Haunting Refrain (32 page)

“Yes, it’s terrible, but she’s doing well now,” Kate said. “I’m going up to work in the studio. I’m keeping my door locked until John gets here, so if you want anything, knock.”

“I’ll ride up with you. The elevator’s fine now. They put in a new cable and replaced some other parts.” He pressed the button and the freight door opened immediately.

“Thanks, James Earl.” She clutched the railing. Her stomach lurched with the rising elevator.

He patted her hand reassuringly.

She would hate for this kindly man to be hurt. “If anything should happen, call nine-one-one and stay out of the way.”

He mumbled something and watched as she unlocked her door. “I’ll walk in with you and look around. I don’t see how anyone could get in here, but I’ll feel better knowing.”

As soon as he was out the door, Kate locked it and turned to the file cabinet where she had left Charlene’s things. She wanted to work on the picture of the girl dancing on the table. Rita would want it whether her parents did or not. She took the negatives into the darkroom with the film she had shot of Lila Stern.

She changed quickly into jeans and an old work shirt she kept in the darkroom,
then
mixed her chemicals. Just before she turned out the light, she decided to take the phone in with her. It took some maneuvering, and she had to sit it on the floor just inside the door, but today she felt the need to be in touch. She had a lot to do, and John might call. Gwen would want her pictures and so would the new actor. She could drop off the color film from the Sterns when she picked up Mrs. Armstrong’s proofs.

She doused the white light and turned on the safety light. Bathed in its red glow, she opened the container with the black and white film from the Sterns and wound it in the canister to develop. When the film was ready, she hung it to dry and got out the contact sheet Gwen had marked. She found the correct negatives and placed them beside the enlarger. Only when Gwen’s face hung from the line and the new actor’s prints were safely completed did she take out the negatives from Charlene’s party, hoping the developing had been better than the printing.

A rising excitement gripped her as she fed the strip of negatives into the enlarger. She wanted to see the faces of those watching the exuberant girl.
 
The lens quality probably wasn’t good enough to do too much, but she was sure she could get something better than the drugstore prints. Before she could find the right frame, the phone rang.

It was Gwen.
“Just checking.
I talked to
Venice
while ago. Isn’t it wonderful about her and Martin! They were getting ready to go over some list of John’s.”

They chatted briefly while Kate, crouched by the door with the phone, looked longingly at the strip of film dangling from the enlarger.

“I’m going to look for something funereal to wear. I’m getting ready to tell Thomas goodbye. He sent flowers yesterday. I feel guilty about not having canceled
Atlanta
yet. I called him at work but decided it was cowardly to do it on the phone, so I asked him to lunch instead. It seemed unfair to let him take me to dinner and then tell him.”

“Poor Gwen, such a hard life,” Kate said, only half listening.

“I’m not exactly suffering. Adam
Kinsler
called this morning. He’s taking me to the Abbeville Opera House to a play this weekend.”

“I’m looking at his aquiline nose right now. I’m in the darkroom. I just finished his prints—and yours. I’ve got to go, Gwen.”

“Ciao, darling.”

Kate had hardly gotten to her feet when the phone rang again—the banker’s wife, checking on her proofs. Kate assured the woman they would be ready tomorrow and returned to the enlarger. Charlene’s face slid into the frame, a
closeup
showing her bright smile. Unfortunately her eyes were closed. Kate continued winding the film until she found the dancing girl. She adjusted the figure on the frame and focused it, letting the girl fill the image area. It was much better than the print had shown. She slid a sheet of eight-by-ten photo paper under the frame, rechecked the focus, and hit the timer.

When it dinged and the light went out, she put the exposed paper into the developer and then readjusted the film in the enlarger, focusing on the group watching Charlene dance. At the sound of the timer, she checked the print of Charlene and moved it to the next chemical tray, the fixer.

Immediately she turned back to the black-faced, white-eyed negative images in the frame of the enlarger. One, a blurred face near the back, was hauntingly familiar. She centered the face and enlarged it, sharpening the image as much as the negative would allow. There he was. Recognition hit her like a blow. She could see him with Charlene, jealous, possessive,
angry
. Her heart missed a beat.

Her hands shook as she worked the knobs on the ancient equipment, trying to bring the man’s face into better focus, but the photographer had been concentrating on Charlene. This man was incidental, on the edge of the picture, but she recognized him, could feel his avid, intense longing as he watched, engrossed. But the face wasn’t sharp enough for anyone else to be certain of his identity, and the photograph didn’t prove anything. She just knew, and she was afraid no one would believe her. If she hadn’t seen him so recently, she might not have recognized him.

She settled on the best compromise between size and clarity and burned the image into the paper, quickly dropping it into the developer. Forcing herself to slow down, she carefully scrolled through the other party images on the roll, scrutinizing each one for the same face. If she could place him at the party beyond a doubt, it would be much easier for others to identify him in the first shot. It wouldn’t prove he killed her, but it might be enough to interest Detective Waite. Kate had a feeling that once Waite’s sharp eye was turned in the right direction, she wouldn’t miss much.

