1 Depth of Field (3 page)

As soon as I left Talia, my own cell phone started going off. I fielded calls from customers asking if their photos were ready or if not when they might pick them up. I was pretty sure everyone knew what had happened that morning and that they were fishing for information they thought the sheriff had shared with me about the case. When what felt like the fiftieth call came in, I admit I snapped my hello into the receiver and bit my tongue afterward.

“I’m sorry, Makayla,” Peony Trevor said in her gentle, tired tone, making me feel guiltier for biting her head off, “I know you must be busy. I can guess half the town has called you by now.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine, Peony,” I lied but not very convincingly.

“I’m afraid I’m like everyone else.”

“You want to know what the police said to me too?”

“Uh…no, I meant I’m worried about my baby’s pictures. You took the first one at the hospital, and then the ones we had done at your shop. Now I feel stupid for calling. It could have waited until tomorrow. Sasha is just my first little one, and I think it would kill me if I lost that first photo.”

She made a strangled sound, and my stomach clenched thinking something had happened. “Peony?”

“I can’t believe I said that.”

I rubbed my forehead and rushed to reassure her. No one could blame the woman. Those first moments were precious. The problem was I couldn’t be sure if the photographs were okay. I did have files backed up online, but wouldn’t you know it, my laptop was also in the shop, and I had been too cheap to get the data plan on my cell phone. As soon as I got a free moment, I intended to phone the sheriff to see if he would release at least the laptop to me. If my business was on hold for the time being, and I couldn’t develop any film, digital work could go on.

“Your pictures should be safe in my office, Peony. Don’t worry. Just like I told everyone else, this is a minor setback in terms of the photos. I’m sure the police are doing all they can to bring the person responsible for Alvin’s death to justice.”

I didn’t mean to display censure in my tone, but she seemed to read some. “Of course, you’re right. I’ll wait to hear from you about the pictures. Do the police know who did it?”

“I’m not sure what they know, but I’ll do all I can to help. Well, the phone is beeping in my ear with another call. I’ll be sure to contact you as soon as I know something.”

“Thanks so much.”

On it went until John Brinlee phoned. “Makayla, I wanted to talk to you about an advertising spread.”

I had come to the end of my rope, and something snapped. “Don’t you think I’ve had enough, John? I discovered a dead body in my shop this morning, not hours ago. Wouldn’t you think that’s a lot for a person to take in? Can’t this have waited until tomorrow? And if you just wanted to know about the investigation, I’m sure the police station will be happy to take one more pointless call just like this one!”

The line went silent, and I slapped a hand over my big fat mouth. Why had I let my temper get the best of me? What had I been thinking attacking a potential client that way? John wasn’t one of my customers, and here I had lit into him like a mad woman. Sure, these were extenuating circumstances, but really.

“I’m so sorry, John,” I began, fingers crossed he wouldn’t be so angry as to spread news of my awful attitude all around town. “You didn’t deserve that.”

I scrambled for words to explain myself, but there were none. So I prepared to beg his forgiveness. At last he spoke, and his voice was calm, oddly enough. “Who died, Makayla?”

I blanked. “Huh?”

“I am the one who has to apologize,” he said. “I’ve been in meditations all morning. I haven’t even left my office to greet my wife and daughter for the day yet. Inspiration struck for drumming up more business, and since I’d had your card on my desk from last week, I thought I would give you a call before the day’s activities distract me.”

Had he truly not heard? I couldn’t believe it. Even if he had shut himself away, wouldn’t someone, his wife maybe, have broken in on him to share the news? “Alvin Aston was found dead in my studio this morning.”

I didn’t want to admit again that I had been the one to stumble upon Alvin just in case he had missed that part of my little tirade, but John seemed less focused on me and more worried about some personal anguish. Perhaps they had been good friends, or he knew Alvin as a member of the gym. “No, this can’t be. Not Alvin.”

“I think—” I had begun to say the police were looking into the matter, but the line went dead. Just like that. No good-bye.

