Strawberry Shortcake Murder

by Joanne Fluke

  Hannah turned to her sister in surprise. Andrea wasn’t usually this generous with her time. “Does this have anything to do with that rental duplex she owns over on Maple Street?”

  “Well…actually it does.” Andrea’s face turned slightly pink. “I’ve been meaning to talk to her about it anyway. I’ve got a buyer that’s interested, and she could make a nice profit.”

  Hannah grinned. Her sister was as tenacious as a pup with a bone when it came to selling real estate. Andrea had been trying to get Jill Haversham to sell her duplex for at least a year, and she wouldn’t quit until she got the listing.

  “If you want to take care of Mrs. Haversham, that’s fine with me,” Norman agreed. “I don’t have another appointment until ten, and that’ll give us plenty of time. Come on, Hannah. Bring that film, and let’s go over to my darkroom to see what you’ve got.”

  “Your mother acted really surprised to see me.” Hannah stepped into the large walk-in closet that Norman had turned into a darkroom. “And I’m not sure she approved when you told her that we were going upstairs to your room.”

  Norman laughed. “That was a mistake on my part. I should have said that we were going upstairs to develop a roll of film. It wouldn’t have been so bad if Mrs. Beeseman hadn’t been visiting. Mother would never gossip about you, but I’m not so sure about Mrs. Beeseman.”

  “I am. Mrs. Beeseman will tell everyone within a five-mile radius and then some.”

  Norman gazed at her curiously as Hannah handed him the roll of film. “You don’t seem too upset about that.”

  “I’m not. Anyone who knows me won’t believe it. And anyone who doesn’t know me doesn’t matter.”

  “That’s a good attitude.” Norman held the film canister up to the light. “It’s black-and-white. It’s a good thing I’ve got a complete setup. I started out in black-and-white because I liked the contrast. It was at least ten years before I added color. Almost everyone uses it now.”

  “Then it’s unusual that Lucy used black-and-white?”

  “Not really. She works for Rod, and he doesn’t print color very often. It’s just too expensive. Lucy probably loaded her camera with black-and-white so that she could develop it in Rod’s darkroom. He does his own black-and-white at the office, but he sends all his color work out.”

  “That makes a lot of sense. Lucy wouldn’t want to send any incriminating film out to be developed.”

  “Sit over there, Hannah.” Norman pointed to a stool in the corner. “I’ll have to go to total darkness until I have this film in the tank.”

  Hannah headed for the stool and sat down. She was interested because she’d never been in a darkroom before. “How can you see what you’re doing if it’s totally dark?”

  “I can’t. But I’ve done it so many times before, my fingers know the moves. A lot of photographers use a pouch, but I don’t like them. They make my hands sweat. Are you ready for me to turn out the light?”

  “I’m ready.” Hannah reached out and grasped the edge of the long troughlike sink. She didn’t want to lose her balance and fall off the stool when the lights went out.

  Norman clicked off the lights, and Hannah glanced around. She knew it was broad daylight, but not even one tiny crack of light penetrated Norman’s darkroom. The complete darkness made her feel a bit off-balance, and she was glad that she’d thought to grip the edge of the sink.

  Sounds seemed to be magnified in the darkness. Hannah heard a pop and figured that Norman must have taken the cap off the film canister. There was a crinkling noise that was followed by a shushing sound, as if he were unwinding something. She felt a bit disoriented, now that she could no longer judge the dimensions of the room by sight. She reminded herself that this must be how blind people felt and gave thanks that she wasn’t sightless.

  Hannah heard something clink against metal, perhaps the side of the developing tank. That was followed by a clank that reminded her of a solid metal lid being placed on a saucepot, and then a white light filled the room.

  “It’s only a hundred watts, but it seems bright, doesn’t it?”

  “That must be because our pupils are dilated. What do you have to do next?”

  “Pour in the developer and agitate it gently for two to three minutes. Then I’ll pour out the developer and put in the stop bath.”

