At ten o’clock Jake was back in the darkroom at the school, developing his latest set of pictures. The ones he had taken of the back of the Mountain Road house really didn’t contribute anything to his story, he decided. Even the door with its decorative grill had a Norman Rockwell, down-home feeling. The shot into the kitchen wasn’t bad, but who wanted to look at bare countertops?
This morning was basically a waste, Jake decided. I shouldn’t have bothered cutting my second class. As the quick shot he had taken of the house from the front began to develop, he could see that it was a little out of focus. He might as well deep-six it. He’d never use it in the article.
He heard his name being called from outside the darkroom. It was Jill Farris, and she sounded upset. She couldn’t be mad at me, he thought—it wasn’t her class I cut. “I’ll be right out, Ms. Farris,” he called.
As soon as he opened the door he could tell by the look on her face that something had really shaken her up. She didn’t bother to say hello to him. “Jake, I took a chance you might be in there,” she said. “You interviewed Robby Brent, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I did. A good interview if I do say so myself.” She’s not going to kill it, is she? Jake thought with dismay. Old Downes probably wants to forget that Brent and Laura Wilcox ever set foot in Stonecroft.
“Jake, it just came over the news. Robby Brent’s body was found in the trunk of a car submerged near Cornwall Landing.”
Robby Brent dead! Jake grabbed his camera. I still have a lot of film left, he thought. “Thanks, Jill,” he yelled, as he raced out the door.