by Louise Lynn
The flickering overly bright fluorescent lights filled the room as she flipped the switch, and she noticed immediately that one of the dark shapes that she thought had been a music case was anything but.
It was a dark skirt with a pair of perfectly polished loafers and bone thin ankles sticking out at the end.
Hazel’s breath caught in her throat.
“Mrs. Martin,” she cried and rushed toward the piano.
Mrs. Martin lay on the other side, completely unresponsive, and once Hazel laid eyes on her, she knew why.
She was pale as snow and her eyes were open and bulging slightly. They were red with broken blood vessels, and little specks of blood covered her neck and the side of the piano, along with various places along the carpeted floor.
Hazel put a hand over her mouth and took several steps back, looking around for other signs of blood.
A length of wire was wrapped around Mrs. Martin’s throat, though Hazel wouldn’t have seen it if not for the curled end that stuck into the air near her mussed bun.
The school was supposed to be empty at this time in the morning, which meant whoever had done this was still here or—
Hazel didn’t let that line of thought travel any further. She scooped up her camera bag and rushed out to her truck, her hands shaking the entire time. She pulled her phone from her pocket and nearly dropped it.
Her breath came in quick gasps as she climbed inside and locked the door. She dialed a number that was not 911, since she had no idea how long it would take them to contact the local authorities. Might as well go straight to the source.
The phone rang four times before the sheriff answered. “Sheriff Cross,” he said and yawned.
All the weariness from before escaped Hazel’s being. “It’s Roberta Martin. She’s dead at the school,” Hazel said.
“Ms. Hart?” the sheriff said and sucked in a sharp breath. “The elementary school?”
“Yeah.”
She heard rustling in the background and tried to tell herself to steady her hands. Vaguely, she wondered if she could apologize for what he’d walked in on her saying yesterday, though that seemed like the silliest thing to do.
A woman was dead.
What did their tiny misunderstanding have to do with that?
“I’m on my way, but can you give me any more information? Is it natural causes or something else?”
Hazel swallowed the bile that rose in her throat, and pinched her eyes shut. When she did, she could see the bloody wire that squeezed the life from Roberta Martin. “I’m thinking it’s murder, Sheriff.”
“Figures,” Sheriff Cross said and the line went dead.
It wasn’t long before the wail of sirens filled the air and pulled in next to Hazel’s truck. She didn’t unlock the door until she spotted Sheriff Cross climb from his SUV. He wore his typical uniform, the tan shirt, and deep, brownish-green pants, along with heavy boots and a black overcoat the came to his knees. Like always, his nearly black hair was combed to the side and his cheeks were smooth, though Hazel did notice a tiny spot on his jaw that he always seemed to miss the first time but caught the second day. She wasn’t sure why that detail stood out to her, and she balled her hands into fists.
No way did she want to run her finger along Sheriff Cross’s jaw.
“Where is she?” the sheriff asked and shoved his hands into his pockets.
Hazel pointed at the door that stood less than ten feet away. “In there. It’s the music room.”
The sheriff gestured for his deputies to enter, but he didn’t move to do so. Instead, his gaze settled on Hazel, and she felt her shoulders tense. At least he wasn’t looking at her the way he had when Dirk Barkley was found dead in her studio. Like he believed she had something to do with it.
“Why are you here?”
She wasn’t sure if he meant it to sound insulting or not. Hazel sucked in a breath of icy air. “I’m the official school photographer and Roberta Martin refused to have her picture taken yesterday, so I came this morning to do it for her in private.”
“Why didn’t she want it taken yesterday?” the sheriff asked as he inched toward the door that now stood open.
Hazel chewed on her bottom lip. “Anthony Ray was there and she hates cats.”
The sheriff snorted at that, and Hazel had no idea if it was in her favor or not. She decided against asking.
Before the sheriff stepped into the room, he turned to her. “Did you touch anything?”
“The light switch, but I was wearing gloves.”
