A Photographic Death

by Judi Culbertson

  There were friends I could have invited for Christmas, and I even thought about having Bruce Adair. I had kept him updated by e-­mail and phone and he knew as much about the search for Caitlin as Colin did. There were Patience and Ben and the girls, of course—­though I was still cross with Pat—­but cooking a large holiday meal seemed as feasible as swimming Long Island Sound to Connecticut. Even if I could do it, I wouldn’t enjoy myself. Instead I suggested that we celebrate on Christmas Eve with supper, gifts, and a midnight walk on the beach. If Colin wanted to take the girls out for dinner on Christmas Day, he could.

  We had a plan.

  The thing about starting with few expectations is that you can end up pleasantly surprised. Since Hannah now ate fish, I made oyster stew, a favorite shrimp and pasta recipe, and served a chocolate Yule log (not crafted by me). We sat around the living room fireplace and drank bottles of white wine. I was surprised and pleased by my gifts: a new red Cornell sweatshirt from Hannah, a leather bag with many secret compartments from Jane courtesy of the Christmas Market, and a black cashmere turtleneck sweater from Colin. He also gave me an iPhone.

  “You’re on the road so much you need something reliable.”

  It meant I could also check book rarity in situations where I was not sure.

  “Wow. Thanks!” I went over and kissed him.

  “The subscription’s covered under my plan.”

  “You’ll have to show me how to use it.”

  “Janie can.”

  Before we left for our walk, Colin raised his hand for attention. “I have something to say.” He knew how to command an audience. “I know I haven’t been supportive of your plans to find Caitlin. At first it seemed like wishful thinking, with the potential of getting hurt all over again. I still have mixed feelings about what to do if we find her. But we’re a family and we’ll work together. All I’m asking is that if we find her, we don’t spring it on her. That we take it very slowly.”

  “Of course,” I told him. No matter how delicately we approached Caitlin, it would be an enormous shock.

  “Daddy, that’s so great!” Jane was beaming at him from where she was snuggled into a corner of the striped sofa. “I hate fighting with you.”

  “I know.” He was smiling now. “One other thing. We don’t go to the media with the story, either before or after. I don’t want it made public.”

  “I understand.” Then I turned to see Hannah’s reaction. Wide-­awake now, she was looking at her father in bewilderment, the expression of someone who has just been handed a final exam for a subject she was never enrolled in. “But you said . . .”

  “Hani, I’m not making light of your feelings,” Colin soothed. “A lot has to happen before we even get to the point of having to make a decision. If we ever do. And we’ll make sure you’re comfortable with it first.”

  “But you said.” I suddenly realized that what Jane had said about Hannah’s gaining weight was true. Her pretty face looked pudgy and confused.

  “I know what I said before.” He leaned forward earnestly in his wing chair. “But now it looks as if your sister didn’t drown. Your mother won’t be satisfied until she knows what really happened.”

  “I know what really happened. I won’t be satisfied until we find her.” I appealed to Hannah. “What if Priscilla Waters had taken you instead? You know I wouldn’t rest until I found you. And I would hope that Caitlin would have wanted you found too.”

  But Hannah could not stop looking at Colin. “Does this mean you won’t help me get into vet school?”

  “Hannah, what are you talking about?” I asked.

  My daughter finally looked at me. “Dad told me that if I said I didn’t want to find Caitlin, he would make sure I got accepted into a good vet school. He would talk to some ­people he knew. But now that he’s changed his mind, I don’t know if he will.”

  There went Christmas.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  IT WOULD TAKE a lot of talking to get that cow back in the barn. I didn’t want to attack Colin in front of the girls, but I was furious. How dare he try to bribe Hannah by using something so important as her dream of being a veterinarian. Was that what their private dinner at Thanksgiving had been about?

  Colin leaned forward earnestly, his voice gentle. “Hani, you misunderstood me. I was only trying to show my support for you as a person. That no matter how you felt about it I’d still try to help you.”

