Part 11 (1/2)

”That doesn't prevent Him from believing in you.”

Cameron smiled. ”Thanks, Susan. I'll be by for another peanut b.u.t.ter cookie soon.”

”I'll hold you to that. Now, here's Taylor's phone number and address. Ready?”

Cameron said good-bye, hung up, and stared at the information scrawled on his yellow notepad. Another dead end? Or a highway to answers?

After a quick shower he studied his notes and his eyes stopped on the verse Jason had told him to look up.

Why not?

He strode to his laptop and Googled Bible Bible and and Psalm 139:16. Psalm 139:16. Strange. His heart rate accelerated as the verse popped up on screen. Strange. His heart rate accelerated as the verse popped up on screen.

”Your eyes saw me when I was formless; all my days were written in Your book and planned before a single one of them began.” (Psalm 139:16)

Impossible. That couldn't be the book they'd asked him to find. Bible tale, urban legend, a Noah's ark-type story dressed up in New Age clothes.

Cameron went to the bathroom, doused his hands with water, and slicked back his hair. He walked back to his laptop, hunched over the monitor, and stared at the verse again as he ma.s.saged a double knot in his right shoulder.

. . . were written in your book . . .

Could it be real? Little chance. It felt like Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, searching for cinematic artifacts. But this wasn't a movie. So what did Little Boss and Jessie see all those years ago? searching for cinematic artifacts. But this wasn't a movie. So what did Little Boss and Jessie see all those years ago?

Cameron went to his window and stared at the tourists sauntering up and down Main Street, the sun flas.h.i.+ng against their cameras as they snapped pictures every few seconds trying to capture a memory.

Susan's words about meeting Taylor Stone played in his mind: ”I think it's an excellent idea.” ”I think it's an excellent idea.” She knew more than she'd told him. He'd heard it in her voice. She knew more than she'd told him. He'd heard it in her voice.

Time to find Taylor Stone. Now.

CHAPTER 13.

There was no answer on Taylor's phone, and no one there when Cameron stopped by the man's house. He caught a break when he dropped in at the Three Peaks Post Three Peaks Post and chatted with the receptionist. and chatted with the receptionist.

”You're looking to find Taylor?” The young redhead set down her nail polish and pointed to a county map on the wall behind her. ”I know where he is most days from May through September, and since it's July I should know where he is. And I do.” She tapped her pen on the counter making little black dots someone would have to wipe off. ”You wanna know too?”

”Yes.” Cameron forced himself to be patient. The ache in his gut said every moment counted, and while he could force himself to be light on the outside, it wasn't an easy weight to carry.

”On the river.” The receptionist made a motion of casting a line, then reeling in a fish. ”They tell me he's very good at it.”

”Any idea which one?”

”Sure.” She stepped over a stack of papers and tapped a tiny blue squiggle on the map on the wall. ”Either the Metolius or Squaw Cre-I mean, Whychus Creek. It used to be Squaw Creek, but a lot of people still think of it as Squaw Creek 'cause we called it that for a long time, know what I mean?”

”Sure. Any idea which one he favors?”

”Well, there's great fly-fis.h.i.+ng on both of them, but the fish are smaller on Whychus Creek and this time of the year the water level there is dropping, but of course it's more private there and Taylor likes his privacy, so all things considered, I'd-”

”So you think he'd be on Whychus Creek, then?”

”If I were in your shoes, that's the one I'd try first. But you never can know for sure till you start searching, know what I mean?”

”Thanks for all your help. I appreciate it.”

Later as Cameron hiked from the trailhead past thundering Chush Falls to the stretch of the creek where the fish would be running, he mulled over what he would do if Stone turned out to be a dead end. No idea.

And even if Stone led him to the book, what guarantee was there that it would fix whatever was eating away at his brain like a piranha?

As the first shards of the creek materialized through breaks in the trees and underbrush, he stopped and listened to the silence. An occasional call from a red-tailed hawk broke the still canopy overhead but that was all.

Intellectually he knew this was a place of peace, but the emotion eluded him.

As he pressed through the bushes, breaking into the rocky sun-soaked beach that bordered the creek, Cameron looked right, then left. Nothing. Wait. Two hundred yards downriver Cameron saw a flash. Yes. The sun glinting off a fis.h.i.+ng pole.

The figure whipping the pole back and forth glanced his direction from time to time, but it wasn't till Cameron trudged down the creek bank and stood directly across from him that the casting stopped.

The man was tall and wore an Oregon Ducks baseball hat. He had a black goatee with more gray than black, and his eyes made Cameron think of Sean Connery.

Cameron eased forward till he was inches from the crystal water that gurgled in front of his boots. He glanced at the photo Susan had e-mailed him earlier. The man who stood twenty yards away on the other side of the creek was definitely Taylor Stone.

”Greetings!” the man called across the gla.s.sy creek. ”You lost?”

”Not if you know where we are.”

”Well said.” The man smiled.

”You're Taylor Stone.”

”Is that a statement or a question?”

”I'm Cameron Vaux.”

”Ah, I see.” Taylor whipped off his hat to reveal a shock of salt-and-pepper hair to match his goatee. He bowed, his hat across his chest. ”You're correct. I am Taylor Stone. It is interesting to meet you.”

He put his hat back on, turned, and whipped his arm back and forth three times in smooth succession, the fly at the end of his line settling on the water for only a few seconds before a flick of his wrist s.n.a.t.c.hed it off the surface. ”Are you a fly fisherman, Cameron?”

”I've always wanted to learn.”

”Do you mean that?” Taylor stopped casting and stared at him, a twinkle in his brown eyes.

Cameron had wanted to learn since his dad and he had backpacked a section of the Pacific Crest Trail and stumbled on a fly fisherman who had given them part of his catch for dinner. ”Yes.”

”Well, well. Then perchance I'll teach you someday, Mr. Cameron Vaux.”

He studied Taylor. ”For someone so well known in Three Peaks, you're a difficult man to track down.”