Intimate Portraits

by Cheryl B. Dale

  “Looks like he’s found the right place.”

  The modified A-frame cedar was one of four that stood in a secluded cluster between the main part of the park and the camping areas. Several spaces beside the road were laid out for parking. Railroad ties marked steps down to the cabins, rustic and dark to blend in with the surrounding woods.

  Autumn nodded toward the Ferrari. “That isn’t John’s car.”

  “No, but the porch light’s on at the next cabin. It probably belongs to whoever’s staying over there.”

  As if on cue, a woman appeared and started up the steps.

  Rennie opened his door. “Look, Autumn, she’s wearing your coat.”

  Autumn got out, too. Sure enough, the newcomer wore a blue swingy jacket. A closer view showed workouts and surgery hiding an age somewhere between thirty and sixty. Blonde like Autumn, her pixie ’do was bleached and toned by a professional.

  Nearing, she waved at Rennie. “Don’t tell me. You must be one of Elena’s brothers. Y’all look so much alike.”

  The touchier Degardoveras spouted off whenever someone commented on their resemblance.

  Not Rennie. “Yep, I’m one of them.”

  The woman extended a manicured hand, weighted down with green, red, yellow, and white gemstones. “Karalene Ballencer. Call me Kiki.” The smoke-hoarse voice assumed they recognized the name. “Happy to meet you.” She looked Rennie over. Her grin widened. “Elena told me all about her family. She didn’t say her brother was so good-looking, though.”

  Autumn would have cracked up at Rennie’s expression if she hadn’t been too busy trying to figure out where she’d seen Kiki.

  “I’m next door.” Kiki gestured. “I met Elena this morning.” Every finger including the thumb wore rings, some of them large. The gems’ gaudy sparkle made two big South Sea pearls look cheap.

  Too much jewelry. Even more than Sarita wore.

  If this woman and Sarita ever met, they’d hit it off. Like a child playing dress-up, Sarita had flaunted pins and necklaces and earrings for Autumn’s photos. When Autumn begged for simpler shots, Sarita had refused. “This is me!” She’d thrown her arms wide and whirled. “Take the bling or leave it.”

  If Autumn went to California, maybe she could talk Sarita into posing without ornamentation.

  If. Now that Rennie was back minus Jane, did she want to go?

  Kiki was rattling on. “So I told her to yell like hell if she saw The Hulk trying to get in my cottage. I think the steroids from when he played pro ball baked his brain.”

  Ah. Now she had it.

  Roger Ballencer, a onetime linebacker for the Vikings and Falcons, had married the socialite ex-wife of Atlanta entrepreneur Thomas Woodring Picksten. No wonder Kiki took recognition for granted. Scarcely a month went by that her name or photograph wasn’t in the news.

  Now Kiki pouted. “Roger’s a fricking psychopath. He threatened me with all kinds of shit if I left him, so I didn’t tell him where I was going but who knows what he’ll do if he finds me. Anyway, Elena said that I shouldn’t worry, that y’all would keep an eye out for me. Is this your wife, Rennie?”

  Rennie blinked, taken off guard by the abrupt question coming after the stream of artless confidences.

  Or by the question itself.

  For pity’s sake. He didn’t want to be linked to Autumn, even in casual conversation.

  “No, I’m not his wife,” she all but snapped. “I’m Autumn Merriwell, a friend of Elena’s.”

  She reached into the car for her coat to avoid Rennie’s eyes, but heard him murmur, “A friend of mine, too, I hope.”

  Like she’d been the one tromping on feelings.

  Autumn closed the car door. His bewilderment brought on guilt. “Well, sure. That goes without saying.”

  She was too prickly. He hadn’t thought a thing about Kiki referring to her as his wife.

  Kiki stopped checking Rennie out long enough to stick out her hand. “Hi, Autumn. Hey, your coat looks like mine. Can you imagine two people ending up in this godforsaken place with the same jacket?”

  Diamond pendant earrings flashed when she moved closer. “Close to the same color, but yours is lighter, don’t you think? I got mine in England a few years ago. I was pulling myself together after catching my second husband doing the maid, the louse. They say third time lucky but, my dears, they are so fricking wrong. Tom may have been unfaithful but he was at least a gentleman. Roger’s a stinking SOB. That’s why I’m hiding here till after the divorce hearing.”

