capturing a fleeting smile. “I had a nice chat with Randall the
other day. He’s very excited about seeing this portrait.”
At the mention of her son’s name, Claire’s face lit up and Leo
realized she was onto something.
“He told me he had two brothers, but I don’t remember their
names.”
Claire struggled for several seconds, her face contorting as
her mind processed the question. Then she blurted her response.
“Randall, Alan and Greg,” she said by rote. “Randall’s the oldest,
then Alan. My Greg is the baby.”
“Some baby,” Melvin added with a chuckle. “He’s taller than
any of us.”
“Goodness, he grew so fast. I couldn’t keep that boy in
shoes.”
Leo held up a finger next to the camera, cueing Melvin to
look her way. She already had Claire’s attention. “I bet holidays
are fun when they all come to visit.” She snapped off two quick
photos of the now-smiling couple.
“I always fix a big turkey, and to this day those boys fight over
the drumsticks. Greg used to say I needed to buy a three-legged
turkey.”
That was the pose she wanted—both of her subjects
looking directly into her lens, grinning broadly as they recalled
their happiest of days. After a dozen rapid-fire shots they were
finished.
Claire continued her stories of her boys as Leo walked them
to their car. Melvin helped his wife into the passenger side and
closed the door, and as he walked past Leo to the driver’s side
and extended his thanks, she noted a cheerful lilt in his voice that
hadn’t been there when they first arrived. She prided herself on
the quality of her photographs, but it was the emotional response
to her work that was most rewarding. The Comptons would
treasure today’s portrait forever.
No sooner had Melvin backed out of the parking space than
a familiar car appeared to take its place. Patty Clemons, still in
her work attire of dress slacks and pumps, emerged from her
black Mustang hatchback with a mischievous grin. “I brought
you something,” she announced.
“I’m afraid to ask.” Leo cast an uneasy look, but it was mostly
for show. Patty was one of the few people who dropped by on
a whim, and Leo had come to enjoy her company. She could
do without the flirting, but her consistent approach to rebuffing
Patty’s romantic overtures—direct but playful—had paid off in
friendship.
Tall and muscular, Patty effortlessly hoisted an enormous
pumpkin from her trunk. “I hope you appreciate this because
my car’s going to smell like pumpkin for a month.” She spun
her creation around to reveal diamond-shaped eyes and a toothy
snarl. “I don’t get that many trick-or-treaters at my condo, so I
thought this would look better on your front porch.”
“Are you kidding? It’s fantastic!” Leo hurried over to muss
Patty’s spiked red hair and take the jack-o’-lantern from her
arms.
“Yeah, I know. I keep trying to convince you of my many
talents but you still won’t give me the time of day.” She climbed
the porch and took a seat on the wooden swing.
As usual, Leo ignored Patty’s backhanded overture. She set
the pumpkin on her top step and reached inside the front door to
flip on the light switch. It was only half past five, but the recent
change to daylight saving time made it seem later that that. “You
want dinner? I made a big pot of chili last night.”
“No, I’m on my way to my mother’s for lasagna and I stopped
by for some moral support.” Patty and her mother tangled over
everything, from politics to baseball.
“When are you going to learn to stop arguing with her?”
“I try to bite my tongue but you know how she pushes my
buttons. Why don’t you come with me? She likes you.”
“No, thanks. The last time I went over there, you two ended
up throwing food at each other.”
“She started it,” Patty said petulantly.
Leo chortled at the childish reply, which she recognized as
Patty’s sense of humor on display. If there was one thing she loved
like her. That’s why she bugs you so much.” She plucked a broom
from the corner and started pushing oak leaves off the porch.
“Am not.” Patty lifted her feet so Leo could sweep under
them.
Despite Patty’s refusal to take no for an answer on the
romantic front, Leo couldn’t help but like her. Her relentless
flirtation had been annoying four years ago when it started,
but when Leo overheard her making similar overtures to other
single women, she realized the cocky manner was nothing but
a false bravado that masked her insecurity. Patty was a hopeless
romantic who wanted someone to take all the things she had to
offer, and whoever stepped forward first would have her undying
devotion. It was more than Leo could handle—the idea was
almost suffocating—but she was sure the right woman was out
there for Patty.
A horn tooted as a white sports car raced by. Leo’s stomach
fluttered when she recognized the driver, and then roiled in
anticipation of Patty’s curiosity.
“Who was that?”
“Just somebody I know.”
“I figured that much. Does she have a name?”
