If It's Not One Thing, It's a Murder

by Liz Wolfe

  “Wouldn’t be manly. Better to burn my fingers. You want some juice or milk?”

  “Juice would be good.”

  While we ate Scott told me stories about his work as a detective. I had a feeling he was skipping the gruesome ones and just giving me amusing incidents. When he piled the dishes in the sink and suggested we move to the living room, I got nervous. But in a giddy anticipation kind of way. Which was a lot better than a sweaty palms, stuttering kind of way.

  Before long we were kissing. Scott pulled me close and started nibbling down my neck. Everything he did felt really, really good, then my phone vibrated in my pocket.

  “I’m vibrating.”

  “Yeah, me, too.” Scott grinned and waggled his eyebrows.

  I laughed and pulled my phone out of my pocket. The display showed Craig’s cell number. I turned the phone off and tossed it behind me.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  I‘m a tramp,” I said when Bobbi Jo answered the phone.

  “Was it good?” she asked.

  “Bobbi Jo, I slept with Scott last night. I can’t believe I did that.”

  “Nothing wrong with that, if you enjoyed it.”

  “But I just slept with Max on Saturday.”

  “I think the rules state that you have to sleep with two men in a twenty-four-hour period to be a tramp. More than two and you’re a slut. More than four and we’re talking professional.”

  “You aren’t helping.” But she was. I was laughing.

  “Listen, darlin’. It’s only wrong if you feel like it’s wrong.”

  “I know. I’m just no good at this, Bobbi Jo. I can’t sleep with two different men. It’s making me crazy.”

  “Oh, then you just need to choose one. Was Max good?”

  “Of course, he was. He’s funny and nice and playful.”

  “So, what about Scott?”

  “He made me feel so wanted, you know? Like I was the only woman in the world. Like he wanted to be with me more than anything.”

  “Did you tell him you’re seeing Max, too?”

  “It didn’t come up.” And I felt guilty about that. “I have to run. Steinhart will have me drawn and quartered if I’m late for the shoot. Worse, he’ll change his mind about letting me take some of the pictures at the wedding tomorrow.”

  “Come over when you’re done and we’ll talk. Go have fun.”

  I made it to the studio with ten minutes to spare. Just enough time to get Steinhart a cup of coffee when he barked the order at me. The pace of shooting prewedding pictures was a lot slower than shooting for the catalogs. We worked steadily for several hours, then a catered lunch was served and we wrapped up before five.

  “That’s it.” Steinhart handed me the camera. “Send this out, then take off. And don’t forget to be at the hotel at noon tomorrow.”

  Like I would forget. I mumbled a few curses under my breath while I removed the film and dropped it into the bag for processing. Steinhart was a brilliant photographer, but he was a pain-in-the-ass jerk. No wonder he couldn’t keep an assistant.

  I dropped the bag on his desk. “All done.”

  “Is the studio clean? One of the other photographers has a shoot here tomorrow.”

  “It’s clean.”

  “You played with that software I gave you yet?”

  “It’s really something. I took some shots last weekend and played around with it. I was amazed at what it can do. Retouching, cloning backgrounds. Pretty incredible.”

  “Yeah, I like to draw mustaches on the models I don’t like.”

  Somehow that didn’t surprise me. “I’ll see you at noon tomorrow.”

  “Wear something nice. You don’t want to stand out too much,” he called after me.

  Bobbi Jo was looking at a photo album and crying when I got there. I sat down beside her and put an arm around her shoulder. I held her for a few minutes and let her get it out.

  “I don’t know if it’s missing Edward or being pregnant.” She took the tissue I offered her and blew her nose.

  “Probably both. I remember crying for no reason at all when I was pregnant.”

  “I just wish they’d find out who did it. Then maybe it would be easier, you know?”

  “I know. And Scott will find out. It’s just taking some time.”

