2 Multiple Exposures

by Audrey Claire

  I stood, and she walked around the desk to follow me to the door. “Yeah, I don’t think he’ll see me as innocent, Makayla, but I’ll text you when I’ve set it up. Later.”

  “Talk to you soon.” I waved as I left and heard the click of the lock behind me. Something told me Inna intended to take my suggestion of closing the store while she used the facilities. Good. Now hopefully the person she wanted to meet wasn’t some weirdo who meant trouble.

  Chapter Two

  My apartment complex lay just a mile down the road from Third and Main Street where Inna’s used bookstore was located. Yet, because I was somewhat lazy and still in denial of needing to start an exercise routine, I almost never walked the distance. I drove. So it didn’t take me long to arrive home.

  I loved the quiet complex right off Main Street for its convenience and for its peaceful setting. Although, when I say peaceful I should say meant to be peaceful. All of my immediate neighbors were elderly women.

  Unfortunately, one of them included Ms. Talia Johnston, the sassy pint-sized fireball that liked to blast oldie exercise videos from her collection of DVDs. Yes, someone had transferred videos such as Richard Simmons’ Sweatin’ to the Oldies on DVD for people such as Talia. The older woman liked to drive me crazy by turning the volume up on this exercise/entertainment to impossible levels. Today was no different.

  I stepped through into the lobby of my building and stopped at the mailbox. Before I could stick my key into the tiny lock, the front door opened again with the sound of laughter. I turned to look to find Talia herself entering the building along with her friend and my adopted grandmother, Edna Butler. Talia had actually left the apartment and kept the noise going. Of all the nerve!

  “Makayla,” Edna chirped, “you’re looking beautiful today as usual.”

  My heart warmed to the older woman, and I gave her an impromptu hug. “Thank you, Edna. You’re looking well too. I haven’t visited with you lately. We need to get together and have lunch or something.”

  “You mean you can’t get donuts at The Hole, and you want Edna to bake for you,” Talia said with a raspy tone to her voice.

  “Hello to you too, Talia. You’re looking…energetic.” I of course refused to disrespect my elders even if they provoked me. You might recall how I explained that Talia’s choice of clothing always left something to be desired—or abhorred.

  Today, Talia wore a brown jumpsuit with balloon legs. Orange giraffes, purple dogs—and was that pink rabbits?—exploded all over the outfit. Atop this strain on the visual faculties, she wore a royal blue puffy coat that she hadn’t zipped, so I could get the full affect of her person. Somehow she just didn’t give the same impression that Inna did, even if they both produced shock in witnesses to their wardrobe.

  I didn’t personally feel a woman needed to “dress her age” if she didn’t choose to. After all, have fun with it. Be who you are. Live! However, Talia, well, let’s just say she thrust me back into a box of conservativeness whenever my poor eyes witnessed her selections. Especially when sometimes it was lack of selections that was the problem. You’ll have to take my word for it because I refuse to dredge up the memories.

  “Talia, you left your video playing,” I chastised her. “I can hear it from here. It’s too loud, and you are disturbing the neighbors.”

  Talia waved a hand. “Edna and I forgot an ingredient for our experiment, so we stepped out to the grocery store. What’s the big deal? Opal can’t hear anyway.”

  She referred to the elderly neighbor who lived across the hall from her, and she was right. Opal was indeed deaf, and so was the elderly neighbor on my level, but what about the rest of us? “I can hear,” I pointed out.

  “You should be working and not acting like some woman of means.”

  “Talia! That’s rude. You shouldn’t speak to Makayla that way.” Edna bristled, indignant. I always wondered how she could remain friends with such woman as Talia, but then I learned Edna, after all these years, still loved the same man she had loved in school. He, Ollie Sandstone, happened to be Talia’s fiancé. I figured Edna kept her around just to stay in Ollie’s sphere, a sad, but common occurrence that apparently didn’t get better when a woman reached the golden years. I prayed I wouldn’t fall into such a trap. After all, I had been there before, loving a man who was not mine. No thank you. No repeats!

