The Photographer (7 page)

Monday was quiet, since the scramble to get out Friday's paper never started until after the staff meeting. Megan pulled out a sheet of notebook paper and spread the shiny faces before her. She started with a list. Cynthia, Roxie, Bunny, Candy, Marva, Lora. These were the girls that were sick. These were the faces she'd looked at in Mrs. Leffingwell's office, the ones that were spread before her.

She tallied the number of photos of each girl. Cynthia led the count, but there were several poses for each girl. Homecoming, Halloween, informal poses in the hall, the courtyard, the classroom. When had all of these been taken? Recently. When had the girls become ill? Just these last two weeks. Who was most ill? Cynthia and Bunny. They also led the list for number of photos taken.

Her hands shaking, Megan turned over each photo. The photographer's name was required on each. Quickly she glanced through the stack. All the pictures were by one staff member.

Derrick Ames.

None of the photos in the stack she had before her belonged to her or Robert. But what did that mean? Derrick had turned in his photos. She and Robert hadn't gotten around to it. Megan had taken photos of these same girls. What was she sitting here trying to prove? That because these girls had been photographed they'd gotten sick? No way. That was a ridiculous thought. It was simply a coincidence.

And why was she upset that Derrick's name was on each of these particular photos? Why wouldn't they be? He'd been assigned all these jobs.

Then she remembered all the extra photographs Derrick had taken of Cynthia at the dance. He hadn't been assigned those. She thought of the look on his face when Cynthia had fallen ill, that grin.

You can't incriminate a person for his attitude, she told herself. For not liking someone or being angry at her. Her mind was trying to force an idea on her that was totally impossible. But something told her it wasn't. Just as she had known Bunny had fallen, just as she had felt that Cynthia was ill at the dance, she knew Derrick was behind the Homecoming Attendants' being ill. But how could she ever prove it? Unless she had some proof, people would just laugh at her.

A clicking sound caused Megan to jump. She shuffled the photos into a pile, covered them with her notebook. She was holding her breath when Robert entered the office and flicked on the light. She hadn't even noticed that the sky had darkened, promising more snow.

“Megan? What are you doing, sitting in here with such dim light? It's sixth period. Don't you have English?”

“I guess so.” Megan forced herself to breathe normally.

“You guess so? What's wrong, Megan? You aren't getting sick, are you?” Robert sounded worried.

“No, no, I'm fine,” she assured him. “Well, actually, I'm not fine. I've discovered something, Robert. Mrs. Leffingwell helped call it to my attention. Come here and look.” She might as well try out her theory on Robert, see what he'd say. She spread out all the photos again.

“All the girls who are sick have been photographed an unusual number of times. And the photographer for all of these particular photos is Derrick.”

“So? You and Derrick and I do almost all the photography work for the paper. And a lot of our pictures go on to the annual staff.”

“I know that, but—”

“Those are the most popular girls in the school. You know there are always people who are photographed more than others. Especially the girls who are pretty. And we've just had Homecoming. Might it also follow that those girls are the ones who'd get mono, too?” Robert grinned, teasing Megan.

“That kissing business is a joke, Robert. Last year only two people in the whole school had mono. Harold Fox—who is not what his name would suggest. And Ruth Anne Penny—not the world's most popular girl. One was a freshman, the other a senior, and they probably never even sat side by side at lunch.”

“Okay, forget the kissing joke, Megan. What could you possibly be getting at here? I thought you were my best reporter, and here you are thinking up something—well, I'm not even sure what you are thinking.”

“I'm not either,” Megan admitted. “But call it a hunch, Robert.” Megan could see that she and Robert were poles apart. She sure wasn't going to mention that sometimes she
knew
things. It sounded too peculiar. “Call it woman's intuition. Something is going on here. I know it.”

“Okay, don't get mad, Megan. Prove it to me and I'll listen. Give me some concrete evidence that these girls have gotten sick because Derrick took their pictures. Or because we took their pictures. What are you saying? That the camera is stealing their souls?” Robert started to laugh. And put into those words, it did sound impossible. Even ridiculous.

