Intimate Portraits (27 page)

“Won’t take long?” Iris wailed. “With
all we’ve lost? Oh, my, the photography records, the outstanding accounts, the
customer listings, the bank deposits. How will we ever get them straightened
out?”

“We’ll manage, Iris.”

Iris didn’t listen. “Not to
mention the books. How will we ever figure up the amount of taxes we owe? The
IRS will be after us for sure. What’ll we do?”

“I bet they have procedures set
up for fires. Don’t worry, we’ll get through this.”

“And our customers. How will they
find us? We had a man come in Friday evening at closing. He was anxious to get
you to do some of those pictures of his wife, but he’ll never be back now.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course
he’ll come back. We’ll put out ads and let everyone know what happened. You
have the studio credit card, so why don’t you call the newspapers and get
started on that now? Let the radio stations know, too. When we get moved, we’ll
do some more ads for our new location. Oh, and talk to our computer guy and ask
him about file recovery from our backup. He’ll need to get started on that
right away. And have him find you a laptop to work on at home for the time
being.”

After a long conversation in
which Autumn alternately agonized and comforted and gave Iris instructions
about calling the insurance companies and accountant, she put her phone down
with a huge sigh of relief.

Rennie, fresh from the shower and
smelling of her soap despite wearing yesterday’s corduroys and sweater, handed
her a steaming cup of coffee. “Sounds like she’s taking it hard.”

“I’ve got to keep her busy.
Otherwise she’s going to worry herself to death. And me along with her.”

 “You’d think it was her studio,
the way she was carrying on.”

“Iris has been there for years,
since before my grandfather died. She’s a good person but she’s also a worrywart.
Not that I care. I don’t care about anything today. I feel wonderful.”

Even her appointment with the
arson investigator didn’t bother her. Not after the past night.

After she bathed and dressed, she
and Rennie drove to the Degardoveras so he could change clothes.

Good thing no one was there to
remark on her high spirits.

The place was welcoming in its
clutter: an afghan on the sofa pushed back where someone had been lying to
watch TV, a newspaper scattered around an easy chair, jackets thrown over
chairs. The Degardoveras lived in a home, not a decorator’s dream like her aunt
and uncle. She’d fled to them when things at her house got too bad. Their chaos
still comforted her.

She plucked a magazine off the
pile on the floor and thumbed through it till he came out fastening a cuff on
his button-down shirt. After he tucked the tails into his jeans, she stood. “Ready
for the lions’ den?”

His usual sidelong smile seemed
abstracted. “It won’t be that bad.”

“No.” Not with him beside her.

He shrugged into his down jacket,
pulled out his car keys, took a deep breath. “Ready?”

“Rennie, is something bothering
you?”

“Not a thing.”

Too shy to delve, she dropped it.

Maybe he was tired. She certainly
was. Tired and sore.

That brought on a pleasurable
frisson from reliving last night and this morning. The reasons why she was so
tired and sore.

Downtown, Captain Cunningham of
the Arson Squad waited for them. A petite round-faced woman with cornrows and eyes
as brown as Rennie’s, the captain exuded a no-nonsense air.

“I appreciate your calling and
coming by so promptly.” She looked across a cluttered desk at Autumn and Rennie
while a portrait of Georgia’s current governor beamed down at them from over
her shoulder. “Is this your lawyer, Ms. Merriwell?”

“My lawyer?” Autumn caught
herself. “No. A friend.” She introduced Rennie and waited.

Captain Cunningham was
business-like. “As I understand it, Ms. Merriwell, you left for Helen Friday
evening. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

Under patient prodding, Autumn
told her story. The captain heard it out in its entirety before getting down to
detailed questioning that included pinpointing the time Autumn and Rennie had
left Atlanta Friday afternoon.

At length, she sat back in her
chair. “This was definitely arson, Ms. Merriwell. The ashes aren’t yet cool
enough for us to dig around in depth, but it was obvious from the way the file
cabinets were left open and the different points of combustion.”

Rennie, quiet in the background, spoke
up, “I think you ought to know that someone tried to stab Autumn Saturday
night. And a woman wearing a jacket like hers was murdered at the cabin next to
the one we were staying at in Helen. I’m afraid all this, including the fire,
may be connected.”

Captain Cunningham’s eyes popped.
She sat up straight. “What?”

Autumn caught his sleeve. “Rennie,
we don’t know that what happened in Helen has anything to do with the fire.”

But she wasn’t sure.

The captain took a deep breath. “Tell
me about it.”

So Autumn had to go into more
particulars about the Helen trip.

When she finished, Captain
Cunningham turned from the computer where she’d been taking notes and frowned. “It
does seem a bit coincidental, doesn’t it, Ms. Merriwell? The personal attacks
on you after your studio was set afire Friday night. You don’t know of any enemies
you might have?”

Autumn shook her head. “No.”

“No old husbands or boyfriends?”

“No.”

The captain cocked her head to
one side in mild disbelief. “And no idea why someone would want to hurt you or
destroy your property?”

“No. There’s no reason anyone would
hate me that much.”

No reason at all.

****

By midmorning, long after Autumn
and Rennie had got up from their well-used bed and left for the arson investigator’s
office, Sam Bogatti was recovering from his small plane ride.

A nail-biting trip, but with the
help of his stress exercises, he’d survived. Even the airsickness was going
away.

This was shitty, coming back to
stinking Hotlanta.

After stowing his working bag in
the back seat of a nondescript rental car, he got in, still steaming but trying
to control it. He couldn’t let resentment get to him. That was what got you caught,
being so mad and uptight you forgot to think.

