I shoved my hands in my coat pockets to keep them warm and strode purposefully toward the wharf. I wasn't exactly sure what I would say or do when I met up with Heather, but I was sure something would come to me. I was, of course, doing exactly what Briggs always warned me not to do. I was approaching a possible suspect on my own. But it was hard to even consider Heather a suspect. There was seemingly no connection between Lionel, Glenda and Heather. There was no motive. Unless Lionel was seeing Heather too, but I'd seen her around town several times and never noticed her with Lionel. And frankly, how on earth could a man, no matter how big a cad, see that many women in such a small space of time. There just weren't that many hours in a day.
I reached the steps to the beach and gazed around at the sand. No sign of a photographer or her equipment. The sun was still a good half hour away from producing one of its glorious sunsets over the Pacific, but I was certain Heather would need time to set up to make sure she got the shot just right.
The late afternoon wind that usually whipped up as the temperature dropped had slowed to a mild, salty breeze. Thin wispy clouds cluttered the horizon, but no sign of a fog bank. It was the perfect scenario for a beautiful glowing pink and orange sunset.
I didn't want to be caught watching and waiting for her to show up, so I headed down the stairs to take a walk on the beach. I pulled my hood up and tucked my hands in my pockets as I trudged through the thicker, drier sand to the more solidly packed wet sand. Seagulls were still dropping down on the white crests rolling toward shore, hoping to find their last snack before nightfall.
I headed toward the outcropping of rocks below the lighthouse. There was a precariously narrow path that led down from the rear of Marty's house to a tiny stretch of sand and the rocks. When Briggs and I were feeling a little like our teenage selves, we coaxed ourselves into climbing the rocks. They held plenty of critter filled tide pools. It was always fun to watch the sea life going through their daily routines in their shallow, watery world on the rocks.
I was about fifty yards from the outcropping of rocks when a figure emerged on top of them. It was Heather. She was carrying her camera bag but no tripod. It seemed she'd actually put her camera inside the bag for a change, which made some sense because it wasn't that easy to traverse the rocks.
She spotted me and looked confused at first and a little miffed, unless I was imagining the latter. I reached the rocks just as she was climbing down. She gripped her unwieldy black camera bag in her hand as she made the descent.
"Hello," I said cheerily. "We meet again."
Her brows pinched together as she concentrated on her footing. She reached the last rock and stepped off into the sand. "Yes, if I didn't know any better, I'd almost think you were following me." Her tone was not nearly as cheery as mine. In fact, bitter would have been a better word.
I laughed airily as if she had said it in a jovial tone. "Coincidence, I think. I'm out taking a stroll." I squinted out to the horizon. "It's going to be a beautiful sunset."
"Yes, that's why I'm here."
"Guess we should both be careful," I said, again with lightness as if we were just having a nice chat. Occasionally, my friendly attitude helped break the ice, but it didn't seem to be working this time. "There have been two murders in the vicinity," I continued.
Heather took the statement as if I'd just said there were two gulls on the beach. She continued walking so I joined her. "Yes, I've heard. Guess that's a good signal for me to be moving on. I don't like to hang around places where people get shot."
My face snapped her direction. "How did you know they were shot?" I hoped to catch her off guard and fluster her with my question, but she was quite the calm, cool cookie.
"I read it in the paper."
Darn, she was one of the five people in the world who still read a local newspaper.
"Of course, that makes sense." I was hitting a lot of brick walls and awkward silence. I took a deep breath and decided just to go for it. She was already put off by my presence, so I figured I could just add a little salt to the wound.
Heather stopped suddenly. Apparently, she'd found the right spot for her photo. She placed her camera bag on the sand.
"No tripod today?" I asked.
She pulled a bandana from her back pocket and tied up her hair. "Not today," she said curtly.
"Well, then, I guess I'll let you get to work." I pretended to walk away. "Except I did want to ask you one thing."
Her forehead jutted forward in a scowl.
"Real quick question. A friend of mine received a photo the other day. It was left anonymously under her shop door. It showed my friend's new boyfriend walking on the wharf, holding hands with another woman." Her glower deepened so I spoke faster. "She showed it to me. I happened to notice that the ink quality matched the photos of the lighthouse you showed me. Blues faded to green and blacks to gray. You'd mentioned it was your terrible printer."
I expected more anger, her face to grow red and her nostrils to flare. Instead, she lost color in her face. Her defensive posture softened. "You're talking about the owner of Mod Frock?"
"Yes."
Heather nodded. "We women have to stick together, you know?" Suddenly, we were a 'we' and her tone had lightened. "I saw the man in question more than once in my short time here in Port Danby. Each time he was with a different woman. Someone close to me was hurt very badly by a man just like that, so I decided to let the women know."
Her explanation seemed plausible, honorable, even. Had I hit another dead end? A few minutes earlier I practically skipped out of the police station thrilled that I had a solved the mystery of the photographs. I was certain they were connected to the murders, but it was entirely possible they were just a friendly warning to the women that they were being played.
"My friend was upset by the photo, but I'm sure she was grateful for the warning. The woman in the photograph looked very glamorous, as if she had money. I'd never seen her before in Port Danby. Did you send her a photo too? One with another woman?" Briggs' team had searched for a photograph on the boat, one like Kate and Margaret had received, but there was no sign of it. It was possible Glenda had torn it up and disposed of it too.
Even though we had been part of a group, 'we women' just seconds earlier, I felt the cold shoulder happening again. My question had made her clamp her mouth shut into a tight line. "Never got a chance," she said curtly. "I think I did my part. Besides, as you noticed, my printer was running low on ink. Now, if you don't mind, I need to get this sunset shot lined up."
I was being given the brush off, but sometimes I found persistence paid off.
"Yes, for your book deal with Ballard Publishing," I said pointedly.
"That's right." She opened her camera bag and pulled out her camera.
It seemed her book deal was a lie. Either that or she truly didn't know the name of her publisher. Only that seemed impossible. I lingered. (I was an expert at annoying people.) "I see you are finally putting the camera in the bag."
Her face popped up. "That's the usual place for it," she said rather snippily for someone who rarely used the case for her camera.
"I suppose since you read the newspaper, you've discovered that the man who was seeing multiple women was the first murder victim."
She rounded her eyes in surprise but I wasn't buying it.
"How would I know that? I didn't know his name, and they didn't have a picture of the victim in the paper." Darn her for her quick, plausible responses.
"That makes sense. Then I'll let you get to work."
"I'd appreciate that," she said coldly.
I meandered back toward the stairs. I stomped my feet to get rid of the wet sand as I climbed the steps. I glanced back one more time to the beach. Heather was looking at me. She turned away quickly and lifted her camera in front of her face.
I reached the wharf and pulled out my phone. Briggs' phone went straight to voicemail.
"Hey, call me when you have time. You poor man. There needs to be two of you. Oh! I love that idea. Two of you to love. That notion makes my head spin. Call me. I've got all kinds of theories brewing, and I think you might want to hear them. Love you. Bye." I pushed the phone back into my pocket and picked up my pace. I needed to get back to the shop to pick up my things and my bird. Then I had some research to do.