by Amanda Quick
She reached into her pocket for a fresh flashbulb and readied the camera. The Speed Graphic had been through some rough handling, but it had been built for the real world of news photography. It worked flawlessly.
Eddy, the photo editor at the Adelina Beach Courier, allowed her to use the paper’s darkroom in exchange for an exclusive.
The sensational photo of the owner of one of the most respected art galleries in Southern California dead on the floor of her own back room, with Detective Archer and an imposing bronze nude gazing on somberly, went national.
Some of the family newspapers cropped out various portions of the nude goddess’s anatomy.
Regardless, this time there was a photo credit—Vivian Brazier.
Chapter 47
Vivian thought the day would never end but eventually she found herself in the hotel dining room with Lyra and Nick. She wasn’t hungry but Lyra was anxious that she eat something. Fortified by a couple of sidecars, she managed to nibble her way through most of the whole artichoke served with hollandaise and some of the baked fresh halibut that followed. She drew the line at dessert, preferring to sip on an after-dinner brandy while Lyra and Nick finished the ice cream.
She was dreading the thought of going upstairs to the room she shared with Lyra because she knew she would not be able to sleep. She would probably be up all night, and that meant Lyra wouldn’t get any sleep, either.
“Why don’t you and Nick have another brandy in the bar,” Lyra said. “Take your time. No rush. I won’t worry about you unless you don’t show up for breakfast.”
“You just read my mind, didn’t you?” Vivian said.
Lyra smiled. “That’s what sisters do. Take good care of her, Nick.”
“I will,” Nick vowed.
Lyra gave Vivian a hug and crossed the lobby to the staircase that led to the upper floors.
When she was gone, Nick took Vivian’s arm.
“Do you want that brandy now or would you prefer to take Rex for a walk along the beach?”
“Let’s get Rex and go for a walk.”
A short time later the three of them were on the beach path. The night was clear. The ocean was paved in moonlight. Strings of lights illuminated the pier.
For a time there was silence but Vivian found it a comfortable silence. She did not have to make conversation with Nick. Rex paced alongside them, content just to be with Nick. Like me, Vivian thought. I’m content to be with Nick, too. Tonight she would not allow herself to contemplate the possibility that tomorrow or the next day or the day after Nick would be going home to San Francisco.
“I wish I could say something reassuring,” he said. “Something comforting about what you’ve been through lately. But the truth is, I don’t think you ever get over the shock of knowing someone wants to kill you and is prepared to do it.”
“But eventually you get some perspective, right?”
“Eventually. Doesn’t mean you won’t have some bad dreams now and again.”
“You were attacked. Shot. Think you’ll have bad dreams?”
“Maybe. But I’ve had them before.”
“She never even screamed, Nick.”
“Fulton Gage didn’t scream when he went off the roof of that hotel.”
They walked in silence for a while. When they reached the pier they followed the strings of lights past the closed hot dog stand and the darkened carousel to the far end. There they stood close together looking out over the moon-silvered sea.
“Are you sure you’re over Patricia?” Vivian asked.
“Absolutely positive. Are you sure you’re over Winston Bancroft?”
“Yep.”
“There are a few things you should probably know about me,” Nick said. “I’m going to keep doing this investigation work because it’s the one thing I’m pretty good at. I can’t think of any other way to use my talent, and Uncle Pete says if I don’t use it, my talent will destroy me.”
“It might not destroy you but you would probably be a very unhappy man if you did not use your talent.”
“I’ve got it under control for the most part but sometimes I still have nightmares.”
“I expect to have a few of those myself.”
“And then there’s the annulment,” Nick said.
“I already know about that.”
“What kind of private eye is so incompetent that he marries a woman who is married to another man?”
Vivian smiled and touched his hand. “A man who was born to be a hero. Why are you telling me all these things?”
“Damned if I know,” Nick said. “No, that’s not true. I know exactly why I’m telling you this stuff. I want you to know that I am probably not good husband material.”
She took her hand off his, turned to face the moon-swept sea, and gripped the pier railing.
“As long as we’re on the subject of marriage,” she said, “I don’t think anyone would consider me good wife material. I was involved in a scandalous affair with a renowned artist. I turned down the one marriage proposal that I received from a suitable gentleman. My neighbors in Adelina Beach will be happy to tell you they watched a parade of attractive, partially clothed men come and go from my cottage. On top of that I spent a few days at a resort hotel where I shared a room with a man who was not my husband.”
“Vivian—”
“Furthermore, I seem to be on the brink of launching a career in photography with a series of pictures of naked men. Pictures, I might add, that were labeled pornographic by the proprietor of one of the most respected galleries in California. In addition, rumors abound that I have betrayed my artistic ambitions by shooting crime photos for the press. And, last but not least, I was recently involved in a murder investigation.”
She finally ran down. She did not realize how tense she was until Nick gently pried her fingers one by one off the railing and turned her to face him.
“If you’re trying to convince me that I shouldn’t fall in love with you, you’re going about it all wrong,” he said. “It’s too late for the warning anyway. I fell in love with you the first time I saw you.”
