Intimate Portraits (14 page)

Once they’d gone, the atmosphere lightened.
The others lingered over coffee, chitchatting until the impatient Laney urged
them up. “Come on, people, there are lots of things to do. Why sit around on a
hard bench when we can go outside and hear caroling, maybe take a trolley ride?”

“Or a carriage ride,” Norma said.

“A carriage ride! That’s even
better.” Laney agreed with her sister too quickly.

Rennie hid a groan.

They’d obviously planned the
stratagem beforehand, but Laney looked at Autumn as if the idea had just occurred.
“It’ll be so romantic, clopping along at night with the holiday lights
twinkling everywhere. Let’s take one.”

“Yeah.” Norma looked at Autumn,
too, as ingenuous as her sister. “You and Fran in one, Rennie and Victoria in
another, then Laney and John, and Paul and me.”

Paul was a soft-spoken, likable
man. He’d never be able to stand up to Norma’s bullying, more was the pity.
Norma soon tired of men she could manipulate.

Rennie was as surprised as the
others when Paul refused. “I imagine the others can make their own arrangements,
Norma. As for me, I’m going over to the Festhalle at nine for the dance like we
planned. Then I have to head back to Atlanta. You can come with me if you like.
Or not.”

There was an indrawn sigh from
Norma’s siblings at Paul’s flagrant disregard of her stated behest. Norma was accustomed
to getting her way, but Paul hadn’t yet learned what was expected.

Everyone’s eyes went from Paul to
Norma.

She chose to be conciliatory. “Darling,
we can do both. First we go for a ride, and then we can go to the Festhalle.”

Paul checked his cell. “We won’t
have time. It’s already twenty to nine. I’ve heard a lot about the Festhalle so
I don’t want to miss it. I may never get back up here again.”

Norma’s good humor began to
unravel. “You don’t have to miss it. If we take—”

Paul got up. “Anyone want to walk
to the Festhalle with me? We can view the lights on the way.”

Silence, then Autumn was the
first to hop up. “I’ll go, Paul.”

Rennie smothered his grin. She
couldn’t stand conflict. How she’d become so attached to the Degardoveras who
were constantly in a state of flux was a mystery.

“Even if I don’t dance, I like to
watch.” Autumn stepped out over the bench, leaning back to keep from crowding a
man behind her.

Rennie had better support her. “Me,
too. And I need to walk after all that pizza and beer.”

Everyone else followed, his
sisters smoothing over their miscalculation by dropping the subject.

If Norma wasn’t careful, Rennie
thought as he noted the way Paul, seemingly without effort, began coaxing his
sister back into good humor, she might end up with a broken heart. Paul wasn’t
like her past flames, but Norma might not have enough sense to realize that
until it was too late.

Serve her right, the little
hellion. She and Laney were both scheming, manipulative females who did their
best to control the men in their lives. Husbands, lovers, and brothers. A man
had to be quick to keep ahead of them.

He caught up to Autumn.

****

Sam beckoned for his check as
soon the people at the table next to him stood up. Holding his coffee in front
of his face, he dawdled as they filed past chattering.

Though he kept his gaze to the
side, he soaked up every detail of the photographer, especially the bright blue
cape she wore over a colorful sweater. Its lapels swung wide open, revealing a
belt as the hem fell to her hips.

The belt wouldn’t be an obstacle
nor would the hip-length cape. He’d come up underneath and strike below the
waist.

He glanced at the check. Jeez,
that much money for mediocre pizza served on a frigging piece of paper? These
damned tourist towns were nothing but rip-offs.

He left a nice tip for the
waitress anyway—she was good but overworked—and he didn’t ask the cashier for a
receipt. He didn’t need one. Bernie’s client would spring for this meal without
substantiation, like he’d also spring for the other expenses on Sam’s say-so.

One of the perks of the job.

Aw, it wasn’t too bad except for
the time away from home. He was getting older. Traveling had gotten to be a
hassle. He missed his wife and boys.

The good thing was, once he was
through here, he’d be one step closer to quitting. Another couple hundred thou
or so should do it. The hard part was accounting for the money, but Bernie had
that handled, with the IRAs and investment swaps and all.

He trailed Autumn Merriwell and
her blithe group as they moved across the street into an area of small
glittering shop windows and brightly painted cafes that comprised an older
section of town. There, on the knoll above the river, they spent a few minutes
arguing before splitting up.

“Let’s take the street car to the
Festhalle,” one of the jazzy brunettes said stridently. “Come on, people. Don’t
you have any spirit of adventure?”

“Go ahead,” one of the tall men
said. “I’m adventured out and you would be, too, if you’d been dragged fifty
miles through the wilderness.”

The other jazzy brunette
shrieked. “Rennie, you know you loved that hike. And it was five miles. Nothing!”

They had to be family, the four
Hispanics. They looked too much alike to be anything but brothers and sisters.

After a spirited debate, part of
the group walked up the street, recrossing it to assemble where musicians
trumpeted Christmas carols from a bandshell. The two remaining couples,
including the photographer and the brothers, strolled down the sidewalk toward
the river. The fourth in their group, a stylish chick with a self-assurance
that bordered on arrogance, met someone she knew.

The two couples stopped. The
woman made noises of delight. “Ryan, I don’t believe it! What are you doing way
down here in Georgia?”

Sam chewed his gum and shifted
from foot to foot in front of a glassblower’s window where he pretended the
wares were immensely fascinating and totally unlike anything he could buy in
the mall at home.

