I didn’t want to get into our personal history right now. I wanted to know what had happened to her.

“Let’s stick to Carl and why he needs to be in prison,” I growled.

She met my eyes briefly, then once again looked away.

“Like I said, we had lots of jobs. Magazine spreads, private shoots, it seemed endless. We traveled and took pictures. I lost myself in work. For the first while, it was okay. I was busy, constantly on the move, still learning and growing. I took different kinds of pictures from Carl. He was all about perfection. The right model against the background. Or the pristine, idyllic beach. I liked nature. Odd objects that caught my attention.”

“I always said you had a better eye than he did.”

She smiled, rubbing her hands on her legs in a nervous gesture. I hated seeing her this way—unsure, vulnerable. I stilled her movements.

“Kelly, just say the words.”

“After a few months, Carl decided it was time for a break. I went to his place in the Caribbean, and he went God knows where. I stayed busy, exploring the island, taking more pictures, sorting through his library of photos and organizing them. When Carl returned, he was different somehow. Even edgier and almost angry. I wasn’t sure why. His demands increased, and I was run off my feet. Although his calendar was full, he refused to hire another assistant, and at times, I had no help on shoots. It was difficult, but I pushed through.” She laughed without humor. “It wasn’t as if I had somewhere else to go.”

“You should have come back here,” I snapped.

She met my gaze with a lift of her shoulders. “I didn’t think I’d be wanted.”

I wasn’t sure how to respond.

She stood and walked around the room, straightening a picture on the wall, staring out the window.

“Carl became more erratic. He was always a perfectionist. Time was money. I always arrived early and got everything ready, so when he got there, he went right to work. I always had everything prepped. That was my job. But he began showing up late. Throwing a fit over something trivial. Yelling at models, calling me names.” She sighed, leaning her head on the window for a moment, then she turned and leaned on the frame, her hands behind her. “His work suffered.”

“In what way?”

“Carl’s images were always so precise and inspirational. He always understood what the client wanted. That’s why he was so sought-after. I know you thought he was a pain, but he could see something on a bare stretch of beach. A way to use the light on the sand to highlight the picture. How a splash of color could make a photo change. How to coax a model into just the perfect mood to get the picture.” She shook her head. “But he was different. He yelled more, snapped and insulted more than cajoled. He was demanding, throwing tantrums on the sets. Angering people. And his photos reflected that—it was as if he’d stopped caring. They became almost ordinary. We fought constantly, and he told me everything happening was my fault. I wasn’t a good assistant anymore. He blamed everyone around him for all the problems. