The Clue in the Camera

by Carolyn Keene

  After some prodding from George and Nancy, Emily agreed. She described some of her travels in Asia, where she had been one of the first woman photographers allowed entry to China when Western visitors were permitted again. After that, only a pause to pour tea or the arrival of their food interrupted Emily’s stories.

  “Hannah said you wrote a lot of crime stories and exposed some big-time crooks,” Nancy said.

  “I guess I’ve had my share of brushes with criminals. None of them ever stole my camera like that man today, though.”

  Everyone laughed. The encounter with the thief seemed far away from the cozy restaurant. Emily stopped to sip some tea before continuing.

  “The criminal stories were a little like the ‘Children of Change’ story. I started taking pictures of something that interested me, and gradually I realized there was a story to be told, right in front of my eyes. Sometimes it was a matter of being in the right place to take a picture of a robbery, and before I could plan anything, another picture would present itself, another image, and soon I found myself covering a real story.”

  “Once,” Hannah said, “I went to Chicago to meet Emily for a holiday weekend, and there had been an accident involving a commuter train. Emily disappeared for the rest of the weekend, doing research in city hall about the organization that provided maintenance for the trains. And she uncovered facts that proved who was at fault in the accident.” Hannah laughed as she told them she had spent the weekend visiting museums and touring the city by herself, taking snapshots with her instant camera, while her friend worked night and day.

  “It won’t happen this time,” Emily promised. “No work for me this week.”

  They finished their meal and left the restaurant. “Let’s walk home,” Emily suggested. “I’ve got dessert waiting for us.”

  Nancy, George, Hannah, and Emily strolled down Grant Avenue. They stopped often to look in the windows of curio shops, exclaiming over the gifts and making plans to return for more serious shopping.

  Nancy enjoyed watching Hannah talk with Emily. They were practically like sisters, she realized, very different from each other, but very close. She could understand why Hannah had always spoken of Emily with respect and affection.

  “Hey, let’s send that to Bess,” George said mischievously, pointing to a Chinese cookbook with a photograph of duck’s feet on the cover.

  Nancy laughed, then stopped as a reflection in the store window distracted her. She turned to study the crowd but saw nothing. She looked ahead and realized that Emily and Hannah were several paces in front of her and could easily be cut off by the busy crowd. George ran after Nancy when she moved quickly to catch up with the older women. “What’s up?” she asked anxiously.

  “I’m not sure yet, George. Keep your eyes open, okay?”

  They had passed several more shops before Nancy could pin down what was bothering her. She thought there was something odd about the reflections she saw in the windows. Always Emily, Hannah, George, herself, and—that was it, someone else. Every time!

  “I think we’re being followed,” Nancy said softly to George. She knew she could count on her friend to stay calm and be helpful. They continued to walk down the street with Hannah and Emily, pretending to be interested in the store windows. Soon Nancy was sure her hunch was correct; she always caught a glimpse of tan fabric in the reflections, or in the crowd when she glanced around.

  Nancy had been careful to move at the same pace as Hannah, Emily, and George, but after a few more steps, she stopped. She waited as the others walked away. Then she turned and looked directly into the crowd behind her—into the face of the balding, reddish-haired man who had stolen Emily’s camera!

  She knew he’d caught her looking at him.

  3

  Killing a Story

  The man turned and disappeared into the bustling evening crowd of tourists and shoppers.

  “Wait!” Nancy yelled. “Stop!” But he was gone.

  “What is it?” Emily rushed to Nancy’s side. Hannah and George crowded around, too.

  “I saw him.”

  “Who?” asked Hannah.

  “That bald man. I’m sure it was the guy who stole your camera, Emily. He wasn’t totally bald. He had some hair. Red hair.”

  George let out a low whistle.

  Emily frowned. “I remember seeing a man like that somewhere. I just can’t remember where.”

  “Think, Emily,” Nancy urged her. “I have a feeling we’re involved in something more complicated than a robbery. Why would that guy be following us? Try to remember where you’ve seen him before.”

