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.