Lightening blinked sporadically in the grey sky across the bay and the trees along the edge of the park began to sway in erratic discord from the building wind. The water of Thompson Bay became corrugated as it moved toward the shore, the metallic appearing waves demonstrating a growing maturity as they splashed against the wall of the marina boathouse that stood at the end of the street.

He studied the buildings and the businesses on the main street as he drove slowly up to the park. Main Street ended in a tee with the road that paralleled the bay. To the left stood the town's auction barn, a converted lumber mill that fell into disuse with the termination of the railroad line into Thompson Bay. Straight ahead was the marina and turning right, as he did, he cruised past a small bakery, a clothing/craft shop and a boating supply store, to the Thompson Bay Hotel. The parking lot was in the rear and was unpaved and the spitting rain that appeared quickly made the cinder surface spongy and mucky.

He left the car and hurried across the lot with his small bag to the rear door, stamping his feet on the coarse mat inside the door before venturing down the narrow hallway of wood and old wallpaper into the lobby and the front desk. He dropped the bag in front of the counter and looked at the early twentieth century design with interest, chuckling over the pigeonholes with keys and large wooden room markers. A bell on the counter with the chrome worn to a dull copper sheen held a sign directing him to ring for service. He did.

"You came in the back way." The statement held no welcome nor did the body language as a plump woman appeared from a door behind the counter, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. Her dull brown-dyed hair was bundled carelessly on the back of her head and held in place by a large green butterfly clip, and she considered him through stern, colourless eyes.

"I parked out back. Isn't that what it's for?" He stared at her unfriendly appraisal. "It's raining pretty hard." He waited for her response.

"The dining room ain't open yet. Not 'til five."

"First, I think I'd like to get a room."

Surprise and a semblance of a smile lit the doughy face, and the towel disappeared as a large black and red ledger found its way to the counter from somewhere beneath.

"Sorry, don't get many people stayin' in the Bay this time of year." She watched as he signed in and added his car license number. "You here on business?" She turned the ledger toward her. "Mr. Simmons?"

He smiled and held his hand out for a key. "Not tonight."

She gave him a key for the second floor and a sheet with the hotel rules and meal menus. "You didn't ask but the rate's fifty-five a night. Fifty if you stay a week." He nodded pleasantly and headed for the stairs feeling her eyes following him even after he was out of sight.

The wind picked up along with the rain and the shutters on the window of the hotel office rattled threateningly. Another flash of lightening, closer this time, followed by a crack of thunder, drew the attention of the old man reading the paper at the office desk.

"Who was that?" He asked when the woman returned.

"A guest of all things. Man. Quiet type. Kinda strange. Name's, Simmons."

"Strange? How?"

"Just strange. I don't know." The comment was nothing more than a need to speak; she had no idea what she meant. She went through the office to the kitchen and checked on their dinner in the ancient oven. "Did Irene call yet?" She shouted back to him.

"She'll be here, quit fussin'."

"Fine for you to say but I'm not fixin' dinner for the guests and ours is about ready so get in here and set the table."

The man folded his paper with a sigh and shuffled into the kitchen. "We only have three people stayin' here, what's the big deal?"

"The big deal, Walter, is that we pay Irene to be here and do that. Remember?"

A crack of thunder made her jump and she directed her attention to the stove. "You're going to have to check on the boats after dinner if this keeps up."

"Maybe we could pay Irene to do that too," he grumbled, taking plates to the tiny table where they ate their meals.

Ada humphed noisily when, a few minutes later, she heard the shouted hello from the front desk. Irene scurried into the kitchen hanging her wet coat on a hook on the wall and standing her dripping umbrella by the back door.

"Wind's just something terrible out there. Driving the rain so a body can't see." Ada clucked disinterestedly and advised her of the extra guest that just arrived.

"Will he be down for dinner?" Irene washed her hands at the sink and then opened the refrigerator and took out the salad vegetables and put them on the counter.

"He didn't say so don't make any more than you have to. I can't afford to be throwin' out good food."

"So what's he like?" Irene asked, making conversation and ignoring the caution. She still panted slightly from her dash through the rain and her hair was damp on her forehead.

"He's a man. They're all alike." Ada offered. Walter snorted from behind his paper at the table. "Have you finished setting that for dinner?" Her rebuke was also tart.

"As far as I know, dear." He winked at Irene who dropped her head and concentrated on the salad.

"Is he young? Old?" She persisted.

"In between and don't be thinking about flirting with the guests, young lady."

"Ada, leave her alone for heaven's sake. Maybe a good flirt would be good for business." Walter shook his paper and his head.

"We don't need that kind of business." The three stayed silent until Ada put the dinner on the table and sat down to eat then the conversation turned to the weather again. Irene continued about her duties, speculating over the new guest. Any new face in Thompson Bay was always interesting.

******

He unpacked his bag, tossed a few items on the bed and placed the rest of his things in the ancient dresser and the small closet then went to the rain-streaked window and squinted out across the road to the park and beyond to the bay; everything was grey and dark—the world in mostly black and a little white. The wind increased and he stepped back as it drove the rain against the glass with a loud snap.

The tiny washroom contained a mini bar of paper-wrapped soap and a pale blue shower-less bathtub with a matching toilet, which he flushed to see how well it worked. The bed was a double with one sheet and a heavy old bedspread decorated with leaves and flowers of various colours and the single pillow was well worn and constructed of thin foam covered in a matching pattern.

He took off his coat and hung it on a hook on the back of the door, moved his things aside and then lay down on the bed, arms behind his head, and stared at the ceiling. He'd come to this town because this was where it all began... and if he wasn't way off track, this was where it would end.

