Photo Op

by Coleman, Lynn A.

  “Great, thanks.”

  There was a long pause. “Dad?”

  “Hmm?”

  “What are you two doing tomorrow?”

  The fewer who knew the better. He didn’t want Dena to feel any pressure in case these thieves were better organized than he suspected. “There’re some things on her addition we need to go over.” This was true, but hardly the reason she was coming to town.

  “Daaaad!” Jess whined. “Are you two getting back together? You should, you know. You’ve been pretty near unbearable. What’s the big deal? She has a career and so do you. Don’t tons of couples work those things out?”

  “Jessica Elizabeth, this is not your concern. Besides, we aren’t getting back together, as you put it. We’re simply working together on business matters.”

  “Whatever. Look, Dad, smell the coffee. You like her. You’re miserable without her. So figure something out.”

  Wayne squeezed his eyes shut. His relationship with Dena was far more complicated than Jess understood, and he wasn’t about to be lectured on the intricacies of love by his daughter. “Jess,” he said, in that tone only she would understand the true meaning of.

  “Oh, all right. But please stop moping around like you’ve lost your best friend.”

  She is my best friend, isn’t she, Lord? “Fine.” Changing the subject, he asked, “So, did you find a job?”

  “No, but Trev is coming up this weekend.”

  “Did you look?”

  “Yes, but I’m being particular. I don’t want to just waitress after four years of college.”

  He couldn’t blame her. “Okay, but soon you’ll need some income to hold you over until the right job comes along.”

  “I know, Daddy, and I plan on working any job if I have to.”

  “Great. Well, hopefully you won’t have to. I’ll see you later.”

  “Actually, I’m going out with Marsha and Randi. We’re traveling up to Bangor tonight. I’m going to look through some business directories for possible jobs to apply for.”

  “That’s my girl. Okay, have fun. Talk with you later.”

  “Bye, Dad. Oh, I forgot. Can I borrow forty bucks for dinner and the search?”

  “Sure, you know where I keep the cash.”

  “Thanks. Bye, Daddy.” He could hear the skipping up and down for joy in her voice.

  Wayne wagged his head. He was so easy.

  ❧

  Dena slapped the alarm. Four a.m. She pushed herself up off the bed and groaned as her body protested this early morning wake-up call. But she’d promised Wayne she’d be on the lookout. Dressing quickly, she grabbed her digital camera with the largest zoom lens she had from the kitchen table where she had set it up last night and walked in darkness to the edge of the cliff. Her pulse raced in anticipation as she walked stealthily through the brush. Not that anyone on the ocean could hear her up here.

  She lay down on the ground and scanned the predawn horizon. It was August, and the air was a cool sixty-five degrees, not the stifling temperature it would be in Boston. It was dark enough that she couldn’t see the water and could barely make out some of the small rock islands in the harbor. Dena rested her head on her left arm and listened for sounds of boat engines. The waves gently crashing on the rocky shoreline was all she could hear.

  Dena yawned. Her eyelids closed then opened again. A seagull squawked. “Night goggles might help,” she quipped. In Africa she had waited in the bush for just the right moment when the animals would stir. But for some reason, waiting on the bluff for possible poachers didn’t carry the same excitement.

  Maybe it had to do with the fact that she wasn’t really certain she could help. She had a vague idea where Wayne’s pots were. With the night option on the digital camera, she hoped she could be of some use to Wayne.

  The roar of an engine cut the silence. Dena aimed her camera toward the ocean. She eased her stance. “That’s not a boat engine, that’s a car.” She turned to see what she could only assume was Wayne’s truck pulling into her driveway with his parking lights on.

  She didn’t know whether to be upset or happy for the company.

  “Dena, are you out here?”

  “Over here.”

  He cautiously walked in the dark toward her. His silhouette seemed larger as it cast a dark shadow in the dim light of the stars. “Hi. I brought some coffee.” He handed her a warm paper cup.

  “Thanks.”

  “It’s too early to see anything yet, isn’t it?”

  “Yup, but I wanted to be in place just in case something happens.”