  Emily furrowed her brow. “It’s no good. I don’t know where. But sooner or later it’s bound to come to me.”

  Hannah looked worried. “Let’s get out of here. I don’t like this.”

  “We’ll take a cab to my apartment,” Emily told her. “Then we can relax for a while. Maybe I’ll be able to remember where I’ve seen the mystery man.”

  “What about the photo exhibition? I wanted to see your photos, Emily,” George said.

  “There’ll be plenty of time for that later,” Emily answered. “I think we’ve had enough excitement for one day. Anyway, it’s late. You three must be tired.”

  They continued down Grant Avenue until Hannah caught sight of a taxicab. She stepped off the curb. “Taxi!” she cried, waving to the driver.

  Before the cabbie could pull over, two speeding cars turned a corner. With a squeal of tires, they headed straight for Hannah! Nancy grabbed her and pulled her out of the street just as a small foreign car followed by a black limousine whipped by and quickly disappeared.

  “Hannah! Are you all right?” Nancy took her by the elbow and led her to a bus stop, where Hannah sat shakily on the bench.

  “I’m all right,” Hannah replied after a few moments. “Just a little scared.”

  “I wonder what that was all about,” exclaimed George. “It reminded me of a scene from a detective show or something.” She gazed down the street where the cars had disappeared.

  “Hmm,” said Emily thoughtfully. “We may have just seen an example of some of the mob activity Lieutenant Chin mentioned.”

  “Did you get a look at either of the drivers?” Nancy asked her.

  “No. Unfortunately, I was still thinking about our bald guy. If only I’d had my camera. Taking pictures is second nature to me. I guarantee we would have had the whole thing captured on film.”

  Nancy nodded. “I didn’t notice much, either,” she said. “What about you, Hannah?”

  “Nothing. Maybe something will come to me after I’ve had a chance to think.”

  “Right,” Emily agreed. “Okay. Back to my place. Only forget the cab. We’ll walk.”

  A half-hour later, Nancy, George, and Hannah were following Emily through the door of her cozy apartment.

  “Oh, I love it!” cried George, looking around at the art deco lamps that cast a warm glow on the overstuffed furniture in the living room.

  Emily grinned. “Thanks,” she replied. “Meet Tripod.” She lifted the cover off a large bird cage. “Say hello, Tripod.”

  “Hello. Hello.”

  The others laughed as the blue-fronted Amazon parrot greeted them in his high voice.

  “Any time someone is in the room, Tripod starts talking,” Emily told them. “He never shuts up. But I love him. He’s a great companion.”

  “What’s for dessert?” the bird asked.

  “Yes,” said Hannah, laughing. “What is for dessert? You promised us some of your cooking. Emily is one of the best chefs around, girls. Years ago, we used to have cooking contests, trying to outdo each other.”

  “Well, I admit I bake a pretty tasty cake,” Emily said. “But I could never come close to Hannah’s pot roast. Do you still make a mean pot roast, Hannah?”

  “Does she ever!” Nancy volunteered, and Hannah blushed.

  While Emily made coffee and cut slices of something she called chocolate swirl cake, the girls ad
mired the apartment.

  “Feel free to browse around,” said Emily. “Take a look at the darkroom. It’s my pride and joy.”

  Nancy and George poked their noses into Emily’s studio. Nancy, who knew something about photography, admired the enlarger. George was impressed by how neatly organized Emily kept her supplies.

  “I develop all my own film,” Emily called from the kitchen. “I don’t trust anyone else to do it for me. Sometimes I get lost in there. I get started on a project, and when I come out, half the day has gone by.”

  Nancy and George returned to the kitchen, where Emily handed them their dessert. “But I love my work,” she went on. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  George took a bite of the cake. “Wow, this is great!” she exclaimed.

  “Definitely,” agreed Nancy. While she ate, she studied the photos that covered Emily’s walls. “Which picture won the photojournalism award?” Emily had once been the winner of the most prestigious award given to a photographer.

