Ex, Why, and Me (9 page)

“It’s a distraction,” she muttered.

Ryan pinned her with a look. “It’s meant to be.”

She rubbed her face with her hands. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I…” She sighed. “Okay, let’s get back into the game. I don’t want to be anywhere near Brandy, so I vote for trailing the Aschenbrenners.”

“Good, it’s unanimous.” Ryan looked around, searching for their prey. “Let’s not make it too obvious.” He stood up and looked around the square. “We can…Okay, we need a new plan.”

“Why? Don’t tell me it’s because it’s cheating.”

“No, because Dennis and Margaret are already gone. So are Clayton and Brandy.”

Michelle growled in the back of her throat. “Give me that clue.” She studied it, put it down, and then looked at it again. “Track the Knights’ warnings to the Graveyard.”

“There aren’t that many graveyards in town,” Ryan said. The problem was that they were scattered around the area.

“Graveyard is capitalized,” Michelle pointed out, “so I’m not going to take the word literally.”

“Great. That means it could be anything. Let’s look at another word. How about Knights? There aren’t too many around here.”

“Okay, what kind of knights?” Michelle stared at the traffic as she came up with some possibilities. “White Knights? Knights of the Round Table? Knights of Columbus?”

Ryan froze. Round table. The picture was clear in his mind. He started to pace, tossing around other possibilities, but his mind kept going back to the picture. But it couldn’t be right. He would have heard about it.

“You have an idea?” Michelle asked, walking in tandem with him. “Tell me.”

He shook his head. “No, I’m wrong.” He had to come up with another idea. But all he could see was the picture.

Michelle stopped and looked at him. “How do you know you’re wrong?”

“Just a feeling.” He shrugged and lowered his head, staring at the sidewalk as he paced.

“We should investigate it.”

“No.” Knights…knights…There had to be other knights.

Michelle placed her hands on her hips. “Do you have any other ideas?”

He sighed. Long and hard. “No,” he admitted.

She motioned at the street. “Then lead the way.”

Michelle stood at the street corner and put her hands on her hips. “Pins & Pints?”

Ryan rubbed the back of his neck and stared at the hundred-year-old building. “Yeah.”

She pursed her lips, stared at the brick structure, and considered her options. Okay, there were no options. She had to go in there and act as if it didn’t matter. And it didn’t. Not at all. She had even forgotten this place existed.

It was just a surprise to see it after all this time. It looked smaller. Quiet. Just another brick building.

When she came back home, she didn’t entertain any thoughts of this place. She had no reasons to visit the bowling alley. Even during her fly-by visits to her parents, Michelle never drove past this side of town.

Michelle cleared her throat. “You think there are knights at the Pins & Pints?”

“Keep an open mind,” Ryan suggested as they crossed the street.

Michelle’s eyebrows shot up. Who was he to make that suggestion? “I’m very open-minded.”

“Uh-huh.” He held one of the wooden doors open and escorted her inside the building.

“Whoa.” Michelle skidded to a stop. The entryway was no longer the grayish blue designed to hide the dirt and age. Instead, there was a bold and colorful mural stretching across the spacious room.

“What is this?” She twisted and swiveled her head when she noticed that the mural continued into every nook and cranny.

“The history of Carbon Hill.” Ryan didn’t move from the door. He didn’t seem to show any interest in the artwork at all.

“Where does it start?”

Ryan pointed at the far right entrance door. Michelle slowly walked along the wall, instantly recognizing a few landmarks and forefathers. The exaggerated lines and shapes gave the subjects personality, she noticed as she peered closely at some of the hidden details.

She was surprised that the warm colors made her think of Carbon Hill. The patchwork farmland reminded her of the fields she saw the day before. Only this interpretation was brighter. Joyful. It was obvious that the artist loved this area, warts and all. Whoever drew this wanted the viewer to feel the same way.

Michelle’s throat suddenly felt tight and dry. She swallowed hard. “Where are the Knights you were talking about?” she asked, her voice raspy. “Are they in this mural?”

“Over here.” Ryan took the steps to the front counter and walked to the staircase that would take them to the top floor. He pointed at the gentlemen sitting at a round table. “These guys owned the breweries, but during Prohibition, they had to shut down their companies.”

She looked at the men, then at Ryan. “How does that make them knights?”

“Believe me, they weren’t. The owners went into more criminal activities.”

Michelle’s mouth sagged open. “Are you telling me Carbon Hill had a mob?”

