The Camera
Trisha MacMurray walked along the grounds of the former Puritan Falls Drive-in Theater, now the home of a thriving flea market. Every weekend during the late spring, summer and early fall, vendors set up tables and hawked their wares. Bargain hunters could find locally grown produce, old furniture, used books, collectibles, hand-made crafts and various surplus goods.
Trisha didn't go to the flea market simply to browse; rather, she went there on a mission. She hoped to find several pieces of inexpensive luggage. In two weeks, she would be traveling to England, Scotland and Ireland—a dream vacation she'd been planning for more than three years. It proved to be Trisha's lucky day, for she found a man selling a fairly new three-piece set of matching bags for a fraction of its original cost.
"Those belonged to my neighbor's daughter," vendor Jonah Pemberly claimed, trying to close the sale. "She only used them once."
Trisha didn't bother to haggle since she knew a bargain when she saw one. She promptly reached into her purse, took out her wallet and handed over the cash.
Later that evening, Trisha packed some of her belongings into the suitcase. She was about to place a flannel nightgown and fuzzy slippers into one of the side compartments—just in case it got cold in the highlands of Scotland—when she saw a bulge in the plum-colored fabric. Curious, she reached her hand inside and took out a small Kodak 35mm camera. According to the numbers in the window, only three of the twenty-four exposures had been used. Although she was bringing her own Nikon digital camera with her on vacation, Trisha put the 35mm camera back in the suitcase, intending to finish the roll while in England.
* * *
After a delightful two weeks of touring such places as London, Dublin and Edinburgh, Trisha reluctantly returned to Puritan Falls. The day after she got back, she went to the Laundromat and washed and dried two weeks' worth of dirty clothes. On her way home, she stopped at Walmart in Copperwell where she uploaded the images from her memory card and deposited the roll of film from the Kodak into the photo processing drop-off chute.
Five days later, she went back to Walmart and picked up her finished photos. Once inside her car, she tore open the envelopes, anxious to see how her pictures came out. Three-fourths of the way through the stack of glossy prints of Bath, Hadrian's Wall, Glastonbury, Blarney Castle, Loch Ness and Hampton Court Palace, she found three photographs of a strange young man. At first, Trisha assumed that the photo lab had inadvertently mixed someone else's photographs with hers, but then she remembered the three used exposures on the camera she'd found in her second-hand suitcase.
A sudden twinge of guilt prickled Trisha's conscience.
"I should have given the camera back to the man at the flea market," she realized. "Perhaps the photographs of that young man were important to his neighbor's daughter."
The following weekend Trisha returned to the Puritan Falls Flea Market where she walked up and down the grassy aisles, through throngs of shoppers, looking for the elderly vendor who had sold her the luggage. Unfortunately, she couldn't find him.
She was about to return to her car when she spotted a familiar face in the crowd. The young man had been examining used car parts when he turned and saw Trisha staring at him. He smiled boldly at her, and she blushed and turned her head. Having misread her stare as one of romantic interest, he walked over and introduced himself.
"Hi. I'm Carson Stapleton. Do I know you?" he asked with a pleasant smile.
Trisha smiled back and replied, "Well, in a way we have met."
She reached into her purse and took out the three snapshots.
"It is you in these pictures, isn't it? Or do you have a twin?"
Carson frowned and raised his eyebrows.
"Where did you get these?"
"Right here, actually. You see, I bought a set of used luggage from a vendor here about a month ago. Inside one of the suitcases was an old 35mm camera. I'm afraid I took it with me on vacation and used up the roll of film that was in it. When I developed the pictures, those photographs of you were in with my prints. I suppose the camera belonged to someone who knew you."
"Yes," Carson said. "I guess it must have."
"I came here today to return the camera to the man I brought the luggage from and to give him the pictures, but I don't see him here today."
"Why don't you give the camera to me? I'll see that it's returned."
Trisha reached back into her purse, took out the Kodak and handed it to him.
"I don't know how to thank you," she said.
"You can start by agreeing to have a cup of coffee with me."
She looked at him with suspicion.
"Look, I'm not trying to make a pass at you," he laughed. "I'm talking about walking over to the flea market's snack bar and having a couple of lattes. We'll be in a crowd of people, in broad daylight, at all times."
"Sure," she said with a rosy blush. "Why not? I could use some caffeine about now. I still haven't completely gotten over my jetlag."
Since the day was warm and sunny, they walked at a slow pace, stopping occasionally to browse through a vendor's goods. Along the way, Carson gave Trisha a brief history of his life.
"I was born and raised in a small town called Pequannock, New Jersey. After graduating from good old PTHS, I joined the Coast Guard and wound up at Woods Hole. While I was there, I fell in love with Massachusetts, and I've been here ever since."
"Are you still in the service?"
"No. I realized there was more money to be made in computers, so after my discharge, I opened my own software development company."
"The great American dream: to be your own boss."
"It has its advantages," he laughed, "but it has its drawbacks as well. I can't just punch out and go home at five o'clock nor can I remember the last time I had an entire weekend to myself. And vacations—I've even forgotten what they are!"
