Intimate Portraits

by Cheryl B. Dale

  ****

  In Helen, Autumn and Rennie left town without seeing Laney and John, but found the couple already back at the cottage.

  Along with a woman. The redhead with flawless skin and photogenic features, Autumn immediately discerned, was meant for Rennie.

  Laney, blissful in her own marriage and certain that no unattached single person could possibly be happy, constantly sought to match-make for siblings and friends. So far, none of her matches had worked out, but that didn’t stop her trying.

  “Victoria Montezela. She works at CNN,” Laney introduced her friend to her brother. A side glance gauged Rennie’s reaction.

  “Hi, Victoria. So Laney suckered you into this trip, too, eh?” Rennie greeted Victoria as if she was one of his sisters. “What did she promise you? Blue skies, snowflakes, hot toddies before a roaring fire? You may as well know the truth. There’s no TV, no radio, no microwave, and no telephone. And even cell phones don’t work up here.”

  “Rennie!” Laney hit his biceps.

  He flinched. “Ouch.”

  “Sounds terrible.” Victoria’s laugh said different.

  Rennie rubbed his arm. “For that, sister, I’ll tell her the rest. We have to pay for every log we burn. Worse, we have one tiny bathroom with limited hot water to be allocated at intervals among the smelliest. Oh, and some nut whose husband’s a homicidal maniac is hiding out next door. If he gets the address wrong, we could be in trouble.”

  “Kiki isn’t a nut.” Laney glared. “She has problems. And there’s nothing wrong with doing without some of the things we take for granted every day.”

  “Right. Being away from the luxuries of civilization lets us get in touch with our inner selves.” Victoria’s appraisal said she wouldn’t mind getting in touch with Rennie.

  “Ho-o-kay. If you say so.” Rennie raised a thick brow. “Sounds like Laney’s been doing some brainwashing here.”

  Laney preened herself for bringing two unsuspecting people together. When John came in with some logs, she slipped her arm around her husband’s waist and wrinkled her nose. “And you said it would never work.”

  Autumn tried to stop gritting her teeth. Pooh on Laney. Victoria had a gorgeous face, a toned body, and was doubtless intelligent to boot.

  Perfect for Rennie.

  Even her name. Victoria. Old-fashioned. Solid.

  All the Degardoveras liked people with those kinds of names: Elena with John, and Norma with Paul, and Rennie with Jane. Why couldn’t she have been named Kate or Sarah or Mary? A good plain dependable name.

  But no. She was stuck with Autumn.

  Laney pulled her forward. “And this is Autumn,” she said to Victoria. “She’s the great photographer I told you about.”

  “Victoria.” Autumn held out a hand. “Good to meet you.”

  What business of hers was it as to who did or didn’t attract Rennie? Hadn’t she promised herself this very afternoon she would control her life from now on? She was tired of being on the outside looking in, tired of letting the insiders have all the fun. She was going to have a good time this weekend and to heck with Rennie and Victoria.

  “This is the first time Victoria’s been up to Helen,” Laney was saying. “She went to school in Indiana and worked several other places before she came to CNN last summer.”

  John dropped into an easy chair. “I see Victoria on TV every day. Gus watches CNN religiously.”

  Gus was Agustin Huertole, the personable state senator hoping to become Georgia’s first Hispanic governor. John, his chief aide, had brought in Fran to manage the campaign.

  Laney seconded her husband’s praise of CNN and perched on the chair arm beside him. “Victoria’s been great about giving Gus favorable coverage.”

  The newscaster’s laughter tinkled as she sat down “So far Huertole’s earned favorable coverage. But if he screws up, don’t think we won’t be right there.” She wore the same wrinkle-avoiding smile as models and actresses, the one that touched the corners of the lips and stayed away from the eyes.

  Knowledgeable, assertive, and capable. Exactly the type of woman to appeal to a man like Rennie.

  Autumn exhaled as Rennie aimed his sexy hit-the-target-without-moving-the-head glance at Victoria. “I don’t think you need worry about screw-ups,” he drawled. “I heard Fran makes Huertole brush his teeth three times a day, they’re so eager to keep his image clean. Also something about shaves and showers on the hour.”