  I wasn’t sure I believed what I told her. It had been almost ten weeks and the investigation seemed stalled. Scott told me he was doing background checks on everyone in the hospital who might have had access to Edward’s room. I knew that was a last-ditch measure. Jimmy McLaughlin didn’t appear to have a reason to kill Edward since his financial difficulties had been short-lived and easily solved. Sean Castleton had no reason to want Edward dead. In fact, having Edward die had put the skids on his career. That left Brian. But there was no proof that he’d done it, and he hadn’t cracked during the interrogations with Scott. I hated to think someone would get away with murdering Edward. I hated to think that Bobbi Jo would have to always wonder about it.

  “I’m over it. At least for now.” Bobbi Jo dabbed at her eyes. “Let’s talk about you and your love life.”

  “Do we have to?”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know. I mean, I don’t even know if Scott is seeing anyone else.”

  “Dating used to be easier when we were younger, wasn’t it?” She got up and walked into the kitchen. “You want some tea?”

  “I’d love some.” I followed her and sat on a stool at the counter. “I don’t know if dating was easier. I never did much of it. Maybe that’s my problem now. No experience. Maybe it was easier when we were young because we didn’t have sex when we dated. At least not in high school. Well, not until the end of high school.”

  We took our tea out to the patio. It was still warm, but the temperature would start dropping soon. And then the rain would come. I was kind of looking forward to it this year. I’d noticed a fireplace in Scott’s apartment and I could see myself curled up with him watching the flames. Building some flames of our own.

  “But not Max,” I murmured to myself.

  “What? You lost me.” Bobbi Jo leaned back in a chaise and put her feet up.

  “I was just thinking about winter and that I could see myself sitting in front of Scott’s fireplace in his apartment.”

  “And?”

  “Well, why didn’t I see myself sitting in front of Max’s fireplace?”

  “Aha! Because you’d rather be with Scott.”

  “Exactly. Problem solved. Now I just have to tell Max.”

  “Just give him the, I-still-want-to-be-friends line. It’ll make up for some of the men who did that to me.”

  The wedding shoot had gone fine until the very end. Steinhart had let me take as many pictures as I wanted. He kept an eye on me to make sure I wasn’t being intrusive to the guests, and he kept interrupting me to change film and cameras for him, but I thought I’d gotten some good shots.

  Fortunately he didn’t fall off the table and break his leg until the very end of the reception. The bride had changed clothes and come downstairs to throw the bouquet. Steinhart had thought his best shot would be from standing on a table in the corner. It probably was a pretty good shot until the table leg gave out and he crashed to the floor and broke his leg. I had to hand it to him, though. He didn’t scream until after the bouquet had been tossed and caught. At least I was taking pictures of it so the bride would have something for her photo album.

  The ambulance had arrived and carted Steinhart off to Mercy Hospital, and I’d gathered up all the equipment and gone home.

  Now I was in his office trying to sort through all the bookings he had for the next week. Fortunately there weren’t many and I was able to cancel them all, giving everyone the names and phone numbers of other photographers or rescheduling the shoots for another time. Steinhart had assured me that he’d be back at work in a week. Which was good, because we had an important location shoot that week for the Carson Agency.


  I’d spoken to Emily Carson often enough to know she wouldn’t take kindly to having the shoot cancelled. Her agency produced an enormous number of catalogs and ads. Of course, Steinhart would be in a cast and I’d have to do everything for him but go to the bathroom. The phone rang. I cursed and picked it up.

  “Steinhart Studio.”

  “Emily Carson. I’m calling about our shoot that’s scheduled for next week.”

  Speak of the devil.

  “Yes, Ms. Carson?”

  “We’ve had a change in our print date. I need the shoot to take place tomorrow. I’ve already notified the modeling agencies and cleared the location permits.”

  “Mr. Steinhart isn’t in the studio right now. Could I have him call you back?”

  “Tell Steinhart that if a photographer from his studio isn’t there, he can forget about any more work from the Carson Agency.”

  That didn’t sound good. I punched in the phone number for the hospital and asked for Steinhart’s room.

  “Emily Carson’s a bitch,” Steinhart said when I relayed the message about moving the photo shoot. “All the photographers are busy, so she’s just going to have to wait.”