  “The one to the left of Tripod’s cage is the winner,” Emily replied, handing Hannah a cup of coffee.

  Nancy got up to take a closer look. “Who’s that man?”

  “His name is Harold Kesack.”

  Nancy stared into a shifty-looking face.

  “He was a well-known crime leader,” Emily explained. “He died in a private plane crash just before he was supposed to face a grand jury investigation. It was an odd coincidence. That happened about five years ago.”

  Nancy peered closely at the photo. “Look at the Buddha he’s wearing around his neck. I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s beautiful.”

  “That was Kesack’s trademark. It was carved out of ivory. It intrigued me, too. I asked him about it when I interviewed him. Kesack said he wore it all the time. The rumor was that it had been a gift from some big member of the Chinese mob. Of course, I didn’t ask him to verify that.”

  Nancy continued to study the photo. “And that huge scar on his chin. How awful. It’s almost evil-looking.”

  “That,” Emily said, “was supposedly the result of a gang fight in prison. Kesack ended up in the middle of the pack. I didn’t verify that bit of information, either.”

  Hannah shuddered. “Emily, honest to goodness, the people you know!”

  But Nancy laughed. “She didn’t say he was a friend, Hannah.”

  “Well, I should hope not.”

  Emily was philosophical. “You meet all sorts in my profession. I guess that’s why I enjoy it so much. I can’t see myself stuck behind some desk eight hours a day. Each experience is new, each story is different.”

  “What’s for dessert?” Tripod squawked again.

  “Oh, all right, you silly bird.” Emily fed Tripod a bit of cake. The parrot held it daintily in one foot, tasted it, then gobbled it down.

  “What a pig!” George exclaimed.

  “His favorite food is spaghetti,” Emily said, and everyone laughed.

  When they stopped, silence fell over the room. Even Tripod quieted down and sat contemplating the guests.

  “Hannah, even if we had this recipe, I bet we couldn’t make a cake this good.” Nancy smiled at Emily.

  “We’ll just have to invite Emily to River Heights for a pot roast dinner,” said Hannah.

  “I’d like that,” Emily replied sincerely. “And I’ll bring dessert.”

  Nancy was about to get up to examine Emily’s photos again when the phone rang. Emily excused herself and went into the kitchen.

  From the living room, Nancy could see Emily talking on the phone. She watched as her expression turned from friendly anticipation to concern. Then Nancy saw Emily’s face turn white. The photographer dropped the receiver to the floor.

  Nancy ran to her side. “Emily! What is it?”

  Emily didn’t answer.

  Nancy picked up the receiver. “Hello? Hello?” she said. The line clicked dead. Nancy turned her attention back to Emily, whose color was returning. “Emily, what’s wrong? What happened? Who was that?”

  By now, George and Hannah had joined them in the kitchen. Concern showed on their faces.

  “I don’t know,” Emily replied slowly. “But whoever it was told me in no uncertain terms to drop the ‘Children of Change’ story. Or else!”

  4

  The Man in the Street

  Nancy realized she was still holding the phone receiver. The dial tone droned into the silence of the kitchen. She replaced the receiver and motioned everyone back into the warm light of the living room.

  “Well, all I can say is, I’m not about to drop the ‘Children of Change’ story,” Emily declared immediately. “I don’t care who tells me to!” She smiled ruefully at Hannah. “Life is really not this exciting all the time around here, although you probably don’t believe that after today.”

  “Do you have any idea who was on the phone?” Nancy asked quietly.

  “No. I don’t have a very good memory for voices, but I’m sure I would have recognized this one if I’d heard it before,” Emily answered.

  “Why would you recognize the voice again? Was it male or female? Was there an accent?”

  “It was just a man’s voice, Nancy, but it was sort of low and harsh. . . . Maybe he was trying to disguise it.”

  Hannah stood up to get more coffee. She looked carefully at her old friend. “Are you sure you’re okay, Emily? I need another cup of coffee. Do you want one, too?”

  “Oh, I’m fine, Hannah. It’s just not every day I receive threatening phone calls.”

