The Photographer II Read online

  That was the end of any discussion, since Mrs. Groober then dissolved into tears. Vicki and Mrs. Valentine had excused themselves quietly, leaving the house full of relatives to deal with the show of grief.

  “SueAnne talked about being a model, Mom,” Vicki had said, driving home. “Maybe that’s what she did. Went off someplace and tried to get a modeling job. There are probably people in the cities who take advantage of girls wanting that career, maybe lure them into making porn movies or—or—other things.”

  “How did she get back here?” Mrs. Valentine pointed out. “Where has she been for a month? Why did she come back now? Or why did someone bring her back and put her in such a conspicuous place? Where she’d be found almost immediately? Those are the two biggest questions everyone is asking, Vicki.”

  As people filled the church, her mother reached out and took Vicki’s hand, not knowing what she was thinking, but knowing how she must feel. Vicki appreciated her understanding. On her other side, her father had his arm around her. They were trying to protect her, but it was too late. No one could do that now.

  She watched people come in, heads bowed, speaking in soft whispers. Even Scott Lawrence was here with Alan Berkman, and he didn’t even know Sue-Anne. Why had he come?

  He turned slightly and caught her eye. He didn’t smile or acknowledge her in any way, but she knew what he was saying. I care. I care for you, Vicki Valentine. I came because she was your friend. I could care about you if you’d let me.

  She gave herself permission to think about him for a minute. He was tall, at least six feet. His brown hair curled slightly, and his brown eyes teased when he looked at her. He didn’t look like the brain he obviously was. All those math and science courses—whew. He dressed like he was from a big city, not elegantly, but with style. Not in flannel work shirts or dirty tees like most of the guys in Sparksville.

  She had liked him immediately. The way he blushed when she accused him of following her. Had she ever seen a guy blush? He seemed shy, yet his eyes had sized her up. Her favorite T-shirt had caught his eye. An obvious interest in her had kept it. Several guys liked her. She knew that. And she liked them back, but just in a friendly way. Scott was the first male she knew she could like as more than a friend.

  She glanced quickly at her hands, clutching a wadded handkerchief in her lap. Had he realized she was staring at him? She didn’t want him to know how attracted she was. She believed in relationships developing slowly and naturally.

  Something caused her to look up again. It was another pair of eyes staring at her. But certainly not in the same way as Scott. David Altman, that new guy who’d come to town and opened the Photography Studio, was smiling at her. He seemed so young, not much older than she was, no older than Scott or any of the guys at school. Certainly young to have a wildly successful business on his hands.

  He was talented. Vicki would give him that. The portrait of SueAnne was lovely, even though knowing that it was his idea to display it so conspicuously smacked of advertising on his part. It was softly blurred out around the edges and framed beautifully. He had captured the very essence of a girl fast becoming a woman. SueAnne had always seemed much more physically mature than Vicki felt. Vicki had even envied how comfortable SueAnne was with her femininity, how comfortable she was in her body.

  Vicki knew she had a lot of the kid she had been, a lot of the tomboy, left. When she could revert to being that kid, she was still comfortable. She realized that was why she was so comfortable with Scott. She had been the teasing tomboy with him, the girl who grew up with three older male cousins. And Scott had accepted that girl, had liked that girl. She didn’t think he’d try to rush her into being someone else, as most guys would. That was why she had liked him so much immediately. She had a good instinct for people. It was a trait she had learned from her mother, whose whole life revolved around taking care of people.

  But she didn’t like David Altman. She didn’t have any reason not to like him. She didn’t even know him, since she was slow getting her senior photo taken. But she sensed something there not to like. Something false. And maybe—she stared at his profile now—maybe even something—something—creepy was the only word that came to mind.

  How silly she was being. She didn’t usually prejudge people. The minister was coming in. She turned her attention back to the service she had to get through. Back to the lovely photo of SueAnne.

  The Blue Room

  He liked his idea of decorating a room especially for each girl. This time, he’d prepare beforehand, as soon as he’d made his choice.