The rain increased in intensity and he suddenly jerked awake, unaware that he had dozed and he sat up checking his watch; still time to have dinner. He had only slept for twenty minutes but now his stomach was making demands and he picked up the menu sheet he'd been given. A breaded veal cutlet and salad looked to be the least offensive and he forced himself to wash up and go down to the dining room.

Irene was setting the tables and filling the water glasses for the other two guests when she turned and saw the new arrival. She paused and took a breath, unconsciously patting her hair and pressing the front of her dress with her free hand. He wasn't young but he did have a bit of rugged appeal. The short, grey tinged hair complimented his dark blue eyes and he showed a bit of beard, also hinting grey.

He wore a sweater over a shirt and a pair of faded jeans and she noticed he had eyeglasses tucked in the vee of his sweater. He nodded and raised his eyebrows, nodding again when she indicated any of the tables in the small room. She followed him over and placed a menu on his plate and filled his glass.

"Welcome to the Thunder Bay Hotel. I'm Irene Paget and I'll be preparing your meal."

"Not just serving it, eh?"

"We have a very small staff," she grinned prettily.

"I thought that business of announcing your name was more, pretentious big city than rural, small town."

She felt her neck heat and wondered how to take the remark... he was smiling.

The smile expanded and he opened the menu, noticing it was the same fare as on the sheet in his room. "I think I'd like the cutlet and have you got any light beer?"

"We only carry Moosehead but it's pretty good... and it goes real well with our cutlet." She blushed a little more and took the menu back.

"That sounds like a sales pitch, Irene Paget." His smile held.

"She leaned over grinning. "It is... but it's also true." He was pulling her leg; she just knew.

"That'll be fine then. Thanks." He watched her face cycling through different shades of pink as she hurried back to the kitchen. He turned and looked at the other guests. One was a stout man with a pair of narrow glasses perched on the bulbous nose that was buried in a file folder. He looked every bit the traveling salesman. The other was a man who appeared to be a local, at least by the farmer's workpants and the checkered cap hanging on the back of the chair.

Neither had paid him any attention and he turned back to his own thoughts. A sheet boasting local information rested in the serviette holder and he busied himself with that until Irene scurried back with his beer and a chilled glass. The auction barn he'd seen on the way in was advertising a family estate sale on the fifth of March with 'something for everyone'. A few other businesses had paid to place bland ads and aside from a couple of other dates for innocuous local events, there was little information.

Irene poured his beer and it into the glass, keeping the head to a minimum. "You just, uhmm- passing through, or did our fair town lure you with the promise of excitement and adventure?"

He took a few seconds to appreciate the humour and the still, warm looking friendly face, under his scrutiny, and replied noncommittally.

She nodded and took the empty bottle. "Dinner will be about ten minutes, I can get you a paper or something to read if you like."

Ray Simmons thanked her and as she hurried away his mind drifted to an image of his niece who would have been a little younger but displayed the same unrestricted, open friendliness. Nearly five years had passed since Ray had shared the horrifying news with his sister and brother-in-law about Adelaide's murder with still no progress in its solution. His sister had since died and his brother-in-law had retreated into himself and the bottle—three lives directly impacted and destroyed and several others peripherally affected. Ray Simmons was lured here all right, but not by adventure; Ray Simmons was on a mission.

"So what do you think there, Irene, he flirt worthy?" Walter teased, drawing a scowl from Ada and another warning to Irene.

"He's kinda attractive in a rough sorta way," Irene admitted. "And he ordered the cutlet so that makes him okay in my book."

"Just you stick to cookin' and servin', young lady. We don't need any flirty help workin' here." Ada's stern face was directed at the meal she was eating and she missed the wink from Walter to Irene.

"You done with your paper, Walter?" She asked. "He was looking for something to read while he was waiting, besides that dull flyer."

Her comment made Ada bristle silently but she let it pass and Walter was finished so it didn't really matter.

Irene started the meal and readied a few other items and then carefully folded the paper and took it out to her customer. Across the room the salesman type gave her a frown and pointed to his empty drink glass.

"Not much news in this place but Duffy manages to spice up what little there is." She handed it to him and then didn't know how to leave gracefully so she stood there smiling nervously. "Can I get you anything else?"

Ray looked down and showed a small grin. "Just dinner thanks. And thanks for the paper," he added as she turned away.

"Oh you're welcome... won't be long- your meal. It won't be long." Her face flamed as his grin grew and she went to assist the salesman.

Walter saw her checking her face in the mirror when she returned and he said something to Ada to distract her from noticing. After a few primps and pats she hurried to the stove and continued with her cooking.

Ray scanned the paper and agreed with Irene that there wasn't much in the way of news but what little there was had been gussied up to at least sound like it might be interesting. He made a note to visit the editor of the Bay Herald and see what he could offer on Adelaide's murder that might not have been made public at the time; in the copy Ray had found the editor had written in defense of Russell Church, the only person arrested. He sped through the rest of the pages and set the paper down while he tried the beer, finding it a tad strong for his taste but still satisfying.

Irene pushed through the kitchen door and balanced a tray to his table, setting it down and placing his plate in front of him. "It's hot, be careful, and I brought all the condiments. Some people like to slather ketchup on their gravy." She made a face and paused, until she saw him agree.

"Looks good, Irene. Thanks." He picked up his tools and started to eat. She hesitated a beat and then went to see to the other customers. Town must be very small he thought if the attractive waitress was actually hitting on him.