He nodded and put a hand on her shoulder, his fingers were long but stronger than they appeared. Calloused in certain areas, perhaps from firearm use. “You don’t have to come in again if you don’t want to, but—”
His face pinched into a pained expression, and Hazel blinked. “Do you still not have a forensic photographer?” She didn’t mean for it to come out bemused and frowned to make up for it.
The pained expression sharpened. “I didn’t say I was gonna hire you, but if you’d like to volunteer for the good of this investigation, I wouldn’t say no,” he said and turned to the door.
It was Hazel’s turn to snort. “If you ask me for a favor, you could at least say please,” she said and moved to fish a different camera out of her backseat. Subjecting the Nikon to such ugliness twisted her stomach, and the Pentax was already used to it.
If she ever told anyone how she thought of her cameras as having their own distinct personalities, they’d probably tell her she was crazy. Or perhaps it was a photographer thing.
“Please, Ms. Hart. I don’t want to have any more out of focus crime scene pictures that might hinder our investigation,” he said, his voice leaning towards sarcastic.
Hazel decided that was probably the nicest Sheriff Cross got, so she wasn’t going to ask for any more. Still, she hesitated before she stepped back into the room.
She sucked in a deep breath and let it out in a frosty huff before moving after the sheriff. She’d taken photos of murder scenes before when she worked with the LAPD, but it was never particularly easy. Especially when she knew the victim.
Which had never happened in L.A. Here in Cedar Valley, it had happened twice so far. Though she hadn’t photographed Dirk Barkley’s corpse.
The three deputies who had arrived with Sheriff Cross had enough sense not to trample all over the crime scene and stood back, giving Hazel time to do her work. She bit the inside of her cheek and snapped as many photos as she could. The fluorescent light tinged everything slightly green, and she changed the settings on her camera to account for that.
In the old days, before digital photography, her father taught her to carry around a special fluorescent correction lens. It was easier to think about her father’s photography lectures at a time like this than what had actually happened.
Especially when she zoomed in on Mrs. Martin’s crushed throat.
“What is that?” Sheriff Cross asked and crouched near the body. He already wore a pair of gloves, yet he didn’t reach toward it.
Hazel wrinkled her nose and snapped another series of photos.
Then her attention caught on an open case near Mrs. Martin’s side. A violin case, flipped open and the violin exposed. The wood was dark and shiny, a lovely reddish brown. It looked both old and very expensive. Hazel assumed it was the same violin Mrs. Martin wanted her picture taken with the day before. Perhaps the same violin she played for them when Hazel was a student there.
And one of the strings was missing.
Not simply snapped off, but the violin’s bridge was turned at an unnatural angle. Someone ripped the string free.
Hazel frowned.
Who would do that?
Well, whoever could deface an expensive violin like that could obviously murder the old woman it belonged to as well.
She pointed at the violin. “Looks like a violin string.”
A few drops of blood had landed on the violin, and she zoomed in and photographed those as well.
“I think I’ve got everything,” she said and backed towards the door as footsteps raced toward the room from the outside.
A moment later, Mrs. Jeffries burst into the room. “What on earth is going on in here?” she cried and came to a dead stop. She wore a similar power suit as the one she had the day before, but this was black instead of gray. Though she still wore a red blouse.
Thankfully, Sheriff Cross stepped forward and explained the situation while ushering her out of the room.
“Roberta Martin, murdered? Here?” Mrs. Jeffries shook her head and covered her mouth with her hand. “Who would do such a thing? At school?”
“We’re not sure, ma’am, but we’re going to have to keep this room out of bounds for the rest of the week while we gather evidence. No staff, students, or janitors are allowed in. Is that clear?”
Mrs. Jeffries nodded absently.
When Hazel’s studio had been a crime scene, the sheriff said no one could disturb it until the crime was solved. Yet he was putting a week on this crime. Did he think they could solve it that fast? Or did he realize they couldn’t keep an entire classroom closed off until a crime was solved.