The redhead was carrying on like
she’d found a long-lost relative. “Ryan’s a producer at a station up in
Michigan where I worked for a while. Let me introduce my—”

Station, eh? Radio? TV?

TV. Her white teeth and glossy
looks shouted boob tube.

Maybe a broadcast personality. She
sure didn’t let anyone else talk.

“Autumn here is a photographer—you’ll
never guess what her specialty is—and Fran. He’s campaign manager for a
gubernatorial candidate. And this is Rennie,” she gushed, entwining her arm
through that of the tall man who had accompanied Autumn Merriwell into the
restaurant.

Putting her hooks in the dude.

“Dr. Lorenzo Degardovera, a computer
professor at UGA. We’re all having the most, the most—oh, how shall I put it?—the
most invigorating weekend.”

“Laney’s out of earshot so go on,
tell the truth,” the other man beside the photographer urged. “We’re trapped in
a cabin that we’re lucky has running water.”

“Fran.” She flirted her eyes at
him but clung to his brother. “It’s rustic but nice. We’re having a wonderful
time.”

Sheesh. Sam tuned her out and
shifted his feet.

A shadow caught his eye.

The Merriwell dame had heard
enough, too. Either the polite smiling and nodding and exchange of pleasantries
weren’t to her taste or else, and far more likely—Sam grinned—she’d had enough
of Miss Personality moving in on her boyfriend.

Whatever. Either reason worked. She
was edging away to wander down the street toward the river. Alone.

Things usually worked out for the
best, didn’t they?

Blam!

“What the—!”

His heart hit his throat as he
sprang for the protection of the building. A couple of older women between him
and the photographer jumped, then squealed and pointed.

Fireworks.

He relaxed. No sign of popping
lights. The photographer must have seen some down the river though because she
stood motionless on the dark bridge, staring downstream into the night.

His heart rate slowed.

Jeez, that had surprised the
f-bomb out of him. And when he was doing so well with the four-letter words,
too.

Not a good example for the boys,
his wife had decreed.

Sam meandered down the dim sidewalk,
but he didn’t get a good view of the brilliant colors in the sky until he
reached the wooden slats where the bridge began.

His target had leaned against the
railing to watch them burst overhead.

Two older couples chatted quietly
as they crossed the bridge. A few seconds later, a boisterous group of college
kids romped past. The guys stopped to make some oblique overtures to the
photographer. When she turned a cold shoulder, they muttered something and
resumed their tipsy progress over the bridge.

That’s right, dipwads, move on
along. Get out of my way.

Her coat hem billowed as she
pulled the lapels together. Beneath the gentle darkness, her profiled figure
made a forlorn silhouette.

He could take her where she
stood. Pause like he was watching the fireworks and then slide the blade
beneath the bottom of her jacket, stick it in, and twist it.

In his head, he worked it out. How
the blade would catch, then pierce her flesh and slide upward to the lungs.

Yeah, it felt right. If he was
careful, there wouldn’t be much blood. A little cry wouldn’t be out of place in
the town noise surrounding them.

Go with the gut.

Sam put his foot on the railing
as if to tie his shoe and slipped the blade from its ankle sheath.

The steel haft was cool, but not
heavy. At home in his hand. Concealing it up his sleeve, he sauntered toward
where she leaned over the rail.

A couple stepped on the bridge so
he stopped by the rail, too.

Nice little river. Its frothy
current rippled over and around large boulders. Some of the rocks were jagged
and sharp. The roiling water looked cold.

He’d never been to the Alps, but this
might be how the villages over there looked. Maybe he and the wife could go on
vacation to Switzerland one day. After the boys got out on their own. After he
retired.

He didn’t concentrate on the
photographer or the knife or what he was about to do. Better to clear his mind.

The couple moved past, arm in arm,
intent on each other.

Now. Sam took a few steps until
he was directly behind her, then glanced over his shoulder. No one nearby.

The few people on the end of the
bridge, like the photographer, were intent on the sky. A particularly dazzling
eruption brought out exclamations, but Sam focused on the unsuspecting woman,
whose blue jacket fell to her hips and swung in a wide inviting arc.

The blade dropped out. He grasped
the handle.

This is it, baby.

One step and he slipped the point
up and under the hem of her cape, thrust the blade home.

The tip met the expected first
resistance before punching through.

And stopped cold.

Huh?

No yielding of soft flesh. The
blade met something too solid to penetrate and jarred his arm to the shoulder.

The photographer stumbled and with
a soft cry, tipped over the railing. Her hands shot out, clutching for a
handhold.

What—?

No blood. No time to wonder why. He
sleeved the blade before anyone could see.

Someone screamed. The
photographer.

Get out
. He’d lasted in the business
this long because he kept his cool. No losing it now.

The people on the bridge started
his way. Others saw and followed. The group she’d left earlier rushed past,
their attention on the woman dangling from the bridge rail.

In moments, Sam had melted into
the confusion.

Chapter 10

Somebody pushed me. Why? What
happened?

Autumn tried to keep her balance.
Failed. She hit the protective railing of the bridge but couldn’t keep from
falling.

Her head turned down. Heels
turned up.

Someone whimpered. Her.

Everything unfolded like slowed
movie frames.

This isn’t happening.

The rail stayed within inches of
her eyes at a strange and different angle from where it should have been. Her
body kept turning.

Of their own accord, her hands reached
out, found a purchase on one of the supports and scrabbled for a grip. Her feet
finished their revolution over the side of the wall. The rail vanished from
view, but she had hold of something.