Ryan laughed, the lines around his eyes deepening. “More like wannabe mobsters.”

Michelle’s smile stopped midway. The edges of her lips froze into place as her heart took a tumble. There was that laugh. That sound that would always make her day.

“The
Herald
kept tabs on these guys,” Ryan continued, studying the mural with a critical eye. “But they had to be careful. Instead of using their names, the reporters called them knights because they always met at this big round table at a local bar.”

Michelle didn’t realize she was staring at Ryan until he looked back at her. His brilliant blue eyes really did pack a wallop. She blinked as an unfamiliar sensation coiled around her chest.

“Butchers, bakers, candlestick makers and now knights,” she said with a vague smile. “What’s next? Princesses? Little Bo Peep?”

She made a show of studying the picture, but the aggressive lines blurred before her eyes. She found it difficult to concentrate as her heart raced wildly. “I see where you’re going with this, Ryan, but where would the warnings be? The papers they are holding are
Carbon Hill Herald
editions.”

“Ryan?” a female voice called from the room behind the front desk. “Is that you?”

Ryan’s smile vanished as his hand dropped from the wall. “Damn,” he muttered.

An older woman came to the front desk. There was something instantly friendly and comfortable about the casually dressed woman. Michelle immediately recognized her as Ryan’s mother.

“Ryan!” Her relief was evident. “You’re back. The hunt is over? Just in time, because—”

“Mom”—he waved his hands to interrupt her—“I’m still on the hunt.”

“You didn’t get voted off yet?” She winced when she realized her error. “Not that I don’t think you could win, but it’s never been your thing.”

“It doesn’t work that way, unfortunately.” He approached the front desk. “Mom, you remember Michelle Nelson?”

“Oh, hi, Michelle!” The woman’s smile was warm and genuine. “What have you been up to?”

“I’m a pastry chef in Chicago,” she said as she clasped Mrs. Slater’s hand with her own. “And how about you?”

“A chef? Really?” Her eyes brightened with interest. “Is it your own restaurant?”

She stopped short at the question. There was no way she could get her hands on the kind of money needed to establish her own restaurant. “No, not yet.”

“Do you have a TV show?”

“No,” Michelle answered with a hint of apology.

“A cookbook?”

Michelle shook her head. She didn’t know how to explain that TV and book deals were hard to come by. It wasn’t as if she was a slacker or anything. “Nothing like that. Sorry.”

“Really? Well, don’t worry, honey.” Mrs. Slater patted Michelle’s arm in a comforting gesture. “You’ll get on the Food Network real soon.”

“Mom, sorry to interrupt, but did the hunt organizers drop by here earlier this month? Did they want to use the mural as a clue?”

“No.” She looked at her son as if he spoke a different language. “No one like that came around here. Why?”

“No reason.” Ryan stepped away from the desk and looked at the mural one last time. “I thought there was a clue in here, but I guess I’m wrong.”

“Are you going to be done tonight? You know the Kleins rented out the reception room.” She motioned at the double doors next to the front desk.

“No, I won’t be here tonight,” he said patiently, like a man who had explained something several hundred times before. “I’ll be back tomorrow night.”

Michelle could feel Ryan’s regret. It was as if he was torn. He didn’t want to be in the hunt and he didn’t want to be at the bowling alley. He was stuck disappointing someone and it didn’t sit well with him. Michelle wondered where Ryan wanted to be.

Mrs. Slater silently studied him and then slowly looked at Michelle. Her mouth twitched with a smile as her gaze returned to her son. “I understand,” she said, with a twinkle in her eye that must be a family trait. “Take your time. We’ll be fine.”

Ryan tilted his head to the side as if he didn’t quite believe what he was hearing. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, absolutely. I don’t want to see you until tomorrow night. No, make it Monday morning.” She waved him off. “Now, go have fun.”

“We’ll try,” he answered dryly and turned to Michelle. “Where should we try next?”

She shrugged. She was out of ideas and she couldn’t imagine where a knight would hang out in town. “Do you know where the Historical Society is?”

“Carbon Hill has a historical society?” Ryan’s mother asked in surprise.

“So we are told,” Ryan said.

“Let me check.” Mrs. Slater bent down and lifted the phone book from underneath the counter.

As she started thumbing through the thin pages, Michelle drifted to the wall she didn’t get a chance to look at.

“You seem to like our mural, Michelle.”

“Mom.”

