Camera Never Lies (14 page)

As I went through the door to the basement, I hoped Spencer was close behind. The word “basement” brought with it all sorts of unimaginable horrors, images of torturous death and interminable darkness. After all, a dungeon was, in reality, the basement in a castle. This was the part in those scary movies where people yelled, “Don’t do it! Don’t go down there!”

I finally understood what drove the characters to march or creep inadequately armed into dark and sinister places. Stupid or not, I had to go. I had to find out.

My shoes echoed in the stairwell as I descended. So much for a stealthy approach. When I reached the basement, I found it alive with activity, bright light, and warm relief. To my mental sticky note, right under where I’d written “take up running,” I added “stop watching old horror movies.”

Still, I had, in fact, seen a dead body and was investigating a murder. I could be a little paranoid.

A young man pushed a cart filled with dirty sheets and towels past me into the laundry room containing giant washers and dryers. I saw no one I recognized, nor did anyone acknowledge me. Disappointed, I strolled to the other end of the corridor and into a restroom.

I almost collided with the housekeeper, whose eyes widened as she drew a fearful breath. We both repelled backward like opposing magnets, which positioned me against the door. She was trapped. She knew it and backed into the corner on cue as if we’d rehearsed this scene from a B movie of the worst kind. With scraggly hair and shadowed eyes, her face was a contortion of suppressed emotions.

A ticking bomb came to mind.

“Why are you running from me?” That wasn’t a very tactical question, but I’d built up a lot of frustration, too.

“Why were you after me?”

I tried to remain serious, but laughter burst from my lips. Her gaping look made me wonder if I’d sounded maniacal. “Look, I’m not after you. I just wanted to talk, that’s all.” “About what? I don’t even know you.”

“True. But we shared an awful experience. Let me introduce myself. I’m Polly Perkins.” I stuck out my hand.

She hesitated before shaking it. “I’m Hillary Jennings.” Her name had a familiar ring to it. “Now that that’s out of the way, how have you been doing? I mean, it’s not every day you discover a body.” I inwardly cringed. That wasn’t the way to phrase it. For all I knew, she discovered bodies all the time.

“No, it’s not.” She turned her head slightly but kept suspicious eyes on me. “Look, I know who you are. You’re that, that—”

“That photographer.” Emphasis on
that
. “Yes, I’ve heard the rumors.”

“Well, I’m not sure who you think you are, investigating and all, but I don’t have to answer questions or talk to you.”

I sighed. She’d forced my hand. “No, you don’t have to talk to me. Instead, you can tell the authorities why you were in Alec’s room today.”

“What are you talking about?” Her widened eyes swept past me as if searching for a way out.

Now would be a good time to take advice from the old adage about cornered animals, but I couldn’t remember what it was. I hoped Spencer had followed me to the basement. “I took a picture of you in Alec’s room today. What were you doing there if they’re still gathering forensic evidence?”

“I…I was searching for the necklace I lost the day I cleaned that room.”

It was my turn to be suspicious. She wasn’t wearing any jewelry now or any makeup. In my years in the portrait business, I had a good sense of who wore jewelry and who didn’t. There was no science to it, just a feeling. “It must have been very precious to have risked being caught in that room today. Can you describe it?”

“It was… It had…” Her eyes darted to my necklace. “A cross.”

Dizziness threatened me again, urging me to hurry. I forged on. “You weren’t looking for a necklace. Now tell me why you were there.” I’d never felt comfortable confronting anyone, and my bold words now disturbed me. But I heard in them something else—a warning to be careful. If misconstrued, things could be interpreted that I was after something in Alec’s room, too, and that I’d killed him to get it.

She covered her face and began to sob as she tried to communicate, not unlike what I’d seen my mother do earlier.

“I didn’t kill him. I swear.” Her bawls grew until they sounded like howling. “I was having an affair with Alec.”

After what seemed like thirty minutes but was probably only thirty seconds, she regained control. “Please, please don’t tell my husband.” She grabbed a Kleenex from the wall box and blew her nose.

How could I do that? I didn’t even know who he was. “I won’t tell your husband if you’ll share with me what you were looking for today and why you had Alec’s handkerchief in your hand the day of his murder.”

The door swooshed open from behind, bumping me forward. A large woman shoved her way into the restroom. When she saw Hillary, she eyed me suspiciously. “You all right, Hillary? This lady bothering you?” She put her hands on her hips.

“I’m fine, thanks, May. I was just leaving.”

Hillary slipped out without answering my question. I’d have to chase her down again. That is, if I got the chance.

May stood in my way. “Say, you’re
that photographer.”

“Yes, I suppose I am.”

“You better hope you can defend yourself, snooping around like you’re doin’.” She straightened to her full height.

I pushed past her large frame and eased the door open enough to slide through. Was she warning me, too? I hurried from the basement, my head spinning with all that Hillary had said. I still didn’t have answers about the handkerchief or what she’d been searching for today, but I had something else. She’d had an affair with Alec. I told her that I wouldn’t tell her husband. And I wouldn’t. But this was definitely something for the authorities. They could tell him.

My spirits sank when I discovered that Spencer was nowhere in sight. He’d either given up on me or had lost me on my jaunt to the basement. I pulled the small memory card from my camera and strode through the lobby in hopes of finding one of the several rangers or detectives roaming the place.

While I wasn’t giving up my private investigation, time was running out. They needed to see the photographs I’d taken. The chief ranger strode through the lobby doors directly toward me. I smiled, though I was nervous. He stopped in front of me and nodded.

Before he could say anything, I blurted, “I have something you might want to see. I took photographs the day Alec died, but I’ve taken other possibly incriminating pictures. In fact, I took one today of the housekeeper Hillary Jennings.”

