something to use and tore a paper napkin off a roll, using it to riffle through the photos. There were dozens of different girls, and judging by the makeup and hairstyles, some were as old as twenty years or more. I paused at one picture of a young brunette with a rather large nose and full lips. She reminded me of someone. But who, I couldn’t say. I flipped through the next few pictures, none of which were of the brunette.
I continued through the stack, pausing at another picture. This one was different, not a nude shot at all, but that of a couple sitting close to each other and gazing into each other’s eyes. And then I recognized the woman—
oh my
—Mrs. Anderson, the mayor’s wife. I’d had only a quick glimpse of her at the party, but there was no question that this was her. And the man with her was none other than Mr. Whitby, who was running for governor. I flipped through a few more shots, all of which were of Mrs. Anderson and Whitby.
What do you know? The mayor’s wife was involved with Bernard Whitby
.
I studied the pictures some more and, judging by her hair and makeup, concluded that the shot was at least ten years old, maybe older. That explained it. The Andersons were probably not even married at the time. Suddenly, I heard something. It was just a slight creak, but it told me that somebody else was in the studio. I dropped the stack of pictures, slipped the paper napkin into my pocket and ran out so fast that whoever was there couldn’t have seen more than a blur. That’s if the lights were on—which they were not.
Chapter 7
I drove out of Belmont like a bat out of hell, or rather, like a bat in a martini shaker, and didn’t slow down until I was halfway back to Briar Hollow. Only then did I take the pressure off the gas pedal, slowing down to thirty. I prayed I wouldn’t be pulled over by the cops.
Who had come into the studio? Was it the same man who had knocked me down? Or was it someone new? The only thing I was certain of was that whoever it was had no more business in there than I did. Otherwise they would have turned on the light.
As I got closer to Briar Hollow my thoughts moved on to the pictures I’d seen. The mayor’s wife and Bernard Whitby—I still couldn’t believe it. It made me wonder if the person who had crashed into me had been sent to destroy those pictures. Damn! I suddenly realized that in my panic, I’d forgotten all about Emma’s pictures.
What was I supposed to do now? There was no way I was going back. Another thing occurred to me. The police should be told about that studio. Should I call them with an anonymous tip? Or say nothing and hope somebody else did?
By the time I reached the town limits of Briar Hollow I had decided to leave it all up to Matthew, and I headed for Bottoms Up, where he, Ed and Jenny had gone. I needed to calm down, and time with my friends would be perfect. With any luck, they’d still be there.
• • •
Bottoms Up was Briar Hollows’s foremost restaurant. Their menu used to offer everything from Thai to Chinese to French to Japanese and Italian, most of which was barely edible. But they had recently hired a new cook and changed their menu to good, old-fashioned home cooking. And their desserts were to die for.
I walked in and stood still while my eyes adjusted. Before me was a bar that ran the length of the entire far wall. On one side of the cavernous room was a pool table, which was surrounded—as always—with a rowdy group of men. On the other side was the main dining area. That was where I headed, my eyes darting around for my friends. I discovered them sitting at a table near the window, Matthew on one side of the table and Jenny and Ed on the other.
“Della, what are you doing here?” Jenny asked when she spotted me.
“I couldn’t sleep, so decided to join you. Am I too late for dessert?”
Matthew hopped to his feet, pulling out a chair for me. “Are you sure you only want dessert? If you’re
I continued through the stack, pausing at another picture. This one was different, not a nude shot at all, but that of a couple sitting close to each other and gazing into each other’s eyes. And then I recognized the woman—
oh my
—Mrs. Anderson, the mayor’s wife. I’d had only a quick glimpse of her at the party, but there was no question that this was her. And the man with her was none other than Mr. Whitby, who was running for governor. I flipped through a few more shots, all of which were of Mrs. Anderson and Whitby.
What do you know? The mayor’s wife was involved with Bernard Whitby
.
I studied the pictures some more and, judging by her hair and makeup, concluded that the shot was at least ten years old, maybe older. That explained it. The Andersons were probably not even married at the time. Suddenly, I heard something. It was just a slight creak, but it told me that somebody else was in the studio. I dropped the stack of pictures, slipped the paper napkin into my pocket and ran out so fast that whoever was there couldn’t have seen more than a blur. That’s if the lights were on—which they were not.
Chapter 7
I drove out of Belmont like a bat out of hell, or rather, like a bat in a martini shaker, and didn’t slow down until I was halfway back to Briar Hollow. Only then did I take the pressure off the gas pedal, slowing down to thirty. I prayed I wouldn’t be pulled over by the cops.
Who had come into the studio? Was it the same man who had knocked me down? Or was it someone new? The only thing I was certain of was that whoever it was had no more business in there than I did. Otherwise they would have turned on the light.
As I got closer to Briar Hollow my thoughts moved on to the pictures I’d seen. The mayor’s wife and Bernard Whitby—I still couldn’t believe it. It made me wonder if the person who had crashed into me had been sent to destroy those pictures. Damn! I suddenly realized that in my panic, I’d forgotten all about Emma’s pictures.
What was I supposed to do now? There was no way I was going back. Another thing occurred to me. The police should be told about that studio. Should I call them with an anonymous tip? Or say nothing and hope somebody else did?
By the time I reached the town limits of Briar Hollow I had decided to leave it all up to Matthew, and I headed for Bottoms Up, where he, Ed and Jenny had gone. I needed to calm down, and time with my friends would be perfect. With any luck, they’d still be there.
• • •
Bottoms Up was Briar Hollows’s foremost restaurant. Their menu used to offer everything from Thai to Chinese to French to Japanese and Italian, most of which was barely edible. But they had recently hired a new cook and changed their menu to good, old-fashioned home cooking. And their desserts were to die for.
I walked in and stood still while my eyes adjusted. Before me was a bar that ran the length of the entire far wall. On one side of the cavernous room was a pool table, which was surrounded—as always—with a rowdy group of men. On the other side was the main dining area. That was where I headed, my eyes darting around for my friends. I discovered them sitting at a table near the window, Matthew on one side of the table and Jenny and Ed on the other.
“Della, what are you doing here?” Jenny asked when she spotted me.
“I couldn’t sleep, so decided to join you. Am I too late for dessert?”
Matthew hopped to his feet, pulling out a chair for me. “Are you sure you only want dessert? If you’re