  “Good plan. Normally I’m arriving at the harbor about now, getting the boat ready.”

  “Do all lobstermen fish this early?”

  “No, but because I also do carpentry work, I like to get the lobstering out of the way first.”

  Wayne lay down on the ground beside her and placed a pair of binoculars in front of him.

  ❧

  Four mornings later, nothing had happened yet. During the daytime hours, they finalized some of the finishing touches for the addition and dealt with the EPA regulations for the disposal of the chemical fixer and silver recovery. At night, Dena stayed alone in the cottage. She ached to be with Wayne, but she didn’t feel right barging in on Jason and his family every night, either. So there she sat night after night, alone. All alone.

  “Wayne?”

  “Hmm,” he mumbled.

  “I’ve been thinking. We might have given up too soon.”

  He rolled on his side and faced her.

  Taking in a deep breath, she continued. “I know my schedule is ridiculous but—”

  He reached out to her. “Dena, I want you in my life. You’ve become my best friend, even though we’ve barely spent any time talking with each other this past month. I know last month we were saying we’d trust the Lord, and then an hour or so later we decided it wouldn’t work. Where’s our faith?”

  “We both see lots of potential for a relationship, but neither one of us wants to get hurt.”

  “Yeah, so what’s the answer? I can’t stop thinking about you. I pray for you daily—actually many times during the day.”

  Dena giggled. “And I’ve been miserable. Just ask anyone who was on those shoots with me.”

  “Jess hasn’t stopped complaining about my mood. So, like I said, where does that leave us?”

  “Between a rock and a high place?” She pointed toward the ocean.

  “Bad pun.” He gently stroked the top of her hand with the ball of his thumb.

  She moved her camera and inched toward him. Reaching out for his rugged face, she caressed him with her fingertips. “I’ve missed you.”

  He captured her fingers and kissed them ever so lightly. “I’ve missed you, too.”

  She wanted to kiss him. She knew he wanted to kiss her. After weeks of desire, she leaned forward and captured his lips with her own.

  The putter of a boat engine rang in her ears.

  Twelve

  Wayne savored their kiss for days. While Dena and he hadn’t caught a glimpse of the thieves, they had finally walked through their first barrier—themselves. She was now in Phoenix and working on another project. But they talked every night.

  He tapped out a brief e-mail to Dena, letting her know that he missed her and looked forward to her return. He also mentioned he was thinking of pulling his pots for the season and sitting it out. In some ways, lobstering just seemed more frustrating than profitable. The few lobsters he was bringing in didn’t even cover gas and bait. He finished the e-mail, clicked Send, and went to the living room to enjoy a quiet evening at home. Jess was out with Trevor, and he was free to read the latest Alton Gansky novel.

  Settling in his chair, he cracked open the new spine. He opened to the first page and had read the first line when a loud horn blast thundered through the evening air. Tossing his book down on the coffee table, he listened carefully to the town fire alarm. Two long, then two short blasts, and the pattern r
epeated three times. He was in his truck by the third series. Twenty-two meant Tarpon Cove Road.

  As a volunteer fireman, he always went out. Thankfully, the sleepy little town of Squabbin Bay rarely had any fires. Wayne and the fire truck arrived at Tarpon Cove Road from opposite directions. Letting the fire truck pass, he followed down the street. Only a few houses dotted the out-of-the-way road. “Lord, keep everyone safe.”

  His heart caught in his chest when he saw Ben Costa’s roof in flames. He pulled onto the sidewalk and jumped out of his truck. Ben sat on his front lawn, coughing. Another neighbor sat beside him, wrapping his arm around the old man. “Are you okay, Ben?”

  Ben nodded yes. Wayne ran on toward the house. They needed to save as much of the home as possible.

  Wayne worked with the other men for a couple of hours as they tried to save what they could of Ben’s house. Pastor Russell came to the fire and added his hands to the work. Thirty men in all and two fire trucks came to fight the fire. The smell of wet, smoldering wood filled the air. Ben still sat on his front lawn as Wayne glanced back at the ruined structure. The house was an old wooden Victorian. Precious little could be saved.