  SueAnne’s favorite color was yellow, so he’d done her whole room in yellow. She hadn’t liked being there at first, but that was natural. She hadn’t liked being tied up. As soon as she grew weaker, and he could untie her, leave her alone with the door locked, he was sure she’d enjoyed it more.

  He never let her roses get old enough to wilt and turn brown. She had a view of the woods, and all she wanted to eat or drink.

  Toward the end, she’d asked for a box of chocolates. He’d bought them for her, the nicest, most expensive box he could find. He’d told her she could have anything she wanted. She was his special guest. Nothing was too good for her.

  It didn’t take him long to make his next choice. It was obvious. And blue was right, a blue room. He’d go to Little Rock tomorrow. She’d like a blue room best.

  Chapter 3

  Scott didn’t think it would be appropriate to ask Vicki to go have coffee or a Coke with him after the funeral service. And she was with her parents, so it might even be awkward to talk to her. He wished he could say something, though. She looked so pale and sad. Especially compared with the girl he’d met just a few days ago.

  The service for SueAnne was too long and too religious for his taste. But maybe it was typical for this small town. No one else seemed restless. Well, yes, the guy right in front of him did. Maybe watching him had rubbed off, made Scott want to get this over with and get outside. The church was hot; they could have used the air-conditioning—if they had any. He could feel the sweat trickling down his arms, drenching his white shirt, starting to make his suit jacket damp.

  The guy with the wire glasses kept glancing around the church. And was it Scott’s imagination or was there a tiny smile, or grimace, on his face? Not a smile, surely. That might be the way he looked all the time. Faces were strange. Vicki’s was so alive, and Scott figured you’d always be able to read her mood, since it would be reflected in her eyes and mouth. But some people had one expression for every occasion, and it wasn’t always appropriate or readable.

  By the time the final hymn was sung, and the family had filed out from the first two pews, Scott wanted to run. But there was only one way out of the sanctuary. And to his dismay, everyone was going to have to pass right by a reception lineup of Mr. and Mrs. Groober, plus various and sundry other relatives. He didn’t know any of these people. What was he supposed to say?

  Berk said it for him. He shook hands with Mr. Groober and murmured, “Sorry.”

  Scott became his shadow, nodding his condolences. “Whew, that was awful, Berk,” he said as soon as they got outside. “You want to go someplace and get Cokes? My mouth feels like a refugee from Desert Storm.”

  “Ditto. I didn’t know it’d be so long.” Berk wiped his forehead with a snowy handkerchief, smearing numerous dots of Clearasil. “When I go, just scatter my ashes into the Arkansas River. You like to fish, Lawrence?”

  “Probably not. Living in New York City didn’t give me many opportunities to find out, though.”

  “Oh, that’s right. I forgot. What did you do for fun in a place like that?”

  “Hung out with whoever had the best Nintendo setup. Saw every movie that came out. That’s one of the things I miss most so far. How can you survive with one dinky little movie theater?” Playing mostly B movies, he said to himself, and no art films.

  “Dinky?” Berk laughed. “Get a VCR, city boy.” Berk had driven his old but smoo
th-running Toyota jeep. He swung it around and pointed it toward town. “We’ll go to The Pit. Everyone hangs out there.”

  Berk wasn’t kidding. The drive-in was jammed with cars and trucks. Scott had already figured out that as soon as a guy got his license down here, he bought an old truck. Then he put oversize wheels on it so you needed a stepladder to get into the cab. Maybe he’d get used to it, maybe he’d even like it, but so far Arkansas seemed like a foreign country compared to the City.

  They had to park two blocks away. The air surrounding Hogsett’s Pit Barbecue was rich with smoky meat flavors. Despite what he’d just been through, Scott discovered he was starving. Any kind of barbecue sandwich or ribs ranked at the top of the plus side of this town. So far the minus column was about ten items ahead of the plus, but Scott had promised himself he’d try to adjust to his parents’ move. It was just for one year. He could go back to some Eastern college. His parents were stuck, but then it was their decision to come here in the first place.

  Inside The Pit the booths were jammed full, so Berk and Scott leaned on the counter and ordered pork sandwiches and fries and Cokes. They’d sit down if a spot opened.