“It’s wonderful,” Michelle said, ignoring the hint of warning Ryan gave his mother. “I don’t know much about art, but this reminds me a lot of what I’ve seen in Europe.” She turned to the older woman. “I can picture this in a restaurant.”

Mrs. Slater tilted her head and looked at her son. “Did you hear that, Ryan?”

“Yep,” Ryan said as he skipped down the steps. “We gotta go.”

Mrs. Slater gave Michelle one of those woman-to-woman looks. “I keep telling him he did as good a job as a professional.”

“Ryan?” She cast a quick look at him. He had stopped on the middle step and his shoulders slowly slumped. Michelle looked at his mother.
“Ryan
did this?”

“Yes,” the older woman said with a beaming smile. “My son is quite the artist, don’t you think?”

Michelle wasn’t going to say a thing, she decided as she silently tapped her toe. She’d done pretty well for the past twenty minutes. She was even standing in the tiny Historical Society office right next to Ryan, acting as if she was listening to some local historian drone on about the town’s railroad industry.

It helped to focus on the historian’s odd hairstyle. The man unsuccessfully hid his bald spot by moving his part all the way to his ear. Distracting, to say the least, but she still felt tempted to interrupt.

She wanted to break her polite silence, present Ryan with a flourish, and announce, “Did you know that you have a talented local artist in your midst?”

She wasn’t going to. She wasn’t going to say a word. Because, first of all, Ryan would kill her. He didn’t have to say anything for her to arrive at that conclusion. There were some unspoken rules that a person just knew.

Most of all, it would be a waste of breath. She had a feeling everyone already knew about Ryan’s artistic ability. Everyone, that was, but her.

She, Michelle Nelson, had no clue. The girl who knew every freaking detail and statistic about Ryan Slater, right down to his class schedule in high school, didn’t know he was an artist.

She was still reeling from it.

“You’re telling me,” Ryan asked the historian, “that a
hobo
was considered a knight?”

“Yes,” the man said in his monotone voice that could put anyone to sleep. “Now they are known as transients or vagrants, but back then they were called hobos. They were also known as the Knights of the Road.”

Ryan turned to Michelle. “I never would have figured that one out.”

She tried not to smile at his bemused expression. “That makes two of us.”

“They had their own communication system,” the historian explained. “The hobos left markings and symbols along the way. This allowed other hobos to know what they could find. Things like a sympathetic lady who would give food, or a mean dog.”

“Those must be the warnings.” Michelle pulled the card from her jacket pocket and read it aloud. “Track the Knights’ warnings to the Graveyard.”

“Sounds right,” Ryan said with a nod. “Where can we get the list of symbols?”

“They’re available on the Internet, but I can get a printout for you,” the man said as he strode to the back office. “I’ll be right back.”

“Where do we go look for the symbols?” Michelle asked Ryan. “Start wandering down one street to the next?”

“No, the railroad tracks.” He tapped the paper with his fingertip. “Track the Knights’ warnings. Get it?”

Michelle nodded, feeling a little bit more hopeful than she had when they first got the clue. “And the Wirts might have used them when robbing trains.”

“Where does the Graveyard fit in?” Ryan asked. “What could that be about?”

“Here you go,” the historian said and gave the printout of symbols to Ryan.

“That was fast,” Michelle said as she stuffed the clue back into her pocket.

“I made extra copies after the first request,” the man explained.

Michelle paused. She sensed Ryan’s head jerk up in surprise. “First?” she repeated.

“Who was here before us?” Ryan asked.

“Oh, it was Clayton, one of our most active members,” the historian said, his monotone voice pulling at Michelle’s eyelids so hard that she was ready to take a nap. “He was with a pretty girl I haven’t seen in here before.”

“One more thing,” Ryan said as they walked to the door. “Did the hobos have anything called a Graveyard?”

The historian’s eyes dipped as he frowned. “It doesn’t sound familiar.”

“Okay, thanks,” Michelle said as they left the Historical Society. They stood at the doorway and surveyed Main Street, which was closed to traffic to make room for the Horseradish Festival’s sidewalk sale.

“You know,” Michelle said as she stuffed her hands into her jacket pockets. “I would like to come in first in something.”

“We already did,” Ryan reminded her. “It was on the first clue.”

Michelle wrinkled her nose. “That doesn’t count. How about come in first in something
today?”

“Today’s not over yet.”

Michelle rolled her eyes toward the cloudless sky. “Which way should we go?”

