by Louise Lynn
They’d seen it happen in North Lake City, and they didn’t want it to happen here.
Still, Dirk had convinced the, then corrupt, city council to let him build the house several years before. If he knew about the town’s distaste for his property, he never acted like it.
He was pushing towards the end of middle age, and it looked like he’d had work done to put off the inevitable. His skin was a deeper fake tan than Simone’s, and his similarly bleached blond hair receded heavily around the temples. He was good-looking in a kind of sleazy used car salesman way that made Hazel think of slimy things like slugs and frogs.
Still, he was a client, and he was willing to pay as much as she’d quoted him, so Hazel couldn’t complain, outwardly, at least.
Tommy Kholi was younger. Closer to thirty than fifty, and Hazel recognized him as one of Esther’s classmates. His parents ran the local Indian restaurant on Lake Street, but last Hazel heard, Tommy left town for bigger and better things. Yet, like her, he was back in Cedar Valley. His black hair was slicked back, and his dark eyes burned when he looked at Dirk. “Fine. But if I lose any more money on this deal, I swear to—”
“Didn’t your mother teach you any manners? No swearing. Especially in front of my lovely fiancée,” Dirk said, and squeezed Simone’s side.
She gave off an earsplitting giggle, and Hazel decided it was time to step forward and greet them.
“Michael, our clients are here,” she said into the back studio as she made her way to the front room.
They made their introductions, and Tommy only briefly met her eyes. He glowered one last time at Dirk and Simone before he turned in a huff and marched away.
Dirk ignored him.
Hazel raised an eyebrow, but had no idea what the argument had been about. Though she did wonder if it had something to do with Hilltop Realty. She bit her tongue and decided to save any questions until after the shoot. It was never a good idea for a photographer to upset their own clients before they did their job.
Her father would say it wasn’t a good idea to upset them afterwards either, but he wasn’t there to scold her.
Hazel had already laid out her idea for the shoot using the glorious blue waters of the lake as a backdrop, and they both agreed. Though Simone kept pouting.
“Isn’t it cold out there? Too cold?” she said, and fluttered her heavily mascaraed lashes at Dirk.
“Yeah baby, it’s cold. We won’t have to be out there long, will we?” Dirk asked, and glinted his blindingly white teeth in Hazel’s direction.
Hazel forced a smile. “Not if you both do exactly as I say. It won’t take long to light you with the sun out, and my assistant will bring warm beverages. I also suggest we hurry while the light is good.”
With minimal complaining, they made their way out of her studio and down to the water’s edge. It wasn’t far, since Lake Street ran about three hundred feet from the shore of Lake Celeste to begin with.
The back of her shop opened onto an alley that lead straight to the beach. Michael and Hazel lugged the bags down to the spot she’d chosen, an area with a few oversized boulders that were perfect for sitting on.
Behind the boulders, the pebble-strewn beach faded into the brilliant blue of the lake. Several puffy white clouds dotted the sky, and the sun rose behind the mountains to her back. They didn’t have a lot of time to get this right, and Hazel set up her camera and the reflective screens as best she could while Michael cleared the boulders of snow, poured the clients hot drinks, and put a blanket out for their comfort.
Dirk settled on the boulder first with his arms wrapped around Simone, who leaned against him.
“I’m freezing,” she whined.
“Just keep smiling. I’m going to be shooting nonstop, okay?” Hazel said, and tugged the mustard cap lower around her ears.
Simone was right that it was cold out, but what did she expect in Cedar Valley in February? And why insist on outdoor engagement photos in this weather in the first place?
Once she’d gotten several hundred photos, Hazel pressed the button for one final burst before she asked them to change positions.
Suddenly, Simone yelped and leapt out of Dirk’s arms.
Dirk stood with a start, and his expression twisted into a snarl.
“I have to go to the bathroom. And I’m too cold to do this. Why can’t we do it in the studio?” Simone said, and shivered.
