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“I don’t know—but Dave would. ”
It occurred to me that Dave would also demand to know what I wanted it for, but if I could corner him when Lu wasn’t there, I might be able to get away with telling him the truth. Then I glanced down at the paper, and that big SHOOTING emblazoned on the front, and I changed my mind.
“On second thought, I’ll call around. Do you have a phone book?”
“Sure. ”
Twenty minutes of curious dialing turned up a photography supply store downtown, only a few minutes away. They had the film we wanted in stock, and the price was right.
“I’ll drive,” I announced, and Benny agreed. Once his shift started, he’d be driving a cab all night. He was happy to let me take the wheel.
I wasn’t positive I knew where the camera shop was, but the man on the phone said it was across the street from Jimmy’s Diner, on the same block as the United Way building.
I didn’t remember having ever seen a camera shop there before, but then again, downtown Chattanooga is full of nooks and crannies. The block in question was one of the oldest in town, and had been on the verge of falling in on itself until it was bought and restored a few years back. Nothing delighted me more than to see a set of men with sandblasters methodically stripping the paint off and letting the original red brick show through because if they were bothering to clear it off, then they probably weren’t going to tear it down.
I would have hated to see the old place go.
Parking downtown is something of a pain, especially in the old parts where the streets run one way and the lots are few and far between. After a few minutes of searching, I finally found a space a block up from Jimmy’s Diner. Benny closed his eyes while I parallel parked nose-down on the very steep incline.
“Oh ye of little faith,” I grumbled, sliding the Death Nugget in roughly—but accurately—between the white lines. I yanked the parking brake up and climbed out onto a highly sloped street.
“There’s Jimmy’s. ” Benny declared the obvious. “And that must be the camera place. ”
“Wow. Little hole-in-the-wall, isn’t it?”
“Who cares? As long as they’ve got the film. ”
“Right. ”
A bell that hung from the door frame jingled when we pushed the door. Despite the antique appearance of the narrow storefront, the inside of the shop was reassuringly bright and populated with an assortment of shiny, high-tech devices.
At the counter, two men and a woman were excitedly sifting through a set of pictures that I presumed they’d recently had developed. They huddled together and slapped through the photos, sorting them into piles. “That’s a good one; put that one over here,” a man in a dark red windbreaker said.
Behind the counter, a thin guy in a collared shirt with a corporate logo looked up and greeted us. “Can I help you?”
“Yes,” I said, approaching the counter. “I called a few minutes ago asking about infrared film?”
The other three customers abruptly stopped talking.
“That’s right. And it’s funny, too,” the clerk said. The ducked his head at our fellow camera shop patrons. “They were here after the same thing. Two requests for it in one day; and we almost never sell any of the stuff. ”
The woman lifted her head from the glossy rectangles on the counter and gazed upon Benny and me with suspicion.
Once I got a good look at her, I realized why: We were sharing a camera shop with Tripp and Dana Marshall.
I didn’t know who the third man was—possibly a replacement for the assistant who had been shot—but the other two were unmistakable. They’d been all over the news for weeks, and they were exactly the sort of people who would have a pretty good idea what we needed the infrared film for.
Benny lifted his right hand and mustered a four-fingered wave. “Hi there. ” He couldn’t have looked guiltier if he’d been wearing a T-shirt that said, “I want to believe. ”
But as far as I was concerned, our desire for infrared film was none of the Marshalls’ business. I pretended that I hadn’t seen them, I didn’t know who they were, and, for that matter, couldn’t care less what they thought we were up to.
“How many rolls did you need?”
“Three ought to do it,” I told him, and I dug out my credit card while Benny fawned shyly over the Marshalls. I stretched over with my toe to nudge my friend into silence, but it was already too late. He was out of reach, and his mouth had started to run.
“You’re Tripp and Dana, aren’t you? I’ve read all your books,” he began. “And I loved your special on the Sci-Fi Channel, the one about the ship that was sunk in that bay by the lighthouse. ”
I cringed. If they hadn’t guessed our plans before, they could surely do so now.
