Wendy, Lariat, and I sat on a bench outside the little photography studio on Main Street called Frozen in Time. The name was fitting for the gallery that highlighted the photography skills of the shop’s owner, Annie Frieze. Through her store-front window, I could see most of the framed photos on display were of nature and wildlife, along with an occasional still life. According to Lariat, Ms. Frieze also photographed weddings, reunions, and took senior photos for the Rockdale High School. He informed us Annie wouldn’t be easy to book due to her hectic schedule, but that he’d muster up all the charm he had to win her over. He’d said, “She’s the best photographer in the area, and worth the extra effort before we have to settle for someone else.”
I smelled whiskey on Lariat’s breath when Wendy and I first arrived to find him already sprawled out on the outdoor bench. When I cocked an eyebrow at him, he responded, “Hair of the dog.”
I silently prayed that dog wouldn’t come to bite us in the you-know-what, but knew Lariat tended to be at his best and most charming when he had his buzz on.
We had arranged to meet the gallery’s proprietor at ten o’clock. At ten twenty-five, she had still not arrived to open up her shop. We were gathering up our things to leave when Annie Frieze pulled up to the curb in what seemed like a block-long vintage Lincoln Town Car.
“Greetings, folks!” Annie exclaimed as she hopped out of her car. A black woman in her mid-to-late thirties, she had a lithe body and a full afro. She also had a uniquely shaped nose that reminded me of Barbara Streisand and, like the ultra-talented singer, Annie was a beautiful woman. She sprinted around her car and extended her hand in greeting. “Sorry, I’m late. On my way here, I drove past a field of wild turkeys and just had to stop and snap a few photos.”
“Of course,” I said, grasping her outstretched hand in a friendly handshake. “No problem, whatsoever, Ms. Frieze.”
“That’s quite all right,” Wendy chimed in politely, without offering her own hand to the photographer. Then the tone of her voice turned to ice. “Who could resist a flock of turkeys? Besides, it’s not like we have anything else to do with our wedding just two (oomph!)―”
With Lariat on one side of her, and me on the other, Wendy got an elbow jabbed into both sides of her ribs. I whispered, “Wendy! She’s not only the best, but possibly the only, photographer we might be able to get to shoot your wedding on such short notice. For goodness’ sakes, don’t antagonize her.”
Lariat merely gazed at Wendy in dismay before returning Annie’s greeting. As I’d expected, he walked over and kissed her on both cheeks. I’d been prepared to kiss an entirely different cheek of hers if that’s what it took to book her for Wendy and Andy’s upcoming nuptials.
Despite Wendy’s rudeness, I was puzzled by the hateful look Annie gave Wendy. From Wendy’s expression, I sensed she was trying to place where she’d seen Annie in the past. I asked the photographer, “Have you two met before?”
“You could say that,” Annie replied dryly. “I was a contestant in the annual Buchanan County Photography contest last fall, and your daughter had been chosen to be one of the judges.”
“Oh,” Wendy said quietly. “Now I remember where I’d seen you before.”
“Oh, how nice,” I said, still not sure how such a distinction had earned Wendy a look of loathing from Ms. Frieze. “I remember that. An elderly gentleman from Easton won the grand prize of twenty-thousand dollars.”
“Twenty-five thousand, to be exact. Mr. Critton’s grand prize entry, for which Wendy cast the deciding vote, was a still-life photograph of a pair of old tattered boots.” Annie could not have sounded any more disgusted or in a higher state of disbelief. To emphasize her incredulity, she repeated herself. “A pair of old tattered work boots! And I’d swear the old man took the photo with an antique instamatic camera from the eighties.”
“I see.” I didn’t see at all. Why would Annie be upset with my daughter because some elderly gentleman decided to take a grainy picture of his boots? I wondered. I didn’t have to wonder long, however.
“My entry, which took second place to the old man’s damned dirty boots, was an action shot of a pack of coyotes taking down a white-tail doe in the middle of a colorful meadow on a misty Autumn morning.”