  At Edna’s admonishment, Talia sniffed and raised her chin. “I’m only speaking the truth.” Then she relented. “But since you’re so sensitive, I’ll turn it down. Goodness knows I don’t want your boyfriend to come trying to arrest me. Then there’s the fact that you’re doing the pictures for my wedding. Is Ollie paying a fair price? I won’t have anyone thinking we’re cheap or I’m trying to get special favor.”

  “Perish the thought,” I assured her, amused. “The package I’m giving you is very reasonably priced and something I would offer any customer.”

  Talia’s cheeks pinked, and she glared at me. Honestly, she abused me with her words, and I was supposed to treat her specially while also letting her pretend she didn’t want it?

  “Well, just be sure it’s good.” Talia marched past me and headed up the stairs, calling over her shoulder. “My dress is very risqué, and I just know everyone will want a photograph to commemorate the day.”

  Edna’s facial skin and her neck blotched with color. I flapped my mouth open and closed a few times. With that last pronouncement, Talia had sashayed up the remaining stairs, unlocked her door, and walked into her apartment.

  “R-risqué,” Edna mumbled. “Does that mean what I think it does, Makayla?”

  I groaned. “I’m afraid it does.”

  All the color that had flooded Edna’s face a moment ago drained away. “Well that’s impossible. We chose her dress together. It’s not even white. It’s eggshell with a row of pearls around the neckline and—”

  “Easy, Edna, dear.” I caught her hands as they flew about in the air, her eyes wide in horror and fear. “I think Talia’s having a little fun at our expense. You know how she likes to upset anyone within hearing distance. This is her entertainment.”

  Edna pouted as if she were a toddler rather than a senior. “Well that’s just wrong! She always did like a lot of attention.”

  “Don’t pay her any mind.” I offered her a few more soothing words, and soon she was her usual chipper self. The thing about Edna was she seemed so soft and sweet, but her tongue could cut too. Not viciously and with cruel intent. Rather she just spoke the truth with that sweet smile and all sincerity. She could tell me my hair looked like a bird’s nest, but the color was simply to die for. That was Edna.

  Besides this quirkiness, Edna baked Heaven. Let’s face it. Makayla Rose loves her sweets, and if you feed her, you have a friend for life. I admit my weaknesses and the fact that at present time I have no intention of working on them. Hence, the curvy figure that was the target of flyers from the gym every time I walked down Main Street.

  “Tuesday,” Edna popped out without warning.

  “Tuesday?” I wrinkled my brow at her.

  “Yes, honey. I can bake you cake on Tuesday afternoon. You can come to my house, and we can have a nice cozy chat.”

  “Perfect. Shall we say three o’clock?” I asked, already tasting the moist treat melting in my mouth.

  “Yes.” She fairly bounced on her toes as she held my hands.

  “Are you coming, Edna?” Talia shouted from the top of the stairs. “This thing isn’t going to cook itself.”

  I raised my eyebrows in question to Edna, but she ignored Talia and leaned closer to me, the happy grin still in place on her face. “You make sure you come, Makayla, because I have a secret to share with you. Talia won’t like it, but who cares. I’m seventy-one, and it’s my time to shine.”

  “Good for you, Edna. Now you’ve made me curious, but I’ll wait to hear all the details on Tuesday.”

  She bobbled her head at me and shuffled on up the stairs to join Talia, who had barked for her
twice more. Have I said that all the elderly in this town seem like they’re on a supplement for long and energetic life? Maybe it’s in Edna’s cake. I have to test to be sure.

  Chuckling, I turned back to my mailbox and opened it. Bills, I could see right away, and I sighed. Then I noticed an extra envelope at the back. Sometimes the carrier wasn’t careful, and a letter could get stuck in the rear door. This seemed to be the case, so I gave the letter a yank. A tiny edge ripped off, and I winced. I hoped it wasn’t the edge of a check, which would be an unexpected windfall. Oh wait, no, I’d had that happen to me when I gained an inheritance from Great-Aunt Mae. Bad memories again, and I shook them off. I turned over the envelope in question and studied it.

