Freeze Frame (Killer Shots Mysteries Book 2)

by Lisa B. Thomas

  Freeze Frame

  Killer Shots Mysteries, Volume 2

  Lisa B. Thomas

  Published by Lisa B. Thomas, 2017.

  Freeze Frame

  Copyright © 2018 Lisa B. Thomas

  Cozy Stuff and Such, LLC

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Works by Lisa B. Thomas

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1

  The stench of cheap wine and stale cigarettes seeped from the old clown’s pores. Greasy face paint failed to conceal his graying whiskers. His bloodshot eyes matched the color of the rubber ball on his nose. The only thing vaguely convincing about his circus get-up was the pair of oversized shoes with holes in the soles.

  This clown was a mess.

  For once, it wasn’t my problem though. In my former job as a party planner, I’d have had to pour coffee down the guy’s throat to sober him up or try to find a last-minute replacement. Even though working at a child’s birthday party is something akin to a root canal, it’s a whole lot easier when you’re the photographer rather than the event coordinator. And it paid nicely, which I knew my friends, Mr. Visa and Mr. Mastercard, would appreciate.

  I felt sorry for Gwen Palmer, event planner extraordinaire, as she scrambled to pull everything together for the Harper girl’s fifth birthday party with less than a half hour to go. It was a three-ring circus…literally.

  The Harpers were rich. There, I said it. I know it’s not polite to talk about money, but when you don’t have much, it’s a shame to see it wasted on a five-year-old who won’t remember all you did for her in a week’s time. That’s the problem with kids—no long-term appreciation. You can be their favorite person one minute, but as soon as you take a bite out of the cookie they were promised for cleaning their plate, you’re suddenly one step below the booger picker who pulls their hair at recess.

  Actually, I don’t have that much experience with kids. At thirty-five and single, I’m the one cheering on the sadistic dance teacher when I watch those kiddie talent shows on TV.

  But I was feeling generous, so while Gwen tried to explain to Mrs. Harper that it was inhumane to spray paint the live ponies pink, I decided to see what I could do with the drunken clown.

  “Hi, I’m Wendy Fairmont.” I didn’t reach out to shake his hand. I was afraid I might contract some weird fungus from his dingy gloves. And was it possible to get lice from someone wearing a wig?

  He looked me up and down. “Are you the broad in charge of this shindig? I was told I’d be paid in cash.” He pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and stuck it between his white painted lips.

  “No, I’m the photographer.” I grabbed the cigarette and handed it back to him. “You’re late. The guests will be here any minute.” I pulled some breath mints out of the fanny pack I always wore to such events and gave him three. I wasn’t sure that would be enough. “What’s your name?”

  “They call me Mr. Squishy.” He flashed me a yellow-toothed grin. “Want to know why?”

  “Absolutely not! I meant, what’s your real name?”

  “Why? You aren’t thinking of writing me a check, are you? Cash only, remember?”

  “Mr. Whatever-Your-Name-Is, you’ll only get paid if you adequately complete the services you were hired to perform. In your condition, ‘adequate’ may be too high a standard. Now tell me your name, or I’ll be replacing you with a forty-five-year-old housekeeper.”

  “Did you say something about me?” Myra asked as she rushed by with a bucket of water for the horses.

  “No, Myra. I was talking to this joker.”

  The clown tugged on the strap of his overalls. “I’m a professional entertainer, not a joker, if you don’t mind. The name’s Grover Ward.”

  “Well then, Grover, you need to drink this coffee and sober up quick. Look, here comes the party planner.”

  Gwen scurried up to where we stood by the adults’ refreshment table. Why it didn’t contain martinis and olives for the parents was beyond me.

  “You must be Dub’s replacement,” she said.

  “Yep. Dub twisted an ankle riding his unicycle yesterday. I graciously agreed to take his place at your fine little soiree.”

  Gwen wrinkled her nose. “You look like crap, but Freddy Callahan said you could handle this. I’ll have to trust him, I guess. What do you do?”

  He reached up under the wig and scratched. “What do you mean? I’m a clown.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I know that, but what tricks do you do? Do you juggle? Do you have a trained monkey? What?”

  “Oh, I’ve got a monkey, all right, but he ain’t trained, if you know what I mean.” Chuckling, he gave her a wink.

  I threw up a little in my mouth.

  Gwen lost her patience. “Look, clown, this party is for one of the wealthiest, most influential families in this part of the state. If you can’t get it together, I’ll make sure you never work again.”

  “Settle down, lady. I don’t want any trouble. Here.” He pulled a handful of balloons from the pocket of his overalls. “I make balloon animals for the kiddies, okay?”

  Gwen pursed her lips about the same time someone knocked over the cotton candy machine. “Oh, good grief!”

  Sensing Gwen was about to lose it, I offered to help. “You go take care of that, and I’ll keep my eye on Mr. Squishy.”

  “Thank you. I owe you one.” She headed across the room.