“Sounds like you captured an incredible shot.” I truly admired anyone willing to wait patiently at the edge of a meadow, colorful and misty or not, for an action shot such as the one Annie described. I could sit in the woods surrounded by salt licks for four months and never have a deer appear, much less have it be followed into the woods by a pack of salivating coyotes hunting for their supper. I was forever amazed, and occasionally horrified, by the amazing footage shown on the Animal Plant channel. I often wondered how in the world someone had been able to capture such intricate events in nature such as a mongoose outsmarting a cobra, or a group of elephants rescuing a baby from the jaws of a crocodile. I also occasionally wondered what would persuade a person to stake himself out in such close of proximity of a cobra or a crocodile in the first place. Still, I was impressed by people who were willing to risk personal injury to capture such images. Unfortunately, Wendy didn’t appear to have inherited my love and appreciation for nature.
“Yes, I did get an incredible―” Annie began.
“And gruesome,” Wendy interjected.
”―photograph.” Annie finished her remark as if Wendy had never interrupted her.
I was in complete agreement with Wendy, but still a little shocked at her appraisal of Annie’s subject matter. After all, Wendy was a woman who enjoyed every aspect of dissecting human beings in order to figure out what caused them to give up the ghost. What’s more, Wendy seemed to enjoy even more the reciting of the autopsies to her resigned mother.
I listened as Annie continued her tirade. “According to your daughter, my depiction of Mother Nature’s food chain in action was not as captivating as a pair of scuffed-up old boots.”
“I’m sure Wendy was highly impressed with the quality of your―” I tried to calm the turbulent waters, hoping my daughter wouldn’t make any further antagonistic comments, but Wendy was not to be silenced.
“Mr. Critton’s boots told a story of a hard-working immigrant who, against all odds, raised a family and realized the American dream.” Wendy explained her justification for deciding to cast her vote in favor of the man who took home the hefty grand prize.
“Are you trying to tell me my photo didn’t tell a story?” An incensed Annie nearly snarled as she added, “Tell that to the poor deer.”
“That’s just it, Ms. Frieze. I, along with several other judges, found your photo to be emotionally disturbing. I realize that being able to move people with nothing but a photograph is a good thing, but I couldn’t in good conscience vote for it. Mr. Critton had managed to capture a moving photo as well, with nothing more than a black-and-white photo of the shoes he’d worn as a potato farmer.”
“Yada, yada, yada,” Annie said sarcastically, using a phrase made famous by the popular Seinfield series. “Good for him.”
Trying to smooth Annie’s ruffled feathers, I said, “It sounds like Mr. Critton probably needed the monetary reward more than an ultra-successful photographer like yourself. Besides, Annie, I’m sure the prize for second place was impressive, too.”
“I won a turkey.”
“A turkey?” I swallowed hard. Not so impressive, after all. “Well, with the contest being in the fall, I’m sure that was a nice―”
“I’m a vegan.”
“Oh.” I was unable to come up with more than a one-word response, but still able to glare at Wendy when she laughed out loud.
Annie also leveled a glare at my daughter. “I told them to stick their damned turkey where the sun don’t shine.”
I glanced at Wendy, who nodded her head and confirmed Annie’s statement. “Yep. That’s what she told us. Which was just fine with me because I ended up taking the turkey home after she declined it. Remember that juicy Butterball we had for
supper last Thanksgiving, Mom?”
Now, even a one-word response was beyond my reach. I remained silent and motionless until Annie grunted and took a menacing stride toward Wendy. Wendy took a step forward and closed the gap between herself and the photographer. The situation had suddenly gotten so tense, I could feel static electricity in the air. Before the confrontation could escalate into a sidewalk brawl, I stepped between them.
“Come on, ladies,” I said. “Let’s let bygones be bygones. I’m sure both photographs were deserving in their own way, and there’s no sense in revisiting something that happened in the past.”
“Yes. Lexie’s right,” Lariat agreed, looking as if he needed a shot of bourbon. Where’s Jim and Jack when you need them? I thought. Lariat cast me an appreciative glance and continued. “Let’s go inside and concentrate on the upcoming wedding.”
After a lengthy pause, both women finally relented and stepped back. Without taking their eyes off each other, they moved toward the front door. Once we were inside the gallery, Annie spoke directly to Lariat, as if Wendy and I were not even in the room. “I told you numerous times, I am booked solid. I don’t know how I could possibly fit another wedding into my schedule.”
