The Photographer II Page 6

  That was even more true when he saw her. Her eyes were red, and he knew she’d been crying. She’d gotten dressed before she read the paper, though. There was a message on her tee again. That should have been a good sign.

  REAL MEN BAKE QUICHE—AND SHARE IT WITH REAL WOMEN.

  “I have a confession to make, Vicki,” Scott said immediately. He might as well try to cheer her up.

  “What’s that?” She blew her nose and tried to hide her face.

  “I can’t cook.”

  “If I hang out with you too much, Lawrence, all your secrets are going to come out. Then I may have to reconsider my recent decision.”

  “What’s that, Miss Valentine?” Berk teased. “To lose your virginity?”

  “Can we lose this driver, Scott?” Vicki whispered loudly.

  “It’s his taxi,” Scott complained. “But he could meet with an accident when least expected.”

  “He was an accident. My mother has it straight from his Mom. They tried to leave him at the mall twice, but had no luck.”

  No one could think of another wisecrack, so they rode the rest of the way to school without talking. Goldie Griffin ran up to the jeep before Vicki could even hop out.

  “Vicki, did you see this morning’s paper? This proves SueAnne and Belle really were murdered. Can you imagine the killer had the nerve to leave these notes?”

  Scott wondered if Goldie was a nickname. It suited the slender redhead well. She was almost as tall as Scott and two inches taller than Berk. Had the circumstances been different, Scott would have laughed at the way Berk was staring at the girl.

  Eat your heart out, Berk, he would have said. She’ll never fall for you. There were just enough freckles scattered over Goldie’s face to keep it from being perfect. Her skin was without a blemish, and even though Scott was sure she had makeup on, she didn’t look false—just more beautiful. Her coppery hair was long and thick, framing her face. The early morning sun bounced off it like the fire in a precious jewel.

  She wore a gold cheerleader’s sweater and a short black circle skirt, lined with a shiny gold material. A huge S for Sparksville rested on her chest. Scott thought of other words it could stand for. Sensational, shapely, spectacular, and last but not least, sexy and seductive. He didn’t mind looking at her, but compared to Vicki, she was nothing.

  “Scott, hi. Excuse us for a minute.” Goldie pulled Vicki away from the two boys.

  “Am I invisible?” Berk leaned on the jeep’s fender.

  “I’m afraid so, Berkman. Sorry.” Scott grinned at him.

  “What’s up? What did I miss by not caring about current events?”

  Scott dug out the front page of the Sparksville Daily News. “This. It’s pretty awful.”

  Berk read aloud.

  Just Belle and me

  Celebrate with glee.

  But looks don’t last.

  Beauty is fleeting fast.

  Sweet SueAnne

  Is summer fair

  With roses in

  Her lovely hair.

  She’s at her best—

  Youth’s on her side.

  But Beauty fades

  On autumn’s tide.

  “Geeze, Louise!” Berk read the two rhymes silently, quickly again. “This guy—you know it’s a guy—is sick.”

  “Berk, I’ve been thinking about these murders. I wish I could do something. I feel so helpless.”

  Berk held out the newspaper page. “What can you do or find out that your mom can’t, or the police?”

  “I don’t know, but I can’t just sit around knowing there’s someone out there who’s dangerous to Vicki, to any woman. I’m going to say I’m working on a story for the school paper.”

  “This is a far cry from science journalism.”

  “I can go about this story in the same way, though. I’ll start by finding out everything I can about what has happened. Scientists are trained to look at things differently. It can’t hurt anyone for me to snoop around a little.”

  “You still have to get your mug shots after school?”

  “Yeah, three-thirty. But it shouldn’t take long.”

  “Okay, I’ll pick you up at four, or wait outside for you. Altman is speedy. I was in and out of the studio in fifteen minutes.”

  “I don’t want to let Vicki walk home alone.”

  “I’ll run her home while you’re looking pretty. Then I’ll drive back and get you. Come on, we’ve been abandoned.”

  Scott looked up in time to see Vicki wave at him. She had one arm around Goldie and they were heading for the building.

