I seated myself as directed and looked for a menu. Finding none, I settled back and scanned my surroundings.

Nellie and I weren’t the only early risers. Two men occupied a table beside a circular copper-hooded fireplace, now cold. Both wore jeans, boots, and plaid shirts and had beards that badly needed trimming.

Nellie vanished and reappeared moments later bearing a steel coffeepot and a thick china mug. After topping off Paul Bunyan and his pal, she crossed to me.

“Sorry. The buffet doesn’t open until seven.” Nellie raised the pot in question. Her broad cheeks and copper skin suggested aboriginal ancestry.

“Yes, please.”

Nellie filled and set the mug before me. “I can fix you some breakfast, long as it’s simple.”

“Eggs and toast would be great.”

“Scrambled?”

“Sure.”

Nellie chugged off.

I sipped my coffee. Which was strong enough to hold a spoon upright.

My eyes drifted to the window. Beyond the glass was a sort-of Zen scenario. Stacked boulders, scraggly plants sprouting amid haphazardly spread pebbles, rubber hoses snaking the ground. I couldn’t tell whether the project was under construction or crumbling due to neglect.

At the edge of the rock garden, two enormous black birds circled low over a stand of surrealistically tall pines. As I watched their slow lazy loops, my mind drifted back to the dream.

Why hadn’t Katy called?

I checked my iPhone for a signal. Four full bars. But no voice message or text from my daughter.

I scanned my e-mails. Twenty-four had landed since I’d left Edmonton. Most I ignored or deleted. Bill notifications. Ads for penis enhancers, pharmaceuticals, skin products, vacation villas. Offers of no-fail foreign-investment schemes.

Pete had fired off a short note stating that Birdie was well and bullying his chow, Boyd.

My sister, Harry, had written to say that she was dating a retired astronaut. His name was Orange Curtain. I hoped that was an auto-correct error.

Katy had linked me to an Evite for a friend’s bridal shower. OK, she was fine. Just busy.

Ollie had sent an empty note containing an attachment. The subject line read: Save on phone. Curious, I downloaded and opened the document.

Annaliese Ruben’s mug shot, scanned then enlarged. Though some detail had been lost, the face was still clear.

Good thinking, Sergeant Hasty. My copy of the printout had become quite tattered.

I studied the image. Dark hair. Round cheeks. Features you might see on any street in Dublin, Dresden, or Dallas.

“Hope you’re not one of those vegetarian types.” I’d been so focused on Ruben, I hadn’t heard Nellie approach. “I tossed on some bacon.”

“Bacon is good.” I set down the phone and drew in my elbows.

Nellie parked the plate in front of me. In addition to eggs and bacon, it contained toast, hash browns, and a small brown object whose provenance was unclear.

“That it?” she asked.

I nodded.