She decided not to bring it up.
Hazel hovered near the door while Sheriff Cross asked the principal a few more questions.
“Do you know anyone who had something against Mrs. Martin?”
Mrs. Jeffries let out a huff. “Not that I know of. Everyone here adored Mrs. Martin. She worked at the school longer than all of us. She’s been a fixture in Cedar Valley for her entire life. I have no idea who’d want to harm her.”
Hazel wrinkled her nose. Well, that was a flat-out lie.
Without any help, Hazel could name a handful of people who she’d heard badmouth Mrs. Martin over the years—most of them in her own family. But badmouthing someone didn’t equate murder… usually.
Still, why was Mrs. Jeffries lying about something like that?
“Yeah, well, somebody had something against her,” Sheriff Cross said and glanced at Hazel with a frown tugging at his eyebrows. “That’s all for now, Ms. Hart. If I need your expertise, I’ll call you,” he said, and Hazel imagined she heard a hint of hopefulness at the last part.
She nodded. “Of course. Anything I can do to help the Cedar Valley Sheriff’s Department,” she said and gave him a slight smile before slinking back out to her truck.
He’d come for the crime scene photos as soon as he was done here, she assumed, so she’d have to go over them herself quickly. And get them ready for his USB drive.
As she climbed into her truck, Esther ran up to her with Ruth on her heels. “Hazel? What’s going on? There’s an ambulance and cop cars everywhere.”
“Something happened, and I probably shouldn’t say in front of Ruth,” Hazel said and gave her niece a pained smile.
“Did Mrs. Martin finally die?” Ruth said, her blue eyes wide and orb-like.
They were currently moving Mrs. Martin’s body from the music room, and Esther slapped her hand over Ruth’s eyes as if that would keep her from seeing anything unseemly. “Why would you say something like that?” Esther snapped.
“Because it’s the music room, and yesterday when I got home from school, grandma kept saying something about how Roberta Martin was so old she was gonna drop dead any minute,” Ruth said and grinned. She was missing one of her front teeth, so the effect was far cuter than it should’ve been.
This time, Hazel bit her bottom lip to stifle a laugh. “Probably don’t go saying that to anyone else. And don’t spread a rumor about what happened to Mrs. Martin, okay Ruthie?” Hazel said.
Ruth nodded and tore out of her mother’s grip. “Okay. But I’ll miss music. Does that mean I have to stay in class for an extra hour?” she said and pouted, which was the Hart woman way.
“I have no idea, but I’m getting you to class right now. And you,” Esther said and pointed right at Hazel. “We’re having a conversation when I’m done.” Esther used her most mom voice of all her mom voices.
Hazel rolled her eyes but nodded. It wasn’t her fault Ruth was as perceptive as she was. But no doubt, Esther would somehow find a way to blame it on her.
Still, shivers shot up her spine as she put away her camera.
Someone had murdered Roberta Martin in a brutal and horrific manner. This was worse than Dirk Barkley. This was done with intense malice.
And whoever had done it was still out there. Had they been in the building when Hazel discovered Roberta’s body? As those thoughts tumbled through Hazel’s mind, she looked at her watch and cursed.
Ambrose Angel was going to be at her studio, and she was late for her second appointment of the day.
Well, Esther’s words would have to wait until later.
She had a virtuoso to photograph.
Chapter 5
Hazel heard the raised voices inside of her studio before she opened the door and took a deep breath to steady herself. Dealing with a difficult client after the morning she’d had sounded distinctly unpleasant, but there wasn’t anything she could do about it.
“So sorry I’m late, Mr. Angel,” Hazel said as she burst into the room.
Michael’s face was flushed, and his dark eyes wide with relief as they settled over her. “See? I told you she’d be here!”