Finding a busy shopping center en
route, he took less than five minutes to switch license tag plates. Soon his
rental car blended into the many vehicles clogging Atlanta’s expressways as he
headed across town toward Autumn Merriwell’s condominium.

After he broke open a fresh pack
of Juicy Fruit gum, he rolled up a piece but didn’t stuff it in his mouth right
away.

Bad vibes. This whole deal
shouted screw-up. He better be extra careful.

This was the last time he’d take
on a job without knowing everything. Like who was behind the contract and why.

****

As Rennie drove his Lexus toward
Gus Huertole’s campaign headquarters, Autumn tried to forget her interview with
the arson investigator. The captain had been nice enough, but her skepticism showed.
The way she said, “Um hum,” and the way she sighed and tossed a pen down. Her
upraised brows.

A car full of elderly people
pulled up beside the Lexus at a red light, laughing uproariously.

Nice someone was enjoying
themselves.

She bit a nail. “Captain
Cunningham believes I set the fire to collect the insurance.”

“Forget her.” Rennie touched her thigh.
“She isn’t worth wrinkling that pretty brow over.”

“You heard her asking for the
information of my insurance company. And with you bringing up all that stuff
that happened in Helen, she probably thinks you’re in some kind of scam with
me.”

“Autumn, don’t. If she does
suspect you of anything, it won’t take long to prove she’s wrong. Don’t worry
about her.”

He was right. What difference
would worrying make?

Rennie loved her. After all these
years, he’d said he loved her. Even if she’d had to push him, he’d said it.

And he knew she wasn’t an
arsonist, so whatever anyone else thought didn’t matter.

She reached across the console
and took his hand, comforted by his answering squeeze. She was so happy she
even hummed along with the radio.

The country station updated
traffic information every few minutes so they were among the first people in
Atlanta to hear about Sarita Sartowe’s death.

Her mouth dropped.

No, he didn’t say Sarita Sartowe.
Can’t be
.

Rennie reached for the radio,
turning up the volume.

“—and police are treating it as a
homicide. Again, breaking news. Sarita Sartowe’s body was found in her family’s
northeast Atlanta mansion this morning. We’ll cut into our programming for more
bulletins as they come in.”

Rennie pulled over to a side
street and found a place to pull out of the traffic. “Did he say homicide?”

They looked at each other in
stunned disbelief.

A riot of images raced through
Autumn’s mind.

Sarita, giggling as she thumbed
through the proofs, dancing around the living room, telling Autumn she
absolutely positively had to do her concert promotion photos and wouldn’t she
please
please please
consider moving out to LA.

Rennie broke in on the disjointed
memories. “It’s got to be connected. Everything that’s happened. You and Sarita
and everything else. There’s got to be some connection, Autumn.”

He sounded far away, like a
stranger.

Sarita’s photographs would have
made the studio’s reputation,
her
reputation. But Sarita was dead and
there would be no photographs.

This is not a time to be thinking
of yourself
.

Dead. Sarita was dead.

****

“Autumn.” Rennie gripped Autumn’s
shoulder and willed her to look at him. When she did, he saw she hadn’t heard a
word he’d said.

Trusting. She was too trusting.
Too naïve.

“Rennie, how can Sarita be dead? I
saw her Friday and she was fine, she was—”

“Autumn, it’s connected.” Cold
balled up in his stomach. “The fire, Kiki’s murder, someone trying to knife
you. It’s all connected to Sarita. It has to be.”

Autumn still wasn’t listening. “I
took her the proofs and she looked at them and loved them. She was so happy
with them and me. She was going to use them for publicity and she said I could
choose my customers, that they’d line up at my door. She danced all over the
room after she saw them. She was like a kid. Oh Rennie, she was so alive. Who
would have done such a thing? Everyone admired Sarita.”

“Not everyone,” he muttered.

Autumn didn’t hear.

Her outer coat of toughness was
gone. Her soul was as fragile as he’d suspected. If the police locked onto that
vulnerability, they’d split her wide open and leave nothing but the frightened
child who’d never trust anyone again.

He had to protect her.

“Autumn, listen to me. We have to
make plans. We may have suspected something was wrong before, but now we know.
And you’re in the center somehow.”

She started to shake her head.

“Autumn!”

She stiffened. A magician’s hand might
have slipped across her, transforming her, calming her. And something else.

Wary. She was wary of him.

The face of his princess. Set
against him.

He’d known it would happen.

“Rennie, do you think I had
anything to do with Sarita’s murder?”

“What? Of course not.” He took
both her hands. They were freezing. “But her murder must have something to do
with the other stuff that’s been happening. There’s nothing else to explain it.”

She started to protest but he
tightened his grip. “Be honest. If your butt pack hadn’t been in the way,
whatever slit it would have slit you.”

She shrank back.

He held onto her. “Don’t turn
away from me, Autumn. This is serious. Kiki Ballencer was murdered. Wearing a
jacket like yours. Don’t you see? It’s all tied together with Sarita. Now Sarita’s
dead, too.”

“But why? Sarita was fine when I
left her. She was so sweet to me. So happy. And she was so pleased with the proofs.
She was like a little girl.”

“The proofs.” Rennie had
forgotten them. “Autumn, the police will see the proofs, realize you were with
Sarita Friday. You have to talk to them.”

“The police?” She tugged at her
hands. “I don’t want to. They already think I set the fire.”

He tightened his grip. “I don’t
want you to have to talk to them either.” For his own selfish reasons. “But you
have to. The fire’s part of it, too. It has to be. This will make them see you
had nothing to do with any of this.”