Kathy Reichs - Bones Are Forever

I looked up.

Nellie’s lips were tight. Her eyes refused to meet mine.

Had Ruben’s picture upset her? Or was I imagining it?

“Sorry.” Mumbled. “I’ll get a rag.”

“Too much bother.” I lifted the iPhone to mop up the spill with my napkin. “You’ve no idea the abuse I heap on this thing.”

Nellie’s mouth remained clamped.

“You might find this interesting.” I glanced at the image, casual as hell. “I believe this woman was born in Yellowknife.” I raised the phone so Nellie could see the screen. She kept her eyes on her shoes. “Her name is Annaliese Ruben.”

No response.

“Do you know her?”

Nothing.

“I think she may have returned to Yellowknife recently. From Edmonton.”

“I have to get back to work.”

“It’s important that I find her.”

“I’ve got to finish setting up the buffet before I can go.”

“I may be able to help her with a problem.”

Across the room, Paul Bunyan and company rose to leave. Nellie’s eyes tracked their exit.

Seconds passed.

I was certain Nellie knew who Ruben was, perhaps where she was. I was about to give it one last shot when she asked, “What kind of problem?”

“I’m sorry. I wouldn’t want to breach a confidence.”

Nellie’s eyes finally lifted to mine. I could feel her trying to read my thoughts. “This about Horace Tyne?”

“What do you know about Tyne?” Bluffing knowledge I didn’t possess.

“What do you know about Tyne?” Sensing my con.

Easy, Brennan . Don’t scare her .

“Listen, Nellie. I understand you’ve no reason to trust me. But I really am trying to help Ruben. I mean her no harm.”

“You a cop?”

“No.”

Like a window at a speakeasy, the face above me slammed shut.

Stupid. Small hotel. Big grapevine. Nellie had undoubtedly heard gossip about Ollie and Ryan.

“But I am traveling with two police officers.” I tried to make up for my blunder. “They’re unaware that I’m asking these questions.”

“Why are they here?”

“We believe Ruben may have gotten herself into some difficulty.”

“And the cops want to save her.”

“Yes.”

Without a word, Nellie spun on her heel and walked off.

While eating my eggs, now cold, I reviewed my accomplishments so far that morning. I’d spooked myself with a dream, then performed an amateur postmortem on the content. I’d tipped my hand regarding Annaliese Ruben. And I’d alienated an informant who might know her whereabouts.

But I had scored a name. Horace Tyne.

Brilliant. Ryan would probably propose my name for the detective’s exam.

I poked at the brown thing. Which, at one point in its life, may have been vegetable.

A different waitress appeared and, with a lot of rattling and clanging, resumed preparation of the breakfast spread.

I lifted my mug to drain the last of my coffee. My arm stopped in midair.

Nellie had said it was her job to organize the buffet. Only then could she leave.

So where was she?

After jotting my name, room number, and signature on the check, I bolted for the lobby.

Nellie was hurrying through the front door.

Call Ryan? Ollie?

Nellie was fast disappearing down the circle drive.

I scurried after her.

MORNING MIST THICK AS GRAN’S FATBACK GRAVY SWIRLED IN the glow of the hotel sign. Though the sun had never totally yielded the night sky, it had yet to get organized for another dawn.

In other words, visibility sucked.

But the advantage in elevation worked in my favor. While Nellie’s torso was shrouded in a puffy gray jacket that blended with the fog, her bright red skirt was easy to spot. As I left the cover of the portico, the scarlet beacon was disappearing around the curve of the drive.

I hurried down the walk. Though I doubted Nellie would notice a tail, I kept to the inside of the arc for cover. I’d descended halfway when my quarry vanished. I kicked up the pace. At the bottom of the hill, I looked left and then right. The red skirt was swishing along Veterans Memorial Drive, which, at this hour, was largely deserted.

I made the turn, already regretting my decision to sally forth sans outerwear. Vapor puffed from my lips each time I exhaled.

Downtown Yellowknife has the look and feel of a movie set trucked in and assembled quickly. Think Northern Exposure , but ramp up the number of bars, eateries, shops, and nondescript office and government buildings.

I followed Nellie to Fiftieth Street, moving as fast as possible to generate body heat but slowly enough to keep some distance between us. Which wasn’t hard. Despite her short legs and considerable bulk, the woman was booking.

Yellowknife is similar to Charlotte with regard to street names. Shortly, Fiftieth Street met Fiftieth Avenue. Very creative.

Nellie trundled through the intersection without waiting for a green. To avoid detection, I hung back a few moments, then crossed and ducked into a recess at the front of a souvenir shop.

A half block below Fiftieth Street, I could make out a long orange awning spanning the front of a three-story building that had seen better days. A lot of them. Lettering on the awning and the second-floor stucco identified the place as the Gold Range Hotel. Without hesitating, Nellie pulled open the front door and slipped inside.

I yanked my iPhone from my jeans and tapped Ryan’s number. My hands shook so badly from the cold I missed and had to try again.

Voice mail.

I left a message. Call me. Now .

Eyes darting between the Gold Range and my cell, I tried Ollie. Same result. I left the same message. Both text and voice.

Were the dolts still sleeping? Had they turned off their ringers? Were they already up and gone? Unlikely after less than six hours sleep.

Arm-wrapping my torso for warmth, I studied the Gold Range. With the garish awning, carved shutters, faux Tudor trim on the upper floors, and dark wood paneling at street level, the place looked like a cross between a Swiss chalet and a Super 8.

Did Nellie live at the Gold Range? Did Ruben? Might she be there now?

I considered my options. Go inside and try to locate one or the other? Wait? For how long? Screw the whole caper and head back to the Explorer?

Under my hoodie and thin cotton tee, an army of goose bumps puckered my skin. I pistoned my palms up and down my arms. Hopped from foot to foot.

Where the hell were Ryan and Ollie?

I stole a quick glance at the shop behind me. Through the plate-glass window, I could see posters, plastic polar bears, and other tourist kitsch. And something else: sweatshirts and jackets saying I Love Yellowknife .

Business hours were posted on the door. Monday through Friday, nine A.M. to eight P.M. Industrious. But useless to me. Besides, I hadn’t brought cash or a credit card with me to breakfast.

I glanced at my watch. Seven-ten.

I stared at the Gold Range. The hotel stared back, windows silent and dark in the predawn fog.

Seven-fourteen.

Shivering hard, I tried Ryan and Ollie again. Neither answered.

Decision. I’d wait until seven-thirty, then storm the hotel.

If I hadn’t died of hypothermia.

I resumed hopping and arm-rubbing.

Gradually, the refrigerated mist changed hue. Uphill, behind the Explorer, pink and yellow backlit long pewter clouds paralleling the earth’s rim.

Seven-seventeen.

All quiet at the Gold Range. In the growing light, I could see twisted fabric looping hammock-style behind one window. Nice touch.