The Photographer II

by Barbara Steiner

  “But she says so in her journal. It’s her last entry,” Vicki argued.

  Berk licked his fingers. “So, she might have met someone after the session. She might have accepted a ride with someone.”

  Vicki decided she wasn’t going to be talked out of her suspicion. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that she didn’t like David Altman, or, even she admitted to herself, that he hadn’t taken hours photographing her. She was glad, though. The other thing she was basing her thinking on was intuition. She felt really weird around Altman. And she couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened. So if she couldn’t, then she might as well think out loud.

  “Here’s something else, guys. He’s new in town. He comes here and then this happens. Two girls disappear and when they’re found, they’re dead.”

  “I’m new in town, Vicki,” Scott reminded her with a shrug. “Have you forgotten that? Do you know every new person who moves here?”

  “Almost. And you don’t count, Scott. There’s no way I could suspect you of murder.” She smiled a little at the idea, and reached for her first slice of pizza. She wasn’t really hungry, but the pizza smelled spicy and cheesy. She’d eat a little.

  “I think you might as well suspect me, or anyone else new in town.” Scott grinned. “It makes just as much sense.”

  “I think that’s what’s most frustrating about all this,” Vicki said. “Nothing makes sense. No one knows how SueAnne and Belle died. And why would anyone kill two beautiful girls?”

  “Because they were beautiful?” Berk suggested.

  “Someone was jealous?” Scott added.

  “I’m sure.” Vicki found she was hungrier than she thought. And the conversation was going no place. She chewed a second slice of pizza while her mind went blank.

  “Let’s list all the ugly girls at school.” Berk got out a pencil and pulled his napkin over to write on. “I’m going to need your napkin too, Lawrence.”

  The serious detective work turned silly. Soon even Vicki was smiling. She felt a little guilty, but she knew that SueAnne wouldn’t want her to cry forever. Besides, there were no tears left. Even her anger was gone. There was nothing left but the feeling of emptiness, of despair. The feeling that there was no answer for what had happened to the two dead girls. To who might have killed them—how they died, and the biggest question of all. Why would anyone want to?

  Chapter 11

  There was an annual staff meeting after school the next day. Scott was glad he’d joined the extracurricular activity, since it gave him an excuse to spend even more time with Vicki.

  “We’ve got an awful lot to do,” Vicki pointed out. “Our deadline for mailing is in December. Otherwise we won’t get the annuals in May.”

  “What’s left to do?” Scott asked, enjoying how efficiently Vicki ran the meeting.

  “I think almost all the informal and group photos are in.” Mr. Johnston, their sponsor, looked at his list. “It’s a matter of finishing the pasteups and re-checking everything. Where’s Goldie? She’s in charge of senior photos.”

  “She wasn’t at school today.” Davita Renwick snapped her gum. “She said she didn’t feel good yesterday.”

  “Yeah, she looked really pale.” Holly Harris poured out an envelope of photos and shuffled through them. “She’s always so full of energy. It was obvious she was getting sick or something. Are we putting snapshots before or after formal pictures?”

  “I thought we decided on both places.” Mr. Johnston picked up a box marked FRESHMAN and handed it to Scott. “Can you organize this group, Scott? Goldie was almost finished.”

  If Mr. Johnston hadn’t called Scott’s name, he would never have heard the question. As it was he had to ask again. He had caught the look of fear on Vicki’s face when Davita said Goldie wasn’t at school.

  “Maybe she’s home sick.” Scott settled in to work across from Vicki. “Do you want me to call her?”

  “No.” Vicki answered too quickly. “I’m sure you’re right.”

  “If I order pizza, can all of you work late?” Mr. Johnston asked. “We’re going to have to put in extra time to get finished. We might as well start tonight.”

  Holly looked dismayed. “I have a ton of homework. Will you write me an excuse for English composition?”

  “I had an appointment with David Altman to have a photo session,” Davita said. “I guess I could call and cancel, but he’s so busy. I might not get another soon.”

  “Your senior photos are in, Davita. I’ve checked them off.” Vicki stood up. “Why are you going back there?”