Hazel glanced at Michael, who shrugged, then looked back at Dirk and Simone. “Would you like to finish the shoot in the studio? You won’t have this beautiful backdrop, but we can do whatever you’d like,” Hazel said as diplomatically as she could manage.
Shooting screaming newborns was easier than this.
Dirk grabbed Simone’s hand. “Whatever you want, my little princess,” he said, and peppered her hands with slobbery kisses.
She giggled and yanked her hand free.
Hazel nodded. “Michael, go with them and start setting everything up, please.”
He trotted after them, unfortunately leaving two of the heaviest bags for her to lug back on her own.
Hazel sighed and picked them up.
Halfway up the hill, a familiar figure shot out of the alley to her left, and she started and nearly dropped her three-thousand-dollar camera.
“Where are Dirk and Simone?” Tommy asked. His brow was covered in a thin sheen of sweat—strange for such a cold day.
“In the studio warming up.” Hazel released the heavy bag from her shoulder. It was only two hundred more feet until she got there, but she knew she’d need to rest for another few minutes to make it.
And she would have to have a word with Michael about leaving all the equipment for her to handle. There was a reason she hired an assistant, and this was it.
Tommy trudged up the hill ahead of her, and Hazel watched him enter her studio.
With a sigh, she followed.
It was a good three minutes later when she reached the door. As she arrived, a crash of thunder sounded from inside, followed by a shrieking scream.
Hazel shoved open the door and set her equipment down as the scream tapered off.
“What happened,” she cried.
Michael popped his head out of the Old West studio, his normally pink cheeks a ghostly white. He stared at her, eyes like saucers. His hands trembled as he ran them through his hair. “Dirk Barkley’s been shot. I think he’s dead.”
Chapter 4
Heart pounding, Hazel called the police before she looked in the studio.
She wasn’t sure what she told them, as the whole moment was a blur of Simone’s sobs, and Michael’s sputtering explanation of what had happened.
Tommy hadn’t yet emerged from the back studio.
Her stomach churned, and she grabbed Michael’s arm and held it firm. “You need to tell this to the sheriff.”
“Sh-sh-sheriff?” he stuttered and shook his head. “I don’t understand. It was an accident.”
Simone screamed again, and Hazel guided her to one of the chairs in the foyer. “Sit here, do you want a glass of water? Tea? Cocoa? Michael, look after her.” Hazel hoped he could manage.
Then, she took a shaking breath and stepped toward the back studio, unaware of what she might find inside.
Tommy stood frozen in place, his mouth gaping like a fish out of water and his eyes bulging.
Hazel swallowed the lump in her throat and forced herself to look at the body.
Dirk lay on the ground, a puddle of darkred blood gathering around his middle. He was still as the trees on a cold winter night, and something innate told her he was dead. Something else told her not to touch the body, probably all the time she spent with the LAPD.
A gun was on the floor a few feet from his corpse, and Hazel frowned at it. It looked like one of the prop guns she used in the Old West shoots, a replica of an old Colt .45, for authenticity’s sake.
But none of her guns were the real thing, obviously.
“Who did this?” Hazel forced h
er shaking hands into her coat pockets.
Sure, she’d seen dead bodies before in L.A. Some more graphic than this, but that didn’t mean it got any easier. Especially when the body was in her photography studio. This place was supposed to be her sanctuary, and it felt like anything but now.
Tommy shook his head. Licked his dry lips and turned around. “I have to go,” he said, voice hardly a whisper.
Hazel stood in his way. “No. The police are going to be here in a minute and—” Before she finished, a siren blared outside of her shop.
Thankfully, Tommy didn’t try to run.
Though she wasn’t looking forward to dealing with the new sheriff in this matter either. And that’s exactly who showed up at her door a minute later.
“What happened?” Sheriff Cross said as he stepped inside, not bothering to knock.
Neither Simone, Tommy, nor Michael answered him. Simone let out another cry, and Michael stared at the floor.