When the ringing started up once again, I silenced it and switched off both the sound and the buzzing. Then I changed clothes from slacks and a blouse to jeans and a T-shirt. I stuffed my phone in my pocket, grabbed a little money and my keys then left the apartment. Time to just zone out and enjoy a solitary walk. Instead of heading in the direction where I worked, I went the opposite direction along Main Street. After a stint of various apartment complexes and side streets, I began to hit stores again. These were more specialty shops and clothing stores, a cobbler, a drug store, and a smaller storefront gym. One would think they would lose in the competition against John and Allie Kate Brinlee’s massive structure, but one didn’t have to contend with suggestions that one could relieve tension with John’s mediation classes and other offers. I think I’d been handed more fliers over the last three months each time I passed the gym on the way to the bookstore. I could paper my studio with them.

When I turned off of Main onto Third, I came across a used books store I had never noticed in my exploration. I popped in and was surprised when there wasn’t a bell to announce my arrival. The shushed environment of the place coupled with the powerful scent of old leather and musk seemed to work just as well as a meditation class. At least it seemed so to my way of thinking. I wandered down a cramped aisle with shelves of books stacked to the ceiling, turned left, and came upon of all people Inna. She was still dressed as she had been that morning. One hand extended toward a book on natural disasters, but she didn’t appear to be reading the spine, as you didn’t need minutes to figure it out. Her eyes were glazed over, and she stayed in that position for a while, not noticing my approach.

“Inna?” I whispered. “What are you doing here? Are you off from work?”

She started and blinked at me. “Yeah, I didn’t feel like staying, and Frank let me go.”

Her nonchalant shrug made me wonder. Surely, she hadn’t been one of Alvin’s girls. I felt I knew her well enough to ask. After all Inna had never bitten her tongue when it came to
my
love life. “Are you okay? You and Alvin weren’t…”

She shivered and frowned at me. “Ew, gross, are you serious right now?”

I scanned the aisle and peered through the gaps in the books, but it appeared we were the only customers. “Sorry. I just wondered. You seem upset.”

“It’s murder. Who wouldn’t be?” She rolled expressive eyes. “Everybody’s gone crazy talking about it. My parents are…” She broke off. “Don’t worry about me. I want to get out of this town, but not in handcuffs. I didn’t kill the guy.”

Now I knew Inna wasn’t worried about herself or something she might have done. She worried about her mother. I considered how upset John had been to learn about Alvin’s death and how he had hung up on me. Did they have something to do with the murder? I pictured perpetually positive John Brinlee and bubbly Allie Kate and just couldn’t imagine them performing anything as heinous as murder. However, I had been wrong about people before—seriously wrong.

I took a different tack with Inna. “Any idea who might have done it? Talia seems to think it could have been one of ‘Alvin’s girls.’”

Confusion colored Inna’s expression, and she began toying with the book she had been studying. “His girls? Who is that?”

“You don’t know?”

She shrugged. “I know he’s married to Susan, the b—”

“Hey,” I interrupted.

She chuckled. “Well she is. Everyone knows it. Thinks she’s better than the rest of us. I guess she
was
born to what you would call upper middle class, but her daddy cut her off years ago for being a whore.”

“Ouch.”

Inna seemed pleased to pass on the tidbit. “Served her right.”

“So she wasn’t faithful to Alvin?”

Inna shrugged. “No clue, dude. Just repeating what I heard in the Hole a few times. But you shouldn’t listen to Talia. All she does is pass along whatever Ollie feeds her.”

“They seem like a perfect pair.”

Inna looked at me as if I had taken leave of my senses. I dismissed thoughts of Talia at that time, knowing police usually looked at the spouse as the first suspect in murder. “Do you think Susan could have done it? I’ve never met her, so I’m not sure if she’s capable.”

Inna rubbed her hands together, the rings on her fingers clinking. “You’re in for a special treat when you do, but yeah, I think she could have. I think anybody could commit murder. Even me.”