"I guess I should be glad I don't own my own business then. I love to travel. In fact, I just got back from two weeks in Ireland and the United Kingdom. I'm hoping that in a few more years I can visit France next."
"I envy you," Carson sighed. "I wish I could go away for two weeks and enjoy myself like that. Since I opened my business, I haven't had time for much of anything except work. Quite frankly, my social life is in a coma." He looked at Trisha, admiring her pretty blue eyes and dimpled smile and asked, "I don't suppose I could persuade you to have dinner with me tonight?"
* * *
Sixteen months later, Carson and Trisha were married in a small ceremony held on Nantucket Island. After a beautiful but short honeymoon cruise to Bermuda, the newlywed couple moved into a large Victorian house on Queen Anne Street in Puritan Falls that would serve as both their home and Carson's office.
It was while Trisha was unpacking her husband's clothes that she discovered the Kodak 35mm camera she found in the used luggage she had purchased at the Puritan Falls Flea Market. Later that night at dinner, Trisha questioned her husband about it.
"I thought you were going to return that camera to its owner."
"It must have slipped my mind," he said, making light of the matter. "After all, when I wasn't working, I was busy wooing you."
He winked at her and grinned mischievously.
"Then tell me who owns it, and I'll take care of returning it."
Carson frowned.
"I don't know how to get in touch with her. She was a young college kid who used to work for me part-time. You see, I wanted to put my photograph inside the company brochure—to give it that personal touch, you know? She offered to take a couple of pictures of me with her camera. But about a week after she took the pictures she went on vacation and never came back to work."
"If she worked for you, you must have her address on file somewhere."
"I did have an address for her, but she doesn't live there anymore. When she didn't show up on the Monday she was due back, I tried phoning her to see if anything was wrong and learned that the phone had been disconnected. I then tried sending her a letter, but it was returned by the post office."
"The man at the flea market told me it was his daughter's luggage. I'm sure he ...."
"Don't worry about it," Carson interrupted. "It's an inexpensive camera. I'm sure she's forgotten all about it by now."
"But ...."
"That's enough!" he said firmly. "I don't want to hear one more word about that damned camera."
Trisha was taken aback. Here was a side of her husband that she'd never seen before. She sat through the remainder of dinner in injured silence; then she washed the dishes and went up to bed without a word to Carson.
Unable to sleep, the newlywed bride tossed and turned, wondering why her husband had gotten so angry when she questioned him about the camera. The only conclusion she could draw was that Carson had an affair with the young woman who owned it. From the first time Trisha met him, he had seemed reluctant to have her return the camera to its owner. But why? Was he afraid the young woman would tell Trisha something about Carson that he didn't want her to know?
* * *
Two days later while her husband was out meeting with a potential new client, Trisha went into his office and turned on his computer. It took less than ten minutes to locate the information she wanted: a listing of Carson's current and former employees. Thankfully, it was a small company, and there were only a few dozen names and addresses on it. In fact, when Trisha printed the list out, it was barely two pages long.
She turned off the printer, shut down the computer and closed the door to the office just as Carson's Land Rover pulled into the driveway. Feeling like a character in a cheap detective novel, Trisha managed to sneak up the stairs before her husband came through the front door.
With Carson busy at work downstairs, she sat at her bedroom vanity with the printout and a highlighter pen. She crossed out all her husband's current employees as well as all the men. That left three women, one of whom couldn't have been the owner of the camera since she had recently retired and moved to Florida.
"It shouldn't be too difficult to track down the other two women, Katie O'Hara and Amber Randolph."
Trisha called the number of the first woman. After two rings, someone picked up.
"Hello," a harried voice answered.
Trisha could hear the sound of a crying child in the background. After a brief conversation, she learned that Katie O'Hara had left Carson's employ because she'd been pregnant and had decided to become a stay-at-home mom. When questioned, Katie claimed that she had never owned a 35mm camera.
Trisha then dialed the second number on the sheet and received a recorded message that the number was no longer in service.
The address listed for Miss Randolph was only a fifteen-minute drive from her house, so Trisha grabbed her handbag and car keys and told Carson that she had to run to the store. When she arrived at Amber's former address, she went to the house next door and rang the bell.
"I'm sorry to bother you," she told the woman who answered. "I'm looking for the young woman who used to live in the house next door, Amber Randolph. I was hoping you might know where I could find her."
The old woman shook her head.
"I wish I could help you, but I have no idea where she went. I'm sure her grandmother would know, though."
"Her grandmother?" Trisha echoed hopefully.
"Yes. Her grandmother, Ada Randolph, owned that house. Amber moved in with the old woman when her mother died. Ada is a music teacher at the high school, or rather she was one before she retired. A year or so ago she sold the house and is now living in one of those fifty-five and older townhouses near the college."
Trisha thanked the woman for her help and headed west toward the seniors housing development in Essex Green.
* * *
"My granddaughter is dead," Mrs. Randolph announced sadly, offering no details.