  No return address, typewritten, and it had the aura of those chain letters people used to send to others. Don’t break the chain and you will get X amount of money in ten days, or however the promise went. These types of letter disappeared for the most part in snail mail after the email system became more popular. Someone must have gone back to the “good old days.” Well they had chosen the wrong woman for that scam.

  I added the junk mail to my bills so I could carry it into my apartment and throw it out there. As soon as I crossed the threshold, Talia’s music died down. That woman had a sixth sense of my presence, or else she had hidden cameras spying on me somewhere. One would think I would never fall victim to such a plight being a photographer by career and priding myself on my skills of observation.

  My apartment was still sparsely furnished. I had added more framed photographs that I had developed to the walls. Now the place looked like a museum of fine modern art.

  To the Cades Cove I had added Cathedral Rock from Red Rock Crossing. I know, photographed by every amateur and professional in existence, but the way I brought out the shades of red, well, it spoke to my soul.

  My latest addition was a shot of Multnomah Falls, which a former client had taken during his trip to Oregon. He had attempted to capture the waterfall using long exposure, which would cause the water, a moving element, to be captured as a motion blur.

  Because he was new in the field of photography, the project wasn’t quite up to par. He commissioned me to help, and I covered most of the flaws by rendering the photograph in black and white. My friend had used a neutral density filter to capture the Falls in daylight, so a few tweaks on my part, and we had a lovely creation for my private collection—with his permission—and his.

  How I loved my work, as I’m sure you can already tell. Anyway, I saw too little of my home gallery lately as Spencer and I spent more time at his place than mine.

  In the tiny kitchen, I set down my purse and the mail only to have my cell phone buzz. I tugged it out of my purse to see that think of the devil and there he appears.

  “What are you doing?” Spencer texted.

  “I’m working,” I lied without qualms.

  “My detective senses are telling me that’s not true.”

  “I thought you were a sheriff.”

  “Semantics.”

  My thumbs flew over the keys as I typed. Inna had told me once that I typed as fast as a teenager on their cell phone, which I took as a huge compliment. “Who ratted me out?”

  A smiley face appeared on my screen, and I laughed, but it was probably true. Nothing in Briney Creek remained a secret long, which made me think of Edna. What was her secret? Was it even a secret at all? She might just want it to sound intriguing to stand out in her small group. To me she was already special, but I didn’t mind indulging her one bit.

  While I waited for Spencer to get back to me, I opened mail. My focus divided between tearing envelopes and watching my phone screen. Only when I’d read and reread the same cryptic sentence in one letter, did the message start to break through the wall of my understanding.

  I looked fully at the letter and realized I had opened what I thought was chain mail. The single plain white sheet read, “Makayla, have you been to see Dr. Zachariah Bloomberg, town gynecologist?”

  I frowned. Someone, who would rather remain anonymous, wanted me to keep up with my health by getting a pap smear? Surely, doctor’s offices weren’t stooping to subterfuge to gain new patients. If so, I took issue with it. I for one hated going to the gynecologist. Being examined down there felt like a direct violation. I shivered just thinking about it and put it off as much as possible.

  Yes, I know before you judge me. That’s not the responsible route, and there may even be those who feel I am a role model for the impressionable. I might point out exhibit one—my past. Makayla Rose is no one’s example of living right.

  Examining the page, I read further in this unusual request to get my private bits checked and frowned at the words. “Be careful, and if you think he is guilty of something, convince the sheriff.”

  Guilty of what? I wondered. This person couldn’t be more specific or give a few more hints to what this was all about, and why ask me? Because I was seeing Spencer? Well, we were hardly more than lovers given Spencer had openly admitted to me at the start he wasn’t looking for a relationship and that he still in some respects loved his ex-wife.

  Let me pause here and assure you that Spencer was definitely divorced, or so he said, and the ex-wife was most certainly out of the picture. We had agreed that this was not a love match, and we were just satisfying mutual desires. Now, after you’re done questioning whether “the lady doth protest too much,” we can get back to the matter at hand—the mysterious letter.