Leo thought ahead to the Halloween party and realized there
was no point in stonewalling. It wasn’t as if she could keep her
arrival with Claudia a secret. “Her name is Claudia Galloway.
She’s Sandy’s intern. I met her last week when I was out at
Melrose taking pictures.”
“Glad you mentioned Sandy. I was meaning to ask you if you
wanted to go with me to their party on Saturday. Then you can
drink too much and maybe I’ll get lucky.”
Leo rolled her eyes, thinking she would never drink that
much. “You’re just so damned charming sometimes.”
“I know. It’s unbelievable that you manage to resist me.”
Slumping into the rocker across from the swing, she took a
playful swipe at Patty’s swinging foot. “And yet I do. It so happens
I’ve already made plans to ride with Claudia.”
Patty’s foot dropped and skidded across the floor as she
brought the swing to a stop. “So you have a date with the woman
that just drove by here?”
“It isn’t a date. Claudia isn’t even gay. She’s just a nice—”
“If she isn’t gay, why is she coming to Sandy’s party? And why
is she coming with you?”
“Sandy invited her because they’re friends and she’s cool with
everything. And she’s coming with me because she won’t know
anybody else there.”
Patty eyed her skeptically. “And we’re supposed to believe
she’s not gay?”
“She has a fiancé.”
“Whoop-de-doo. I bet he’s light in the loafers.”
“I’d take that bet. He’s off managing some gigantic
construction project in
Asia. That’s why she’s hanging out here
by herself. Plus she’s finishing school.” Patty’s conjectures were
usually entertaining if not insightful, but not where Claudia was
concerned. “She told me all about the fiancé on Sunday when she
stopped by to pick up her photos. They’ll probably get married
when she finishes her internship and finds a job.” She added the
last part to bolster her point that Claudia wasn’t a closet case,
even though Claudia had intimated that she might want to teach
for a couple of years before getting married.
Patty folded her arms across her chest indignantly and
smirked. “He’s probably just a beard. I’ll ask her myself.”
Leo gave her a scolding look. “You’d better behave yourself.
She might think you’re serious.”
“Who says I’m not? You know how I feel about curious
girls.”
“She isn’t curious. She’s just nice.”
“And you’d rather go with her than me?”
She hated it when Patty forced her into a blunt reply, and she
refused to rise to the bait.
“You always shoot me down, Leo.” It came out as a simple
statement, neither angry nor whiny. “I was starting to take it
personally, but then I realized that you don’t ever date anybody.
They fix you up, you go out one time and that’s it. What’s up with
that? Don’t you like girls?”
“You’re kidding, right?” It unnerved her to have someone
speculating on her sexual credentials, but it just so happened she
had been thinking about the subject of dating since her dinner
with Claudia. Besides, it wasn’t as if she had rejected hoards of
women. It had been only two blind dates, each as a favor to Sandy,
who wanted someone to make her new friends feel welcome. “I
have a lot more important things on my plate right now than
going out. I’ve finally gotten this business sorted out and I have
to stay on top of it.”
Patty rolled her eyes. “That was a good answer four years
ago, but it’s no excuse for putting your whole life on hold forever.
We all have responsibilities at work. Hell, I’m responsible for
computer systems worth millions of dollars but you don’t see me
holing up in my house.”
“I don’t hole up in my house. I go to parties. I go out with
friends.”
“Those are just little guarded pieces that you dole out to
people. Let somebody in there,” she said sternly. “Like me, for
instance. If you keep blowing me off, I’m going to start going out
with Joyce.”
Leo nodded thoughtfully. “I like Joyce.”
A thumping on the window behind her saved the day.
“Madeline’s hungry and so am I. Sure you don’t want
something to eat?”
Patty slapped her knees and stood. “Damn cat. You trained
her to rescue you from prickly conversations, didn’t you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She tapped the top of the jack-o’-lantern as she started down
the steps. “If you put a candle in here, Claudia can see it from the
street when she drives by your house and toots the horn because
she isn’t gay. I’ll see you Saturday.”
Leo chuckled as she went inside, where Madeline wound
through her legs, meowing insistently. “Good timing, Madeline.
Extra treats for you tonight.”
Leo gave a yank on the rope and stepped aside as the attic
staircase unfolded. She hadn’t been up there since last spring
when an antique dealer bought the handful of old cameras she
had saved since childhood. She had resisted his bid a year earlier,
but needed a few extra bucks when Maria offered a barely-used
Mamiya medium-format camera for half the usual price. It was
too good a deal to pass up.
Letting go of her collection had been easier than she thought.