"I'm so sorry. I didn't know. I wanted to return this to her," she said, taking the Kodak out of her handbag. "I confess I used up the remaining exposures, so I put a new roll of film in it."
"I remember that camera," the dead girl's grandmother said, her eyes misting with tears. "Amber found it not long before she ...."
The old woman couldn't continue.
"She found it? I didn't know that. I thought it was her camera."
"No. She bought a jacket at the flea market in Puritan Falls, and when she got home she found that camera in the pocket."
Trisha opened her purse and took out the three photographs of Carson.
"These pictures were on the roll of film that was in the camera when I found it."
"Why, that's Mr. Stapleton. Amber had a part-time job doing some typing for him. I remember her telling me that she took some photographs of him. She was quite excited because he told her he might use one of them in his advertising."
Trisha didn't ask Amber's grandmother if she wanted the pictures; she just put them back in her purse.
"What an odd coincidence," the old woman said. "There were photographs of a man in the that camera—three of them—when Amber found it as well, but that man was younger and not nearly as handsome as Mr. Stapleton."
* * *
Trisha was saddened by her visit to Mrs. Randolph, so on the way back home, she stopped at the park and watched a group of children playing in the sandbox. On impulse, she reached into her pocket and took out the camera, intending to take pictures of the youngsters.
As she looked through the camera's viewfinder, however, a large man with flaming red hair and a bushy beard walked in front of her. For reasons she couldn't quite fathom, Trisha snapped three photographs of the stranger. Then she put the camera back in her pocket. A few minutes later, she got into her car and drove home.
When she walked upstairs to the bedroom, she saw Carson standing near her vanity with the computer printout in his hand.
"What is this all about?" he asked, waving the pages at her.
"I wanted to find the woman who owned the camera."
"I thought I told you to forget about it?"
"I didn't want to forget about it. I wanted to return the camera to its rightful owner."
"So, you sneaked downstairs and broke into my computer," Carson accused his wife.
"For heaven's sake! I didn't break into anything. I just turned it on and looked for her address. You make it sound like a crime."
"Isn't it? You accessed my private files without my permission. How can I ever trust you again?"
"Oh, come on. Don't you think that you're overreacting?"
"Am I? Where were you just now?"
"I told you. I went to the store."
"Then where are the bags?"
"All right," Trisha admitted. "I went to Amber Randolph's former address to see if I could track her down, and I did manage to find her grandmother. She told me that ...."
"That Amber was dead," Carson finished her sentence. "Did she tell you that her granddaughter was killed or that the police questioned me in connection with her murder?"
It was a thought that had played across Trisha's mind, but one that she didn't want to believe.
"What happened to her?"
"She was strangled. When she came back from vacation, she told me she'd met a man ...."
"You told me she never returned to work after her vacation, that she disappeared."
"I lied. I didn't want to discuss Amber with you. I was afraid you might think I'd had something to do with her death—besides, it had nothing to do with our relationship."
"Why would the police question you?"
"Because I was the last one to see her alive. She left the office at five o'clock, just like she always did, but she never went home. Her grandmother reported her missing the following day, and the police later found her body behind my office building. Naturally, I became the number one suspect, even though I had nothing to do with her death."
What Carson said made sense, but Trisha wasn't sure she believed him. He hadn't been truthful with her before; how could she take him at his word now?
"You talk about trust when I looked at your computer files, and yet you repeatedly lied to me about Amber."
Carson sighed, anxious to put the whole incident behind them.
"I'm sorry. Why don't we just forget about Amber and her camera?"
But Trisha couldn't forget that a young woman had been murdered and that the police once suspected her husband might be involved. Until she was certain of his innocence in her own mind, she couldn't live under the same roof with him.
"I'm sorry, but I just can't stay here," she told him.
Carson grabbed his wife's arm to keep her from leaving.
"I didn't hurt her. I swear!"
Trisha pulled away, eager to escape from the house, but in her headlong flight, she caught the strap of her handbag on the end of the railing, lost her footing and tumbled down the stairs. When her body landed in the foyer, she was already dead.
* * *
Iris Plunkett walked along the grounds of the Puritan Falls Flea Market, stopping at several tables to examine backpacks. She wanted a good one, one that would hold up through four years of college, but after paying her tuition and buying her textbooks, she had little money left over. Thus, she went to the flea market, hoping to find a used one in good shape.
It turned out to be Iris's lucky day. She found a high-quality backpack in excellent condition, and the price was well within her meager budget. After a little haggling, Jonah Pemberly lowered it even further.
When Iris got home, she went through all the zippered compartments, checking for any sign of wear and tear. What she found was a Kodak 35mm camera. While examining it, she noticed that only three exposures had been used, so she tucked it back inside the small compartment.
In less than a month, Iris finished the roll of film, taking photographs of the campus and of her dorm room. Afterward, she took the roll of film to a local drugstore to be developed. She found included with her finished prints, three snapshots of a large man with flaming red hair and a bushy beard, a man destined by fate—and a cursed camera—to play a deadly role in Iris's future.
Salem is such a ham! He can't resist posing every time he sees a camera.
