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Wellington, president and CEO of NMM, and also a resident of Thunder Bay. I tried the number for Rupert I’d pulled off the Internet. The man who answered told me rather crossly that he was not
that
Rupert Wellington and he was sick and tired of getting the other guy’s calls, thank you very much.
    I’d also learned that Wellington had two children, a son and a daughter. The son worked for a conservation organization in Vancouver, British Columbia. His name was Alan. The daughter, Maria, was a physician in Montreal. I didn’t have a phone number for either of them, but I did have one for the conservation organization, a group called Nature’s Child. I dialed, thinking there was no way on a Sunday. Someone answered on the fourth ring.
    “Nature’s Child. This is Heidi.”
    “Heidi, my name is Corcoran O’Connor. I’m trying to reach Alan Wellington.”
    “He’s not here.”
    “Would it be possible to reach him at home?”
    “I suppose you could try.”
    “I would but I don’t have his number.”
    “And I can’t give it out.”
    “It’s a bit of an emergency. It’s about his family.”
    “His father?”
    I wondered why it would occur to her automatically that it would be about Henry Wellington.
    “His grandfather, actually. He’s very sick.”
    “And you would be?”
    “As I said, my name’s Corcoran O’Connor. I’m acting on his grandfather’s behalf.”
    “An attorney?”
    “A friend. Look, I hate to be pressing, but the old man is dying.” There was a brief hesitation on the other end as she considered. Then: “Just a moment.”
    Within a minute, I had the number and was dialing Alan Wellington’s home phone.
    “Hello?” A woman’s voice.
    “I’d like to speak with Alan Wellington, please.”
    “May I say who’s calling?”
    I gave her my name.
    A few seconds later, a man came on the line. Firm, deep voice, but not hard. “This is Alan.”
    “Mr. Wellington, my name is Cork O’Connor. I’m calling from Minnesota. I’ve come into possession of a watch that I believe belonged to your grandmother. There’s a rather interesting story attached to it. I’d like to give the watch to your father and tell him the story, but he’s a difficult man to contact.”
    “Not difficult, Mr. O’Connor. Impossible.”
    “That’s why I’m contacting you. I was hoping you might help.”
    “You can certainly send me the watch and the story along with it. I’ll make sure my father gets them.”
    “I’d rather deliver them to him in person.”
    “I’m afraid I can’t help you with that.”
    “Just a telephone number?”
    “Mr. O’Connor, I don’t know the truth of what you’re telling me, though it sounds a little suspect. You have no idea the number of people who’ve tried to get to my father through me. And my sister. My father wants simply to be left alone. As much as I’m able, I intend tohelp him with that. If you’d like to send me the watch, I’ll see that he gets it. Otherwise, we have nothing further to discuss.”
    “Time is of the essence here, Mr. Wellington. A man who wants very much to contact your father is dying.”
    “A man. Not you?”
    “Someone I represent.”
    “You’re an attorney?”
    “No.”
    “And who is this man?”
    I didn’t know how to explain it. I stumbled on. “He was a very good friend of your grandmother. He has important information about her that your father ought to know.”
    “If you tell me, I’ll see that he gets it.”
    “I can’t really do that.”
    “Then, as I said before—Mr. O’Connor, was it? We have nothing further to discuss.”
    The call ended on that abrupt and chilly note.
    Jo stopped by in the late afternoon. She brought Stevie and Walleye and dropped them off.
    “Mind if they hang out here for a while?” she asked. “I have shopping to do. The dog can’t come into the store, and Stevie won’t go anywhere without him.”
    “No problem,” I said.
    After she left, I watched them chase around outside. Stevie