  Eavesdropping, Scott discovered that the main topic of conversation was the funeral, and more so, the murder.

  “How’d she die, Berk?” asked Scott. “Have you heard?”

  “Not a mark on her.” Berk bit into his sandwich, which squirted sauce and pork bits out all sides of the bun.

  “I heard she had a smile on her face,” said a boy sitting on the last stool at the counter. “Remember how she looked in that yellow dress last spring at the prom? God, she was a knockout. All the guys were calling her the yellow fox.”

  “Who’d she go with?” Scott asked. He wouldn’t know the guy, but he wanted to join in the conversation.

  “Are you kidding? J.D. Pike stuck to SueAnne like Krazy Glue. He knew if he got two steps away, some jock would try to beat his time.”

  “King Kong of Sparksville football,” Berk filled Scott in. “Already has a scholarship guaranteed to U of A. Born Razorback. Everyone calls him Hog.”

  “He doesn’t mind?” Scott grinned.

  “In this state, Lawrence, hog is a magic word. You got a lot to learn, city boy.” Fries disappeared off Berk’s plate like magic. Not that any number of greasy fries or burgers were going to make a difference. Scott thought Berk was the skinniest guy he’d ever seen.

  Scott found himself looking around for Vicki. Would she come here? No, there was a reception in the church basement after the service. She’d have to go there. Maybe she’d want to. SueAnne was her best friend.

  “Who’s that?” Scott nodded toward a girl who’d get his vote for fox of the year. She had a mane of long curly hair the color of polished mahogany, and she tossed it around like a thoroughbred mare wanting attention. At a distance he could admire the cornflower blue sweater and the way she filled it out. Up close and personal, she would scare the hell out of him.

  Scott was finding out that Berk was a smart aleck. He might look like nerd of the century, but he wasn’t shy. “Yo, Belle, you going to the homecoming dance with me this year?” he called out to the girl when she got close enough for her flowery perfume to compete with barbecue flavors.

  She flashed Berk a smile that made every guy at the counter sit up straighter. “You should be so lucky, Berkie-boy. Too hot for you to handle.”

  Scott knew she was right. He sure wouldn’t want to try. But he smiled back, since she gave him a quick once-over. He hoped his face wasn’t as red as it felt. He just thought he’d been sweaty in the church. Every pore was in flood stage with even his loafers feeling squishy.

  A guy with anvil shoulders, who’d just come in, stopped her. “Leaving already, Babe?”

  “’Fraid so. That nerd at the photo studio screwed up my pictures. Said he needed some retakes—no charge, of course.”

  “Maybe he got an emergency call from Playboy, Belle.” The boy next to Berk entered the conversation. “Their issue on sweater girls of the South needs a couple more poses.”

  “You might be right, Billy Ray.” Belle pretended to pout. “I’m not taking my clothes off for less than ten Gs though.” She gave Anvil Shoulders a glance. “Unless it’s my idea.”

  His grin said it might have been her idea recently. Giving him a little wave, she left him standing there panting.

  “Is that her steady?” asked Scott, basking in her wake.

  “One of them.” Berk grinned. “Hey, I didn’t expect Vicki to come over here. Who’s she looking for?”

  Scott forgot Belle instantly. Vicki was standing just inside the doorway to The Pit. Her eyes roamed over the crowd, obviously trying to find someone. Two tables of girls waved to her, but she returned the greeting and stayed put.

  Her eyes landed on Scott and stopped. She stepped around bodies and through the crowd until she reached him. He didn’t realize he’d stopped breathing until she faced him and tugged at his sleeve. Either he’d grown a foot in two days, or she was shorter than he remembered.

  “Do you have a car, Scott?” she asked quietly. “Can you take me home? I had Mom drop me off here, but I’ve realized it was a mistake.”

  With a smooth sleight of hand, Berk pushed his car keys over until they rested on the palm of Scott’s open hand on the counter. “Catch you later.” Then he turned and headed toward the bathrooms.

