Photographs and Memories

Photographs and memories
All the love you gave to me
Somehow it just can't be true
It's all I've left of you

 

“Oh, like wow!” Amy exclaimed as she scrolled through a huge file of pictures. “You're never going to believe this.”

“Yeah, wow is right,” Sean responded, absorbing the information on his own computer screen. “You're not going to believe this.”

“Tyllman's pictures are amazing.”

“I found the money.”

“What did you say?” They spoke in unison. Each of them looked up from the computer monitor to decipher what was going on with the other. Amy spoke first.

“Walt Tyllman's pictures, you're never going to believe who was in town last week. As far as I know, no one else has reported on this.”

“Who?” Sean asked, his curiosity piqued.

“Jared Somer. There's a picture of him outside at Allison's funeral.

Sean's eyes narrowed. “Jared Somer never came inside.”

“Are you sure?” she asked. “He was definitely there.”

“Positive,” Sean assured her. “Belden will tell you the same thing. Is he with his fiancée? Buffy Patterson was definitely there alone when she was inside.”

“No… “ she answered slowly. “It's hard to tell if he's with anyone. He's just sort of there, among the crowd. He's only tagged in this one picture though.”

Sean stood up and stretched. “Can you project it to the screen?”

Amy's fingers flew as she tapped the keyboard commands to project the pictures onto the oversized monitor in the conference room. “See, he's right there. It appears that he's just a bystander.”

“Do you think he was waiting on Elizabeth? Maybe that's why she left early.”

“Not a chance!” A few keystrokes more and she displayed additional photos on the screen. “From the time stamp, this is right when the service started. There are a few stragglers still going in, but look who came out the side door.” She pointed with her finger to a clear shot of Elizabeth Patterson. “She came alone and she left alone.”

“You can't be certain he wasn't waiting out of range.”

“You're right of course,” she acknowledged. “But don't you think Walt would have taken a picture of them? We really need to convince Walt to give me access to all his files, not just the ones of people we tagged.”

“Wait a minute,” Sean said raising a hand. “He didn't give us everything? Who was tagged in the picture with Somer?”

“That was one of the ones where Margaret Gaitley was tagged, but there could be others with him in it.”

“Dammit, Freeman! You've got to convince him to give us everything.”

She blew out a breath in frustration and pushed back from her keyboard. “If it were that easy, we'd already have them. But I don't have anything left to bargain with.”

“Come up with something,” he said roughly. “We've got to get this figured out.”

 

 

Honey somehow managed to squelch the wave of panic that was threatening to overwhelm her. Only thirty seconds had ticked off her watch and she was already feeling like the five minutes should be up. It only took another ten seconds for her to realize that wherever she followed Trixie over the course of their career as private detectives, it would be infinitely better than being left behind waiting and wondering. She vowed to tell Trixie that as soon as she saw her. Only forty-five seconds. She took another deep breath and stared at the boat. A tap on her shoulder made her jump with an overreaction that would have made any stage director proud. She spun around to confront the person she was certain was the head of the IRMA terrorist organization.

“Excuse me, I didn't mean to startle you.” The young Hispanic woman's attire was so fastidious that Honey felt she must have ironed her undergarments. Her ensemble had a distinct nautical flair, but there wasn't one specific thing Honey could point to that screamed, 'I work at the marina' until Honey noticed her precise white nametag engraved with the name “Maria” in navy. “Is there a problem?”

“Uh, no of course not,” Honey stammered. She took a deep breath in an attempt to calm down her racing heart. There was no way Maria would know Trixie was on the boat. “I'm meeting the owner of this boat here. She's not here yet and I didn't want to go aboard until she arrived.

Maria frowned. “I believe the owner of this boat is a man. Are you sure you have the correct boat?”

“My Uncle Harold,” Honey replied with a smile. “You may not have heard but he's in the hospital in critical condition. I'm meeting his wife, my Aunt Tammy.”

Maria seemed to relax a bit and lowered her clipboard. “I see. We certainly hope your Uncle turns a corner soon.”