She finally picked him out in two more frames and, after settling on the best image she could get, she burned two of each. Even the skeptical Detective Burnett should be able to identify Thomas Andrews from these.

Nursing the prints through the chemical baths, she watched the images come to life on the paper. Charlene’s swirling figure dominated the first one. Kate hung it to
dry,
admiring the way the light sparkled off her earrings, giving the girl an almost magical glow. The earrings appeared to be hammered silver with a stone in the center, maybe Mexican, certainly unusual.

Whatever else happened, Kate wanted to send this negative to the color lab and have a good picture made for the Nelsons.

As the other prints went from the stop bath into the clear rinse water, she turned on the light and examined each one. There was no doubt. She hung the prints on the line with the others and saw Gwen’s Mona Lisa smile.

Gwen! Oh, God, not Gwen!

What had she said?
Lunch today?
When she told him she didn’t want to see
him
—
 
Tears
blurred Kate’s eyes. It took two tries before Kate could get her trembling fingers to punch in Gwen’s number. She wasn’t home. Fearing that Thomas could be there when Gwen got the message, she said only for Gwen to call her or
Venice
, that it was an emergency.

Frantically, she called the police station, praying for Detective Waite to be there.

“Detective Waite’s in court today. This is Detective Burnett.”

Her heart sank.

“Please, you have to help me.” She struggled to get her voice under control. “This is Kate McGuire. I know who killed Charlene Nelson and Kelly Landrum—”

“Did this information come to you in a dream, or do you have some evidence to support it?” The barely controlled sarcasm rang in her ears.

With panic clawing at her back, she did her best to explain, knowing he would never act on what she had to tell him.

“Ms. McGuire, I’ve never heard of this man. I can’t pick him up for
no
reason.” He wanted proof.

“Just please find Detective Waite and tell her,” she begged.

Next she called John.
Dear God, where was everyone today?
“John, it’s Thomas Andrews—he killed them. I’m at the studio,” she told his voice mail and hung up to call
Venice
, thinking what she could do.
Venice
’s line was busy.

Her watch said ten-fourteen, less than two hours until lunch. She thought of her savaged bed. Thomas was out of control now and wouldn’t hesitate to kill Gwen, she was sure of it.

Proof.
What kind of proof could she possibly come up with that would get Burnett to act? It would take his resources to find Gwen and stop Thomas.

The picture of Charlene dangled from the line in front of her. There may not be anything at Charlene’s to connect her with him, but there might be something at Thomas’s. If she and Kelly were meeting him in secret, both women probably went to his house. She knew he was at work today because Gwen had talked to him.
I could be in and out in no time. I have to find some kind of evidence before he gets to Gwen.

Knowing it was foolhardy but unable to think of anything else, she flipped through the phone book and found his address, thankful when she recognized the street name. It was in a fairly expensive subdivision with large, wooded lots. It should be easy to get in without being seen by curious neighbors. She stuffed a pair of rubber gloves from the darkroom into the pocket of her jeans. If she got caught, this would convict her for sure.

In a last act of sanity, she scribbled Thomas’s name on a note and left it on the open phone book for John. He would be here soon, but she couldn’t wait. She had to find something that would get Burnett to act and have time to find them by lunch. Gwen wouldn’t fool around. Kate knew she would tell him right away. She believed that dragging things out was both cowardly and unkind.

Ten-nineteen.
Leaving the door unlocked for John, she grabbed her bag and ran, taking the steps two and three at time. She couldn’t wait for the elevator. James Earl wasn’t in sight as she raced out the door to her car.

* * *

John came out of his boss’s office with his ears ringing. For the first time in his life, he had refused an assignment. It would have taken him ninety miles away to
Columbia
immediately, and he knew he couldn’t leave Kate. His managing editor had called him into his office, angry and demanding an explanation, especially since the newsroom was short-staffed at the moment. But John was adamant.

He stopped at Mike’s desk to pick up his new laptop and called to check on Kate, but she didn’t answer. Probably still in the darkroom, he thought. Just as he started to go to his own desk and check his messages, his phone rang. He reached across Mike’s desk and grabbed it, hoping it was Kate.

“John, I’ve found something,”
Venice
said, breaking in before he could say hello. “Can you come over right away?”

“What is it? Are you all right?” he asked, concerned by the anxious quaver in her voice.

“Yes.
Hurry.”

He found the number of James Earl’s office at the Principal Player’s warehouse and dialed. The old man answered quickly, and John asked if he had seen Kate.

“Yes, she’s in her studio. I checked it out myself, and she locked the door behind me. No one’s been here since then.”

“If you see her, would you please tell her I’ve gone to Mrs.
Ashburton’s
, to call me there?” He left immediately.

Martin met him at the door. “We found someone on your list.
Venice
will tell you.” He sat down on the sofa next to
Venice
. Both were fairly buzzing with excitement.

“I recognized one, well actually two or three of the names on the list, but that’s the only one that seemed plausible. It was Lyle Border, Margery’s husband,” she announced.