  During journalism class, Scott got Vicki to say she’d let Berk take her home, but only because she had some things she needed to do. When school was out, he walked downtown quickly, since Altman’s Photography Studio was so close.

  He was impressed with David Altman’s efficiency, his expertise. He knew what he wanted from a photo session, and Scott really was finished in about twenty minutes. Altman was a man of few words, so it wasn’t the long, drawn out process it could have been.

  Scott looked around the studio as Altman worked. “You’re good at this,” he commented. “Been at it long?” The man seemed to be about Scott’s age, unless he was one of those people who look like teenagers until they’re forty.

  “Long enough. It’s a living.” Altman wasn’t very sociable.

  “I see you like beautiful women. But I guess guys could care less for those huge portraits.”

  “That’s right. Men are more realistic. It’s women who go for being flattered, then plastering photos of themselves all over the place. I make a good living by knowing that.” Altman grinned at Scott. “We’re finished. Come back in a week and pick out the one you want in the annual.”

  Scott felt as if he’d been dismissed. Not only did David Altman say the session was over, but he turned and walked out of the studio quickly. Well, Scott wasn’t paying the man to talk to him. Or to be likable, for that matter. His statement was a put-down of females, but then, maybe it was a fact.

  He glanced at some of the portraits in the workroom as well as those displayed in the office. All the women Altman had photographed had one thing in common. They were incredibly beautiful—well, all those pictures he’d chosen to enlarge and display were sensational. Scott didn’t recognize any of them, but he didn’t know everyone at school, either. Also, the girls who had posed for every photo he looked at might not look the same in jeans and a tee in a classroom. The portraits were touched up, feathered out around the edges, arty, like painted portraits would be. He guessed it was like any type of advertising. Women would come in here, look around, and think Altman could make them look like that.

  “Hi, Scott.” A soft, warm-toned voice made him stop looking or thinking about girls in pictures and take a look at the real thing. He knew his face got red the minute he did.

  “Hi, Goldie. He’s very efficient. Takes about fifteen minutes.”

  “He’d better take longer than that. The first prints came out badly. I want a good picture for the annual and a résumé. So I’m willing to give it as much time as necessary.” She glanced at the gallery. “Guys are easy. They don’t care how they look, do they?” She was teasing him.

  “I suppose guys are all as different as women.”

  “Touché.” She flashed a thousand-dollar, thanks-to-braces smile. “Well, I want to look like this.” She moved from photo to photo.

  “That won’t be any problem,” Scott said, knowing that was what Goldie wanted him to say. He was familiar with boy-girl games. He just hadn’t played much.

  Goldie pitched him another winning smile over her shoulder. “I can see why Vicki likes you, Scott. You’ve got a New York polish that makes the guys here all sound like hicks. I’m sorry I was so slow at getting acquainted with you.”

  “Miss Griffin? Thank you for returning. Ready?” David Altman entered the reception room. “You can change in here.” He smiled and indicated a small room off the hall.


  Goldie got a better hold on a rust-colored dress in a plastic cleaner bag. “I’ll just be a minute.”

  “Take your time. There’s no hurry at all. You’re my last appointment today.” Altman disappeared.

  “Behave yourself, Scott Lawrence.” Goldie blew Scott a kiss and bounced away. “Lucky Vicki,” she called in parting.

  Scott shook his head, blinked his eyes a couple of times, and let out a long breath. Then he laughed. He was glad Vicki had seen him first, too. For different reasons than Goldie had in mind.

  The fresh cool air of an Arkansas fall evening tasted of wood smoke. The out-of-doors was welcome after being in the overly warm studio.

  “Scott, over here,” Berk called from the parking lot.

  Scott turned and hurried to the jeep. To his surprise Vicki still sat beside Berkman.

  “Couldn’t get rid of her.” Berk read Scott’s mind.

  “Berk told me what you plan to do, Scott. Count me in.”

  “What?”

  “I said, count me in. I’m going to help you think about the two murders.”