“Let’s find a train track. There aren’t any laid down on Main Street, but I think the closest track is in that direction.” He motioned to the left with the tilt of his head.

Might as well.
“Okay, let’s do it.” She headed down the sidewalk with Ryan at her side. She noticed how he automatically moved to walk between her and the street. The protective gesture was pure Ryan, but the way her heart fluttered against her ribs was surprising. She abruptly looked away, uncertain if she liked the feeling or not.

A sparkle in the window caught her eye. “Ooh, wait!” she said as they passed Duguay’s Diamonds.

“Michelle,” he said with a long-suffering sigh and backtracked to where she stood. “We’ve already lost a lot of ground. Now isn’t the time to window-shop.”

“I know,” she said with her nose pressed against the tiny square display window. She cupped her hands around her temples, shielding the bright sunlight from her eyes. “I wanted to see the ring that’s part of the prize. I guess that’s it.”

The large platinum ring consisted of three diamond rows. It looked thick and heavy nestled against the soft black velvet bedding. Michelle knew it would dominate any woman’s hand.

Ryan leaned in closer and her senses erupted into life. She inhaled his clean scent and it hit her in the back of her throat. His body heat enveloped her and every layer of clothes felt too warm and tight. Michelle let out a slow, staggered breath, clouding the glass.

“It’s big,” he said.

“Yeah.” She wiped the fog off the window, hoping he didn’t notice her high-pitched voice.

“Do you like it?” Ryan asked. She heard the uncertainty in his voice, as if he couldn’t imagine her wearing something like that. His insight pleased her.

“It’s okay,” she answered. “It isn’t something I would wear. Oooh! Oooh!” She pressed her nose closer. “I like that pendant and chain behind it.”

Ryan leaned in closer. His body surrounded her, but she didn’t feel contained. She felt safe. She wanted to lean into him, gather his arms around her, and hold tight.

“That purple triangle thing?” he asked.

“That is gorgeous!” She tilted her head, wishing for a better view. Whose bright idea was it to make miniscule store windows?

“I like it better,” he decided, “but it’s not as big.”

“But it’s prettier. And that chain you could wear by itself.” Michelle sighed as she turned away from the display window. “One day.”

“One day, what?” Ryan prompted when she showed no sign of finishing her thought.

Michelle reluctantly moved away from the window. “One day I’ll have enough money to buy that necklace.”

“Don’t you celebrity chefs make millions?” he asked with a teasing grin.

“What is it with you guys?” She splayed her hands in the air. “I am not a celebrity chef. Everyone seems to think that they have the best idea for a cookbook and—snap!—they will be the next Julia Child.”

“It worked for Julia Child,” Ryan explained as he reached for her hand and guided her through a crowded part of the sidewalk.

“Life doesn’t happen that way for most chefs. That’s what makes it such a big deal when it does happen.” She tried to come up with an example. “It’s like the legend of Homer and Ida.”

“I don’t follow,” he said as they turned the corner from Main and went down a side street.

“People have found buried treasure throughout time,” Michelle said, slipping her hand out of Ryan’s grasp. She tried to be sneaky about it, but had a feeling she failed spectacularly. “When everyone hears the rumor that there might be buried treasure, everyone thinks it’s going to be their lucky day.”

“Except for you,” he said with a sidelong glance. “You’re too busy telling everyone buried treasure doesn’t exist.”

“I never said that.” Michelle shook her head. “Buried treasure exists.”

Ryan stopped, turned, and put his hands on his hips. “Even in Carbon Hill?”

She shuffled to a stop. “It’s…” She felt her nose flare as she took a deep breath. “Possible.”

“Wow, what a jump!” he said, flinging his hands up to the sky. “You went from impossible to possible. Next stop, probable.”

“Oh, that’s not going to happen,” she said, looking for cars before she dashed across the street.

“There’s that cynicism again,” he said as he jogged behind her. “But you know—”

“Railroad tracks!” She pointed at the tracks embedded in the street. She paused and checked for any oncoming traffic. “Which way do we follow?”

“Hmm.” Ryan ruffled his hair with his fingers. “You choose.”

Oh, right. And then she’d get the blame when they accidentally walked all the way to the next county. “What if I pick the wrong way?”

He flashed a knowing smile. “I won’t hold it against you. Promise.”

“You better not.” She looked in both directions and pointed to the right. “This way.”

“As I was saying,” Ryan continued as they walked the tracks side by side, “if Ida herself rose from the dead and came to you, pointed where ‘X’ marks the spot, you wouldn’t believe it.”