  “Jealous, Vicki?” Davita laughed and raised her eyebrows, giving Vicki an impish grin.

  Davita’s straight black hair curved slightly toward her chin, framing her face. Scott had never seen such a pale complexion on anyone, but maybe it looked whiter because Davita insisted on wearing bright red lipstick. The contrast gave her a rather artificial look, he thought, but she didn’t look silly. Worn by anyone else, the lipstick would have qualified a girl for a relative of the Addams Family.

  Was it Scott’s imagination, or did Arkansas have more than its share of beautiful girls? He had heard the expression “Southern Beauties,” of course, but now he was experiencing it.

  A memory surfaced. On one of the rare occasions when his parents were both home, they had been watching television and working a jigsaw puzzle together. His dad had a passion for jigsaw puzzles. Said they helped him relax. Anyway, the only thing on the tube that night was the Miss America pageant. His father had remarked, “A Southern girl will win. They nearly always do. Don’t ask me why, but I doubt there’s one ugly girl in the South.”

  Last summer they had all laughed at the billboard on the Arkansas state line. HOME OF MISS AMERICA, 1964 AND 1982.

  “Better get ready, Scott,” Dad had said then. “You’re going to be surrounded by beautiful women in your classes. It’ll take all the concentration you can muster to keep your mind on your work.”

  Dad had been joking, Scott thought, but he was right. Here he was right now working alongside Vicki, Davita, who was as glamorous as any New York model, and Holly Harris, who sparkled like a Christmas light display.

  “You didn’t answer Vicki’s question, Davita,” Holly said. “Why are you having another picture made?”

  “Oh, my mama just loved the senior pictures. But I was wearing last year’s prom dress. She wants me to have another photo made in the new dress I got last weekend for the Christmas dance. You should see it. It’s silver. Looks really great with my coloring. And I can wear red or green accessories.”

  This was one of those times when Scott was glad he was male. He couldn’t imagine spending so much money on clothes, buying a new dress for every season or every dance. He had one good suit, and hated every minute that he had to wear it.

  “A Christmas dance?” he whispered to Vicki. “Do you have a date yet?”

  Vicki didn’t seem to hear Scott. He leaned closer and pulled down the eight-by-ten photo she was staring at.

  “Did you hear what I—Oh.”

  Vicki had tears in her eyes. She held a picture of SueAnne. “We’re going to have a memorial page in the annual. It was just going to be for SueAnne. Now I’ll have a photo enlarged of Belle, too.”

  It seemed crass to ask again for a dance date, so Scott made a mental note to ask Vicki later. He didn’t think she’d gone out with anyone else since they’d met, but he didn’t want to assume she wouldn’t. Maybe he should ask her to go steady. They were together all the time anyway, now that he and Berk picked her up before school and dropped her off at home afterward.

  Davita glided back into the room. She moved quietly and gracefully, as if she was always dancing. “David said it was okay to miss today. He had plenty of work to do. He’s so sweet. Said he’d stay late tomorrow night. That I could come in after supper.”

  “I’d better tell my mom I won’t be home for dinner.” Scott stood up and dug in his pocket for some change.


  “You can use the phone in my office, Scott,” Mr. Johnston offered. “I was going to remind everyone to call so your parents won’t worry.”

  “I called Mama while I was at it.” Davita went back to work.

  “Will you call my mom at work, Scott?” Vicki pulled off a piece of scrap paper and scribbled her mom’s office number on it. “She said last night she wanted to know where I was at all times.”

  “And who you were with?” Scott teased.

  “She knows I’m with you.” Vicki didn’t look at Scott when she committed herself softly.

  “Can I take that to mean what I think it means?” Scott figured he might as well pin her down right now, while he had an opportunity.

  “And what do you think that means, Mr. Lawrence?” Vicki looked up at him and flirted with her eyes.

  “That you want to be with me all the time?”

  “If I didn’t, I wouldn’t.”

  “I know that. Did you hear me invite you to the Christmas dance?”

  “Hey, it’s only October. I don’t plan that far in advance. I don’t usually plan past tomorrow. Or sometimes today.” She frowned and acted really busy.

  “I like to plan way ahead.”