  “That’s not what you said.”

  “Well, it’s what I meant. Did I ever once try to change your mind about looking for your sister?”

  “No, but—­”

  He held up one finger. “All I said was that I agreed with how you felt. It makes no difference what I feel about it now. Of course I’ll help you get into graduate school. Okay?”

  “Okay.” Her voice was as small as if she were eight years old again, agreeing to wash the dishes when it wasn’t her turn.

  I believed Hannah’s version. Colin was a smooth talker, a tour guide who could make you believe that your trip to the guillotine would be an adventure. But I pushed down my anger. It was Christmas. Sitting there, listening to the crackle of wood settling in the fireplace and mellowed by the wine I had been drinking, I made myself look ahead to next year when Jason and Caitlin would be with us. At that moment I was sure it would happen.

  THE NEXT EVENING we went downtown to Slices, which had enough varieties of pizza to satisfy everyone. The restaurant was a large plain room with wooden tables and chairs and a bar at one end. If there had been peanut shells or sawdust on the floor, I would not have been surprised. What did surprise me was the number of ­people here on Christmas night. We had to wait fifteen minutes for a table.

  Jane and I split a small Cajun pie, Colin ordered the same for himself, and Hannah selected a four-­cheese pizza. Except for Colin, a legendary beer drinker, the rest of us had Diet Coke. It all seemed very familiar: Colin expansive, Hannah sulky, Jane eager to move forward and make plans. And I was feeling, once again, as if I had been hogtied by my husband.

  I’d expected to wake up feeling grateful that Colin‘s opposition had melted away. Instead, bracing myself Christmas morning to throw off the covers and go down to the kitchen and make blueberry pancakes, I realized that what he had actually done was put a fence around the investigation. By stipulating no media involvement—­and my agreeing—­he had cut off a major way of finding Caitlin. The easiest thing would have been to go to a commentator like Nancy Grace who specialized in cold cases and publicize the story nationally. Yes, the press could be obnoxious and going public might send her kidnappers into deeper hiding. But still . . .

  That was the point I attacked now in Slices. “I know what you said about not alerting her kidnappers, but she’s not a baby anymore. She might see the story and realize it was about her.”

  “And that wouldn’t be a terrible shock?”

  “Maybe at first. But—­”

  “And once the press learned the whole story, they’d never leave us in peace. To say nothing of the social media backlash. No, Delhi. No publicity.”

  “Aren’t there Web sites for missing persons?” Jane asked.

  “Yes, but she’s not missing. At least she doesn’t know she is,” Hannah said. With the family lined up against her, she seemed to have stopped objecting out loud. Although I wanted her acquiescence, I didn’t want her bullied.

  “But if someone who knows her sees her photo—­your photo—­they might point it out to her,” argued Jane.

  “It’s a long shot but we should at least do that,” I said. “If it’s over the Internet, it won’t cost us anything.”

  “You should be checking foreign sites,” Colin said. “I still think England’s our best bet.”

  I didn’t agree, but didn’t contradict him. “She’s Hannah’s age, so she’s probably in college. At least I hope she is.”<
br />
  “Wait.” Jane pulled out her iPhone. “Siri, how many four-­year colleges are there in the United States?”

  “Checking for you,” said the prim voice.

  “Do I have Siri too?” I asked Colin.

  “You do.”

  “There are approximately 2,774 four-­year colleges granting degrees,” Jane’s Siri said.

  We thought about that.

  “They probably all have school newspapers,” Jane explained. “We could ask them to run a photo and a caption, ‘Have you seen this woman?’ without explaining too much. Just give our e-­mail for responses. Daddy, you can’t object to that. There’d be nothing to connect it with you. Or us.”

  “Do you know how long it would take to get all those e-­mail addresses?” he asked.

  “Weeks,” I agreed. “But there has to be some kind of association of college papers that has their addresses in one place. I’ll look for it.”