  With a bottled water in his hand, Wayne sat down beside Ben. “What happened?”

  “I fell asleep in my chair while waiting for my dinner to cook.”

  “I’m sorry, Ben. Is there any way I can help you?”

  “My kids been after me to sell the place and move in with them. Guess I’ll be doing that now.”

  Wayne glanced back at the ruins. It had been a grand house in its day, but Ben’s advanced years and the lean lobstering seasons of late had probably added to the building’s tinderbox condition.

  “I didn’t know boiling water could burn a man’s house down,” he mumbled.

  The hairs on the back of Wayne’s neck rose. First question, did he have a gas stove? Second question, what kind of pan did he use? Third question, how could a pan of boiling water ignite this large of a blaze? “Let me talk with the chief, Ben.” He gave him a comforting slap on the back. “I’ll be right back.”

  Wayne walked over to Chief Emerson. “Hey, Buck. Any idea what started the fire?”

  Buck removed his helmet and wiped his brow with a soiled handkerchief. “It’s a strange one. Come here.” The chief led him to the back of the house.

  “See this?” He pointed to the scorched stones of the foundation.

  Wayne nodded.

  “And take a look at this.” He led him toward the remaining walls of the kitchen. Wayne could see a pan still sat on the stove. Buck pointed in the opposite direction. “See that line? There was accelerant on these walls. Someone set the place on fire.”

  “Who?”

  “That I don’t know. But I’d say Squabbin Bay has a problem if someone’s targeting old men in their homes.”

  Who would want to hurt Ben Costa? Did the person who set the fire even know it was Ben’s house? “I’m going to take Ben home to my place tonight. He can call his daughter from there.”

  “Good idea. What did he tell you?”

  Wayne filled Buck in on Ben’s thoughts about how the fire started.

  “So, whoever set the fire knew Ben was in there, unless I can find evidence of a timer. I’d guess they were in the house covering the kitchen wall with the accelerant while he was sleeping.” Buck stepped back. “I need to talk with the sheriff. Excuse me.”

  Who would want to kill Ben?

  Wayne called Jess from his cell.

  “Hello,” Jess answered.

  “Jess, it’s Dad. There’s been a fire. I’m bringing Ben Costa home. Would you make up my bed with fresh sheets?”

  “Sure. Is he okay?”

  “Fine. He’s going to be just fine.” For tonight, he felt it best not to go into the details of the fire. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

  “You’re welcome. By the way, Dena called.”

  “Thanks. Would you call her back and let her know what’s happened? It’s going to be awhile before I can come home.”

  “No problem. Talk to you later.”

  “Bye.” He hung up his cell phone and rejoined Ben on the front lawn. The police were cordoning off the house with bright yellow plastic tape. The fire chief and sheriff were sitting with Ben, gently plying him with questions.

  “Nope, don’t have a problem with nobody, ’cept for them buggers stealing my lobsters.”

  “Have you caught someone taking your lobsters?” Sheriff McKean asked.

  “Not yet, but I’m getting close. I can feel it in my bones. Their engine has a certain skip in the pistons. It’s a very distinct sound. I’ve been listening. I know my hearin’ ain’t what it used to be, but I’m as certain as the nose on my face I’d know the sound of that engine if I heard it again.”

  So, had the poachers targeted Ben? Were they responsible for this?

  ❧

  Dena rose long after the sun and headed for the bluff overlooking the ocean. There had been no evidence of the poachers coming before dawn on the mornings she and Wayne had been staked out between her assignments. Besides, she needed the couple extra hours of sleep after coming in late from her last photo shoot in Phoenix.

  Her September vacation couldn’t come soon enough. I’ll decide then what to do about future shoots and how busy I want my schedule to be. With her mind decided, she scanned the horizon once again. Two days had gone by since she’d learned from Wayne that the fire at Ben Costa’s was definitely arson, and that added a whole new level of seriousness to catching these poachers.

