The Keeping(2)

The man had presented Mel with a lucrative job offer; in exchange for a ridiculously large sum of money, she was to research a photographer named Ryne Taylor and write a piece on his life. It had seemed a bit strange at the time. The photographer in question wasn’t famous or anything, but after thoroughly checking out the lawyer’s references and those of his client, Anthony Greyson, she’d decided the job was legitimate and had agreed to the man’s terms.

It was pretty simple. Find the reclusive Mr. Taylor. Research his life, how he chose his subjects, where he took his pictures, and who had purchased them. She was to give updates on each new development to keep them aware of her progress, write a final article, and then submit it back to the lawyer. All expenses would be paid and there was a very loose deadline.

The job seemed almost too good to be true, but if life was going hand her a golden egg on a silver platter, she wasn’t going to turn her nose up at it. She frowned as she reflected on her phrasing for that last thought. For a journalist, she had certainly slaughtered the use of those clichés. She chuckled, glad her thoughts were her own and not subject to editorial criticism.

Taking note of her surroundings, she realized that she was now inside the town proper. Fumbling for the brochure at her side, she turned to the section that showed a map on how to find the Grey Goose. Placing it on the steering wheel, she glanced between it and the road while looking for street signs to help orient her.

A mere fifteen minutes later, she stood in the entryway of the quaint bed and breakfast, talking to a distinguished looking gentleman who had introduced himself as Edward Mancini.

“Yes, Ms. Greene, I took your reservation over the phone last night. I’m so glad the weather didn’t delay your travel plans.”

She smiled and brushed her hair out of her face for probably the fiftieth time that day—she really did need to get it cut. “It wasn’t the most pleasant drive, but I made it.”

“Well, we’re glad you’re here safe and sound. If you’ll just follow me, Ms. Greene, I’ll show you to your room.”

“Please, call me Melody.” Using her most ingratiating smile, she looked up at the man and noted in response, a faint upturning at the corners of his mouth. Personally, she didn’t care much for her name and usually went by Mel, but men seemed to like ‘Melody,’ and as a ‘wannabe’ hard-nosed journalist, she didn’t hesitate to use the fact to her advantage.

“Melody, then. And you may call me Edward. Follow me.” As she walked behind him, Mel mentally gave herself a point. Getting on a first name basis with the people you were going to interview was a great way to ensure they would be willing to open up to you—or so her college instructors had told her. And, while she wasn’t going to be interviewing this man exactly, she was hoping to extract a few bits of information from him.

As he led her into her room, she thanked him politely and noticed that he was looking at her surreptitiously. Mel knew what he would see. At five foot four, she wasn’t tall, but she balked against the label of short. Her figure was a little disproportionate, being rather too rounded up top, and bit narrow in comparison around the hips. Her legs were slim, and thankfully, due to that fact, looked longer than they actually were. Shoulder length, honey brown hair, and deep brown eyes gave her a warm, friendly look as did her generous smile.

Her college professors had told her that her friendly, girl-next-door appearance would help her make contacts and win the confidence of those she interviewed. Personally, Mel longed to be a drop-dead gorgeous, sophisticated reporter, who could wrap an interviewee around her finger with a mere bat of her eyelashes and some pithy repartee.

It was impossible for Mr. Mancini to know what she was thinking, but for some reason the man’s lips twitched as he finished giving her a once over. He made no comment however, merely nodding his head and exiting, softly pulling the door shut behind him.

As the locking mechanism clicked into place, Mel turned to examine her room only to catch a glimpse of herself in the mirror. A mortified groan escaped her. No wonder Mr. Mancini had trouble keeping a straight face. Her hair was a mess, her coat was buttoned crooked, and there was a smudge of chocolate from her make-shift lunch smeared across her chin. Her shoulders sagged; so much for being sophisticated.

Shrugging off her coat, she sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her boots off before flopping backwards on the mattress. Oh well, even if she looked a mess, Edward seemed to like her, and that meant he’d most likely be willing to talk to her when she started doing her research.

As she stared at the ceiling, she ran over her mental checklist on ‘how to be a journalist.’ Establish contacts—check. Be friendly so the other person will open up and talk to you—check. Listen attentively—umm, not quite a check.