  Scott would give him an award for great new buddy of the year later. Right then, without saying a word, he tossed back the remains of his Coke so his lips would stop sticking together and took Vicki’s elbow. He steered her toward the front door. If anyone said anything to them, he was totally oblivious to it.

  All he could think about was how grateful he was. Vicki obviously had some kind of problem, and she’d asked him for help.

  Chapter 4

  Vicki didn’t say anything to Scott except for “go here” and “turn there” until they had parked Berk’s jeep on a bluff overlooking the river. It was the local make-out place at night, or for those daring enough, privacy-anytime place. Romance was furthest from Vicki’s mind, however. She was desperate to get away, to escape from the day’s events. As if she could ever escape.

  She cried then for the first time, except for that initial shock at school. She didn’t mean to, and she felt totally embarrassed to bring Scott up here and then sit and bawl. At one point she felt his hand on her shoulder.

  When she gained control, sniffing and blowing, wiping her eyes, she said, “I’m sorry, Scott. I didn’t know I was going to do that.”

  “It’s okay, Vicki. You needed to cry. She was your best friend.”

  “It’s so awful. A car wreck, an accident of any kind, or cancer or anything—I—I think that would have been easier to understand. But murder is so senseless, so—so—”

  “Frightening?” Scott supplied the word.

  “Yes. And it’s easy to think it could have been any of us, if SueAnne was a random victim. I’ve never thought much about dying, have you?”

  “No. I guess I always thought dying, and especially murder, was something that happened to someone else, and never to me or to anyone I know. We have a lot of violence in New York City, but it’s street people or druggies or anyone but friends.”

  “If SueAnne could die, so could I. I don’t like thinking about that, Scott.”

  “No one would.”

  They both sat staring at the river, muddy and slow-moving this time of year. Vicki kept running her hand back and forth on the vinyl seat, as if the cold, smooth texture would remind her that she was still alive.

  “I hardly know you, but.… Dying is not what two strangers talk about is it, two people who want to get to know each other?” She laughed. “I sound like Belle, or SueAnne for that matter. Assuming that you’d like to get to know me better.”

  “It’s okay. I would. I’m flattered that you asked me to take you home or here or wherever you wanted to go.”

  “I just needed to escape, S
cott. And with someone who doesn’t know any of us. I realized that while I’m friends with a lot of people, SueAnne was the only one I could really talk to. Except for my mom, but she had to go back to work. Daddy had a call from the hospital. He’s the medical examiner, in charge of autopsies there. I didn’t think I could go home and be alone right now.”

  “You don’t have the right shoes for walking, do you?” Scott glanced at her feet. She wore shiny patent leather flats that matched her dress.

  “No, I don’t. Let’s just get out and sit on the bluff.”

  Scott found a red plaid blanket in the back of the jeep. He spread it out, making sure there was plenty of room. She wouldn’t mind sitting close to him. She wouldn’t even mind if he put his arm around her, but she understood his thoughtfulness and appreciated it.

  A slight breeze lifted her hair and helped her breathe. The church had been so stuffy, but the air was heavy too, as if rain were coming.

  Scott had left his jacket in the. back of the jeep. Now he carefully, methodically rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt.

  “Is it always this hot in September?”

  “We’re going to talk about the weather. I love it.” She turned and smiled at him.

  He was so sweet, so comfortable. It was what she’d sensed about him right from the beginning. She would never tell him that, of course. Guys would hate being told they were comfortable to be with. It was what she looked for first in a guy, though. Honesty and someone who wasn’t going to attack her the first chance he got. She even liked shy, but Scott seemed to be getting over that fast. Maybe when a girl breaks down and bawls in front of you the second time you meet her, it knocks down some barriers fast.

  “Do you feel like telling me about SueAnne?” He sounded tentative, giving her permission to say no.

  She stared at the sycamore trees, leaves still bright green, no hint of fall. “She—she was terribly sexy. Guys fell all over her. But she’d been going with the same guy for years. J.D. Pike. Everyone calls him Hog. It’s a terrible nickname, but his life’s ambition was to be a Razorback. That’s the University of Arkansas’s football team name.”