  “Do you have to turn the lights out again?”

  “No, the can has a light trap so I can pour liquids in and out.”

  Hannah watched as Norman poured in the developer. She could smell it, and it had a very pungent odor. He swished it around in the metal canister very gently until his timer went off. Then he poured out the liquid and added some from a different bottle.

  “Is that the stop bath?” Hannah asked.

  “That’s right.” Norman swished it around in the tank for a few seconds, then dumped out the stop bath. “Now I have to add the fixer.”

  Hannah listened as the timer ticked down. She couldn’t see the dial from where she was sitting, but when it dinged, she judged that it had taken three or four minutes. “What next?”

  “I’m going to open the tank and wash the negatives for five to ten minutes. Then I’ll photo flo them and put them in the dryer.”

  “The dryer?” Hannah asked. “That’s not what I’m thinking, is it?”

  “No, it’s a negative dryer.”

  “And then we’ll have pictures?”

  “Not yet. We’ll have dry strips of negatives to put under the enlarger to make prints. You’ll like that part, Hannah. When the prints come up, it’s almost magical.”

  “But how can you see them if it’s dark?”

  “It won’t be dark. We’ll use the safe light for printing. It’s kind of orange, and it’s dim, but you’ll be able to see.”

  “This is really interesting, Norman. I kind of wish I’d gotten interested in photography. Can you turn on the safe light so I can see what it looks like?”

  “Sure.”

  Norman hit a switch, and the bright light in the room clicked off. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust, but then Hannah became aware of a dim orange glow. It reminded her of sitting in front of a campfire, the one summer she’d gone to camp. She’d hated the cots, the food, and the counselors. She’d never been fond of organized activities, where everyone had to take part and pretend that they were having fun. But the campfires had been wonderful, a glowing circle of light with the dark woods beyond.

  “Do you want to learn?”

  Norman’s question jolted Hannah from memories of ice-cold lakes, mosquito bites, and hot dogs that were both raw and incinerated, a combination that could only be achieved over a campfire. “Learn what?”

  “Photography. I could teach you.”

  Hannah considered it for a minute. “Yes, I’d like that. But don’t forget that we have to design our dream house, too.”

  “It’s a good thing I didn’t mention that to Mother this morning,” Norman said with a teasing grin, “or Mrs. Beeseman would probably wear out her phone.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Norman stepped into the kitchen. “Hannah? Your prints are ready.”

  “Oh, good. I can hardly wait to see how they turned out.” Hannah gave Mrs. Beeseman the most innocent smile she could muster. Norman had suggested that she go down and have coffee with his mother and Mrs. Beeseman to practice a little damage control. “It’s been nice talking to you, Mrs. Beeseman. And you too, Mrs. Rhodes.”

  Hannah got up from her chair to follow Norman out of the room and up the stairs. When she was sure they were out of earshot, she asked, “What did we get?”

  “Four prints. One of them is good, but I couldn’t do much with the other three.”

  “Only four? What about the rest of the roll?”

  “It was blank. Lucy must have rewound the film once she got what she wanted.”

  Norman opened the door to the darkroom and Hannah stepped in. The prints were arranged on the counter opposite the sink.

  “I pu
t them in order,” Norman explained. “The one of Sally Laughlin at the Lake Eden Inn was taken first.”

  Hannah stared down at the picture of Sally. She was removing a tray of stuffed mushrooms from one of her ovens at the inn. Then she moved on to the second print and started to frown. The lighting was poor, and she couldn’t make out much in the background. “What is it?”

  “I’m not sure. It looks like some kind of a building. There’s a car,” Norman pointed it out, “and two men. I tried to lighten it up a little, but I didn’t have much success. Lucy used existing light instead of her flash.”

  Hannah examined the third print. The two men were a bit more visible. While they’d appeared to be standing and talking in the earlier picture, in this one they had assumed a more adversarial stance. She peered down in silence for a moment, then asked, “Do you think the one facing the camera could be Boyd Watson?”