  “But she said—”

  “I don’t care what she said. Call her back and tell her we’ll shoot as scheduled.”

  “Maybe you should call her. She said she had to move the shoot because of a change in the print schedule.”

  “She’s lying. I can’t call her back because these quacks have decided they need to do surgery on my leg and they have to do it right now. I’ll talk to her when I get out of the hospital and smooth everything over with her.”

  Steinhart hung up the phone, and I was left sitting there listening to a dial tone. Great, now I’d get to give Emily Carson the bad news myself. I punched in her phone number.

  “Emily Carson, please. This is the Steinhart Studio.”

  “Ms. Carson isn’t available at the moment.”

  “Could I speak to her assistant?” That would be better. Let the assistant get her head chopped off.

  “She isn’t available, either.”

  “I really need to speak to someone. Ms. Carson wants a photo shoot moved and—”

  “Ms. Carson is out of the office and unavailable until Friday, as is her assistant. She left me a note that the photo shoot has been rescheduled and that everything is arranged.”

  “I see. Thank you.” I hung up the phone. What the hell was I going to do? Steinhart was in surgery. Carson was unavailable. The models would show up at the location tomorrow, and there would be no photographer. Steinhart would lose the account and I’d lose my job.

  Unless I did the shoot.

  What was I thinking? I wasn’t a photographer. At least not in Steinhart’s eyes. But how hard could it be? I’d gone over the layouts, and the art director would be there to tell me what kind of shots she wanted. The stylists would take care of the models and the clothes. All I’d have to do is point the camera. Okay, it was a little more than that, but surely I could do well enough to save the account. Couldn’t I?

  The shoot took two days. I worked my ass off, but the art director was a doll. She helped set up the shots, she talked to me about lighting; she guided me to exactly what she wanted. I thought the photos were going to at least be usable. But I wouldn’t know until I got the proof sheets and transparencies back tomorrow morning.

  I didn’t dare call Steinhart and tell him what I’d done. At least not until I knew if the photos were any good. If they were, I might be able to save my job. If they weren’t, then I could just leave my resignation on his desk and go take the basic computer skills class at Portland Community College.

  Sheridan had gone out with friends so I was alone with my thoughts. Finally I opened the laptop and pulled up the photography software Steinhart had given me. Maybe playing with it would eat up the hours until I could go to bed and hopefully not have nightmares about what I’d done.

  I brought up a few photos I’d taken of Steinhart. I clicked on an icon and started drawing a moustache and goatee on him. Then I drew horns. If it had been a full body shot, I’d have put a tail on him. I chuckled at the image, then decided I’d better use my powers for good rather than evil. I opened the shots I’d taken at Bobbi Jo’s barbeque and started to fiddle with them. I had a really good shot of Sheridan diving into the pool and one of Max talking to Lily. I played around with them for a while, softening some edges, eliminating some shadows. Sean seemed to be in almost all the shots I’d taken of Bobbi Jo. If he wasn’t right next to her, he was in the background watching her. It was downright creepy. I erased him from a couple and cloned in the background. I brought up another one of Sean and drew a moustache on him. Then I added a goatee and the horns.

  As creepy as he was, he didn’t make a good devil, so I gave him long, scraggly hair. I filled in the goatee so it was a full beard. The picture looked so familiar, I stopped and considered it. Then I remembered where I’d seen it before. There was only one thing missing. I carefully placed a mole over the little white scar he was always touching. I was looking at John Templeton. I started shaking all over, and realized I needed to do something immediately.

  I called Scott, but he didn’t answer his cell phone. When I got his voice mail, I left a message.

  “Scott. Sean Castleton is really John Templeton. I’ll tell you about it later. I’m going over to Bobbi Jo’s to tell her. I don’t want her to be alone.” I pressed the key to mark the message as urgent and headed for the car.

  I started to call Bobbi Jo on the way over to her house, but decided not to. This was going to upset her, and I didn’t want to tell her over the phone. It was almost dark when I rang her doorbell.