  Thin lips turned ugly. “Then we’ll see who comes out ahead. After I'm through, he’ll be lucky to have a pot to pee in.”

  Rennie shied away.

  Remembering her audience, Kiki batted her eyelashes and tried to look helpless. She didn’t succeed. “I'm terrified. My lawyer got a restraining order, but… Husbands!” She shuddered, turned to Autumn. “Wherever did you find yours? Not here, I’ll bet, unless it was a specialty shop at Lenox or Phipps.”

  Find her husband? Autumn blinked. What husband?

  Oh. The jacket.

  “Harrods.” She stroked the bright blue wool.

  She and Aunt Laura had gone on a London tour after Uncle Parnell died. Her aunt, spotting the coat, had bought it for Autumn. “Looking at that wonderful color makes me happy.” Grief had softened her and temporarily drawn her and Autumn closer. “Blue’s never been my color but on you, it’s perfect.”

  Now Kiki crowed. “Harrods. I knew it. Do you mind?” The ringed fingers tugged and turned the lapels out. “Same label as mine. How about that. Isn’t it a small world?”

  After they agreed it was, Kiki volunteered the information, somewhere in the middle of lamenting the lack of telephone and television and microwave and dishwasher in the cabins, that she had seen Elena and her friends go out about a half hour before. “Can you get inside? You’re welcome to stay with me.”

  Rennie said, too quickly, “Thanks, but we picked up a key at the lodge.”

  Kiki pulled her jacket close. “Good. You don’t want to be stuck outside for hours. It’s too fricking cold. And forget taking a long hot shower. The water got so cold so quick, I had to climb out and stand in front of the fire. Speaking of which, I’m heading up to the lodge to buy some of their expensive firewood. My dears, you would think they could give you enough wood to burn for the days you’ve rented the place, considering the hideous lack of decent amenities. Do come over and see me. I’m having friends up Sunday for dinner and you’re more than welcome to join us.” She fluttered her lashes at Rennie.

  Again Rennie was quick. “Wish we could, but Laney has the weekend all mapped out.”

  “Oh, too bad.” Her face fell. “Well, if your plans change, let me know.” Even in the fading sun, her farewell wave spun a rainbow of colors before she climbed into the Ferrari.

  “Whew,” Rennie said after Kiki had pulled away and they started carting bags and groceries to the cabin. “She sure does chatter, doesn’t she?” He opened the door. “And you and she have something in common, Autumn. You’re both globe-trotters.”

  “Yeah, real globe-trotters. She goes to England to get over her husband cheating, and Aunt Laura and I go to get over my uncle dying. And now Aunt Laura’s gone, too.”

  Why’d I say that? Too late to take the whiny words back.

  His surprised glance flickered. “Sorry. I didn’t think.”

  What had come over her? She never let hurt and disappointment spill out like that. Never.

  She set down the groceries on the counter. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.”

  “It’s all right to grieve, Autumn.”

  “But not to unload my baggage on you.”

  “You didn’t even want to claim me as a friend to the ditz.”

  Rennie had a knack for making people ashamed. His sisters complained about his underhanded use of embarrassment, sympathy, and forgiveness. At the moment, Autumn heartily agreed. It was unnerving to find hersel
f the focus of his reproach.

  On the other hand, he never betrayed a confidence.

  He cared because he was a friend.

  You’re like my sister, he’d said as she sobbed her heart out long ago. I won’t let you do anything foolish like running off.

  “You know you’re my friend, Rennie. I didn’t want you embarrassed by Kiki lumping us together as a couple.”

  He raised his brows.

  She rushed past the dangerous subject. “I do miss my uncle and aunt. They were hard to live with, but they were all I had.”

  Parnell and Laura Merriwell had taken her in after her parents’ car accident. Childless themselves and unsure what to do with a five-year-old, they tried their best. They might have lacked a warmth and understanding of children, but the Degardoveras had filled the gaps.

  Sometimes being with the Degardoveras hurt, to see their easy interplay and understanding and know that, close as she felt to Laney and the rest, she wasn’t part of them.