  “It’s difficult to tell. There just isn’t enough light.”

  Hannah moved on to the final print. The man whose back was to the camera was raising his right arm. There was something in his hand, but Hannah couldn’t quite make it out. She stared at it for a moment, then she gasped.

  “What is it?” Norman looked anxious.

  “This is a picture of Boyd Watson’s murder!”

  “Are you sure?”

  “No, but it makes sense if you think about it.” Hannah took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Her heart was pounding so fast, she felt slightly woozy. “I told you about the third car that Mrs. Kalick saw. She thought it was Felicia Berger and her boyfriend, but this changes everything.”

  “You think it was Lucy?”

  “Yes. She must have parked her car and followed Boyd and his killer down the alley on foot. That’s the only way she could have taken these pictures.”

  Norman moved closer to examine the print again. “You could be on to something, Hannah. It would explain why Lucy didn’t use her flash. She didn’t want Boyd and his killer to know she was there. Unfortunately, it’s all speculation.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “These photos don’t really prove anything. No one can identify the two men. It’s just too dark. They could be anyone in town, or out of town, for that matter. And the background doesn’t help us pin down the location. All we can see are two men and a car, and we can’t even tell what kind of car it is.”

  Hannah frowned. “But I’m sure it’s Boyd’s garage.”

  “I think you’re right, but we can’t prove it. These prints could have been taken anywhere. We don’t even know when they were taken.”

  “There’s no date on the film?”

  “No. If Lucy had a date-stamp feature on her camera, she didn’t use it. We can’t even prove she took them the night of Boyd’s murder. We can ask her, but I don’t think she’s dumb enough to admit that she witnessed a murder and didn’t report it.”

  Hannah thought about it for a minute. “You’re right, Norman. Lucy won’t tell us anything. And I can’t run out to the sheriff’s station with these prints. Even if I tell them I found that film in Lucy’s desk, it’ll be my word against hers, and that’s a wash.”

  “But Andrea was there. She can swear that the film was in Lucy’s desk.”

  Hannah sighed deeply. “That won’t work, either. I can’t involve her, and it’s not just Bill’s reaction I’m worried about. Even if Mike and Bill manage to identify Boyd’s killer from the evidence we found, the whole thing could be thrown out of court.”

  “You’re right, Hannah. Some smart lawyer for the defense could argue that since the illegal search of Lucy’s apartment was performed by the wife and sister-in-law of a detective assigned to the case, it’s tainted.”

  “Fruit of the poisoned tree.” Hannah repeated a phrase she’d learned from an episode of Law & Order. “I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place, Norman.”

  “Maybe not.” Norman looked thoughtful. “If we can identify the killer without involving Lucy, you might be able to find new evidence. And if Bill and Mike would have discovered it eventually, without the help of Lucy’s photos, it’ll stand up in court.”

  Hannah was impressed. “That’s brilliant, Norman.”

  “I watch Law & Order, too. So all we have to do is identify the killer and go on from there.”

  “Right.” Hannah sighed deeply. “The killer’s back is to the camera, and the prints are so dark, we can’t recognize anything about him. We can’t prove where the pictures were taken because there’s not enough light to see the background. And we don’t even know, for sure, when the photos were taken. This should be a snap, Norman.”

  “That’s what I like about you, Hannah. You always have such a positive attitude.”

  Norman laughed, and Hannah glanced at him in surprise before she joined in. Usually people hated it when she was sarcastic, but Norman just gave it right back to her in kind. She glanced down at the counter again, examining each of the pictures in turn. And then she got an idea. “Wait a second. Can we prove that the picture of Sally came first?”

  “Of course. The negatives are numbered.”

  “Then we know that Lucy took the pictures of the murder after that shot of Sally. That gives us one end of a time frame. All I have to do is ask Sally when she made stuffed mushrooms, and we’ll know when Lucy took her picture.”