The encounter with the marina worker was increasing Honey’s anxiety ten-fold. She decided to play it safe. “Thank you for your concern, but it doesn't look like that will happen. She glanced at her watch, relieved to find that not even half of the time had elapsed since Trixie moved out of her sight. “In fact, she has to make the decision today to pull the plug on Uncle Harold. It's all just very sad.” Mustering every bit of a highbrow society demeanor that she could, she moved from defense to offense.

“By the way, since you work here, could you please tell me when this ....” she waved her hands to encompass the remains of the crime scene tape. “This ... mess will be cleaned up? We've already scheduled the biohazard cleaning team to return the Lillibet to first class order, so it's rather disconcerting to find that we can't count on the marina to do their part. Really, with the fees that Uncle Harold has paid, it's preposterous this hasn't been taken care of yet.”

“You're right of course, Ms. ....” her voice trailed off as she realized she hadn't learned Honey's name. Honey had no intention of disclosing it.

“Besides being Harold and Tammy's niece, I'm also their attorney,” Honey replied. “I'd like your assurance this will be done today.”

“Yes, of course. Let me get right on it.” She handed Honey her card. “Just give me a call if you don't find things done to your satisfaction.” She turned and hurried away.

Well that takes care of that little problem , Honey thought as she turned to give the boat her full attention. She glanced down at her watch, and sighed. Not quite half the time remaining.

 

 

“Just tell me what it will take?” Amy wheedled, her voice husky. “If it’s about the money, we could pay you for access to the photos.”

Standing in the line at the hot dog vendor, Walt Tyllman had three cameras slung around his shoulders. A bulky backpack contained more lenses and equipment. He shrugged. “Why do you want them?”

“You know why we want them,” she replied. “I can’t tell you any more, I have to protect my client.”

“You think they’re going to prove Reid Beckhart is innocent of shooting his wife,” he stated. He moved forward and ordered the large sausage dog with kraut, onions and mustard. Turning to look at Amy he asked. “Do you want one? My treat.”

She managed not to shudder. A hot dog from a street vendor was something she could handle once or twice a year. The rest of the time, she simply couldn’t stomach the thought of the processed meat, nitrates and other things she knew were included in the fragrant sausages. “Thanks, not today.”

Undaunted by Walt’s reluctance, she continued. “We can already prove he didn't do it,” she continued, unconsciously tapping her foot in impatience. “You know that there is more to this but you keep stonewalling us. Now what’s the problem? We’ve offered you money, access to events, exclusive photo opportunities … what’s it going to take?”

“I dunno.” He shrugged and took a big bit of his dog. He chewed slowly and then swallowed before taking a large gulp from the bottle of water.

Her eyes narrowed. “You know, we could’ve already turned this lead over to the local authorities. They’d just get a warrant and confiscate all your photos. You wouldn’t get anything out of that deal.”

“We both know that’s not going to happen.”

Amy barely managed not to roll her eyes. She had no idea what else to use. Walt had called her bluff. “Name. Your. Price.” She punctuated each word with a jab to his chest.

Nodding as if he were thinking hard he stood there for what seemed minutes but in reality was only a few seconds. “Be my date to that fancy fundraiser on Saturday,” he said.

“What?”

“You heard me. I need a date for that fancy fundraiser for that school. I’ll be working some, but still, it would be more fun to have a date so I don’t stand out like a dork. It’ll help me later. People will think of me as more legit. They’ll let their hair down and I’ll get better pictures.”

Amy’s eyes narrowed. “Just a date. You’re not implying anything more than that.”

“Just a date,” he confirmed. “Nothing more.”

“Okay. I’ll agree on one condition. No, wait.” She held up a hand, with two fingers raised, like a decades- old peace sign. “Make that two conditions.”

“What are they?”

“First, as soon as you finish that nitrate missile we go back to your studio and you give me access to the pictures immediately.”

“You promise not to cancel?” He said. “Because trust me, I’ve already got pictures that will embarrass you.”

“Well, it’s certainly nice to see we’re starting this new relationship based on mutual trust.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm. “I will not cancel. Special Age … uh, Amy Freeman does not welsh on a deal. I have six older brothers. Trust me on this.”