“Hillary Jennings, you say?” Rangers must be trained to hide their emotions, because his face remained expressionless, even though I detected something threatening in his voice. “Ms. Perkins, I came here to take you in for questioning. I’ve discovered that you had a reason to hate Alec Gordon. Now I think you’re attempting to divert my attention away from you. Keep me from questioning you.”

He tugged the card from my rigid hand. I stood frozen and speechless.

“I don’t suppose you know that Hillary Jennings is my wife.”

CHAPTER
TWELVE

T
he ranger station, resembling a large log home, as one might expect, bustled with activity as tourists visited the information center and the store cluttered with national park paraphernalia. What looked like a small infirmary stood apart from it on the other side of the parking lot.

All this I saw as I climbed out of Ranger Jennings’s fully equipped, four-wheel drive SUV, adorned to leave no doubt of his law-enforcement authority. Too bad the nearest boulder was too far away for me to duck behind and hide my embarrassment. Why couldn’t he have one of those sedans I’d seen some of the other rangers driving? They didn’t draw attention and weren’t nearly as intimidating.

Ranger Jennings took my elbow to escort me from the parking lot through a side entrance. I’d tried not to panic, though most of my calm and friendly posturing depleted while we drove the three miles to the station in silence.

He left me in a stuffy room with a table and two chairs. It looked like where they question suspects on a police-detective television series. I’d been expecting to sit in his office so I could browse photographs of his family and friends or distract myself with perusing his paperwork or mail when he wasn’t looking—a wrong thing to do, but why hide the truth of what people did? Though I’d lost my appetite earlier in the day, my stomach growled uncontrollably, probably explaining the lightheadedness I’d contended with for the last couple of hours. Concentration would be difficult.

Clues were strewn all over the gray carpet of my mind, driving me nuts. I made an attempt to organize them before he returned. I’d told Hillary Jennings that I wouldn’t tell her husband about her affair with Alec Gordon, thinking that I would tell the ranger instead. How could I have known that her husband and the ranger were the same person?

Things were about to get tricky. Ranger Jennings already believed I was trying to distract him by pointing the finger at his wife. She could always add to his suspicious opinion about me with her story, “That crazy photographer chased me into the bathroom and cornered me.”

If asked, how could I deny it?

The door swung open to reveal the man himself. I’d held on to a small hope that someone else would interrogate me. Before sitting, he asked, “May I get you anything to drink?”

“A soda, please.” The carbonation might help to curb my now-ravenous appetite.

“We’re fresh out. How about coffee or water?”

“Coffee. French vanilla if you have it, please.”

He got up and cracked the door to ask someone for water. Sitting down, he answered my unspoken question. “Haven’t got the fancy stuff. As I mentioned, we’ve learned that you had a previous relationship with Mr. Gordon. Why didn’t you tell me about this when I questioned you before?”

“Because before, you asked me specifically what I’d seen regarding his body. Nothing more.” I’d thought about my relationship with Alec since first running into him and even during the few moments of horror as I stared at his body. But I couldn’t afford to think about it now. I might blurt out something that could be interpreted as motivation to commit a murder. Tiny beads of sweat erupted under my eyes.

Ranger Jennings nodded. I suspected he already knew the answer but was hoping to see my reaction. He looked at his notepad then back at me.

Thirty seconds without speaking during an interrogation is a long time.

I cleared my throat. Maybe he hoped to torture me with silence. How long could I hold out? There was a tap on the door, then it opened. A big-boned woman clad in what I’d term a cute ranger dress suit stepped into the room and set a glass of water on the table. I nodded my thanks, still not breaking the silence, and smiled at Ranger Jennings.

“Tell me about your previous relationship with the victim.”

A tiny voice inside murmured that I should get a lawyer. I shunned the thought, because I wasn’t guilty. “Can I know how you found out about it?” I took a long drink of water to hide the surprise of my boldness—since I began sleuthing, it started popping up everywhere, including unlikely and inappropriate places.

He inclined his head. “Your mother told me.”

Mom?

Water spewed from my lips. “Oh! I’m so sorry. I’ll clean it up.” I jumped from the table and spun around. “Where are tissues or napkins? Anything?”

Ranger Jennings wiped himself off with his handkerchief. Still no frown.

No emotion. “Sit down, Ms. Perkins. We’ll get it later. Now, could you please answer my question?”

How could he question me while staring at the mess I’d made? Remembering I had a tissue, I tugged it from my pocket. Unfortunately Alec Gordon’s business card came with it and dropped to the table—a neon sign reflecting red across my face.

With a heavy sigh, I lowered myself into the chair. “There’s nothing much to say. We went to school together, that’s all.” Another sip of water allowed me to watch Ranger Jennings over the rim of my glass. In return, he watched me while he toyed with the business card. A disastrous thought occurred to me. Had Mom also told him about the accident?

“What can you tell me about the accident?”

She’d done it. Rolling my head back, I stared at the ceiling. Hurt and frustration flooded my thoughts. I had to focus, ignore the fact that Mom had told the ranger things she should have left to me. “Alec was driving the car that killed my best friend.”

God forgive me, I had wished he’d died instead
.

Here I was, at that pivotal moment I’d worried about—would a crime committed by my heart make me a suspect, make me guilty in the eyes of the chief ranger of Caldera National Park? Not knowing what else he wanted in answer, I wasn’t about to offer how the accident made me feel.

“How did that make you feel?”

“What are you, a psychiatrist?” I shoved from the table and paced the room. “That was years ago. How do you think it made me feel?”

“You tell me.” His expression remained void of emotion. Would he be offended if I photographed him during our session?

“It doesn’t matter how it made me feel. I didn’t kill Alec Gordon. If I had wanted him dead, had intended to kill him, I would have done it years ago.” I pressed my lips together. I’d said too much.