mel smiled;
good-looking, strong,
and
chivalrous. Observing the man
tenderly kissing the woman and then lingering to watch her walk
away, she sighed with envy, her hidden romantic streak making
itself known. The fellow was obviously smitten. Wasn’t that just
the way? The good ones always seemed to be taken.

The woman turned
to wave at the man and Mel caught a brief glimpse of her face. It
was Elise, the girl who had brought in her meal last night. What a
lucky little thing she was, to have a man like that! Hmm... Maybe
she should ask if he had a brother. Mel wrinkled her nose and shook
her head, quickly dismissing the idea. Nah—hunky men usually didn’t
go for the-girl-next-door types such as herself. They were after
sultry beauties and sexy models that would look good hanging off
their arm.

On that depressing
note, Mel stood up and began to dress. The local businesses would
be open for customers soon and it was time she got to work looking
for information about Mr. Taylor. First, she would stop by the art
gallery and see if she could wheedle any information out of the
sales associates. Then, if that was a dead end, she’d search out
Edward Mancini, and maybe even Elise. There was always the
possibility that the photographer had stopped by the tea room for
lunch when he was at the gallery making arrangements for the sale
of his photographs.

She wished she had
a picture of the man, or at least a description. It was always
easier for people to recall someone from a photo rather than from a
verbal description, which she didn’t have either, she glumly
acknowledged. Mr. Aldrich hadn’t given her much to go on, beyond
the man’s name and occupation. Oh well, the town wasn’t that big.
Maybe it was the kind of place where everyone knew everybody’s
business.

Taking a final sip
of her coffee, she put on her coat and left the room, her spirits
high in anticipation of a successful morning.

*****

Three hours later,
Mel was back at the Grey Goose, sitting in the downstairs tea room,
determinedly crunching a breadstick and totally unaware of her
elegant surroundings. The potted plants, the period furniture, the
soft music in the background, were all lost on her as she wallowed
in her own bad mood. She knew her frustration was evident on her
face, but quite frankly didn’t care. Her morning optimism was gone
and replaced by the starkness of reality.

After oohing and
aahing over dubious artwork and schmoozing with the people who
worked at Bastian’s, she was still no closer to finding anything
out about Ryne Taylor. The staff at the gallery had been friendly
and admitted that they had sold some of his work, but no one was
willing to talk about the man himself. All Mel had been able to
garner was that there was a bit of a black cloud hanging over the
whole topic. A few sly hints were dropped about a former, now
missing, sales associate having had an affair with the man and
somehow misdirecting the proceeds from the sale of Taylor’s work
into her own account, but that was all she could discover.

When she’d first
heard that little tidbit, the journalist in Mel had perked up her
ears. This sounded like a mystery worth investigating. It had all
the right elements; a missing person, a steamy affair, pilfered
funds... But when she’d tried to question them for more specifics,
everyone had become uneasy; their barely suppressed enjoyment over
the titillating scandal disappearing behind suddenly shuttered
expressions. Mel instinctively felt they were hiding something, but
what? Finally, the gallery owner himself had come over and glared
at his workers, who had taken one look at his disapproving face and
scurried off to the far corners of the establishment. Once they
were gone, he’d addressed Mel coolly, informing her in the politest
of tones that she was keeping his employees from their work. Unless
she was intending to buy something, perhaps she should be on her
way.

Realizing that she
had broken a basic rule of journalism and been too pushy, too soon,
Mel left, all the while mentally kicking herself for alienating
what was presently her only sure source of information. She knew
she was supposed to be patient and not appear as if she was pumping
people for information, but it was just so frustrating. Pregnant
pauses made her fidgety and usually she ended up filling them,
totally defeating the purpose. Those people had the information she
needed somewhere in their records. Why wouldn’t they share? Surely,
Mr. Taylor would welcome the publicity, if he only knew it was
available to him!

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. The 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.