Her admission surprised me, but I saw that she wasn’t kidding. She left the book on the shelf and moved past me along the aisle. With a smile and a wave, she disappeared. I let her go but considered her words. Maybe what she said was true. Anybody truly desperate or pushed beyond his or her limits
could
commit murder.

Chapter Three

I knew nothing of fruit, but I was of the mind that fruit made the world go ’round. Okay, not the
entire
world. Over the summer, Briney Creek’s primary grocery store had come into what I liked to call the “mother lode.” There were simply bags upon bags of big, plump golden cherries. I had never liked red cherries. I don’t know why. The taste just never appealed to me, but when I spotted the golden cherries, they called to me. I’d had to try them. For a taste test, I’d bought a bag and taken it to the studio with me. The flavor had been so satisfying that I had promptly risen from my chair and left the photo spread I’d been working on right where it was. I had driven back to the grocery store and purchased two more bags to store in my refrigerator at home. Each week until the stock ran out, I bought the cherries. Now they were all gone, and I assumed the harvest that had produced them was at an end.

With the golden cherries gone, I had no fruit, so there I stood in the grocery store, contemplating what to buy next. As I said, I did not know the tips and tricks to purchasing fresh produce. If I knocked on a melon, it meant nothing. Shaking it next to my ear meant what? In my ignorance, it was always hit or miss on flavor.

Today, I had a choice between Red Delicious apples, a safer bet, and plums, not so much. While I pondered my decision, I glanced up to find I wasn’t alone. Brandon Parker stood on the opposite side of the bin I perused. A basket hung from his arm, and he frowned over the section of pears with one in his hand, squeezing it.

“You have trouble too?” I queried and smiled. “I never know how to tell which ones are sweet and which will be a disappointment.”

Deep brown eyes shyly met mine, one partially obscured by a lock of Brandon’s hair. He tilted his head back but didn’t shake the hair away. The curl slid into another direction by influence of gravity. Brandon’s slight smile was both apologetic and perfect as, if he’d just had braces removed. “I squeeze and hope it works out. Most of the time it doesn’t, so I eat a lot of bananas.”

“Bananas can lock you up, if you know what I mean,” I said helpfully. As I chatted, I recalled that the twenty-two year old was the primary delivery person of Talia’s packages. I had learned his age from Talia when she had caught me in the hall once, and again from Inna, who I suspected had a crush on the young man. Brandon also worked part-time at the bookstore next to the gym. Since he had no family that I had heard of and didn’t attend university, I wondered if he too had plans of leaving Briney Creek someday. No one had said one way or another since I had been in town.

When I spoke of constipation, Brandon’s cheeks reddened, and he lowered his gaze to the pears. He was so sweet and shy, I saw why Inna liked him. The personality seemed incongruent with his height over six feet and muscular frame.

Seized with curiosity, I moseyed around to his side of the bin and lowered my voice. “Have you noticed how often Talia gets packages? I know she’s a retired schoolteacher, but is she running a business or something out of her apartment?”

Brandon looked at me, eyes wide. His jaw worked, but no sound came out. After a while, he muttered, “I don’t know.”

He moved a few steps away, and I followed. “Well you had to have noticed the company name on the packaging, right? I mean if it was Amazon, it would be emblazoned across the box.”

Nothing.

“Brandon?”

The slight tint in his cheeks turned to full on red from his neck to the roots of his hair. He dumped several pieces of fruit into his basket without benefit of a plastic bag. “I stay out of people’s business. My company demands it, and I don’t want to lose my job.”

At his rebuff, my teeth clicked together, and shame washed over me. Here I’d been grilling the poor guy like one of the gossips in town and felt bad about it. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

The fact was I had nothing to do with myself. I had come to the grocery store not because I needed food but because I’d already hit both bookstores and walked the streets for a while. I had no work to occupy my mind or keep my hands busy. Being idle made me nervous and caused me to recall my entire income depended on my personal efforts. I needed to get back to it.

“It’s okay,” Brandon assured me. “Um, that reminds me. That book you ordered came into the bookstore. I was going to call you about it, but I was waiting until I go in in a couple hours.”