“Well, probably because I’d be too busy wondering why a ghost was bothering me. Or if it was really a ghost, and how would I know the ghost was Ida? It’s not like they carry I.D.”

“But the weird thing is—”

Michelle gave him a look of disbelief. “And ghosts aren’t considered weird?”

“You would dig,” Ryan said, pointing at her, “but you wouldn’t think you’d find anything.”

Michelle considered what he said. “You’re probably right. I didn’t think I had a chance to win Miss Horseradish. My goal was to try for anything that would pay my tuition.”

“See, there you go.” He stopped as if something clicked in his memory. Ryan walked back to the railroad sign they passed and looked at the metal pole. “I think we’re on the right path. Here’s a symbol for ‘Go This Way.’”

Michelle crossed her arms as she stared at the symbol, which was simply a circle with an arrow attached to it. “I’ll take your word for it.”

As they continued down the tracks, Michelle kept an eye on the ground, when a thought occurred to her. “But, Ryan, you would handle it the opposite way.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’d believe the buried treasure was there. No Ida ghost necessary. If there was a chance that treasure was around, you would believe it.”

“So?” Ryan said, sounding preoccupied as he looked around for the next hobo code.

“But you wouldn’t hunt for it,” she said as she jumped on the rail joiner and tried to keep her balance. “Even if you had details on where the treasure was located, you wouldn’t go after it. You’d wait for it to fall in your lap.”

“No, that’s not true.”

“Do you think Homer and Ida stashed their fortune somewhere in Carbon Hill?” she asked as her arms wheeled.

“Yeah.”

She looked up, smiling with pride as she kept her balance. “Where have you dug for it?”

“Okay,” he said with a reluctant smile. “You got me.”

“The same when it came to me,” she said as she looked down at the train tracks.

“And you lost me again.”

“You said you were interested in me, but did you go after me?” she asked, putting one foot in front of the other. “No, I went after you.”

“Now, that I kind of liked,” he said with a slow smile that made her insides melt. “I wouldn’t change that for a thing.”

“And the same goes with your artwork,” she said briskly as she jumped off the rail joiner and stood at his side.

Ryan froze. The expression on his face closed up and his jaw tightened. She knew he was mad at himself for not seeing where she was headed.

“You have talent that is waiting to be untapped.” She poked her finger against his arm. “Plan on doing something about it?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He turned and continued down the tracks.

“Yep,” she muttered under her breath, “that’s what I thought.”

Ryan walked down the tracks at a hard, fast pace. If he was lucky, it would knock the breath right out of Michelle. She’d be too busy gasping for air to think about wasting it on conversation.

His mouth tightened with anger. He knew she was going to bring up the mural, sooner or later, and he had bet on sooner. It had been a sure thing.

Squeezing his eyes with regret, Ryan knew he shouldn’t have taken her back to the bowling alley. It had been a risk. There had been too strong of a possibility that he was wrong about the clue, but once the idea had grabbed hold, he couldn’t shake it off.

And yet, he had a feeling he was lying to himself. He was looking for a reason to take her to the bowling alley. He wanted her to see what he had created.

Of course, he went mute the minute she saw it. He backed off, not wanting her to know the identity of the artist, but at the same time, wanting her to figure it out. He was undoubtedly going insane.

Even when he walked into Pins & Pints—hell, the minute they headed in that direction—he knew what would happen. He could predict what Michelle would do if she found out about his interest in art.

She would prod. Poke. Push. And keep pushing. It could be her greatest virtue, as well as her most annoying trait. And right now, he didn’t want to be pushed.

Ryan saw the squiggly symbol clear ahead and had the printout ready before he reached it. Michelle was at his side sooner than he expected.

“What does it say?” she asked, looking over his arm. Each gasping breath she tried to control added to his guilt. He shouldn’t have set a neck-breaking pace.

“It promises food.” He placed his hand over his stomach when it growled in anticipation. “They wouldn’t tease us about that, would they?”

“Maybe they got Annie to make lunch,” she suggested. “She’s a good cook. That bed and breakfast is going to be one of the best kept secrets around here.”

“Annie has some good marketing plans,” he said, wondering why he was bothering to come to the woman’s defense. “Just wait and see.”

“Yeah, Vanessa is the same way,” Michelle said, huffing and puffing as she tried to regain the use of her lungs. “Big plans, small audience. She should go where it would be appreciated.”