  My intentions weren’t totally selfless. Getting in good with the town’s biggest party planner could mean more business for me and my fledgling photography business, the Foto Factory. Yes, I had given in and chosen the alliterative name to fit in with the other businesses in the cutesy, cozy community of Cascada.

  I looked at the ragged hobo and motioned to the coffee. “Drink!”

  In my previous profession, I’d sobered up grooms, fathers-of-the-bride, and even ministers, but I can honestly say this was my first clown.

  Never say never.

  The party room looked amazing. The Harpers had chosen my parents’ lake resort, the Waterfall Lodge, for their circus-themed affair because the other venues didn’t have a trail where the kids could ride the ponies. I left the clown with instructions to keep drinking and went outside to pet the horses before the kids arrived. It would be my last chance before I’d have my hands full with the photo booth.

  Winter in the mountains was not an ideal time to give pony rides, but that’s why they invented parkas. To my surprise, Myra, t
he lodge’s head housekeeper, was making her own heat with the horse trainer.

  Standing there in his chaps, boots, and spurs, he looked as though he’d walked straight off a western movie set. I wasn’t sure if he was in costume or if those were his real clothes. Sometimes it’s hard to tell in the Southwest.

  “Myra,” I called out.

  When she spun around and saw me, she looked like a schoolgirl caught making out under the stadium bleachers. Her face turned a bright shade of pink.

  “Miss Wendy. I was just petting the horses.” She reached up and tapped the Shetland on its nose. “Good boy.”

  “Um, it’s not a dog, and it’s a mare.” I grinned at her as I walked up and stroked the horse’s neck. “Who’s your friend?” Hopefully, she knew I was referring to the cowboy and not the horse.

  “This is Freddy Callahan.” She grinned sheepishly. “He’s my boyfriend.”

  Not only was I surprised to find out my longtime nanny and friend was in a relationship, I was creeped out that she would call him her “boyfriend.” It sounded so middle-school. But what was the alternative for someone on the far side of forty? Man friend? Guy friend? Main squeeze?

  “Nice to meet you.” Freddy tipped his super-sized cowboy hat. “Myra tells me you’ve just moved back here after a long spell. I’m surprised we’ve never met. I’ve lived in these parts my whole life. How’s it feel to be back?”

  I could have gone into a long story about my rocky start, followed by my short stint as a superhero, but it was too cold for small talk. “Good.” I walked over to the other horse tied to the fence. I grabbed a carrot out of the bucket and made friends with the spotted pony.

  Out of nowhere, Mr. Squishy waddled up to us. “Hey there, Freddy my boy. How’s it hanging?” His speech was still slurred.

  “Grover, are you drunk?” Freddy’s sharp voice made the horses throw back their heads. “Man, I vouched for you to the boss lady. Don’t make me look bad. I need all the work I can get.”

  “Ah, shut your trap.” Then Grover turned to Myra. “Hey there, chickadee. Looks like Freddy’s got himself a sugar momma to take care of him. And a sweet one at that.” He reached out and grabbed a handful of Myra’s behind.

  Freddy lunged, knocking Grover to the ground, the frizzy red wig breaking his fall. Freddy stood over him with a clenched fist. “I’ve warned you before, keep your filthy hands to yourself. Don’t let me catch you doing that again, or else.”

  Myra pulled on Freddy. “Leave him alone. You don’t want to get in trouble.”

  “You’re right. He’s not worth it.” Freddy stepped back just as several cars turned into the parking lot off the main road. He reached down and grabbed Grover and pulled him up off the ground.

  Grover struggled to get the big, floppy shoes straightened out without falling back down.

  We all stood frozen as the mothers and little girls got out of their cars and went inside, carrying bright-colored gift bags.

  Once they were out of sight, I yanked Grover’s arm and dragged him back inside the hall before any other guests got there. “Well, that should have sobered you up. Now put on a happy face and get to work.” I pointed him in the direction of the small carnival canopy where he was stationed to perform with his balloons.

  He rolled his eyes and pointed at his painted, perpetually smiling Mr. Squishy face and groaned. “Like I have a choice.”

  Chapter 2

  Gwen had really outdone herself with the circus music, balloons, blinking lights, and carnival games. As each little girl entered the room, her face lit up and the noise level seemed to raise another decibel.

  The girls loved putting on the silly hats, mustaches, and other props I had brought for their pictures. I used my Polaroid so the kids could see themselves instantly. How ironic that in the age of kids with personal iPads and virtual reality, the girls thought seeing their pictures come to life on that little piece of paper was some kind of Pixar magic. They were thrilled with their pictures and kept coming back for more. I also took digital shots of the party. Gwen allowed me to put my business card in each girl’s party favor bag. I was hoping to drum up more work that way.

