The Photographer (16 page)

A lump rose in her throat, threatening to choke her. She swallowed and took deep breaths, but it didn't help a lot. She looked back again, since it was less painful than staying in the present.

When she had moved to Arkansas from California ten years ago, she had expected everyone to talk like SueAnne, with that soft, slow musical drawl. She had been wrong, almost disappointed, but maybe that was why they became good friends so quickly. SueAnne loved to talk, and Vicki loved to listen to her.

But I won't ever hear her voice again
.

SueAnne's voice filled Vicki's mind. She had been complaining about her father that first time they met. Apparently, she'd had one idea of what to wear on her first day in high school but Mr. Groober had a different idea. Vicki couldn't imagine
her
father telling her what to wear. If anything he was amused by her funky styles.

Vicki's mother knocked softly, then came into her bedroom, interrupting Vicki's thinking. “Are you going to be all right, Vicki?” Wearing a very conservative business suit, Mrs. Valentine perched on the edge of Vicki's bed. “I'm going in early this morning so I can take time off to go to the funeral.”

She handed Vicki a Kleenex, clasping her other hand tightly. “I'm so sorry, darling. I can't believe we moved from L.A. to get you away from so much stress and violence, and now this—”

“I guess bad things happen everywhere.” Vicki heard the quiver in her voice and struggled to get control. She didn't want her mother to worry about her.

“Not usually to people we know, Vicki.”

“Have you heard anything else, Mom? How SueAnne was—what happened to her?”

Mrs. Valentine was the district nurse for Lucas County. She got news through her friends who were nurses, long before it was printed in the
Sparksville Daily News
.

“No, I haven't. There were no marks on her body, no sign of violence. Are you sure you want to hear this?” Her mother wasn't used to protecting Vicki, but Vicki could tell that she thought she needed to now.

“I'll hear it later, Mom. Or read about it in the paper. Don't keep anything from me. I need to know.”

“It's very puzzling, to tell the truth. They're doing an autopsy, of course. She hadn't been dead long when they found her.”

Vicki struggled to put some distance between her friend and the person they were talking about. The body.

“I—I really thought she'd run away. And maybe she had. Maybe she came back home and—Mom, you know Mr. Groober better than I do. I just heard SueAnne's side of what her father was like. Do you think he—he—”

“Could have anything to do with this?” Her mother pulled Vicki close and held her tightly. Vicki could smell the mixture of soap and perfume that was so familiar to her. She could feel the contrast of her mother's soft figure and the scratchy linen suit jacket she was wearing today.

Suddenly she was filled with a terrible longing to be a little kid again. So young she still thought her mother could protect her from everything bad in the world. She wanted her mother to kiss her and say, “There, all better?”

“I don't know, Vicki. I honestly don't know. I don't like the man, but if everyone who wasn't likable was a murderer, we'd live in a very dangerous world. If the police decide that SueAnne was murdered, and it certainly looks as if she was, everyone who ever knew her will be a suspect until they learn better. The police will question anyone who was around her this summer. Someone will want to talk to you, Vicki. If you can think of anything that seemed different that last week, anyone who might have had some motive for doing this, you must tell them.”

“That's all I can think about, Mom. SueAnne. The first time I saw her, the last time I saw her. I can't stop thinking. I wish I could. I wish my mind had an off switch.” She pressed her knuckles to her lips.

Her mother kissed her. “I know, baby, I know. Write it down. Put your thinking to good use. That's what you can do for her now.”

Two days later, it seemed as if everyone in town was at SueAnne's funeral. Vicki had deliberately chosen a seat about halfway back in the church. No way could she sit right in front of that closed casket—all creamy ivory and gold. No way could she stare at that big portrait of SueAnne.

Mrs. Groober had gushed and raved about the portrait yesterday when Vicki and her mother paid a visit to the Groobers' home. Vicki couldn't go alone, so her mother went with her.

“That nice Mr. Altman insisted we take the photograph of SueAnne that he'd enlarged to put in his window. He said it wouldn't be proper to display it there now, anyway, and he wanted us to have it. No charge. I tried to pay him for it, but he said no, it was a gift, the only thing he could do for SueAnne now. So I'm going to set it up on an easel by the casket. That was Mr. Altman's idea, I have to say. I wanted to leave the casket open—SueAnne looks so lovely—just like she was asleep, but Groober won't have it. He said he didn't want anyone staring at his baby now that she had passed over.

“And, Vicki, Mr. Altman told me not to tell anyone this, but you were her best friend, so you knew it. He said that SueAnne was the prettiest girl he'd ever photographed. That she just sparkled in front of the camera, so natural, with not one self-conscious bone in her body. He said she could have gone to New York and been a model, easy.”

Vicki couldn't understand why Mrs. Groober wasn't hysterical or unable to talk at all. Was she in shock, or had a doctor given her some tranquilizers so that she wasn't capable of feeling right now? It made Vicki feel she could ask a question without being insensitive.

“Where do you think she did go for a month, Mrs. Groober?”

“I just can't imagine, Vicki. You know we called all the cousins, everyone we could think of. I've worried myself sick about the child, and now I know my worryin' was justified. Someone had to be truly evil to hurt my baby.”

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.

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 smooth-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.