  “Emily.” Nancy leaned forward. “Do you have any enemies?”

  Emily laughed. “There are probably plenty of people who’d like to see me out of their way, but I don’t think I have any real enemies. I guess Peter Stine would be the most glad to see me out of action, though.”

  Hannah brought in fresh cups of coffee for herself and Emily and settled on the couch again to listen.

  “Tell me about Stine, Emily,” Nancy said.

  “There’s not that much to tell, really,” she replied, “except that for years now, there’s been a rivalry between us—a competition. Stine works for a newspaper on the other side of San Francisco Bay, in Marin County. But there’s nothing threatening about him. We’re just two professionals who’ve been assigned to the same stories for years.

  “I always beat him to the punch on the top stories, one way or another,” she went on. “Which bothers him, naturally.”

  Emily, relaxing a bit, began to chuckle. Tripod, echoing the chuckle, made everyone jump. Then they laughed when he squawked and fluffed his feathers, as if embarrassed to have disturbed them.

  Emily began to tell about the time she had gotten a tip from one of her underground contacts regarding a hot story that was breaking and was at the scene, taking pictures, a good half-hour before Stine or anyone else showed up.

  As she talked, Nancy glanced around the apartment. She wondered what it was that would put Emily in jeopardy. Why would anyone threaten her, especially about “Children of Change,” a story in which no crime was being exposed and no accusations were being made? The apartment was cozy and homelike; the darkroom was clean and efficient. And all the criminals represented here, thought Nancy, studying the photos on the walls, are either behind bars or, like Harold Kesack, dead.

  Nancy stood near the window and looked out onto the street below, only half-listening to Emily’s stories. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed someone standing by the curb. She started to turn back to the others, but something made her look again at the figure below.

  It was a man, thin and wiry, with a light jacket pulled tightly around him. He wasn’t very tall. Then Nancy realized why he had attracted her attention. He was watching the house, looking up at the windows of Emily’s apartment from time to time, while pretending to be waiting for a cab or a bus. Wasn’t he? Nancy was sure of it after she saw a bus draw up to the curb, then move on, leaving the man still standing on the street.

  Nancy
moved away from the window and walked over to the easy chair George was lounging in. She gave George a quick nudge and smiled at Hannah and Emily. “Here we are in San Francisco, and you and Emily haven’t had a minute to yourselves, Hannah,” she said. “George and I need to go walk off some of the calories from that cake, don’t we, George? We’ll leave you here so you can do some catching up.”

  George didn’t need a second nudge to tell her that Nancy had a reason for wanting to go for a walk. Her years of friendship with Nancy had taught her to trust Nancy’s instincts and to be ready for whatever adventures lay ahead. She stood up and stretched.

  “Yeah. I’d like to see this neighborhood. It sure doesn’t look like River Heights.”

  “In my opinion, both of you girls could use the extra calories.” Hannah sniffed, studying Nancy and George. “You’re both too thin. But go ahead and take a walk.”

  Emily cautioned the girls to stay on well-lit streets, assuring Hannah that they’d be all right as long as they didn’t go into any dark alleys or wander into the nearby industrial district.

  “Don’t worry about us. We’ll be careful.” Nancy waved Hannah and Emily back to their coffee and dessert as she and George moved toward the door, just out of sight of the window.

  They shut the door behind them and stood in the stairwell. George whispered, “What’s up, Nan? You have that look on your face that you always get when there’s a mystery about to happen.”

  “You’re right. Thanks for coming with me. Listen—someone’s watching Emily’s apartment.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Nancy told George what she’d seen. She explained that she hoped they could get a good look at the man and that she didn’t want any noises to alert him that he’d been noticed. They crept down the steps silently. Maybe if they just walked out the door onto the porch, he would think they were from the first-floor apartment and wouldn’t pay attention to them.

  At the bottom of the stairs, George cautiously pulled back the curtain on the front door—just enough to look out. The man was still there, a silhouette in the streetlight. He was staring intently at the windows of Emily’s upstairs apartment.