Peter Hartley looked at the building in front of him and wondered what he was doing here. This was not where he was supposed to be going with his life. He was a licensed private investigator, not a puppet. But he needed the money or else he may not be able to eat this month. Or pay is rent on his tiny apartment/office. If he didn’t have a place to do business, he couldn’t make money to pay for anything.
So he’d taken the job. It was a terrible job that went against every moral he had, but it paid well. All he had to do was find out some bad things about a person he didn’t know. How hard could it be? It was just like any other job he’d ever done as a PI.
Except for the one minor difference. In the week that he had been working on the assignment, he had not come across a single bad thing about this girl. Not even a parking ticket. Granted, she didn’t have a car, but that wasn’t the issue. There was nothing that his clients could use against this girl and if he found nothing, he didn’t get the bonus at the end of the job. The bonus would take care of his rent for the next three months.
So he decided to do the unthinkable. He was going to get to know the person he was investigating. It was what the client had wanted him to do in the first place, but he had maintained that he would be able to find something the old fashioned way, through research. However, you can’t find something that has never been recorded. It was possible that this girl had some secret that couldn’t be found on any database or in any file. He had to go to the source to find out.
Thus, he was here, at the Vancouver Art Gallery, to meet the girl that apparently did nothing wrong.
He went in through the main entrance, ignoring the protestors on the front lawn. They had been “occupying Vancouver” for weeks now, through rain and bitter cold nights. Peter thought they were all insane. The peaceful protest wasn’t going to change anything. The rich would remain rich. The poor would remain poor. A small percentage of the population would still retain the vast majority of the wealth in the country.
Peter didn’t care. He got to the front desk, paid the $17.50 admission and went in search of the feature exhibit: the Audain Collection. That was what Sylvia Rowland had come to the Art Gallery to see.
He found her admiring an Emily Carr painting. Her unruly auburn hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail that curled down her back. Her green eyes moved over the painting quickly, lingering for a moment on the people in the background of the picture. She was shorter than he imagined her to be, even though his dossier stated that she was only 5’3”.
All at once he was overwhelmed by the thought that he shouldn’t be doing this. He should not be prying into the woman’s life so that other people can use the information against her.
When she turned away from the painting, she looked right at him and he had to struggle to keep the guilt from his expression. She smiled at him and was about to walk away. He had to say something.
“Hi,” he said, stalling, trying to think of something. Should have come up with something before coming in here, idiot.
“Hello,” she said to him.
He had managed to make her stop for a moment. He had to think of something else to say. “So, you like art?”
Of all the stupid things you could say.
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry. That was a stupid question. My name is Peter. I just couldn’t help but notice you looking at the Emily Carr painting. It’s quite something isn’t it?”
“It is. She uses such interesting colours.”
“Are you here by yourself?” he asked, looking around as though he was expecting to find someone with her, even though he wasn’t.
“Yes.”
“That’s too bad. It’s nicer to be able to talk about the pieces with someone.”
“True. But I really just wanted to take a look at some art, see if anything sparked my interest. I figured the best place to see art is at the Vancouver Art Gallery.”
“Spark your interest?”
She nodded. “I’m trying to figure out what I want to do with my life. I really don’t know. I thought I did. But then things changed and now suddenly I have more options than I know what to do with.”
“It’s nice to have options.”
“Yes, but also makes it more difficult to choose.”
“I’d like to help, if I could.”
She looked at him suspiciously. “Why?”
He spread his hands and tried to look trustworthy. “Honestly? Because you’re interesting. I saw you standing there and I just wanted to get to know you.”
It wasn’t a lie, exactly. He did think she was interesting. She was young, had inherited a large estate worth a fortune, and seemed to be a bona fide good person. Peter didn’t meet many good people in his line of work. Now, here he was trying to prove she really wasn’t what he hoped she was.
She looked at him for a long moment before speaking again. “I don’t think you can help me choose what direction I am going to take for the future. However, I suppose that if you really are interested, we can walk around in here together. If you’re still interested when we leave, I’ll consider what can come next. My name is Sylvia, by the way.”Peter smiled and tried not to look too relieved. If this hadn’t worked, he doubted he’d have gotten another shot.
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