Her father had never been sentimental about the tools of his
trade, always upgrading to the best camera he could afford. His
favorite camera—if he had one—was whatever made the studio
more efficient and competitive, as long as it produced top-quality
portraits. Still, Leo had been unable to part with his Bronica
EC-TL, the last camera he had used. It was solid, and it yielded
reliable portraits.
Musty air wafted from above as she climbed the stairs. When
she was fourteen she had asked to move her bedroom into the
attic so she could have more space and privacy, but the unfinished
floors and walls had been a deal breaker for her mother. Leo had
since added insulation to keep her heating and cooling bills in
check, and put down plywood sheets to the edges of the sloping
walls. It needed a lot more work to be livable, but at least it was
usable for storage.
Two boxes sat near the top of the steps, some of her father’s
files she no longer needed but couldn’t bring herself to discard.
Bit by bit, odds and ends from the studio that had belonged to
him had found their way into the attic—outdated backdrops, a
female mannequin, broken tripods, lights and reflector umbrellas,
appointment books…even the worn out leather satchel he had
carried for almost thirty years. It wasn’t that she ever thought
she would use these things. She just didn’t want to be the one to
throw them away.
“Get over it, Leo,” she said, her voice rebounding off the bare
walls and floor. She had promised Claudia a tour of the attic, so
it was time to deal with this mess. Now that she had crossed the
threshold of sentimentality by selling the cameras, it shouldn’t be
so hard to get rid of the other items.
The Christmas decorations were another matter entirely.
Leo usually put up a tree for her customers, but she felt
claustrophobic when holiday knick-knacks filled her house.
She had tried to talk her mother into taking those with her to
Modesto, but her mother hadn’t wanted to impose more than
0
necessary on her sister. At least she had taken all of her bedroom
and dining room furniture, which had paved the way for Leo to
move everything but her kitchen to the second floor. She liked
having a den to herself now, though it didn’t solve the problem
of her tiny bedroom.
Madeline appeared through the opening and immediately set
about exploring the new environs.
“How about it, Madeline? You want me to move your bed
up here?”
The plywood wobbled under her feet as she walked the length
of the room and peered out a small window onto the courtyard
behind the kitchen. Her mother had grown herbs and spices back
there, but Leo had let them go to weeds. She had no time to tend
a garden, and besides, she couldn’t tell one plant from another
unless it was labeled in a package at the grocery store.
The other end of the long room was the main reason she had
wanted to claim this space for her own years ago, and why she still
toyed with the idea of finishing the room. From the third story
of the turret she could see the ocean. Not only that, th
e attic was
filled with natural light all afternoon, something she missed in
her own bedroom because her small window faced south.
One of these days she would remodel the attic in grand
style—hardwood floors, ceiling planks and a staircase from the
hallway on the second floor. The window over the courtyard
would shine into an enormous master bath, with a walk-in shower
and cabinets to hide all her junk. But those dreams would have to
wait until she could afford to put money into something besides
her business.
Chapter 8
Present Day
Leo collected her props and stowed them in the corner of
the terrace with her camera bag. Fun was wasted on the likes
of Marjorie Pettigrew and her skeletal daughter Deborah. The
sooner she wrapped up this round of photos, the better for
everyone.
Deborah set her terrier aside and stood to brush her dress.
Versace would be spinning in his grave to see his label decorated
in animal fur, Leo thought.
“Mother, we need to talk about the wheelchair,” Deborah
said. “Chantal thinks we should put Daddy on the left side so he
won’t be in the way. I told her no, that he wouldn’t be able to see
from there.”
“Nonsense. Your father can barely see as it is.” Mrs. Pettigrew
made a dramatic display of pulling on a pair of long white gloves.
“You can sit on the end beside him.”
“I don’t mind if Grandfather sits in the center aisle,” Eva
ventured.
“No, it’s settled. People will be watching you walk down the
aisle. They don’t want to see some old man drooling. Chantal’s
absolutely right.”
So far, Leo had managed to avoid Chantal, the wedding
director from LA whose actual name was probably Linda or
Susan. The last thing she wanted was someone looking over her
shoulder telling her what to do.
It was hard to believe Marjorie and Eva Pettigrew were
related. There was no physical resemblance beyond their blue
eyes and fair skin. Marjorie was tall and rotund, while Eva was
petite and slender, with an angular chin and high cheekbones.
“Mrs. Pettigrew, why don’t you join your granddaughter?”
Leo suggested politely. “A photo of the two of you out here on
the terrace would make a wonderful keepsake.”
“She’s right,” Eva said. “The two of us in our beautiful