  “We could send blanket e-­mails under bcc,” Jane said. “Not too many at once or the computer will think it’s spam. It will take time though. Hannah, when do you go back?”

  We looked across the table at my other daughter, who stared back defiantly. She was the only one who had finished her pizza. “What do you plan to do when you find this new, improved version of me?”

  It was the kind of comment that could make me crazy. I held up a hand to keep Colin and Jane from rushing in to answer her. “Why do you think we want to replace you?”

  She took a sip of Coke. “Jane thinks I’m fat and stupid. Dad loves me, but like a little pet dog. He doesn’t respect me as a person. You . . .”

  I held my breath, imagining the things she could accuse me of, going back to when I first pushed her to read the books I’d loved.

  “All you can think about is finding this girl. You didn’t even want to bother doing Christmas. It’s like the rest of us don’t really matter. And don’t tell me you’d look for me just as hard. I don’t believe it!”

  “Hannah.” Colin was the first to respond, pushing back his wooden chair and standing up. “Come with me.” It was a command she had heard all her life. She pushed back her chair slowly and stood up. Colin put his hand on her shoulder and guided her to the back of the restaurant near the bar and restrooms.

  “I never said she was stupid,” Jane protested.

  “I know, but—­try not to talk about her weight, okay?”

  “Mom, it’s only temporary. Dorm food and stress. It’s not like she’s missing a leg or something.”

  “Still, don’t.”

  Yet who was I to correct Jane? I thought I’d simply been too busy with book sales and the shop to put much effort into Christmas this year. But maybe I had been preoccupied with something else. That without Jason and Caitlin there for the holiday, I just hadn’t cared enough.

  Jane turned in her chair to look at the back of the restaurant. “I wonder what he’s telling her. Maybe I’ll go to the ladies’ room.”

  “Maybe you won’t.” But I was curious about what Colin was saying to Hannah too. Assuring her he had never tried to bribe her? Saying how much he admired her as an adult woman? How proud he was that she was his daughter? I had no doubt that she would feel better when they returned.

  “Okay, I’ll do it,” Hannah said when they came back to the table and sat down again.

  “Do what?” I asked.

  “Anything you want.”

  “Look, I’m sorry about Christmas. It won’t happen again.”

  “S’okay.”

  “And you’re not stupid,” Jane said firmly. “Why would you ever think that? You go to Cornell, for God’s sake.”

  Hannah shrugged. She reached for the last of her Diet Coke, and with a quick look at Colin said, “Dad thinks he can get a list of newspaper e-­mails from the Statesman office, that they have to have them to exchange copies. Maybe they even have a mailing list in one file. He said I could use his computer at school.”

  “That’s okay,” I said. “I’d rather you use mine and keep it all in one place. But that would be a huge help.” Even as I said it, I could feel Jane’s eyes on me.

  Do you trust her to do it right?

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  SUSIE PEVNEY CALLED me the next day from the bookstore.

  I glanced at the clock. She must have just opened up.

  “Delhi, can you come in? Something terrible’s happened!”

  My heart lurched. Was that bookshop forever cursed? Ever since the previous owner, Margaret, and her assistant had been savagely attacked inside, ever since I had unraveled the knotted threads that led to murder, what had once felt like a home-­away-­from-­home had lost its charm.

  “Did Marty—­is somebody . . .” I couldn’t put my fears into words.

  “No, nothing like that.” But her voice shook. “It’s Marty’s books! And your windows.”

  “What happened?”

  “Just come,” she begged.

  I picked up the books I had wrapped to mail to customers, grabbed my bag, and headed downtown. I went right to the bookshop, finding a parking space on Harbor Street.

  I saw the windows first. It was as if a furious child had grabbed the toys and thrown them in the air, not caring where they landed. The china doll’s face was cracked.

  Inside Susie was cowering behind the counter, head down. Marty was sitting on the leather sofa making calculations on a pad. A customer in the next room wandered into view and disappeared again.