  After Rennie’s kind but firm rebuff, Autumn had faced the truth: she was an outsider. An outsider in her aunt and uncle’s lives, an outsider in the Degardoveras’ lives, an outsider in everyone’s life.

  No matter how much she wanted to belong to someone, somewhere, she would always be odd man out.

  But she’d accepted it. After her uncle’s death, working with Aunt Laura had helped. Once her aunt died, her last tenuous claim to a family, no matter how dysfunctional, was gone.

  Usually she managed not to let it bother her, but here with Rennie, all the old yearnings rushed back.

  “Sometimes I feel so alone,” she confessed as they put away groceries. “Sometimes I think if I come down with an incurable disease or get murdered or kidnapped, no one would care.”

  “Not true.” He laid his hand on her shoulder. “You have us.”

  No, she wanted to shout. She didn’t have the Degardoveras, and she didn’t have Rennie. Not the way she wanted him. Even if she gathered up her courage to try again, it wouldn’t do any good.

  Rennie liked perky, assertive livewires like Jane. And he thought of Autumn as a sister.

  She forced a smile, too aware of his comforting hand. “Thank goodness for the Degardoveras. Wonder where Laney and John went.”

  “Shopping for groceries, I hope.” He squeezed her shoulder before moving away. “This fridge is barer than yours. Want to ride back to town and look for them?”

  “Yeah, let’s. They're having a live glockenspiel this year. If we hurry, maybe we can catch it.”

  “Ooooh, man!” Rennie threw up his hands. “Let’s hurry then. There’s nothing I want to do more in this entire world than catch the live gluckenfeel.”

  ****

  Rennie couldn’t believe the kid felt so lonely.

  The woman.

  He had to stop thinking of Autumn as the forlorn little girl his mother had brought home.

  “This is Autumn,” Reseda had announced to her brood. The child stood apart, bored, clutching an overnight bag. Reseda laid her arm over the skinny shoulders, drawing the girl against one ample hip. “She’s come to live with her aunt and uncle, but she’s going to stay with us a few days while her aunt has surgery. Laney, take her to your and Norma’s room and show her where to put her things.”

  Panic briefly showed in eyes as blue as his mother’s hydrangea flowers.

  That’s when he realized Autumn hadn’t been bored. She’d been scared to death.

  Sounded like she still was.

  Well, if she wanted to see a live gluckenfeel, whatever a gluckenfeel was, they would find one. Anything to cheer her up.

  From the time they met, he’d looked out for Autumn, made sure his rambunctious family didn’t swallow her up. Strange how the old protective instincts came back.

  After he parked in front of the Alpine Village Shops, they began the walk back up to the heart of the old town.

  Decades before, citizens and storeowners had transformed Helen into a copy of an alpine village to attract people visiting the nearby lakes and forests in the north Georgia foothills. A small shopping mall and expanded holiday festivities led to year-round tourist events like balloon races or Octoberfests or river tubing.

  The Alpenlights, marked by holiday lights strung on every lamppost, sign and building, ran from the beginning of December into the New Year, but this first part of the celebration found things slow.

  Rennie liked not being stuck in throngs of people as they strolled. Soon the open area of the parking lot gave way to sidewalks lined with wire forms depicting reindeer, French horns, and other symbols of the season. Large balloon figures represented Helen’s annual balloon race, but twinkling lights hadn’t yet come on to turn the mock alpine village into an evening fairyland.

  As dusk neared, Autumn and Rennie, breathless after walking uphill, arrived in the middle of the profuse gables and turrets and gaily painted storefronts.

  A familiar red-suited figure sat in a sleigh surrounded by giggling children. When a small tyke in line bolted at the last minute, Autumn stepped up and asked Santa about the live whatever-it-was she wanted to see.

  Rennie ambled after her, amused at such single-mindedness. When had she become so intrepid? This Autumn was a far cry from the retiring child he remembered.

  “Saturdays and Sundays,” Santa told them from under his white beard. A real beard. “At two and four in the afternoon, weather permitting. There’s one at Charlemagne’s House y’all can see today. It’s not live but it’s nice. You can make the six o'clock show if you go now.”

  Autumn’s face fell. “No, I’ve been to it before. I wanted to see the live one.”

  “Well, then, come back tomorrow.”