Ambrose Angel looked like an older version of the picture on the flyer. He still had the ridiculously long pale blond hair, and his face was far too pretty, though several years older than the flyer suggested. He drew himself up to his full height, which was only an inch taller than Hazel herself. “I made an appointment for nine sharp, and it is already—” Mr. Angel made a show of looking at his watch, one of those ridiculously expensive ones that Hazel could never figure out.
Her ex-husband had purchased one with a bonus he’d earned, and she never understood why he needed a timepiece that cost thousands of dollars. Of course, he argued that her cameras were similarly expensive. And Hazel argued that her cameras had multiple uses, including being necessary for her job. The four-thousand-dollar watch wasn’t necessary. It was extraneous.
But she and Dylan never saw eye to eye on that issue. Or any of the others.
“—a quarter after nine,” Mr. Angel finished and crossed his arms. They were more muscular than she imagined from the softness of his face.
Hazel forced herself to smile. “And I already apologized. I was held up at the elementary school. I’m not really at liberty to say why, but—”
Ambrose waved his hands in the air melodramatically. It reminded her of the way her mother waved her hands, though this had distinctly more flair. Her mother could learn a thing or two from him. “That sounds like a ridiculous excuse. Are you always late to your appointments?”
Hazel felt the urge to grit her teeth and held it at bay. “No. In fact, I’m usually quite early. But like I said, there was an emergency at the school, where I had an appointment prior to yours, and if you have a problem with that you can take it up with the Sheriff’s Office.”
Ambrose blinked his startling green eyes several times and swept his pale blond hair behind his shoulder. “Sheriff’s department? What sort of things are you getting involved with?”
She cast a glance at Michael, who shrugged, and pointed at the studio. He didn’t seem predisposed to take photos near the lake, so she assumed he’d want them inside. “Has Michael offered you a drink or something to eat while you wait?”
Ambrose huffed. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“How delicate are your sensibilities, Mr. Angel?”
He blinked again, then opened and closed his mouth, like a fish that had been hauled from the lake. “I don’t know. Moderately delicate,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders.
Hazel sighed. “I was trying to be discreet, but if you insist on me giving you an explanation, don’t blame me if it makes you sick to your stomach. I was called in by the Sheriff’s Department to photograph the body of a deceased teacher. I couldn’t leave because
it was a crime scene, so if you have a problem with that, talk to the Sheriff’s Department. Otherwise, please head into the studio and we’ll start right away.”
She watched his mouth work into several different positions, some of them sneers and some of them shocked, before the fight went out of his shoulders. “Very well. But I’ll have you know that this is still very unprofessional behavior.”
Hazel rolled her eyes as he swept out of the room, and Michael gave her a startled expression. She shook her head, and swallowed the bile that rose in her throat. “I’m terribly sorry this person couldn’t have found a more convenient time to get murdered,” she muttered under her breath as she followed Mr. Angel into the room.
Of course, she wasn’t going to mention to Ambrose that she had been the one to discover the body, because that wasn’t something any of her clients needed to be aware of.
Michael had already set up the lights, the background screen and camera, so all that they needed was for Ambrose Angel to take his seat.
Ambrose settled himself on the stool in front of the screen. The backdrop was a photo of Lake Celeste in the summertime.
She’d taken it herself and put it there at her father’s urging. Although, he hadn’t seen the final product yet. At the time, Hazel couldn’t figure out why she would need a screen that was also available by walking a few hundred yards to the lake itself. But now, with the snow still several feet thick on the ground in March, she understood.
Michael handed Ambrose a bottle of water, but the older man waved his hand dismissively then leaned to open his violin case.
The sight of it caused Hazel’s gut to clench. It was like Roberta Martin’s violin case, sturdy fiberglass, though Ambrose’s locks were golden instead of silver. As he lifted open the case, her breath caught in her throat.
The violin inside, softly hugged in a bed of blood red velvet, looked remarkably like Roberta Martin’s own. Of course, the bridge was still in place and all the strings were intact. The wood was a deep reddish brown that shone with slick polish, and Ambrose reached in and carefully removed it as if he were cradling a newborn.