“I know, Annie,” Lariat said. He then stopped for a few moments and studied the photographer’s face before commenting. “I swear, you look younger every time I see you. You need to give me the name of the exfoliating cream you use. It’s like you literally have no pores. You’re absolutely stunning this morning.”
Lariat’s flattery was so obviously manufactured that I wanted to gag. Wendy and I exchanged a glance that told me she found it nauseating, as well. However, when I looked at Annie, I could see she ate up Lariat’s praise as if it were a hot fudge sundae. With a flicker of her eyelashes and a seductive tilt of her head, she asked, “Really? Stunning?”
“Absolutely!” Lariat exclaimed. “You look as if you’ve retained the best plastic surgeon in the country or found the fountain of youth hidden in your own back yard.”
“Oh, my. Well, thank you. Actually, I haven’t had any work done. It’s au naturale, with a little help from a product I buy at Wal-Mart.”
“I want the name of that product!” Lariat insisted.
“Me too!” I added, feigning the same level of interest Lariat had. I noticed Wendy sat silently with her arms crossed rather than joining in on Lariat’s and my BS session, which kind of irritated me. It was to her benefit more than anyone else’s that we win Annie over, after all. Out of pure annoyance, I said, “It wouldn’t hurt you to give it a try, Wendy.”
Wendy scowled at me as the photographer beamed for a full minute. Annie then opened her notebook and scrutinized her appointments. Finally, she shrugged. “I have an end-of-summer showing here at the gallery on the twenty-sixth. I suppose if I set up a couple of days in advance, I could fit the wedding in. I’d only have time to take a few group photos and the actual ceremony. I wouldn’t be able to hang around for the reception or any of that nonsense.”
“That’d be fine. We don’t really need any photos of the nonsense following the ceremony, Annie,” I said, glancing at Wendy for her consent.
Wendy blanched. “Seriously, Mother? I wouldn’t classify cutting the wedding cake, making our first toast, my first dance with my husband, or tossing the wedding bouquet as nonsense.”
“I’m sorry, Wendy,” I said. I suddenly realized how callous I’d sounded when I’d only been doing my best to appease Annie Frieze. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I only meant to say that the group shots and those of the actual ceremony are the most important photographs, particularly when it comes to a professional photographer. Wyatt took some amazing photos with his new Nikon, and I’m certain he’d be happy to take as many candid shots after the ceremony as you’d like.”
“Well, I suppose that’d be all right. He has taken some remarkable photos with that camera,” Wendy replied.
“I’m sure he could take an award-winning photo of your wedding shoes if you’d like,” Annie muttered to no one in particular. We all took the high road and ignored her.
Wendy shook her head at Annie’s caustic remark. She then turned to Lariat, whose opinion she evidently valued more than mine. “What do you think?”
“I agree with your mom. That’d be an ideal solution and save you some money in the long run.”
“Good point,” Wendy replied.
“Are you talking about Wyatt, as in Detective Johnston?” Annie asked.
“Yes.” Wendy was unmistakably perplexed by the question. “Why do you ask?”
Annie laughed, but not in a humorous way. It was more of a “you’ve got to be kidding” chuckle. She looked at Wendy. “You think it’s safe to have the detective at the same venue as Yvonne Custovio? When she cut my hair Monday, she told me she plans to crash the wedding. Yvonne’s hoping to have an opportunity to confront the police officer who caused her to lose her driver’s license for a year.”
“A year?” Wendy asked. “No kidding? Man, that’d be rough. I had no idea. Yvonne never mentioned losing her license.”
“Hmmm,” I began. “I guess that explains why Wyatt told me he’d clocked her significantly exceeding the speed limit ‘again’. I only knew about the school zone infraction.”
“Yes, that was a while back,” Annie explained. “Then two weeks ago, he stopped her again for speeding in a construction zone―doing fifty-eight in a thirty-mile-an-hour zone―and despite her best attempts to talk him out of writing her a ticket, he did. At Yvonne’s court hearing last Friday, her license was suspended because it was her third infraction in the span of six months. She thinks he targeted her intentionally after the school-zone ticket he’d written her earlier and suspects he’d been following her, hoping to catch her exceeding the speed limit.”