  “See there, we’re incompatible. Little things just keep showing up. It’s little things like the way a person squeezes the toothpaste that cause people to get divorces.”

  “I squeeze from the bottom and roll up the tube as I go.”

  Vicki smiled. Scott was glad he was able to distract her from thinking about SueAnne. “You squeeze from the middle, don’t you?” he said in an accusing voice.

  “I might be able to change. But only a few things, little things.” Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle. Photos hissed against each other as Vicki slid them around. “I’ll think about it.”

  “You’d better believe I will too.” Scott took off for Mr. Johnston’s office.

  He called Vicki’s mother first. “Yes, I’ll bring her home, Mrs. Valentine. I’ll walk her right to the door. You don’t need to worry.”

  She did seem worried. Scott was sure that every parent of a teenage girl was worried. He dialed his mother three times before he got through to her.

  “Mom, I’m going to work late at the annual. Mr. Johnston is ordering pizza,” he said as soon as he heard her voice.

  “Make sure Vicki gets home all right, Scott.”

  “Sure. I planned to. Is anything wrong?” His mother always seemed stressed, but her voice broke when she said Vicki’s name. He felt his stomach churn. Then it tightened and turned over as he listened to the rest of his mother’s words.

  Hanging up the phone slowly, he stared at it for a few seconds. He had to go back to the annual workroom. He’d give anything if he could just go get Vicki and take her away—hide her until this was over. And when would that be?

  It was Vicki who noticed the way he came back into the room and sank into his chair. He covered her hand with his, not looking at her.

  “Something is wrong, isn’t it, Scott?” she asked.

  “My mom—my mom said—” He had everyone’s attention without meaning to. Davita and Holly got up and came over to the table where he slumped. Several other kids gathered around.

  “Scott, tell me. What’s wrong?” Vicki’s voice was tight and demanding. “Who—who—” She had guessed his news.

  “Goldie.” Scott stuttered. “Goldie didn’t come home last night. Mom said they had already put out an APB on her for the county, for the whole state. This morning. They aren’t even waiting twenty-four hours. They’re afraid—they’re afraid—”

  “Oh, Scott. No—no—no! Not another one. Please, not another one, not Goldie!” Vicki leaned into him, her face pressed into his chest. He circled her shoulders and held her tightly.

  “Mom feels sure. And she’s hardly ever wrong.”

  Scott said those words to Davita and Holly, whose faces reflected the fear that had settled into his stomach permanently. The churning had stopped, but it had turned into a huge, dull ache. He felt anger, too, though. Anger that made him hold Vicki even tighter. An angry fire that surged through him, saying there must be something, something they could do. He might not be able to protect Vicki for long enough. And he couldn’t bear the idea of anything happening to her.

  Chapter 12

  It was all over the papers the next morning. Vicki felt sick thinking of where Goldie might be, whom she might be with. Sitting there at breakfast, staring at a cup of tea, something clicked. Jumping up, she grabbed the phone and dialed a now familiar number.

  “Scott, has your mother left for work yet?” Vicki asked, hoping she had called in time.

  “She’s just going out. Why?”

  “Stop her, Scott. Please. I want to talk to her. It’s important. Ask her to wait right there. I’m coming over.”

  Vicki hung up before Scott or Mrs. Lawrence could tell her not to come.

  “Mom, will you drop me off at Scott’s house? Right now?” Her mother looked close to being ready for work.

  “I guess so. I sure feel better knowing you’re with him all the time. He’s a nice boy, Vicki. You like him, don’t you?”

  “Sure,” Vicki replied as they headed for the car. She wasn’t going to tell her mother anything about why she was going to Scott’s, afraid she would worry. She sat quietly, looking out the window all the way. “Thanks, Mom.” She dashed for the Lawrences’ front door.

  Mrs. Lawrence had taken the opportunity to relax for a few extra moments at their kitchen table. Vicki took a few seconds to admire her sleek New York clothes and her look of competency. She certainly wasn’t your typical Sparksville woman.

  Scott had let her in, smiling, but asking no questions. “Want a cup of coffee, Vicki?” he asked, pulling out a chair for her.