A quiet sense of joy rose from somewhere deep inside, filling her to the brim. She raised her fingertips to frame his face.
“I am very glad to hear that because I love you with all my heart and I think you are excellent husband material. In fact, I think you would be the perfect husband for me.”
Nick smiled his slow, breathtaking smile, the smile that heated his eyes and hit her senses like a glass of champagne. She suddenly felt fizzy and bubbly and excited and glorious.
“Are you asking me to marry you?” he said.
“Yes.” She wrapped her arms around his neck. “I am asking you to marry me. I know it’s much too soon to think about the future. We’ve been through a lot of drama recently. The wisest course of action is to wait. Give things time to return to normal. I just wanted you to know how I felt—”
He silenced her with a kiss that burned through any other reasonable, conventional arguments in favor of delay that she might have managed to dredge up from the depths.
By the time he raised his head she was breathless.
“In case you’re wondering,” he said, “my answer is yes.”
Chapter 48
Why did you do it?” Lyra asked. “Why did you make the papers give you a photo credit for the picture of Fenella Penfield on the floor of her gallery? You always said if it got out you were shooting crime scenes it would ruin your chances of making it as an art photographer.”
Vivian picked up the pot and poured herself another cup of tea. “There’s no point trying to keep my night shift work a secret. I decided I might as well try to build a new career. I’m thinking of billing myself as a documentary photographer.”
Lyra gave that a moment of thought. “Well, it does sound a little classier
than crime scene photographer.”
“That’s my theory,” Vivian said.
She and Lyra were sitting in the hotel tearoom, drowning their sorrows in oolong tea while they ate their way through a full tray of scones and dainty sandwiches. Originally they had intended to head straight for the bar and order a pitcher of martinis but it was only three o’clock in the afternoon. They had decided to save the martinis until five o’clock. Even a couple of wild women had to maintain a few standards.
“You think you’ve got problems?” Lyra helped herself to a tiny lemon square from the tiered serving tray in the center of the table. “I’m the one who has to tell the parents that I canceled the wedding to Prince Charming while they were out of town. Also, I’ve got to explain that story in Whispers.”
Vivian glanced at the afternoon copy of Hollywood Whispers lying on the table. The headline was in large, bold font. WHO IS THE NEW MYSTERY WOMAN IN RIPLEY FLEMING’S LIFE? The photo showed the actor dancing with Lyra at the Paradise Club in Burning Cove.
“If it’s any consolation, you do look like a real mystery woman,” Vivian said.
Lyra looked pleased. “I do, don’t I? You’ve gotta love Hollywood. You can be anyone you dare to be.”
“I understand the problem of trying to explain the canceled wedding,” Vivian said. “I’m the one who turned down Hamilton’s first offer of marriage, remember? Father was furious. Mother said I had ruined my life.”
Lyra winced. “I can’t believe that at the time I thought it was a lucky break for me.”
“I suppose we should look on the bright side,” Vivian said.
“There’s a bright side? I mean, apart from me having found out the truth before the wedding?”
“Of course there’s a bright side. Mr. Perfect wasn’t guilty of trying to have me murdered.”
Lyra hoisted her teacup. “Here’s to Hamilton Merrick. He may be a lying, cheating, two-timing bastard but he doesn’t hire professional killers.”
“Obviously a man of high principles,” Vivian said. She raised her cup, took a healthy swallow of tea, and thought longingly of the martinis that had been postponed until five. With a small sigh of regret she set the cup carefully onto the saucer. “You’re sure your heart isn’t broken?”
“Nope. I got over Hamilton during the drive from San Francisco to Burning Cove. Nothing like a road trip to give a woman a new perspective. Dating a famous movie star is just icing on the cake.”
Vivian hesitated. “You do realize that handsome, talented movie stars probably don’t make the best husband material, right?”
“Of course. I don’t have any illusions on the subject. And you needn’t worry that Ripley Fleming is trying to seduce me, either.”
“Is that so?”
Lyra winked. “You could say that Ripley and I find our current association mutually convenient. We’re both having fun together but that’s it.”
“I realize Mr. Fleming felt he owed me a favor. I assumed that entertaining my heartbroken sister while we were in Burning Cove was his way of paying off the debt.”
“Ripley had the best of intentions, believe me,” Lyra said. “But the situation has proven useful to him, as well.”
“What do you mean?”
Lyra picked up her cup and looked at Vivian over the rim. “Let’s just say that Ripley Fleming is a great admirer of your artistic approach to the nude male figure.”
Vivian perked up. “He saw one of my Men series and liked it?”
“In the window of that gallery in Burning Cove.”
“That’s so nice to hear. Thank you. I keep thinking that if I could just get my work into a few more of the right galleries—”
Lyra leaned forward across the small table and lowered her voice. “Listen up, Sister, you’re missing my point.”
“There was a point?”