  “That could narrow it down,” Norman agreed. “Let’s just hope that stuffed mushrooms aren’t a regular item on Sally’s menu.”

  Hannah groaned. “Thanks for raining on my parade, Norman. I didn’t even think of that.”

  “I aim to please.” Norman picked up the last print, the one they assumed was the murder picture. “I just noticed something.”

  “What?”

  “When the killer raised his arm, his coat sleeve pulled back. See this little spot of light here?”

  Hannah nodded. “What is it?”

  “I think it’s his cuff link. It must have caught the light from the moon, and it’s clearer than the rest of the print. Some-times cuff links have initials. Do you want me to try to blow it up?”

  “You’re a genius, Norman!” Hannah was so excited, she threw her arms around Norman and kissed him on the cheek. Norman looked slightly startled, but he hugged her back.

  Hannah sat on her stool while Norman enlarged that section of the negative. He was right. When the print came up, it was like magic.

  “Let me dry it. It’ll only take a minute.” Norman flicked on the bright light and led the way to something he said was his print dryer, a huge metal drum with a shiny surface.

  “How long will it take?”

  “Just a couple of minutes. This is a commercial drum dryer, and it’s fast. I picked it up from a studio in Seattle when the owner retired.” Norman stuck the wet print facedown against the metal drum. “When the print slides off, it’s dry.”

  The shiny drum started to revolve like a Ferris wheel, and Hannah watched until the print fell off and landed in the canvas sling below the dryer. “Can I pick it up now?”

  “Yes. Bring it over to the counter, and let’s take a good look at it. I think we may have something, Hannah.”

  Hannah carried the print to the counter, and her heart raced as she examined it. The killer’s cuff link was distinctive, a side view of a horse’s head with something that looked like a diamond for the eye. “That’s an antique design.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Mother collects antique jewelry, and she’s got all sorts of reference books. Let’s get back to the clinic, Norman. I’m going to hop in the truck and drive out to Sally’s to find out about those stuffed mushrooms. And then I’m going to track down Lucy and have a little talk with her.”

  “Careful, Hannah,” Norman warned her. “You can’t ask her about the photos.”

  “I know, but we can talk about antique jewelry. And I can mention that Mother’s interested in buying a pair of antique cuff links with horse heads on them.”

  “Won’t that tip her of
f?”

  “How could it? If I catch her before she goes back to her apartment, she won’t know that her film is missing. She never got a chance to develop it, and she doesn’t know that she got a clear picture of the killer’s cuff link. Don’t forget that we had to blow it up to see it.”

  Norman thought about it for a minute. “You’re right. It would have been just a speck of light through the view-finder.”

  “I figure that if Lucy tailed him all the way to Boyd’s house, she could have noticed his cuff links. If she did, she might tell me his name.”

  “You think Lucy would actually tell you the name of the killer?”

  “Why not?” Hannah shrugged. “She always brags about being so observant, and that’ll give her a chance to show off. She’ll never suspect that I know the man with the antique cuff links is Boyd’s killer.”

  “It could work, I guess.” Norman sounded doubtful.

  “It’s worth a shot.” Hannah cleared her throat and looked Norman straight in the eye. “About that envelope I gave you…I just want you to know that I put it in my pocket the moment I found it. And I didn’t take it out until I handed it to you.”

  “I’m surprised you’re still alive, Hannah.”

  “Of course I’m alive.” Hannah was puzzled by his abrupt change of subject. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “I thought your curiosity would have killed you by now.” Norman laughed. And then he put his arms around her and gave her a big hug.

  Hannah whizzed past the park and approached Jordan High at thirty miles an hour. The streets were deserted, she wasn’t driving recklessly, and it was a real treat to speed through town.

  “You’d better slow down, Hannah. You’re five miles over the limit.”

  “I know.” Hannah flashed her sister a saucy grin. “But Herb Beeseman’s guarding the door to the auditorium, and he can’t give me a speeding ticket.”