I perked up. “Stock Photo Success?”

He nodded.

Excitement bubbled inside me. I’d been hoping to spread my talents for taking photos and making use of the literally thousands of photos I had taken over the years in a way that could be profitable for me. A decade ago, an entrepreneur had used his talent to make a fortune in this arena. While I wasn’t looking to hit it big, I did need to make a living. I was doing fine so far in Briney Creek, but I didn’t like to put all my eggs in one basket. I needed diversity of income, and a broad audience. I believed stock photos were my way to reach clients all over the country if not the world. The book was my start.

“Wonderful. Thanks so much, Brandon. I’ll be in later to pick the book up.”

He hesitated. “I’m interested in photography. Sometimes.”

I raised an eyebrow, amused. “Sometimes?”

He scratched his head. “My interest comes and goes. I like the thought of the shadows and light, the colors, and visiting different places all around the world. I don’t like to study though.”

I chuckled. “You work in a bookstore.”

“Selling them is different from reading them. Besides, learning isn’t entertainment.”

“Depends on who you are and what you’re learning.” I winked. “I understand what you mean. For me it was about escape and discovery. When my world was humdrum and routine, I could escape behind my camera and uncover treasures and secrets. My first shots were of the entrance into an alleyway in New York and the homeless man who sat beside it.”

Brandon wrinkled his nose, his gaze full of confusion, but he didn’t criticize my choice. I patted his arm.

“By sheer ignorance, my lighting was all wrong, the ISO too high, and any number of issues. When I looked at the picture later, it was obvious I had a long way to go, but I had created something amazing.”

“What?” he asked, eyes wide.

I smiled. “A portal into another world.”

He mouth fell open, and I couldn’t help laughing.

“Not really, but the photo made me dream of other worlds. Don’t you see? I don’t like learning all the technical jargon. I know how to produce a desired result but not why I can or, like I said, the terms. I don’t care. My gaze wants to drink it all in to feed my soul. I
have
to do it.”

At that point, I knew I had lost him, but Brandon listened with politeness anyway, which I appreciated. Not every person understood an artist’s need, but that was okay. Most of my Briney Creek clients just wanted commemorative photos of their families and events. John Brinlee desired advertising photos. There was a place for these and a place for creations like my hallway of dreams in my apartment.

I dug into her my purse and produced my card. “If you decide you’d like to learn a little about photography, Brandon, I’ll be glad to teach you, and I’ll keep the boring studying to a bare minimum.”

He took the card. “Thanks a lot. I’ll think about it.”

With that, he walked off. I left the apples and plums and chose bananas instead, fruit I had warned Brandon against. I figured my chances with satisfaction were higher, and I could always eat more leafy greens to keep things moving.

“Ms. Rose.”

I started upon hearing my name again on Sheriff Norwood’s lips and whirled to face him. So we were at Ms. Rose? I had also heard a certain coolness that hadn’t been there the day before, and a cramp started in my gut. I shouldn’t be surprised. This was bound to come. He had looked into my past. No doubt about it from the hardened expression on his face. I raised myself up to my full height and pasted on a smile. His countenance altered minutely, telling me the smile had failed to fool him.

“Good morning, sheriff. How are you?” I said.

He nodded his head in greeting but then dispensed with the niceties. “I’ve been trying to reach you. Are you avoiding me?”

I blinked at him. Avoid the police in a small town. That was a good joke. “No, of course not, but you shut me out of my shop, so it’s not like I can go there. Home and wander around with nowhere to go are my options.”

“Your phone.”

I gasped, recalling I had shut off both the sound and the vibration after it seemed that everyone in Briney Creek tried to reach me. I dug it out of my purse and turned the sound back on. Right away, messages popped up, and the emblem that said I had a voicemail. I had no doubt by the irritation radiating from the sheriff that at least one was from him.

“I apologize. I really wasn’t avoiding you.”