  She turned away. “Drat. Laney’s got the hike at Anna Ruby Falls planned for tomorrow. I hate missing the live one.”

  “Awww. Me, too.” He grabbed her arm. “Hey, watch out!”

  He scooted her out of the runaway’s path as the little boy’s parents chased him, protesting loudly, back toward Santa.

  Time to cheer her up. “I’ll tell you what.” He fell into step beside her and leaned over confidentially, breathing in roses. “We’ll probably get lost in the wilderness anyway so let’s stand up to Laney, demand she let us skip the hike tomorrow and come see this gluckenfeel. If we stick together, we might have a chance against her. She can’t take us on a twenty-mile hike if we all boycott it. What d’you say?”

  Autumn was suspicious. “Do you know what a glockenspiel is?”

  “Sure I do.” He widened his eyes innocently. “Kind of. Sort of. One of those musical things they play with hammers?”

  “Rennie.” Her laugh burst out, bright as sunshine. “How could one of those be live?”

  “Isn’t it like the floor piano Tom Hanks played with his feet in that movie? Maybe with people doing the part of the hammers. I can see them now, hopping up and down on the notes.”

  She cocked her head, eyes twinkling. “Rennie.”

  “No?”

  “No.” A giggle started, was controlled. “A glockenspiel isn’t a musical instrument. Guess again.”

  “A nativity scene? A German nativity scene? A Swiss nativity scene?”

  “No.” She took a deep breath and pressed her twitching lips together. “A glockenspiel is… Well, you’ve seen those clocks where on the hour, instead of a cuckoo, little mechanical people come out of the inside and dance around and then go back inside?”

  She was definitely a beautiful woman.

  “Oh, little dancing people clocks. Sure.” He clapped a hand to his forehead. “Why didn’t you say so? Don’t I feel like an idiot. Tell me; how did they find people small enough to fit inside one of those clocks?”

  “Rennie.” She pushed him, gave up her attempt to be serious, and convulsed in laughter.

  He’d missed a woman’s laughter. Jane hadn’t laughed much during their last year together. Come to think of it, Jane’d been pretty damn solemn the whole time they were together.

&
nbsp; His heart lifted. “How about a funnel cake?” He tucked her gloved hand under his arm. “It won’t make up for missing the gluckenfeel, but they sure smell tempting.”

  As they followed the smell of hot pastries and confectioners’ sugar across the street, contentment swathed him.

  It’d be a shame if his brother messed up Autumn’s life, but Francisco was a determined bastard. If he’d made up his mind to have Autumn, he’d sweep her off her feet and keep her in the clouds for a while. Then drop her to chase after a new woman more exciting. More exciting women always came along for Fran.

  There ought to be some way to keep Autumn safe.

  Chapter 6

  Private Portraits by Merriwell was one of several strip shops that, except for a drug store and run-down bar on one end, closed early. A jewelry store flanked the left of the studio, an embroidery place sat on the right.

  When the nondescript beige van, now minus its magnetic side panels that had this morning trumpeted Betty and Lulu’s Flower Boutique, pulled up to the back of the shops, no one lurked in the alley to notice the black-clad man who got out.

  No need for finesse. Sam Bogatti jimmied open the door to the studio, sliced the silent alarm wire, hopped back into the van, and drove around the block to park among rows of vehicles in another strip mall across the street.

  Nice that the jewelry store was next to the studio. Someone would think he picked the wrong door. Leaning back in the seat, he stuffed a stick of gum into his mouth and waited.

  Four minutes later, a police car arrived. Sam monitored from his vantage point as the officer checked the front and went around back. Then the man got back in his car and bent over the radio.

  After a while, another man in sweat pants and top—the owner?—arrived. He spoke to the policeman working on a report or something in his patrol car. The officer got out, had the man sign something, and then left before a locksmith van arrived.

  Sweat Pants let the locksmith into the building. About ten thirty, both men came out and left. The strip mall was dead on the studio end.

  Sam grunted and stretched. Time for food. The restaurant two shops down would work.

  No need to hurry. The mall’s owner would try to get in touch with Autumn Merriwell, but she wasn’t home. She was in Helen, wherever the shit Helen was. He’d let the PD come by a few times, get used to everything being okay.