Hazel pointed at the studio she’d just left. “Dirk Barkley’s in there. He was shot, Sheriff Cross, and I think he’s dead,” Hazel said, and her voice sounded strange and distant.
He gave her a considering look before he walked into the studio. “I thought Cedar Valley was supposed to be a quiet town, and here we have a murder on my first day of the job. Anyone want to tell me what happened, or should I just start arresting folk?” he said as his eyes swept the room. He knelt, felt for Dirk’s pulse and his lips pulled into a tight line. “Looks like the bullet hit his heart.”
Hazel frowned, but told him what had happened from her point of view. Since she hadn’t been in the building when the shot went off, she had no clue what had transpired.
A group of deputies in forensic gear traipsed in a few minutes later, and Hazel bit her lip and waited for someone else to continue the story.
Finally, Michael cleared his throat and spoke, “I can tell you.”
Sheriff Cross nodded toward her office. “Can I use that room for a moment in private?”
Somehow, he knew it was her office. Even at the time, that detail stood out to her as odd. But Hazel nodded. “Of course.”
One by one, Sheriff Cross led Michael, Simone, and Tommy into the room and shut the door.
Hazel stepped outside and took a deep breath of the chilly air. It stung her lungs, but it was better than the feeling of death and the smell of blood inside her studio.
Her hands shook, and Hazel stared at the snow around her boots until a hand grasped her arm and she jumped.
“What happened?” Celia asked, dark eyes wide with concern.
Hazel shook her head. “One of my clients got shot in the Old West studio.” Hazel’s voice trembled.
“What? Was it an accident?”
Hazel shrugged. During the hunting season, there were a few accidental shootings every year. But none of them happened inside a business on Lake Street.
“I don’t know yet. I wasn’t there when it happened,” she said, and hugged her elbows.
“Your lips are turning blue. You need to go inside and warm-up.” Celia peeked in the door as a group of officers hauled out a gurney with Dirk’s body in a zipped black bag.
Celia slapped her hand over her mouth and watched as they loaded it into an ambulance. No lights buzzed for Dirk, and the pit in Hazel’s stomach grew.
“Who was it?” she asked quietly.
“Dirk Barkley.”
Celia eyes narrowed. “Him? Well, that doesn’t surprise me.”
Hazel’s eyes snapped up to meet her best friend’s.
Celia was one of the most forgiving and kind people she’d ever met in her entire life. If Celia felt that way about someone, it usually meant they were worthy of her ire.
“Did he do something besides build that ugly house outside of town?” Hazel asked. Mostly to get her mind off the mess she had to clean up inside when this was over. Six months in to her new business venture and this is what happened.
“I probably shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but every single time he came into my shop, he leered at me and propositioned me to come to his place after hours. Even when his fiancée was in the room with him. You know how I feel about cheaters,” Celia said, and gave Hazel a tight little smile.
Hazel felt the same way considering what her ex-husband did to her.
Next, the deputies came out with boxes stuffed with items Hazel recognized—props from her Old West studio.
She stepped in front of one of them. “Hey, those are my props.”
“It’s evidence. Sorry ma’am,” the deputy said, and nodded at her.
Not only were they taking part of her livelihood, but he called her ma’am. Hazel wrinkled her nose and gritted her teeth, and Celia rubbed her back.
Groups of tourists wandered down the street, whispering amongst themselves at the police presence at her shop.
Of course. This would not be great for business.
But, still, a man was dead.
When the deputies finished filing out, and Sheriff Cross left her office, he didn’t have Tommy, Simone, or Michael in cuffs.
Hazel let out a relieved breath, but what did that mean?
If he hadn’t arrested any of the three people who had been in the room at the time, who killed Dirk?
The sheriff motioned for her to follow him back into her office, and Hazel did, gritting her teeth at the idea of him bossing her around in her own studio. She shut the door after they got inside and leaned against it.
She could tell from the way he’d swiveled her chair away from the computer that he’d used it to question the others. She decided not to sit.
“Well? Who did it?”