“Laugh all you like, Robert.” Megan gathered her books and the photos. “I'll get you some concrete evidence if you insist.” She pushed past Robert and started out the door.

Megan didn't like Robert or anyone else laughing at her. As farfetched as her idea sounded, she knew Derrick had something to do with this. There was some tie-in between the fact that he had taken an inordinate number of photos of Cynthia and Bunny, and that they were the most ill. Especially Cynthia.

“Megan, be reasonable!” Robert shouted to her as she hurried down the hall.

“I am. You haven't heard the last of this.” Tears filled Megan's eyes as she found her way to her locker.

Not caring who saw her, who knew she was cutting classes, she headed for the library, leaving the photos in her locker. Pulling books from the shelves, she settled at a table and read more than she wanted to know about mono. The final bell rang and she left the pile of books for a library assistant to shelve.

Hurrying back through the crowd, she reached her locker and grabbed her notebook and several books. She knew she wasn't going to study tonight, but she'd make the pretense. Swinging around to leave, she crashed right into Gus. Books, notebook, lunch sack with a leftover apple all tumbled to the floor.

“I'm sorry, Megan.” Gus gathered Megan's books and piled them back into her arms. He looked at a photo of Cynthia that had escaped the stack in her notebook. His face was stricken with pain. “Want to go to the hospital with me?”

“Not today, Gus. Give Cynthia my love. Tell her I'll call her tonight.”

Then, as Megan started down the hall, another voice made her freeze in her tracks. “You dropped this, Megan.” Derrick handed her another photo that had slid away from her. It was an informal shot of Cynthia, obviously labeled on the back for the annual. A photo Megan should not have had in her possession.

“Oh, thanks, Derrick. I'm getting some shots of Cynthia blown up to poster size for her birthday. It's in November.” Her voice trailed off as she met Derrick's steel gray eyes, intense, questioning.

“Want a ride home?” The tone of Derrick's voice had a magnetic pull to it, and Megan felt she couldn't refuse to go with him even if she had wanted to.

“Yeah, sure,” Megan said quickly to show Derrick that life was normal and that she had nothing to hide from him. “I'd appreciate that. I've got tons of homework.”

The trip to Gunbarrel Greens, their subdivision, started out as silently as their drives usually were. But again it was not a comfortable silence. Megan squirmed in her seat and longed to escape sitting there beside Derrick. She wanted to shout, “Stop!” and jump out of the van. Could Derrick feel her fear? She had a feeling he could. She wanted to throw up a shield between them, hide her thoughts, her emotions.

“Derrick?” Megan had to ease the tension. She'd try talking. “Remember when you said I had given you a good idea? Ready to tell me what it was?” She tried to laugh casually.

“I doubt you'd understand it if I did tell you about it, Megan,” Derrick said.

“Now you're insulting my intelligence.” Megan tried to tease, pretend she was offended by Derrick's remark. “Just because you're some kind of genius, doesn't mean you have the corner on intelligence. Try me. I might understand more than you know.”

“I don't think so.” Derrick really wasn't going to tell her anything.

“Come on, Derrick. If you tell me and I don't understand, then you can say, ‘I told you so.' You have my permission. I thought you liked me. That we were friends.” Megan kept talking.

Derrick stared at her while they waited for a stoplight. Then he turned his eyes back to the road.

Megan kept pretending that things were normal. “Pick me up tomorrow for staff meeting?” She opened the door when they got to her house.

“Sure, Megan. No problem.”

She slammed the van door; then had to open it, slam it again.
No problem
. She hoped there wasn't a problem. Please, please, she thought as she ran to her door. Let Robert be right. Let me look foolish. Let me be wrong about this, whatever it is. Let me be wrong about Derrick.

Chapter 10

By nine o'clock that evening Megan had a plan. It wasn't a good one, but it was the only one she could think of. She had to get inside Derrick's house, into his darkroom. She might find something there—what, she couldn't imagine, but something. A poisoned apple for the sleeping beauties?

