Page 54 of Capturing You
She shrugged. “They’re business owners, and they’re in a meeting room at the Wadsworth. That’s where the Chamber meets today, and this isn’t a group that likes change.”
Turned out, his houseguest was a fountain of information. He should have taken notes.
She moved her finger to the front row and indicated a woman. “I don’t know her, though she looks familiar. This one though.” She tapped the next person. “This is Elvis Harper.”
“Elvis?” He’d heard Brooklynn say that name the day before and had imagined a man with dark hair wearing a pale-blue leisure suit. Not a fifty-something woman in an outfit that would’ve looked right at home in the sixties on the corner of Haight and Ashbury. Was her jewelry made of… He leaned closer.
Seashells?
“Elvis owns the shop next door to mine,” Brooklynn said. “She’s sort of an odd duck.”
“Sort of?”
Brooklynn smiled. “Nice lady, though. Wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
Maybe. “Didn’t your assistant say she was looking for you yesterday?”
“I called her this morning. She’d just wanted to visit, I guess.”
“Did she ask where you were?”
“I gave her the same story I gave everyone else, that I’m staying with a friend. She told me she’d ‘send peaceful thoughts.’ So if you’re feeling extra peaceful, you have Elvis to thank.”
This was getting weirder all the time. Obviously, Brooklynn didn’t suspect her business neighbor, but Forbes wouldn’t discount Elvis based on her hippie persona.
Brooklynn pointed to the next person, the first of the three men in the front row. “That’s Mr. Webb.” He was a tall man with blond hair and a wide smile. “He owned Webb’s Harborside.”
Forbes noted the past tense. “Did he sell it?”
“He died a few years ago. His family still owns it.”
Brooklynn pointed to the next person, who had a ring of gray hair around his bald head, sharp blue eyes, and a friendly smile. “That’s Arthur Whitmore.”
“The photographer.” Forbes’s gaze flicked to the photo he’d returned to the bookshelf.
“He was one of the kindest men I’ve ever known.” She leaned back. “I got a camera for my ninth birthday. I loved it. Went around taking pictures of everything—people, landmarks, flowers, birds… If I could frame it, I’d snap it.
“I got stacks of pictures back from the lab—you remember when you had to actually develop them?” At his nod, she continued. “I thought they were amazing. They weren’t, of course.” Her grin was self-effacing. “But I think, looking back, that they were good for a child’s first attempt. I was so proud of those pictures. I showed them to my parents and declared that I was going to be a photographer when I grew up. Mom took me seriously and introduced me to Mr. Whitmore. Over the course of the next few years, he taught me everything he knew about photography. He even taught me to develop my own photos and gave me access to the darkroom in his studio.
“Sophomore year of high school,” Brooklynn continued, “I had to do a project for art class. I decided to study the history of Shadow Cove, and with the paper, I added photographs of our local landmarks. Arthur was so impressed that he turned the paper and photos into a full-color book, which he sold at his booth during Old Home Days.” Her smile was shy. “I was so proud of that, even if only a few copies sold.” She tapped his face on the photo. “I owe so much to him.”
“I assume he’s no longer with us?”
“He passed away a few years ago. He left me all his equipment. It’s out of date now, but I keep it anyway.”
“You said your mom took you seriously. What about your dad?” Not that it was his business.
Brooklynn’s smile faded. “Suffice it to say, Dad wasn’t impressed.”
Forbes didn’t ask, just waited for her to continue.
“He wasn’t mean or anything,” she said after a long pause. “But you know… Mom oohed and ahhed over my photos. Dad said they were fine but that photography was a hobby, not a real job. That I’d better figure out how I was going to make money so I wouldn’t be a ‘nuisance to society.’”
“Nice.”
She shrugged as if it didn’t matter. “He wasn’t great about the dad things. He wasn’t around as much as Mom, and he didn’t really know how to deal with five daughters.”
“Five?”