  “Skye, what are you doing here?” Bobbi Jo turned and walked down the hall. “Not that I’m not happy to see you. It’s just a surprise. Lily is working late at the shop and I was just going to—”

  “Bobbi Jo, sit down. I need to talk to you.”

  “Okay. What’s wrong?” She sat on the sofa and I sat next to her.

  “I was playing on the computer with the photos I took. No, wait, let me start at the beginning. Scott showed me some photos of John Templeton. He wanted to know if I’d seen anyone like him around recently.”

  “You couldn’t because he’s serving a twenty-year sentence in Louisiana.”

  “No, he isn’t, sweetie.” I took her hands in mine and they were ice-cold. “He got out of prison a couple of years ago. Scott thought he might have been the one who killed Edward because when he was stalking you he also made threats against Edward.”

  “Edward never said anything about that.”

  “I know. Scott thought that he probably didn’t want to worry you. Anyway, I was playing with the pictures I took at your barbeque. I put a beard and long hair on Sean’s picture. Bobbi Jo, Sean Castleton is really John Templeton.”

  “No! He can’t be.”

  “He’s lost weight and shaved, but it’s definitely him. Did you ever see John Templeton up close?”

  “No. But I saw his picture in the paper when he was on trial.” She paused and I could see her remembering the pictures she’d seen. “Oh, gawd! Skye, you could be right.”

  “I know I’m right. The pictures Scott showed me were very clear. It’s him, Bobbi Jo. I think he murdered Edward. And I think he cut the brake lines on Brian’s car.”

  “He’s here,” Bobbi Jo whispered.

  “What? Where?”

  “Right over here, actually,” Sean said from the dining room.

  Bobbi Jo and I both rose and turned to him.

  “Skye, I really, really wish you hadn’t done that. Now I’m going to have to do something about you.”

  “What do you mean?” I thought I knew what he meant, but the longer I could delay it the better.

  “I can’t have you ruining all my plans, can I? Everything was going so well. So very, very well.” He looked at Bobbi Jo. “You were falling in love with me, weren’t you?” He smiled when she
didn’t answer. “I knew you would, if you just had enough time with me, and once I got Edward out of the way. You never really loved Edward, you know. You only enjoyed his wealth. Now we can enjoy it together. Just like I planned. That’s why I tried to kill Brian. He wanted to take your money away from you. That would have been wrong.”

  Templeton had undergone a complete change from Sean Castleton. His voice and movements were different. He even looked different. I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. I turned a little so Templeton couldn’t see my hand and slipped it into my pocket. I snapped the phone open and put my thumb over where I hoped the little receiving holes were. I prayed that Templeton wouldn’t hear whoever was calling and that they would figure out what was happening. I also prayed that the caller was Scott.

  Bobbi Jo’s face was pale and pinched; her breathing short and shallow. “You killed Edward?” Her voice was thin and squeaky. “You killed my husband?”

  “I did it for us, love. So we can be together.” Sean shrugged. “He was dying anyway.”

  “He had at least a couple of months left.” Bobbi Jo’s voice was stronger and I could hear her anger, although Sean seemed oblivious to it.

  “I couldn’t wait any longer. What if he’d recovered or gone into remission or something? I couldn’t take that chance. Not when I could have you sooner.”

  “You took him away from me. I hate you!” A tear trickled down her cheek and her hands were clenched into fists.

  “No, don’t say that. You don’t hate me. Not really. You’ll see. It’ll be all right soon. I just have to take care of Skye first. Then we can be alone together. All the time.”

  Damn. He was back to taking care of me. I didn’t like the sound of that. Especially when I noticed the knife in his hand. “You’ll never get away with it.”

  Sean turned back to me. “I don’t see why not. I got away with killing Edward. Of course, your death will have to be sudden and I’m afraid violent. Like that Natalie chick.” He shook his head. “That was a shame. I really thought it was the personal trainer. How was I supposed to know they wore the same hooded sweatshirt?”