  I went right to Susie. “What happened?”

  “Merry Christmas, Delhi. How was your holiday?”

  “Never mind that shit.” Marty jumped up and crossed the room to me. He was wearing a navy sweatshirt with a white image of a cartoon chef nearly hidden by a handlebar mustache, flipping a pizza under the name “Goodfella’s.” “We’ve got a problem.”

  “So I see. Did they hurt the books?”

  “No, just stole them.” Marty turned and glared at Susie.

  Her mouth turned down in a stricken mask. “I swear, I was behind the counter all the time. I never leave the good books alone!”

  “I believe you,” I told Susie.

  “Who cares what you believe?” Marty interrupted. “They’re not your books.”

  “Why are you lashing out at me?” I demanded.”Or Susie? You think she stood here and watched someone destroy the windows? Or maybe helped? Obviously it happened when the shop was closed. What did they take, anyway?”

  He consulted a list in his mind. “A Flannery O’Connor first, Art, Magic, Spiritism—­from 1876—­and The Old Man and the Sea. A first in dust jacket.”

  I winced. “Who else has a key? The cleaner?”

  “No, nobody. Just you and Susie Sunface and, oh, shit”—­he knocked the heel of his hand against his head. “I bet Howard Riggs still does.”

  Howard Riggs had the bookstore up the street, a no-­frills barracks that would have been at home on a military outpost. It had dusty wooden floors and books on metal shelves like a Pentagon office, with a few held prisoner in glass cases. He had been friends with Margaret Weller, the former owner of the Old Frigate, and they’d had each other’s keys. She had also left him her book stock.

  “You mean you never changed the locks?” I hadn’t liked his Susie Sunface comment.

  “I meant to. That stupid little turd.” He turned toward the door. “I’m going to kill him.”

  “Wait. If you go barging in now, he’ll only deny it. Check on AbeBooks and eBay first. Does Jen know about her stuff?”

  Marty looked grim. “Susie Q. just came in and found it. And called me. And you. You better check and see what’s broken.”

  “You have insurance, don’t you?”

  “That’s not the point.”

  I turned and went over to the front windows, dreading what I would find. It
looked like the aftermath of a temper tantrum. A tiny tea set cup had broken and the hinge of A Christmas Carol had come loose. And there was the doll. Yet these tin toys had served generations of active children. When I set the Ferris wheel back up and turned the key, miraculously it still worked.

  “At least he waited until after Christmas,” I said.

  Neither of them smiled, but I hadn’t been trying to be funny.

  LATER ON, AFTER I had taken the toys back to Dock Street Antiques and Jen had confessed that the china doll was actually a replica, Marty, Susie, and I sat by the fireplace and talked more calmly about what to do. Marty had called a locksmith, who promised to be there tomorrow morning.

  “I can’t picture Howard vandalizing the windows,” I said. “But maybe we could have someone go to his shop and look around. Or ask for one of the missing books specifically.”

  Marty hooted. “You could wear ones of those Groucho Marx disguises, blondie, those glasses and fake nose. He’d never know it was you.”

  “I wasn’t thinking of me. But my daughter’s home from college. He doesn’t know her.”

  Poor Hannah, being volunteered for tasks she never would have undertaken herself.

  “You think it’s safe to send her there?” Susie asked.

  Marty turned to me. “She can run fast?”

  He and I found his comment amusing but Susie wasn’t smiling.

  IT TOOK COLIN almost a week to bring us the flash drive with the college newspaper e-­mails. “Don’t tell anyone where you got this. I’m not sure it’s legal to use it this way.” Lately he had been showing up around dinnertime and eating the healthy meals I was cooking for Hannah, a lot of vegetable dishes or fish.

  “How did you get this?”

  “You don’t want to know. Having it isn’t the problem anyway. It’s what you’re going to do with it. What are you going to say?”

  I grinned at him. “You don’t want to know.”