  “No way, Vicki, no way. Stay out of this. I don’t want you to have anything to do with our snooping around.”

  “I don’t care what you want, Scott Lawrence. I either snoop around with you or without you—on my own. Which is it?”

  Before Scott could protest more, Vicki continued.

  “I’ve already done a lot of thinking. And I have one idea that I’m sure no one else has. I even had Berk take me by SueAnne’s house and then we stopped at Belle’s. I knew SueAnne kept a journal, and I hoped Belle did. We started journals at school two years ago. We all liked the idea.”

  Scott glanced at the two flowery-covered books in Vicki’s lap. He certainly didn’t want Vicki playing detective on her own. If he let her join them, he could at least keep an eye on her. This was a hard woman to say no to.

  “Okay, Vicki, you win. What have you got?”

  “I’ll share it over pizza. Okay?” She looked at Berk and back at Scott.

  Berk grinned at Scott and shrugged. Scott’s stomach rumbled. He could eat and talk at the same time. “You always get your way, lady?”

  “So far.” Vicki laughed and hugged him as he slid in beside her.

  The Rust-Colored Room

  His third decorating endeavor had turned out even better than he’d thought. He’d chosen that warm rust color of oak leaves in the fall, but he’d used gold to set off the brown tones. A new gold lamp for the bedside table, gold drapery rods, and a pair of gold-plated cats just for fun.

  His best find was the brown orchids. He’d never seen any before, and they were expensive, but she would be deserving of them. He had chosen wisely again. She was truly lovely.

  Her beauty deserved to be preserved forever.

  Excitement, exhilaration filled him as he made one last inspection. Tomorrow seemed so far away.

  Chapter 10

  They had settled into a red-and-white booth at Pizza Hut and ordered before Vicki shared the journals of the two dead girls.

  “See,” Vicki pointed out, “I read this right after SueAnne disappeared, but all she talked about was running away. It’s full of SueAnne’s plans and ideas about what she could do about getting along with her father, or getting away from him. That’s what made me think she had finally done it—taken off on her own.”

  “So what have you found that gives you any clue as to what else could have happened?” asked Scott, sipping the Coke the waitress had set in front of him.

  “Woven into her complaining about home was this.” Vicki read out loud from the journal. “The only bright spot in this month has been getting my senior photo made. David has taken such pains to get a good picture. He has asked me to come back three times, and each time he takes over an hour with the session. He even has two cameras he arranges at different angles.”

  “He didn’t have two cameras when I went in,” said Scott. “And he sure didn’t take hours for the photograph. Or have me call him David. Did he use two cameras to photograph you, Vicki?”

  “No, just one, but what difference could that make?” Vicki kept her finger in the book and took a drink. The cold liquid slid down her throat, fizzing and tickling her mouth. “He did tell me to call him David. What I think is funny is that SueAnne went back three times.”

  “Well, yes, considering he spent fifteen minutes with me and thinks he got a good photo. If she was there for three sessions, they spent a lot of time together.” Scott folded and unfolded a paper-straw container.

  “He probably liked her,” said Berk. “Everyone liked SueAnne. Maybe he even used taking more photos as an excuse to see her again. What are you getting at, Vicki?” Berk stared toward the kitchen. “I wish they’d hurry. I’m starving.”

  “Think about something besides your stomach for a few minutes. And listen.” Vicki kept reading. “He talks to me a lot, telling me how beautiful I am. He really appreciates how I look. He’s not at all like Daddy, saying I should hide my beauty. That beauty and sin go hand in hand. And that vainness is the devil working inside me. I don’t think I’m vain—I just like to look nice. But Daddy keeps harping on how looking in the mirror is a sin. I’m going back over there this afternoon to work with David. Maybe he’s secretly taking extra photos for some magazine. Wouldn’t that be wonderful?”

  “Sounds as if Altman did like SueAnne, Vicki.” Scott put his hand over hers. “I’ll have to admit that I suspected Mr. Groober until Belle died. He could have lost it over thinking SueAnne was being tempted by the devil. You know, some people do go overboard with religion. You read about mothers killing their children because a little voice whispers that they’re evil. SueAnne makes her father seem like a fanatic.”