  A boat nosed out beyond the peninsula that stuck out on the southern point. Dena aimed her camera and tried to zoom in on the bow and any markings on the vessel. It appeared to be similar to the other lobster boats in the area. Dena shot a few pictures, but the boat held its course out to sea.

  A few more lobster boats and a couple of sailboats headed out to sea from the north and the south of her position. But no one came to pull Wayne’s pots, not even Wayne.

  Okay, something’s not adding up, Lord. If the harvest is so poor in the summer, why would someone steal now? Wouldn’t they wait until winter? She decided she’d have to ask Wayne about that.

  A small sailboat sailed into the bay. Its hull was wide, and the mast seemed to be more toward the bow than toward the center of the craft. Dena clicked off some more pictures. A couple of young people dove from the boat and swam in the bay. She watched them for a few moments, vicariously sharing the pleasure these young people enjoyed in a summer morning swim.

  Deciding today would not prove productive in catching the poachers, she headed back to her cottage. The darkroom was finished, though the final touches on the exterior of the house and the bedroom carpeting had yet to be completed. Dena was very pleased with Wayne’s work.

  Her mind drifted back to the time she’d found him with his shirt off and working on the roof, his body well bronzed by the sun, his rugged features a feast for her eyes. As she stood looking at the spot where she had found him weeks ago, she caught herself drifting into unsafe territory. She shook her head and continued into the house.

  In the bathroom, she freshened up for the day and discovered her roots were showing. She reached for her touch-up dye and applied it to the roots. Weeks on remote shoots were lousy for keeping up her blond hair. She had no idea what her real color was anymore. As she approached thirty, her hair started darkening, and as time passed, she started to rely more and more on a bottle.

  With a towel around her neck and tinfoil wrapped around her roots, she glanced at her wristwatch and proceeded to the kitchen to make herself some breakfast.

  She rounded the corner and screamed, then ran back into the bathroom.

  “Dena, it’s me, Wayne,” he called from behind the closed door.

  Wayne standing in the kitchen had not been what she expected to see. “I know it’s you. What are you doing here?”

  “I came to work. I didn’t mean to scare you. Come out, please.”

  “No.”
Okay, call it vanity, Lord, but I don’t want him to see me with my hair like this.

  “No? What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Dena, for pity’s sake, please come out.”

  “Later. I’m washing my hair.”

  “Honey, I saw your hair. I know that you’re dyeing it. Come on out.”

  Heat blazed across her cheeks. “Wayne,” she whined, “give a gal some dignity.”

  His laughter only flustered her more, but she wasn’t certain why. Was she upset with herself for being so silly? Was she frustrated with him because he knew she dyed her hair? Or was she upset simply because she had been caught dyeing—with tinfoil in her hair, no less? In any case, she would not face him at this point in time.

  “All right, I’ll be in the master bedroom installing the light fixtures and ceiling fan. Come and get me when you’re ready.”

  She didn’t bother to answer him. She leaned against the bathroom door and slid to the floor. He knows I dye my hair? She groaned.

  ❧

  Wayne whistled to stop himself from laughing at Dena’s attempt to hide the fact that she colored her hair.

  Standing on the stepladder, he pulled down the white, black, and red wires from the ceiling. He unscrewed the black plastic caps he’d placed on the wires earlier. Using his shoulder and head to brace the fan, he connected the proper wires to each screw and tightened them. Tucking the wires up into the hole, he attached the base of the fan to the ceiling. Once it was in place, he moved over to the other light fixtures in the master bathroom.

  “Hi,” Dena said. Her hair was still damp, but the renewed color shouted, “Hey there, notice me!”

  “Hi.” He stepped down from the ladder and met her halfway. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

  A light rose blush swept across her cheeks. “No problem. So, what did you want to speak with me about?”

  “Nothing. I just came in to say hello.” He reached for her hands and marveled at their softness once again. “You’re beautiful, Dena.”

  She released her hands from his and wrapped him in an embrace. “I’ve missed you, too.”

  He briefly captured her lips with his own then pulled back slightly. “You are beautiful, honey.”