“Oh, for pity’s sake. Stop thinking about your no-longer-failed art career and focus on what I just said. Ripley is a big admirer of the nude male figure. In fact, he prefers it to the nude female figure.”
Vivian stared at her. “I don’t—” Comprehension finally struck. She started to smile and then she laughed. “I see. I suppose that does explain why he wanted to call off the wedding with Clara Carstairs.”
“It was supposed to be just another studio marriage arranged by the publicists but Clara had begun to take things seriously. She fell in love with Ripley. No surprise. He really is a very nice person.”
“I see,” Vivian said.
“When it became apparent that Clara expected a real marriage, Ripley decided that he could not go through with it.”
“Ripley tried to do the right thing.”
“Yes,” Lyra said. She smiled. “Now you can understand why you don’t have to be afraid I’ll fall head over heels for him. Between you and me, I was serious when I said I won’t ever marry.”
“I used to think I would never marry, either,” Vivian said.
Lyra’s brows rose. “But?”
“But now I’ve changed my mind.”
Lyra smiled again. “Nick Sundridge.”
It was not a question.
Vivian felt the heat rise in her cheeks. “Is it that obvious?”
“Only to your sister, who has known you her entire life. If it makes you feel any better, I’m pretty sure he feels the same way about you.”
“What are you going to do, Lyra? After you tell the parents that you won’t be marrying Hamilton, that is?”
“I don’t know,” Lyra admitted, “but I’m sure of one thing: I’m not going back to San Francisco. After I’ve explained the situation to Mother and Father I’m going to do what I should have done a long time ago—find my passion and pursue it.”
“Where?”
Lyra smiled. “Burning Cove looks like an excellent place for an ambitious woman with a few dreams.”
“What will you do?”
“I haven’t decided. I suppose I could always open an art gallery and show my sister’s fine art photography. But something tells me that won’t be necessary. You’re already hanging in a very fine gallery there.”
Vivian laughed.
A page in the hotel livery walked through the tearoom. He had a telephone in his hands.
“Long distance for Miss Vivian Brazier. Long distance for Miss Vivian Brazier.”
Vivian raised one hand. The page hurried over. He put the telephone on the table and plugged the cord into a wall jack.
“Thank you.” Vivian picked up the receiver. “This is Vivian Brazier.”
“Joan Ashwood of the Ashwood Gallery in Burning Cove.”
Vivian froze. “If you’re calling to tell me that under the circumstances you feel you can no longer display my pictures—”
“I’m calling to inform you I have recently sold the two pictures from your Men series that you left with me.”
“Really?” Vivian tightened her grip on the receiver. “Who bought them?”
“A collector who wishes to remain anonymous.”
“I see,” Vivian said.
“I believe you said you planned to create twelve limited-edition photographs in that series?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“If you have not already promised them to another gallery I would like to take all of them. Sixteen signed, limited editions, each. Standard contract terms.”
Vivian stared at Lyra speechless.
“Miss Brazier?” Joan said, sounding concerned. “Are you there?”
Vivian pulled herself together. “Yes. Yes, I’m here.”
“The show is next week. I realize it’s very short notice but if you could have a couple more large prints from that series ready by then I would love to exhibit them.”
“I can manage to have two or three ready in time,” Vivian said. She cleared her thro
at. “About my name.”
“What about it?” Joan asked.
“I’m sure by now you’ve seen the photo I took of Fenella Penfield.”
“Oh, yes, it’s in all the papers. Excellent shot, by the way. The outflung hand. The massive statue and the police detective gazing down at the body. The context told the whole story. No words needed.”
Vivian was horrified. “I assure you, it wasn’t posed.”
“I never thought it was. I just said it was a very evocative photograph.”
“My point is, not only was my name in the story, I also got the photo credit. That means I no longer have any hope of concealing my crime scene work. Perhaps I should use a pseudonym for my art photography?”
“Not in Burning Cove. Here we live by the First Law of Marketing: Any publicity is good publicity. That’s one of the reasons why I want to get some more of your work into my upcoming exhibition rather than wait for the next one. Strike while the iron is hot and all that.”
“Okay. If you think that’s for the best.”
“Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”
Vivian hung up, dazed.
“Well?” Lyra said.
“The Ashwood Gallery in Burning Cove wants more pictures from my Men series.”
Lyra’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “That’s fantastic news.”
Vivian got a little thrill of awareness and turned her head to see Nick walking toward the table where she sat with Lyra. Rex was with him. He stopped in front of them, brows slightly elevated.
“What did I miss?” he asked.
“Have a seat,” Lyra said. “We’re celebrating because Vivian just got some very good news. The Ashwood Gallery in Burning Cove is going to hang the rest of the pictures from her Men series. Evidently the first two pictures were snapped up by an anonymous collector.”
“My art career rises from yet another near-death experience and lurches forward once more,” Vivian said.
Nick sat down and helped himself to a dainty salmon and cucumber sandwich. “Congratulations. That’s great news. Can’t say I’m surprised, though. I knew it was just a matter of time before someone recognized your talent.”