She read all of the articles carefully, curious to see if any of the reporters had discovered that Ripley Fleming had arrived at the scene of the murder.
By the time she finished her coffee it was clear that Fleming had escaped relatively unscathed. Hollywood Whispers and a few of the other movie gossip papers reminded readers that he and Carstairs were rumored to have been intimately involved but that was no more than what had already been printed.
Talk of a romantic connection between an actor and an actress was an excellent way to keep their names and photos in the press. A picture of the shocked lover arriving at the scene of the murder, however, would have invited a very different kind of speculation.
The phone rang, startling her. She glanced at her watch. It was almost nine. Her heart sank. Her ten o’clock portrait client was probably calling to cancel. She got to her feet and went into the living room to pick up the receiver.
“Hello.” She kept her voice cool and businesslike.
“I’m calling for Miss Vivian Brazier.”
The voice on the other end was female, brisk, and professional. The client’s secretary, most likely.
“This is Vivian Brazier,” Vivian said.
“I’m calling from the Penfield Gallery. Miss Penfield had an appointment with an artist to review some of his paintings at one o’clock today. However, that meeting has been canceled. I do realize this is very short notice but, if you’re still interested in showing some of your pictures to Miss Penfield, she will be willing to take a look at them at one o’clock.”
Vivian’s mood soared skyward with near-miraculous speed. Excitement and hope sparked. Shortly after moving to Adelina Beach she had managed to place two of her limited-edition art photos with a local gallery. The pictures, both landscapes, had been exhibited in a show and had sold for modest prices. But afterward her career had stalled. She had not been able to get any more of her photographs into the local galleries.
“Yes, of course, I’ll be happy to show Miss Penfield some of my recent work today,” she said. “I’ll be there at one.”
She hung up and went into her bedroom, opened the door of her closet, and contemplated her wardrobe. She had several smart suits that she had brought with her when she had moved from San Francisco to Adelina Beach but they had been designed to be worn to charity luncheons and garden club teas. They required gloves, hats, and handbags that matched the shoes—not at all the sort of thing an up-and-coming photographer wore to a fashionable gallery.
She pushed the suits to the back of her closet, where they were lost in the shadows along with a couple of dramatic evening gowns. She had not worn any of them since her arrival in Adelina Beach. The clothes belonged to her other life, the life she had lived as the eldest daughter of the fashionable, socially connected San Francisco Braziers. That life had gone down in flames following the scandalous liaison with an artist and then her subsequent refusal to marry the man her parents had handpicked for her.
It had been almost a year since she had sat down with her family and announced her decision to pursue a career as an art photographer.
The news had landed with the force of a grenade in the Brazier household, although she was at a loss to understand why. It should have been obvious that she was passionate about taking pictures. She had been an avid photographer since her father had given her a Brownie on her eighth birthday. She’d moved on to her first view camera and set up her first darkroom at the age of twelve. She had been enthralled by the magic she could create in the dark.
But the scene in the elegantly appointed living room of the Brazier home on the night of her announcement still rang in her ears. “But, dear, photography is just a hobby,” her mother had said. “There’s no reason you can’t continue to do it after you’re married. I’m sure Hamilton won’t mind.”
At that point Vivian had pulled the pin out of another grenade. She had informed her parents that she had turned down Hamilton Merrick’s offer of marriage. Her mother had been first horrified and then distraught and, finally, furious.
Her father had warned her that if she continued with her crazed plan to become a professional photographer he would cut off all financial support until she came to her senses.
Her sister, Lyra, had watched the drama in silence, a speculative expression in her eyes.
Later that night Lyra had come to Vivian’s room and sat down on the velvet-covered dressing table stool. She had watched Vivian fill the two suitcases sitting on the bed.
“You’re serious about your art photography, aren’t you?” Lyra asked.
“You know I am.”
“You’re sure you don’t love Hamilton?”
“Absolutely certain. I suppose if I had to marry someone, Hamilton would probably do as well as any other man.” Vivian took a pile of lingerie out of a drawer and dumped it into a suitcase. “Mother and Father approve of him. He’s in line to take control of his father’s business. He goes to all the right social affairs and we do have a few things in common. I certainly enjoyed the outings on his yacht and he’s an excellent dancer. He was even willing to overlook the scandal. But I’m not in love with him and, frankly, I’m sure he doesn’t love me.”
“You’re positive about that?” Lyra said.
“Yep.” Vivian paused in the act of taking a hatbox down from the closet shelf. She eyed Lyra closely and then she smiled. “I see. I hadn’t realized you liked him so much, at least not in that way. You did a very good job of concealing your feelings.”
Lyra flushed. “Mother was so sure you were going to marry him. I did not want to let anyone know I found him attractive. Besides, Hamilton has always treated me as if I were his kid sister.”
Hamilton was, indeed, a handsome, charming man, Vivian reflected. On the surface he appeared to be everything a woman in her world could ask for in a husband. They had known each other most of their lives because they had grown up in the same social circles. When she was in her teens she’d had a mad crush on him, but when they had gone their separate ways to college she had not really missed him.
After graduation Hamilton had taken a position in his father’s law firm. He had dated a lot of women, including her, but he had not shown any interest in marriage until quite recently. It had come as a shock when he had asked her to marry him. Talk about a quick way to kill a perfectly good relationship.
She dropped the hatbox on the bed and walked across the room to hug Lyra.
“Trust me, neither my heart nor Hamilton’s will be broken when I move to Adelina Beach,” she said.
“Must you leave San Francisco to pursue your art?” Lyra asked.
“For now I think it’s best. If I set up a studio here, Mother and Father will be embarrassed. Or, even worse, they would pressure their friends to ask me to do portraits and wedding photography. I don’t want to do that kind of work, at least not as a career. I want to do the kind of pictures that hang in museums and galleries. Pictures that make people stop and take a second look. I want to create art.”