“What’s the second condition?”

“You promise to trim that beard and wear a tux.” She crossed her arms and glared at him. “I don’t mind being your date, but you’re not going to wear khakis, Converse, and some grubby polo shirt to a formal affair and be my date.”

He didn’t even try not to roll his eyes. “Get real, lady. I know how to dress. Looks like we got a deal.” He finished the last of his hot dog and wiped his hand on his pants, before extending it to her. “Deal?”

She grasped his hand without cringing, but made a mental note to dig out her hand sanitizer as soon as possible. “Deal,” she replied.

 

 

Stealthily, Trixie made her way down the ladder into the main salon of Harold’s yacht. She’d left her shoes by the entrance on the deck to prevent any misstep in the unknown terrain. To keep from alarming Honey, she waited until she’d passed through the door to pull her service weapon. Just a few steps from the bottom of the ladder the tidy cabin was in full view. She swept the cozy space with a glance spying the computer sitting in a nifty little nook. If anyone were on the boat, it was unlikely they were in the salon, but Trixie avoided the impulse to go straight to the computer and checked the room completely. The two closets were small, but a slender person could have easily stowed away in either. Coming up with the all-clear for the main salon, she debated whether she should check the galley, staterooms, and the head, or just grab the computer and run. With a sigh she decided to inspect the entire boat. Before she made it to the door it was pushed open. Her eyes widened slightly as she exerted her training to suppress any sign of surprise. Pointing her service weapon, she spoke. “You’re going to want to stop right there.”

To her amazement, the young woman whooshed out a sigh of relief. “It’s you. Thank goodness it’s you.”

Trixie cocked her head slightly, but didn’t move. “You seem relieved to see me, but I don’t quite understand why. I can assure you that I’m not relieved to see you. What are you doing on Harold’s yacht?”

The intruder smiled. “I suspect the same thing you are.” She pointed at the computer. “Evidence left behind. I need it.”

“Well, you’re not going to get it,” Trixie replied tartly. “I need it too.”

“That's not going to happen,” the other woman replied airily. She took a seat in one of the luxuriously appointed captain chairs, crossed her legs, and leaned back casually. “It has information on it that I need.”

“It has information that I need as well.” Trixie didn’t relax her guard at all.

“Perhaps you and I need the exact same thing.” The other woman flipped back her long hair.

“Somehow I find that hard to believe,” Trixie scoffed.

“Believe it or not, it’s true.” She shrugged. “We both need an orchid. In fact, I overlooked an orchid while I was searching for a rose.”

Trixie lowered the gun staring at the woman in disbelief. “The orchid that I overlooked was you.”

“Well, well, well ... I had my suspicions, but it's still hard to believe it's true. Beatrix Belden, this season's new golden girl on the New York City social scene is really a Special Undercover Agent for the Central Investigative Bureau.” She gave a knowing smile. “It's obvious from your expression that you never suspected I was your contact.”

Trixie slowly engaged the safety on her gun. “Actually, I'm still not convinced you are. I’ve already been burned once with that stupid code phrase. In fact, until this moment, you were solidly in the suspect list.”

Elizabeth Ann “Buffy” Patterson threw back her head and let out a genuine laugh. “Now that’s one for the record books. Now I’m a suspect!” She leaned forward and extended her hand. “I owe you an apology for some remarks I made at the Heart Association Ball.”

Trixie grasped the offered hand. “Apology accepted. Now do you want me to bring my partner in on this or let her go?” She glanced down at her watch. “We have less than a minute and she’s going to call 9-1-1.”

Buffy shook her head and stood up. “Sorry, no way. At this point in the case, I don’t have any choice about letting you know who I am. But there's more than just my safety at stake here. My father is as innocent as anyone, and I'm not exposing him to the increased risks with someone else knowing I'm working undercover.”

Trixie nodded and slid her firearm into her purse before turning to ascend the steps. “Go ahead and pack up the computer. Either way this goes down, it's not staying on this yacht.”