  “No, my stomach is a little uneasy,” Vicki admitted.

  “Mine, too, Vicki,” Mrs. Lawrence said. “This whole business makes me sick. I assume you want to talk about it?”

  “Yes. Scott, didn’t I see Goldie go into the photo studio just before you came out the other day?”

  Scott thought a minute. “Yes, you did. She told me she was sorry she hadn’t noticed me before you staked a claim.”

  Vicki wasn’t in the mood for Scott to tease her. “Mrs. Lawrence, that establishes a pattern. Surely you’re aware of it.” Vicki set both SueAnne’s and Belle’s journals on the kitchen table. “We don’t know about SueAnne, but David Altman was the last to see Belle, and I’m betting that now he was the last person to see Goldie. Doesn’t that tell you something?”

  Mrs. Lawrence nodded. “Yes, that Altman was the last to see both girls, as far as we know. We want a suspect in this case as much as you do, Vicki, but just because Altman saw both girls doesn’t mean a lot without more evidence. We’ve questioned him. He lives alone. He seems to spend all his free time in his darkroom. He wasn’t seen with any of the girls anyplace except the photo studio. We have absolutely nothing to connect him to what has happened here.”

  “I was there, Vicki,” Scott said, looking guilty. “I left her there alone. And she told me that Altman had called her to come back for more photos, just like he did SueAnne and Belle.”

  “Oh, Scott.” Vicki took his arm. “Mrs. Lawrence, doesn’t it seem strange—”

  “Yes, I agree with you, Vicki, with what you’re thinking. I’ve thought about it a lot myself. I’ve made the same connection that you have. But I have absolutely no evidence.”

  “What about their prom dresses?” Vicki wasn’t going to let this go. “They took their prom dresses to the studio when they had photos taken. That way he would have them. SueAnne and Belle were wearing their prom dresses when—when they came back.”

  “That’s only circumstantial evidence, too, Vicki. I have to have some proof. Until I do—”

  “I don’t like the man.” Vicki was out of something to say. She felt totally frustrated with what Mrs. Lawrence was saying.

  “I don’t particularly like Altman myself,
Vicki, but I try to keep personal feelings out of my work. Sometimes I work on intuition, but I keep it to myself until I get some facts.”

  “What does your intuition say, Mrs. Lawrence?” Vicki begged for this woman to tell her anything she was thinking or feeling.

  “I’m not free to say, Vicki. I’m sorry. I know having your friends disappearing, being killed, is frightening. But we want to catch whoever is doing this as much as you do. Keep that in mind. And certainly, keep thinking. Tell me anything that you think might help. Can I keep these two journals? I’ve seen SueAnne’s, but not Belle’s. I’m glad you thought of her having kept one.” Scott’s mother stood, and Vicki knew she wasn’t going to give her any more time. “I’m glad to meet you, Vicki,” Mrs. Lawrence added. “I wish the circumstances were different. Promise to come to dinner when I have more time?”

  Vicki nodded, not looking at the elegant woman or watching her leave. When the door closed, she said, “She thinks I’m being silly, doesn’t she, Scott? She listened, but she was just being polite.” Vicki felt her throat tighten. She felt foolish to have run over here so early. To present a case to Mrs. Lawrence built on nothing but feelings, a desperate need to do something.

  “She listened, Vicki, but—”

  “I need to do something about this, Scott! I feel so helpless. I can’t just sit around and watch my friends disappear. There must be something I can do.” She wanted to pound on the table. To hit someone, anyone.

  “Vicki.” Scott took her arm. “I feel the same way, and so does Mother. She’s had more experience in keeping her emotions out of her work. But believe me, she’s angry and frustrated, and she is doing everything she can. She’s looking into every possibility as to what’s going on here.”

  “I’m going back over there.” A plan came to Vicki.

  “Where? To Altman’s? I’ll go with you. What are you going to say, to do?”

  “No, I’m not going alone. I’m going over there tonight with Davita. Remember, she said Altman didn’t mind her canceling her appointment after school yesterday. He told her to come tonight, he’d work late. I’m not going to let her go alone. I may be silly, but at least it’s something I can do.”