“It doesn’t sound like he’d have to follow her for very long to catch her speeding. That girl has a reputation for being hell on wheels and treats Main Street like it’s the Talladega racetrack. It serves her right,” Wendy said in the detective’s defense. “Wyatt’s just trying to keep her from killing someone. If it hadn’t been Wyatt, it’d have been another police officer. I’m surprised Yvonne hasn’t landed someone in my morgue already.”
“True enough,” Annie agreed. She smiled at Wendy for the first time since pulling her Lincoln up to the curb outside. “So what’s it going to be? My fee is a flat fifteen hundred for what I’ve outlined on this form.”
Wendy perused the form Annie handed her, nodded in agreement, and then handed it back to the photographer. “Sounds fine, I guess. Can you pencil us in? I’d be happy to leave a deposit, just as I did with Lily Franks and Chena Steward.”
“You bet your sweet bippy you’ll be leaving a deposit, Ms. Starr. A healthy one, as a matter of fact. You don’t think I’ve gotten to be successful by being unconditionally trusting, do you?” Annie laughed in such a way to let Wendy know she was kidding, yet not kidding at the same time.
As my daughter rolled her eyes, I breathed a sigh of relief. Wendy withdrew the checkbook from her purse and reluctantly wrote a check for seven hundred and fifty dollars to retain the photographer. We had nearly every one of our little quackers in a row now, and would soon be able to sit back and relax until the big day arrived.
Eighteen
“Come on in!” I shouted at the sound of someone rapping on the back door of the inn. It was August twenty-fourth, the day before the wedding, and I’d been running around all morning like a mouse looking for a bag of cookies to chew a hole in. I stood in the kitchen now, arranging the food Georgia Piney had just delivered for that evening’s rehearsal dinner. Her barbecue brisket smelled so delicious, my mouth watered. “Door’s open!”
“How did you know you weren’t inviting the neighborhood axe murderer inside?”
At the sound of Sheila Davidson’s voice, I turned and opened my arms to welcome my best friend with a warm embrace. I hadn’t seen her in several months. I then gave her husband, Ran
dy, a big hug. “Oh, you two are certainly a sight for sore eyes. I am so glad you arrived in time for the rehearsal this afternoon.”
“We wouldn’t miss it for the world. It’s not every day my goddaughter gets married, you know,” Sheila said. “Speaking of sore eyes, or an eye sore in this case, what’s with the gaudy-looking lime-green travel trailer that pulled in behind us? There are actually sunflowers painted on both sides of it.”
“Oh, good!” I clapped my hands in delight. “The Ripples have arrived.”
“So that’s the Rip and Rapella you’ve told us about? They must be every bit as eccentric as you’ve described them.” Sheila looked out the back window to convince herself her eyes weren’t playing tricks on her. I simply smiled.
Rapella once told me she’d given the travel trailer the unique paint job to give their home-on-wheels a “little personality and flair”. I had to admit, thanks to Rapella, the colorful RV would definitely stand out in a crowded campground.
“Yes. Rapella’s a little more eccentric than Rip,” I replied. “You’ll absolutely love her. If you and I could produce offspring, Rapella is exactly the kind of child we’d have.”
Randy laughed. “So you’re saying you and my wife’s child would be a seventy-year-old woman?”
“Not exactly. But Rapella does have a nice mixture of both of our traits. She’s impulsive, crafty, and daring like me, and assertive, wickedly clever, and has an abundance of diverse and useful skill sets like Sheila. I wouldn’t doubt that Rapella could rewire a lamp while dangling by one hand from a bridge abutment as she’s attempting to capture a killer.”
“An individual with a ‘nice mixture’ of traits like that sounds totally terrifying to me. Remind me to steer clear of Rapella Ripple.” The expression on Randy’s face as he spoke was priceless and soon had all three of us cracking up. He lifted two suitcases off the floor. “Same suite as before, Lexie?”
“Absolutely. Stone and I actually named it the Davidson Suite after you two stayed here for our wedding.”
Marriage and Mayhem (A Lexie Starr Mystery, Book 7) Page 11