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“No wonder she’s wiped.”
“Monty…”
“I’m not prying, Lane. Just reminding you that she’s in a fragile state.”
“I know.” Lane recognized where his father was going with this. He’d already gone there himself. And what he’d come up with was a hefty punch in the gut. It would require a lot more thought, a couple of deep conversations, and some major getting used to.
“Something on your mind?” Monty inquired.
“Nothing I’m ready to discuss with you yet,” Lane returned bluntly. “Just know that what’s happening between Morgan and me is good. For now, let’s leave it at that. Let’s put our energies into our work, not my relationship.”
“You got it.” Monty’s eyes twinkled as he returned to the snapshots. “Looks like you’ll be bringing someone up to the farm for Christmas after all. Your mother will be thrilled.”
“I don’t doubt it.” Lane was leaning over Monty’s shoulder, scrutinizing the photos. “Who took these?”
“Mostly, the Winters and the Shores, with an occasional stand-in behind the lens when it’s a group shot. They’re family vacations, parties, major events in their lives.” Monty grinned, holding up a photo of two bright-faced little girls in Halloween costumes—one Sleeping Beauty, one Cinderella. The snapshot was labelled: Jill and Morgan, Halloween, 1987. “Look at those smiles. No wonder their parents took this one. You’ve got to admit, Morgan made an adorable Cinderella. Hope you’re up to the role of Prince Charming.”
A corner of Lane’s mouth lifted. “Yeah, she had that rare, delicate beauty, even then.” He sobered, reaching over to sift through the pictures. “Are these in chronological order?”
“No, but I pulled out the ones taken the night of the Kellermans’ Christmas Eve party. They’re the last pictures of Lara and Jack Winter taken before they died.”
Nodding, Lane picked up the shots, scrutinizing them one at a time. They were typical party pictures, some with the host and hostess, some with the guest of honor, some with his family and friends. Morgan and Jill were in a few of the pictures, although they were clearly more interested in running around among the guests than they were in being photographed.
Lane came to a photo of Arthur and Elyse, standing with Jack and Lara. Something about it caught his eye, and he paused, studying them with a frown. Their body language. It was tense. The same tension that was mirrored on their faces.
He continued examining the party shots, only this time more slowly and carefully. He found himself organizing the evening into two segments: pre-and post-inebriation, giving him a sense of the order of events. In the post-inebriation shots, everyone was much more relaxed and uninhibited. The ruddy cheeks and glazed eyes said it all.
Lane spotted a photo of Arthur and his father-in-law, clearly taken when the festivities were well under way. There were champagne flutes in their hands and they were making a mutual toast, facing the camera in a staged—if slightly off-balance—pose. Lane concentrated on each and every detail. Then he looked back at a previous shot of Arthur, taken much earlier in the evening. His gaze narrowed as he compared the two.
“What is it?” Monty asked, seeing the intent expression on his son’s face.
“Maybe nothing. Maybe a lot. Give me some time to find out.” Lane snatched up the two photos and headed toward his lab.
“How much time?” Monty called after him.
“Twenty minutes. A half hour, tops.”
“Great. And you’re not going to give me a hint about what you’re looking for?”
“Be patient. If I’m right, it’ll be worth the wait.”
NORMALLY, MONTY WOULD be pissed off about being held at bay when so much was at stake. But the truth was, he had plenty to keep him busy for the next thirty minutes.
Something about that damned B&E wasn’t sitting right with him. The timing had been just a little too convenient, the technique too professional. Plus, whoever hired the perp had brains. He’d arranged for his guy to have all the necessary newspaper clippings and Internet printouts before going to Morgan and Jill’s place. Quite a painstaking task, considering some of those archived news stories dated back months and had to be researched to find.
The whole incident was like a well-rehearsed play, one whose acts had been coordinated by someone who knew the story and the characters intimately.
This wasn’t just a pro. This was an inside pro.
Pensively, Monty refilled his coffee mug. His instincts told him it was time to reexamine some vital loose ends.
HE WAS JUST reading through a fax, when Lane emerged from his lab.
“I was right,” Lane announced, holding up two eight-and-a-half-by-eleven color prints. “Now we just need to figure out what this means.”
Monty shoved aside his fax. “Show me.”
Lane laid out the original photos, then placed his color prints beneath them, side by side. The prints were zoomed images of Arthur from chin to chest, with his neck, shirt, and tie center stage.