  “Mr. Groober was always hard on SueAnne. But I know he loved her. And he told SueAnne to get her picture made here in town,” Vicki said. “He rented the studio space to David Altman.”

  “I guess getting your photo made is okay, but thinking it’s good is a sin.” Berk laughed. “Mr. Groober was just trying to keep SueAnne humble, as if he could.”

  “If you’re a beautiful woman, I guess you can’t help but know it.” Scott smiled at Vicki. She wasn’t sure he was saying she was pretty, but she appreciated the smile. “I don’t understand why you think what SueAnne wrote is important, Vicki. What point are you trying to make?”

  “Okay, here’s Belle’s journal.” Vicki opened another book, covered with a blue-flowered material, and began to read. “The thing I’ve done this year that’s been the most fun is have my senior photo taken. David Altman is a wonderful photographer. He is so patient. He took two hours with my first session. I was there so long, I started to feel faint. We had to stop twice. David said it was the hot lights. He hurried right into his kitchen and got me a Coke, waiting until I had drunk part of it to start again. He kept fussing with both of his cameras, adjusting them to get the best angles, he said. I can hardly wait to see the results. I was surprised, though, when he called me and said I needed to come back for retakes. I would have thought he’d have enough pictures. He used about a dozen rolls of film.”

  “Remember, Berk, she told us at The Pit that she was going back again when she left. That would have been three times. She seemed frustrated about it.”

  Vicki stopped and looked at Scott and Berk. “Reading this, though, I wouldn’t think she really minded. She says the same thing that SueAnne said.” She ran her finger under the sentence. “I think maybe he just likes me, or likes to look at me. I guess that sounds vain, but he talked about how beautiful I was during the whole session. I felt wonderful when we were finished—except for being a little dizzy from all the posing. It makes me know that being a model is hard work. But I think I’ll go for it, maybe start in Little Rock instead of New York, though.”

  Vicki’s throat swelled at the knowledge that Belle would never get her chance at any career, much less modeling. She stared at the journal, running her fingers over the cornflower blue cove
r.

  “So all we know for sure is that David Altman takes a lot longer photographing the women than he does us guys. And he asked both SueAnne and Belle to come back for retakes. I don’t blame him.” Berk reached for a large slice of the pizza that the waitress slid onto the red-checkered tablecloth in front of them.

  “Think of all the senior women he’s photographed, Vicki. Maybe if you read all of their journals, they’d say the same thing. And speaking scientifically, to have real evidence, you’d have to do that, to know that SueAnne’s and Belle’s experience with Altman was different.”

  “Yeah, Scott’s right,” said Berk. “It’s a coincidence that Altman photographed both girls. Besides, by now if any girl in high school disappeared, Altman would have taken their pictures.”

  “You might be right.” Vicki felt discouraged. She was sure she had something worth thinking about.

  “I think you’re still mad because of what Altman said to you, Vicki,” Scott teased. “He didn’t keep you in a session for two hours.”

  “I am not. But he did treat me differently.” Vicki was still smarting from her experience with Altman, but not enough to suspect him of any crime. She had just noticed this similarity in SueAnne’s and Belle’s journal entries.

  “What did he say to you?” asked Berk.

  “Oh!” Vicki huffed but didn’t answer.

  Scott laughed. “He told Vicki she wasn’t beautiful. That her mouth was too big. Maybe he wasn’t smart enough to see a smile that charms the whole world.”

  Berk whistled. “The man has a lot of nerve, I’d say. Is he an authority on what makes a woman beautiful?”

  Scott reached for a piece himself, pulling at the strings of mozzarella, wrapping them over and over the pepperoni-laden top.

  “He must think he is,” Vicki said. “But you’re both forgetting that David Altman was the last person to see SueAnne or Belle alive.”

  “I probably know as many of the facts as anyone on this case except my mother,” Scott said. “I don’t think it came out that Altman was the last to see SueAnne.”