  Laney threw up her hands. “Totally unfounded. Gus bathes no more than twice a day. I have it from his wife.”

  “Now there’s an asset no candidate should be without.” Victoria, ensconced on the loveseat, straightened her sweater over boobs doubtless as perfect as she.

  C cup at least. Maybe D. Likely pure silicone.

  Slap yourself, girl. You’re being catty and you don’t even know the woman.

  Crossing booted feet, Victoria leaned back. “Danielle Huertole is the savviest woman I’ve ever met. She single-handedly persuaded the Louvre to loan this ornament exhibit to the High Museum. It’s the first time some of the things have ever been outside France.”

  “I can’t wait to see it.” Laney wriggled eagerly. “They’ve been setting up for weeks, but admission for the first two months sold out ages ago. I heard they plan to extend their hours to accommodate everyone. Fran’s going to the reception Sunday night for an advance viewing, lucky dog.”

  “Because of his job.” Pragmatic John was the perfect complement for exuberant Laney. “He’s got to look out for the candidate, hon. Don’t worry, we’ll go in January or February. After the rush is over, but before the campaign heats up.”

  “Do you think Huertole has a chance to be elected governor?” Rennie raised his brows. “This is a pretty conservative state. Unless things have changed considerably, voters will go with their good old boys and to hell with anyone who speaks a different language.”

  “Bite your tongue.” Laney threw a handy box of tissues at her brother. “Fran and John wouldn’t be working for Gus if they didn’t think he had a chance. Of course he has a chance.”

  “A good one, according to the polls,” Victoria said. “And things have changed while you were gone, Rennie.” She patted the cushion beside her. “Elena says you’ve been in California. I was outside San Diego for a while at a little station where…”

  When Laney started toward the kitchen, Autumn followed.

  Tangerines in a bowl and a festive pine wreath smelled like holidays. Too bad she didn’t feel like celebrating.

  Washing her hands, Laney said, “Isn’t Victoria adorable? Beautiful and brainy. Mom and I think she’s perfect for Rennie.”

  A scream threatened. Autumn slapped a dish towel across Laney’s arm. Change the subject. “Have you heard from Fran? Is he coming up?”

  Laney dried her hands before she took a foil-wrapped ham from the fridge. “Missing him already?” Her smug look wasn’t lost on Autumn.

  “Come on, Laney.” The Degardoveras assumed she and Fran were a twosome, no matter how often she told them otherwise. They weren’t, and she said so again as she washed her hands with unnecessary vigor. “For the umpteenth time, Fran and I hang out together. We’re buddies.”

  “Sure. That’s why you have that wonderful nude of him in your bedroom.”

  “I couldn’t hang it at the studio, and he didn’t want it after his last girlfriend broke up with him. What should I have done with it? Stored it in the garage?”

  Laney rolled her eyes in manifest disbelief.

  “Elena Degardovera Kinsellen. There is nothing in the least romantic between Fran and me.” Well, maybe a few kisses. But they’d been to console Fran, nothing more.

  “I didn’t mean to imply there was.” Unwrapping the ham, Laney picked off a bite and tasted it.

  Its brown sugar scent drifted over the table to remind Autumn she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Sarita and shopping hadn’t left time for lunch. “Did Reseda cook that? I'm starved.”

/>   “Uh huh. Before she left. Here, take this bite.” She frowned. “I bake them like she tells me, but they never taste like hers. Okay. So you and Fran are buddies. Well, buddy, he has to be at the High in the morning, but he’ll get here in time for dinner tomorrow. And he’ll spend the night with us before going back Sunday for the reception. So stop worrying. Buddy.”

  It was no use. Laney would believe whatever she wanted. Autumn popped the ham into her mouth. “Ummm. Your mother makes the best hams.”

  “Yeah, Francisco loves them, too.”

  When they were younger, Fran had been a nuisance, constantly taunting Autumn about her skinny legs and flat chest. But at thirty-three, he had grown up. While no one could measure up to Rennie, Fran was personable enough.

  Her first and only male photographed in an intimate setting, Fran’s pictures had been exceptional. He’d framed the best, the poster hanging in her bedroom, before his last affair soured. She’d gotten stuck with it.