He made a small noise I didn’t know how to interpret. Was he always so disagreeable, or was it that he was new on the job, and didn’t appreciate a murder landing in his lap so soon. I imagined this fact had something to do with it and was doubly glad for my own career choice. Doubtful I could be a policeman or even an investigator despite my natural curiosity.

The sheriff took my arm. “We need to talk.”

I let out a small squeak and pulled from his grasp. He glared at me.

“Am I under arrest?” I asked, a lump of fear gathering in my throat.

“Not at this time.”

“Then I would like to finish my grocery shopping.” I must have sniffed the fruit too much to take the attitude I took, but really to have him grasp my arm in such a way in public? There weren’t that many people off work and shopping that time of morning, but there were a few, and I wouldn’t have it spread about town that the sheriff hauled me out of the grocery store under suspicion of killing Alvin Aston.

The sheriff must have guessed the way my reasoning had gone and had mercy on me. “Fine, but I’m staying with you until you’re done. You’re not putting me off. I want this case settled as soon as possible.”

A response trembled on my lips, but I bit it back and agreed. We left the fruit aisle together and headed toward the back of the store to the meat section. Originally, I hadn’t intended to get much, but I wanted to put off this interview as long as possible. Bending over the refrigerated cases, I compared prices between cubed beef already seasoned to a slab of shoulder roast. I didn’t eat much red meat, preferring to make small healthy changes that didn’t hurt too much. Turkey, chicken, and fish were my mainstays.

To his credit, the sheriff continued along with me in silence until we reached the cereal aisle. Then he nabbed the biggest box of bran cereal from my fingers and dropped it into the cart. He stared pointedly at the other box, and I put it back. Scanning my cart, I admitted that I had to put a stop to the delaying tactic. My budget didn’t allow for half the items I had selected, so I wasted more time returning many to where I had found them.

Sheriff Norwood blocked my path after ten minutes, curling strong fingers around the edge of the cart and leaning toward me. “If you don’t finish this right now, I will interview you here.”

I swallowed. “Fine. I’m done.”

We headed up to the cashier, and I ran my items through the checkout. The woman’s fingers flew over the keys of the register without her looking. “Well, this is interesting.” Her suggestive grin said exactly what she found so interesting, and a glance at the sheriff’s face said he knew too. Lightning flashed in his gaze, and the woman’s smile died. She hurried my items along and had them rung up and bagged within moments. Wonderful service having the sheriff as a tagalong. I might need to bring him with me again sometime. The ridiculousness of this thought kept me from obsessing over the coming interview.

Sheriff Norwood assisted me with loading the bags into the trunk of my car, and then he followed me home to my apartment. He even carried all of them to my door and waited while I unlocked it.

“In here,” I said as I led the way to the kitchen, not very far since my place was tiny. I eyed him as he set the bags down on the counter. My kitchen had never seemed so box-sized with such a big man in it, and I speculated on his willingness to do so much for me. When his sharp gaze took in every detail from the gym flyer pinned beneath a refrigerator magnet to the barren dining room, visible from the kitchen, I started thinking he’d done so only to get into my apartment without a warrant. Did he think I would have the murder weapon just lying on the counter?

“Are you done searching, or would you like to check the bedroom too?” I offered.

This time his face was blank, all irritation gone. He confused me. Tugging out the obligatory notebook, he said, “Where were you between two and four a.m. yesterday morning?”

“Is that when he died?” My heart raced, but I tried to sound as calm as he. He glanced up at the breathless quality of my voice.

“So you were alone?”

I got it. He was asking the questions. “Yes, I was here alone and asleep.” The word
alone
bounced off the walls and echoed. I’m sure it was only in my head that this happened. The sheriff scratched a note.

“Did you give anyone else a key to your office?”

This took me by surprise. “No. The landlord has one, I suppose, and whatever company he has to come in to empty trash cans.” I had opted to pay extra each month to have this service. I hated taking trash out to the apartment Dumpster and was thrilled to learn of the optional addendum to my lease. Now, not so much. “Are you saying someone had a key?”