I yanked my iPhone from my jeans and tapped Ryan’s number. My hands shook so badly from the cold I missed and had to try again.

Voice mail.

I left a message. Call me. Now.

Eyes darting between the Gold Range and my cell, I tried Ollie. Same result. I left the same message. Both text and voice.

Were the dolts still sleeping? Had they turned off their ringers? Were they already up and gone? Unlikely after less than six hours sleep.

Arm-wrapping my torso for warmth, I studied the Gold Range. With the garish awning, carved shutters, faux Tudor trim on the upper floors, and dark wood paneling at street level, the place looked like a cross between a Swiss chalet and a Super 8.

Did Nellie live at the Gold Range? Did Ruben? Might she be there now?

I considered my options. Go inside and try to locate one or the other? Wait? For how long? Screw the whole caper and head back to the Explorer?

Under my hoodie and thin cotton tee, an army of goose bumps puckered my skin. I pistoned my palms up and down my arms. Hopped from foot to foot.

Where the hell were Ryan and Ollie?

I stole a quick glance at the shop behind me. Through the plate-glass window, I could see posters, plastic polar bears, and other tourist kitsch. And something else: sweatshirts and jackets saying I Love Yellowknife.

Business hours were posted on the door. Monday through Friday, nine A.M. to eight P.M. Industrious. But useless to me. Besides, I hadn’t brought cash or a credit card with me to breakfast.

I glanced at my watch. Seven-ten.

I stared at the Gold Range. The hotel stared back, windows silent and dark in the predawn fog.

Seven-fourteen.

Shivering hard, I tried Ryan and Ollie again. Neither answered.

Decision. I’d wait until seven-thirty, then storm the hotel.

If I hadn’t died of hypothermia.

I resumed hopping and arm-rubbing.

Gradually, the refrigerated mist changed hue. Uphill, behind the Explorer, pink and yellow backlit long pewter clouds paralleling the earth’s rim.

Seven-seventeen.

All quiet at the Gold Range. In the growing light, I could see twisted fabric looping hammock-style behind one window. Nice touch.

After what seemed an hour, I checked my watch.

Seven-twenty.

A stakeout was definitely not the heart-racing excitement it was cracked up to be.

I was about to alter my plan and move on to phase two when the hotel’s front door swung outward. Head down, Nellie stepped onto the walk and chugged straight toward me.

I admit: the old cardiac muscles did a bit of high-stepping at that.

Before reaching the corner, Nellie diagonaled across Fiftieth Street and turned right onto Fiftieth Avenue.

Exhaling a cone of breathy relief, I hurried in her wake.

Yellowknife was now bustling with activity. Meaning I could see three people on the main drag.