Her mind had gone from rational thinking to silly, confusing theories all evening. If she could just stop her imagination from going in all directions until she had some more facts.

Even if she had to apologize to Robert, she needed him in on the plan. She dialed his number.

“Robert, I know you think I'm being silly, but go along with me, please. It's important. I need you to give Derrick an assignment so I'll know where he is for a couple of hours.”

There was a pause at the other end of the line. Then Robert laughed. “Okay, Megan. I'll give him the city council assignment. He'll hate it. But we need someone there, since they're talking about school funding, possibly some remodeling at the high school.”

“You'll insist he go?”

“Yes. I'll find a good reason why I can't.”

Robert made good on his promise Tuesday morning. Derrick grumbled about having to go to the city council meeting, but in addition to the remodeling, a group of Boulder High's council was going to propose a joint city and school Renaissance festival. Robert wanted a report on both activities in the school paper. Megan had given him the word from Mrs. Leffingwell. He didn't like his paper being criticized and thought a picture of Boulder's woman mayor and Boulder High's female student council president would be good on the front page of the next issue. He assigned Jim to write up a serious election story to go with the photos.

The day dragged on. Megan's mind wasn't on school. She missed Cynthia. She ate her lunch alone in the newspaper office, looking over past issues.

School out, she dashed to the hospital to find no change in Cynthia. She was asleep and responded to very little, her mother said. So Megan didn't stay long. At dinner she said she had to go to the city council meeting and that Derrick was picking her up. She hated lying to her parents, but how could she explain to them that she had to break into Derrick's darkroom?

“Why doesn't that young man come to the door like a date is supposed to do?” Mr. Davidson grumbled.

“Because this isn't a date, Daddy. It's business.”

“Business, ummmph.” His eyes teased. “Monkey business.”

“No, Daddy. This is really an important evening for our school.”

That wasn't totally a lie. What Megan was doing could be really important. She dashed out before he could question her further.

Fortunately, they'd had the harvest moon for Halloween and daylight saving time was over. Gunbarrel Greens was very dark. Since it was out of the city, there weren't as many streetlights either. Megan hoped if anyone saw her she would look like another teenager coming home from school late.

How was she going to get into Derrick's house? Some houses out here had burglar alarms. Police didn't make rounds often, so people took care of their own security. Would Derrick's mother be that cautious?

It turned out to be simple. Just before Megan reached Derrick's house, Mrs. Ames turned into their drive in her station wagon. Megan stopped behind a lilac bush at the curb of a neighbor's house and watched her get out of the car. To Megan's surprise, she was laughing. Then Megan heard a chinking sound and cursing. Mrs. Ames had dropped her keys. She mumbled as she searched. It was obvious to Megan that she'd been drinking. Footsteps told Megan she'd found them and was walking to the front door. Don't turn on the porch light, she willed. Seven o'clock. She glanced at her watch. Not a great time for breaking and entering, but the city council meeting started at seven, and Megan had no other choice. She might have two hours, less if the school representatives were scheduled first.

Slipping from the bush to the station wagon, Megan approached the house. If Mrs. Ames came back out, Megan would ask if Derrick was there. She'd have to hope that Mrs. Ames wouldn't later tell Derrick that Megan had come visiting. Megan clutched the cold casing of her flashlight. The graveled front yard crunched as she tried to cross it. The sound was like ice breaking in the evening's silence.

Megan's plan was to look in the windows, locate Mrs. Ames, and then start trying windows. She didn't need to. Mrs. Ames had left her key ring in the front door. Maybe she had stopped at a bar after work. Her drinking must have made her forgetful. Megan didn't hesitate. She turned the key, slipped open the door, and, seeing no one in the flagstone entryway, tiptoed through it and toward the stairs.

The distinctive sound of ice dropping into a glass and a beverage being poured reached Megan's ears. The shrill jangle of the phone made her jump and huddle on the first step. Where was the phone located?

“Oh, yes.” Mrs. Ames's voice was still in the kitchen. “I had to stop and celebrate on the way home. I'll leave Sunday if I feel better.”