  A shame the Degardoveras took her concern for Fran as romantic interest, but there was nothing she could do about it.

  Laney rummaged in a drawer for a knife. “Did you remember to make reservations for the pizza place tomorrow night?”

  “Iris did, bless her. I don’t know what I’d do without that woman. She booked for ten people like you said. Who else is coming? Norma and Paul will make eight so…?”

  Laney smirked. “You’ll see.”

  Autumn didn’t bite. Laney reveled in acting mysterious, but she never could keep a secret long.

  “Great,” Autumn said. “The more the merrier. I can’t wait to see Norma. I can’t believe she’s still with Paul.”

  Norma Degardovera, notorious for dating a man for a few weeks and then dropping him, had been with Paul for over a month. Not yet a record, but close.

  Laney, fully aware that it was time for Norma to break off her latest romance, shot Autumn a mischievous glance. “You like Paul? Okay, if you won’t take Fran, wait until Norma dumps Paul and go after him. He’s attractive, he’s nice, he’s got a good job, and he’s one of the banking Talliafierros.”

  “Maybe she won’t dump him.”

  “Hah. It’s been five weeks. What’s her record, that lousy sister of mine? Six weeks? Seven? She’s like Fran. She’ll make him fall for her and then dump him. You’ll see.” She huffed. “Paul’s too hardheaded. He ignores us when Mom or I try to tell him how to handle her. I like Paul, too. If he’d listen to us, he could have Norma eating out of his hand.”

  “Uh huh.” Autumn raised a brow. “If I recall, your advice didn’t help Tyler or Abe. Not to mention Jamie and Will and—”

  Laney flapped a hand. “They were different. No, I mean it, Autumn, hang around till she breaks up with him and then move in. Paul’s a nice catch for someone and our Rosalina’s too young. You might as well have him.”

  Autumn put her hands over her ears. Even Laney wanted to see her marry an outsider. “Norma’s still with him, Laney. Maybe it’ll work out. And stop matchmaking for me.”

  And for Rennie, darn Laney’s too-generous, overly-busy heart. “None of the others are coming up?”

  “No, Candela and Blanca couldn’t get off work and Rosalina has to study for finals next week, poor baby. And Eddie and Cristina,” she added, summing up the whereabouts of her younger siblings, “went to Florida with Mom.”

  “Since when does Reseda go to Florida in December?”

  Laney, through nibbling the ham, used a knife in efficient strokes. “One of her older cousins from Mexico City is visiting her daughter in Tampa, and Mom left today with the kids. She nagged me to go, too, but we’ve had this cabin rented for months and John needs the break. Let’s put the turkey and ham on a plate and let everyone make their own sandwiches, okay?”

  “I’ll wash the lettuce.”

  “Chips, canned drinks, onions, cheese, what else? Oh, bread. And lettuce and tomatoes.”

  “And pickles. Gotta have a pickle with a sandwich.”

  “I’m right here.” Rennie had come in quietly. “Sour face and all.”

  It was hard not to light up around him.

  “Edible pickles,” Autumn said. “Not curmudgeon pickles.”

  “Need some help in here?” Victoria was on Rennie’s heels.

  Autumn dived into the refrigerator to search for lettuce.

  “Yes.” In the kitchen, Laney became a drill sergeant. “Victoria, get out the plastic plates and cups on the shelf there. Rennie, silverware’s in that drawer. And open that pack of napkins over there. Mayonnaise and mustard are in the fridge. So’s the potato salad.”

  “I knew there’d be drudgery involved,” Rennie muttered, but, accustomed to indulging the women in his family, he obeyed with his usual good humor.

  Autumn arranged the lettuce, pickles, and cheese before adding sliced tomatoes and onions to the platter. “Should I mayonnaise the bread?”

  “Let us do our own.” Rennie didn’t look up from putting ice in plastic cups. “We’re capable adults.”

  “Oh? Do you know something I don’t?” She was rewarded by the slow lift to one corner of his mouth.

  After supper, Autumn joined the others in a raucous game of Chicken Foot dominoes under the tall ceiling of the cabin’s great room. Red and gold flames played and flung their iridescent glow through the glass doors of a wood-burning stove. Scents of hot chocolate and cider and roasted marshmallows floated overhead.

