“What’s wrong with them?” Curious, Lexy slipped some of the prints out again.
“Some of them have hard shadows, or the framing’s off. See here?” She pointed to the shadow falling over her shoulder in one. “Or this one. It’s not crisp, the tones aren’t well defined. Some are mottled in a way I’d say means he used fast film, then overenlarged. Or some are thin—underexposed negatives,” she explained. “And others just lack creativity.”
“Seems pretty picky to me. You look good in most all of them.”
“They aren’t as carefully composed, certainly not as artfully composed, as the others, as the ones taken in Charlotte or on Hatteras. In fact ...”—she began to frown as she went through them again, shot by shot—“if I’m remembering right, it looks to me as though the later the photo was taken, the less professional, the less creative it is. As if he’s getting bored—or careless.
“See here, a first-year student with some talent and decent equipment could have taken this shot of me in the hammock. The subject is relaxed, unaware, the light’s good because it’s filtering through the trees. It’s an easy shot. It’s already laid out. But this one, the beach shot, he should have used a yellow filter to cut the glare, soften the shadows, define the clouds. That’s basic. But he didn’t bother. You lose texture, drama. It’s a careless mistake. He never made them before.”
Quickly, she pulled photos out of the other envelope. “Here’s another beach shot, from Hatteras this time. Similar angle, but he used a filter, he took his time. The texture of the sand, the lift of my hair in the wind, the position of the gull just heading out over the waves, good cloud definition. It’s a lovely shot, really, a solid addition for a show or gallery, whereas the one from home is washed out.”
“Was Bobby on assignment with you there? On Hatteras?”
“No. I worked alone.”
“But there’s a lot of people on Hatteras, compared to Desire. You might not have noticed him. Especially if he wore a disguise.”
“A disguise. Oh, Lexy. Don’t you think I’d have clued in if I saw some guy walking around in Groucho glasses and a funny nose?”
“With the right makeup, a wig, different body language, I could walk right up to you on the street and you wouldn’t recognize me. It’s not that hard to be someone else.” She smiled. “I do it all the time. It could have been this intern of yours or half a dozen people you know. Dye the hair, wear a hat, sunglasses. Put facial hair on or take it off. All we know for sure is that he was there, and he was here.”
Jo nodded slowly. “And he could be back.”
“Yeah.” Lexy put a hand over Jo’s. “But now we’re all going to be watching out for him.”
Jo looked at the hand covering hers. It shouldn’t have surprised her, she realized, to find it there, to find it firm and warm. “I should have told both of you before. I should have told all of you before. I wanted to handle it myself.”
“Now there’s news,” Lexy said lightly. “Cousin Kate, Jo says she wanted to handle something herself. Can you imagine that, the original ‘Get out of my way I’ll do it myself’ girl wanted to handle something on her own.”
“Very clever,” Jo muttered. “I didn’t give you enough credit either, for being willing to be there.”
“More news, Kate.” Lexy kept her eyes on Jo’s. “Why, the bulletins just keep pouring in. Jo didn’t give me enough credit for being an intelligent human being with a little compassion. Not that she or anyone else ever has, but that’s the latest flash coming off the wire.”
“I’d forgotten how good you are at sarcasm—and since I probably deserved both those withering remarks, I won’t ruin it by proving I’m better at sarcasm than you can ever hope to be.”
Before Lexy could speak, Jo turned her hand over and linked her fingers with Lexy’s. “I was ashamed. Almost as much as I was scared, I was ashamed that I’d had a breakdown. The last people I wanted to know about that were my family.”
Sympathy flooded Lexy. Still, she kept a smirk on her face and in her voice. “Why, that’s just foolish, Jo Ellen. We’re southerners. We admire little else more than we admire our family lunatics. Hiding crazy relations in the attic’s a Yankee trait. Isn’t that so, Cousin Kate?”
Amused, and bursting with pride in her youngest chick, Kate glanced back over her shoulder. “It is indeed, Lexy. A good southern family props up its crazies and puts them on display in the front parlor along with the best china.”
Her own quick laugh made Jo Ellen blink in surprise. “I’m not a lunatic.”
“Not yet.” Lexy gave her hand a friendly squeeze. “But if you keep going you could be right on up there with Great-granny Lida. She’s the one, as I recollect, wore the spangled evening dress day and night and claimed Fred Astaire was coming by to take her dancing. Put a little effort into it, you could aspire to that.”
Jo laughed again, and this time it was long and rich. “Maybe we’ll go shopping after all, and I’ll see if I can find a spangled evening dress, just in case.”
“Blue’s your color.” And because she knew it was easier for her than for Jo, Lexy wrapped her arms around her sister and hugged hard. “I forgot to tell you something, Jo Ellen.”
“What’s that?”
“Welcome home.”
***
IT was after six before they got back to Sanctuary. They’d gone shopping after all and were loaded down with the bags and boxes to prove it. Kate was still asking herself how she’d let Lexy talk her into that frantic ninety-minute shopping spree. But she already knew the answer.
After the hour spent in the police station, they’d all needed to do something foolish.