  You know what they say: It ain’t a party until someone gets cotton candy in her hair. In this case, it was the birthday girl. Bridgette Harper cried as though someone had set fire to her entire American Girl doll collection until Gwen was able to somehow tame the sticky mess. A barrage of hairspray and barrettes finally got her to calm down. The other girls were having too much fun to pay much attention.

  All seemed to be going well for a while until Leslie Harper tried to drag little Bridgette over to get a picture taken. “Come on, angel, sit in my lap and we’ll take a picture.”

  “I don’t want to take a picture with you!” Bridgette stamped her foot so hard her tiara flew off.

  “Now, angel, that’s no way to behave. Let’s take a picture for Daddy, okay?”

  “I said no!” She pulled her hand away and ran off to join her friends.

  For a moment, it seemed like all the moms and daughters were staring. Leslie walked over to pour herself a cup of punch. She probably wished it had been spiked.

  With her dark-brown hair, impossibly smooth tan, and ramrod straight posture, it was hard not to be intimidated by her. I guessed her to be about five years older than me, but her poise made her seem even older.

  I walked over to her. “Kids. They’re fickle at this age.” Of course, since I’d never had kids and my prospects weren’t looking that good, I didn’t really know what I was talking about. “I’m sure your daughter will change her mind before the party is over.”

  “Stepdaughter,” she whispered. “That little monster is not my daughter. She’s an ungrateful brat.”

  I chuckled. “If you kill her, we can make it look like an accident.”

  “Wendy,” Myra called from the room’s front entrance. She crooked her finger for me to follow her outside.

  “What is it?” I didn’t have on my coat and the cold wind was biting.

  “There’s a little girl who won’t get off the horse, and Freddy doesn’t know what to do.”

  “Is her mother here?”

  “No, she says she rode with another child. Should we call her mother?”

  “Why are you asking me? I don’t know anything about kids.” I rubbed my cold arms. “Did you bribe her? Did you threaten her? Did you call a hostage negotiator?”

  “Of course, except for the last one. I even offered her money.”

  I was surprised that hadn’t worked. “Let me grab my jacket and I’ll be right there.”

  When I got back outside, I hurried over to the horse trailer but stopped dead in my tracks. The little girl was wrapped in a blanket and standing next to Myra. Kneeling on the ground beside her was my older brother, Tyler, holding a small orange kitten. The little girl cooed at the cat and giggled at the little squeaky noises it made.

  I hadn’t seen or talked to my brother since I’d returned to Cascada several months ago. This was definitely not how I’d envisioned our first reunion. Our relationship was shattered ever since the so-called “accident” that ended with my fiancé’s death.

  Dumbfounded, I watched as he talked to the child, showing her how to gently stroke the kitten’s head. Part of me ached to speak to him, but it wasn’t the time or place. I turned and went back inside.

  A mother brushed past me pulling her daughter by the hand.

  “I want cake,” the little girl protested. The back of her dress was smeared with colorful goo.

  “I’ll get you cake when we get home. We’ve got to get you out of this dress.”

  “But Mommy, we didn’t even get to take our picture together.”

  The mother scowled at me as though I were the Grinch.

  “I can do it quick,” I offered, trying to be helpful.

  The woman forced a smile. “No, thank you.”

  Who said parties were all fun and games. Maybe Mr. Squishy had the right idea. A little wine
would pair nicely with five-year-old crazy.

  Trying to keep the activities moving along, Gwen announced it was almost time to bring in the cake and sing “Happy Birthday.” A flurry of petticoats and hairbows buzzed around the table as girls vied for positions closest to their best friends.

  I was getting my other camera out of the bag when Gwen motioned to me. “Would you get Mrs. Harper, please? She said she was getting more ice cream, although I can’t imagine why. Anyway, she’s not going to want to miss this.”

  I wasn’t so sure. As I headed to the kitchen, I noticed someone else missing. Mr. Squishy. Knowing him, he was probably outside taking a smoke break. Just as well. I glanced in the kitchen. The only person there was Gwen’s assistant, Ally, who was readying the three-layered cake to make its grand entrance into the party room. I’d seen smaller cakes at weddings.

  “That’s gorgeous,” I said. “I didn’t realize there was a bakery around here that could make a cake like that.”

  Ally glowed. “There’s not. I made it myself. Don’t tell Gwen I told you, though. She tells everyone she brings in food from Albuquerque so she can charge more.”

  “Sneaky. Well, I hope she’s paying you well because that cake is magnificent.”

  “Actually, she’s not, but that won’t matter for long.”

  Gwen stuck her head in the kitchen. “Wendy, have you found Mrs. Harper? The natives are getting restless. And Ally, that cake better be perfect. We can’t afford to have anything go wrong now.” She dashed back out.

  The next logical place to check for my missing person was the restroom. That’s where I would hide if it were my kid’s party. As I rounded the corner, Mrs. Harper appeared. Although her shoulders were back and her head was high, her face was a mess. She’d obviously been crying. She had done her best to wipe away the mascara under her eyes, but the telltale signs were there.