“That’s what I’d like to know, Ms. Hart.” He put his hands on his hips. He’d taken off his overcoat, and Hazel had to admit that the formfitting pants and button-up shirt suited his fit body perfectly. His bright blue eyes studied her.
Hazel tugged on the corner of her hat. “What do you mean? They were in the studio when it happened.”
Sheriff Cross shook his head. “According to them, none of them pulled the trigger. And we still have to go over the forensics to see who’s lying.”
Hazel blinked. “Who’s lying? You think one of them would be lying about this?”
Sheriff Cross let out a derisive snort. “Of course one of them is lying. That’s what murderers do. But that’s not why I called you back here. I need to lay down a few ground rules. Number one, for the moment your studio is a crime scene. That means you can’t use it for any of your kitschy photo shoots.”
Hazel narrowed her eyes. “Old West shoots, thanks. Anything else?” She let annoyance creep into her voice. It was a bad habit. She’d never been able to hide her emotions particularly well, even less so when in the presence of people who irritated her.
Sheriff Cross raised a dark brow. “You sound hostile. Anything you want to share?”
“Of course I’m hostile! A man was shot in my studio, and now you’re keeping me from my job.”
“You care more about your job than you do about Dirk Barkley’s life?” Sheriff Cross asked.
When Hazel worked with the police before, she’d heard about this line of questioning aimed at suspects. Never witnesses. She mirrored his body language, putting her hands on her own hips. “No. But considering he’s dead and I’m not, I care a little bit more about being able to make my rent this month.”
His eyes trailed her up and down and settled on her face. Hazel knew her cheeks were flushed from being outside in the cold so long, but there was nothing she could do about that. “Fair enough. It shouldn’t be more than a few days until we get this sorted. In the meantime, I do have a few questions to ask you. Come on,” he said, and led her back to the Old West studio.
Hazel frowned at the bloodstain on the floor, and tried not to stare at it, though her eyes were consistently drawn back. She noticed the places his deputies had relieved her of several of her props, though they hadn’t taken everything. The costumes, thank goodness, were
mostly untouched.
Sheriff Cross held the gun that had been on the floor, though it was now in a plastic evidence bag. “Is this familiar?”
Hazel shrugged. “It looks like one of my costume guns, but they’re all props. Replicas. None of them could even hold a bullet.”
He nodded. “I noticed. Most places like this don’t have such attention to detail, but you really went out of your way to get something authentic, didn’t you?”
Hazel felt her cheeks reddened further, but it had nothing to do with the cold outside this time. “I did. My dad is an Old West buff and drilled historical accuracy into my head. Every time we traveled and went to one of those Old West photo places he complained about the lack of accuracy. So, I thought I’d make him proud if I did it right,” she mumbled the last part and dipped her chin to her chest. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever shared that little bit of information with anyone before.
And her dad hadn’t been back to Cedar Valley yet to see her small studio.
When Hazel looked up, she swore there was a shadow of a smile on his lips, but it quickly vanished.
“Okay, but this was still in your studio.”
Hazel shrugged again. “It may have been. I honestly don’t have a stock of all the prop guns. Sometimes, customers forget to give them back. I usually try to make sure we check, but on busy days that’s difficult.”
He nodded. “So, you’re saying someone could have stolen one of your prop guns and replaced it with this or just put this here and you wouldn’t have noticed?”
Hazel narrowed her eyes. “Yes. On busy days, that could happen.”
She had the uncomfortable feeling that he was judging her for her lack of care with prop guns.
“So, it’s just you and your assistant, Michael Wilson, working here full-time?”
Hazel crossed her arms and fought not to glower at him. “He probably knows more about the props than I do. It’s one of his jobs to keep track of them.”
“But he doesn’t order the props, does he?”
She sighed. “No. I do. And I can tell you the company I get them from. Do you think they actually sent me a real gun instead of a prop?”
It was the sheriff’s turn to shrug. “I couldn’t say.”