  I was of a mind that this person was banking on my involvement with Spencer. They had a reason not to pursue the question of the doctor’s guilt themselves, and well, maybe they weren’t sure they were correct. What they might not know and that I unfortunately was aware of myself was that more than I hate being physically examined by strangers—male or female—I was outrageously nosy. I now had to know what this Dr. Bloomberg had been up to.

  When my phone dinged with Spencer’s latest text, I decided not to tell him about the letter. Maybe that wasn’t a good idea. I don’t know, but I comforted myself with the possibility that the letter writer could just be playing a joke on me, or had developed a marketing strategy in very poor taste. Either way, I needed to verify the facts.

  Although a print phone book had been left on my doorstep at some point after I moved in, I didn’t know the last time I had flipped through one. Instead, I headed over to my laptop on the corner desk to search there. Ever since the break-in and murder at my studio, I never left my laptop in the studio. Rather I maintained an area at home where I could work.

  The laptop went everywhere I went, well, between the studio and the apartment. I kept backups to my backups and made sure I was able to access all files no matter where I was. Nothing, not even murder, would keep me from supplying my customers with quality photos. After all, a woman has to be able to take care of herself.

  In a scant few minutes, I had Googled Dr. Zachariah Bloomberg of Briney Creek, North Carolina to find his offices were located on Vineberry Street, very convenient to the studio and home.

  “Lovely,” I said with displeasure.

  I phoned and got a voicemail system that directed me to press one for appointments, two for et cetera. I stabbed one feeling more and more agitated. Nothing like a prospective doctor’s appointment to ruin a mood. Then I cheered myself with the hope that maybe if the good doctor was breaking the law in some way, I could discover it within the first five minutes of entering his office and be on my way lickety-split. Yes, that seemed like a thing to hope for. At least it lifted my spirits.

  “Good afternoon, Dr. Bloomberg’s office. This is Lissa. How may I help you?”

  I kind of thought Lissa’s voice sounded familiar, but I was pretty sure I had never heard her name. “Hello, Lissa, this is Makayla Rose. I’d like to make an appointment to see Dr. Bloomberg if I may.”

  “O-oh, Makayla. Yes, of course.”

  I wondered at the stutter and how hesitant she sounded. The bright cheeriness had dimmed just a l
ittle. After all, it wasn’t as if I were the local salesman peddling insurance nobody wanted.

  I dismissed the tone of her greeting after she learned it was me and asked, “Are there any openings as soon as possible? I’d, uh, like to…get it over with.”

  “Was there a particular issue you wanted to discuss with the doctor?” Lissa asked.

  I cringed. Here was another thing I disliked about doctor’s visits. Why must the assistants ask such personal questions? “I’d rather discuss it with the doctor directly. Thanks.”

  For some reason I tensed, waiting for her to tell me very primly that if I couldn’t share with everyone, then I couldn’t share at all. Instead, Lissa said she would check her planner, which I assumed was on her computer, and sited the possible dates. I chose the following Tuesday before my visit with Edna so I could console myself with her baked goods just in case I was forced to go through with the appointment to its ultimate humiliation—me with my feet in stirrups.

  Chapter Three

  Tuesday rolled around way too soon for my liking, and all of the night before I didn’t sleep well. Yes, that’s how much I dislike going to the doctor, especially a gynecologist. No matter if I had been seeing the family doctor for twenty years and he had brought me into the world as a screaming infant, to my mind, it was very odd for someone other than my lover to be in intimate places.

  Several times, I had almost called to cancel the appointment. After all, I had no guarantees this issue was real. Then I began to think what if Dr. Bloomberg was drugging women and doing unthinkable things to them while they were sleeping? This kind of violation had happened in the past for sure, and it was why there was always a female assistant in the room with the doctor. However, who knew if this particular doctor had gotten around the practice.

  So it was with great reluctance that I showered and dressed with the thought that I wouldn’t accept any drugs or pills while in the office and would demand an assistant be present at all times. My fears might mean I would negate the circumstances the letter writer hinted to, but at least I would make the effort and could appease my conscience.