  When the game was done, and people were yawning and stretching and making drowsy noises, Autumn moved to stand by herself in front of the fire. The lovely scent of burning cedar filled her nostrils.

  She shouldn’t have come. Not with Rennie here.

  Her mood made her the first to retire as he and Victoria engaged in low conversation interspersed with chuckles. She brought her toiletry kit downstairs and brushed her teeth in the one bathroom before going back up to the room she would share with Victoria. Even after she lay down on one of the full beds, she couldn’t sleep. Victoria’s clear tones blended with Rennie’s low murmur to drift up the stairwell.

  What was he saying to make Victoria laugh like that? And what was Victoria saying to keep him talking?

  Autumn put her pillow over her head.

  Not until midnight did Victoria creep into the bedroom and climb into the bed beside Autumn’s. Soon, Rennie’s soft footsteps came up the stairs to the room across from theirs.

  Autumn, trying her best to block out his movements, wished the walls weren’t so thin. Light from his room filtered beneath her door, momentarily glazing the coverlet and wall but vanishing before bedsprings across the hall creaked.

  She would give anything to have been born a different person. Gregarious, vivacious, personable. Unafraid.

  As Jane had been.

  Like Victoria was.

  ****

  Around midnight, as Autumn pretended to be asleep in Helen, an Atlanta police car slowly cruised through the strip mall housing the studio. When it disappeared, Sam Bogatti, parked across the street, wrapped his gum and stuck it in his litter bag. Then he cranked his van.

  At the back of the strip mall shops, a shiny new deadbolt protected the studio door, but the alarm system hadn’t been rewired. Twenty seconds found Sam inside with his five-gallon jug of gasoline.

  He shone a penlight on the counter. There it was, the message pad the receptionist had looked at when she talked about Autumn Merriwell going to Helen. He ripped off the top page with its name and phone number, then pocketed it.

  A few heavy filing cabinets in a back room screamed “fireproof” but weren’t locked. He emptied thousands of CD-ROMs into a pile in the middle of the floor before pulling out the drawers of regular office file cabinets filled with negatives.

  Old negatives, but no sense taking chances. He dumped them, too, then added the cameras in case one had Sarita’s images.

  After soaking the stack with gasoline, he threw a lighted match. That would take care of stuff here. Bernie’s computer guy wo
uld deal with the backup at AllSet if he hadn’t already.

  “Sayonara, Sarita,” he muttered as the flames jumped up with an ominous hiss. “Too bad they won’t have those pictures to remember you by. You sure did have something.”

  This job sucked. He was going to have to get out of the business soon. Maybe in a few more years he could.

  As alarms trilled, he quit the building and parked back at the crowded restaurant across the street where he could watch.

  Six minutes brought out the sirens. Eight minutes later, flashing red lights and trucks squealed into the strip mall. Men jumped out to start unwinding hoses.

  By then, the fire had caught hold and a crowd had gathered.

  Flames broke through the studio roof and licked at the night sky before streams of water began to feed into their midst. Smoke swirled and eddied. Flickering orange tongues spewed out tiny particles of ash caught and driven by the wind to taint clothes and skin and lungs.

  The smell infiltrated his van. Sam reached for his pack of gum.

  Okay, that worked out great. The photography studio was gone, but looked like the blaze was contained, in no danger of spreading to the lounge or drug store at the far end.

  Good. He’d hate to be responsible for destroying somebody’s livelihood or getting innocent bystanders killed.

  Sam was pretty softhearted.

  He put the new stick of gum in his mouth and grimaced. No substitute for tobacco. He’d been thinking about quitting for a while, but his wife’s bitching was what did the trick. That and her cough every time they went to bed. He’d figured he better go cold turkey and get it over with.

  Ten months now, but he still wanted a cigarette.

  The same way he wanted to be at home, curled up in bed against his wife’s butt and looking forward to his kid’s hockey game tomorrow.

  Tough. Ain’t gonna happen. He pulled his jacket tighter.

  You had to take life as it came.

  He’d call in the morning and get directions to this Helen restaurant, but there was no rush. Nobody’d find Sarita till her mother and stepfather got back from their trip to the islands on Monday. Plenty of time to finish the job.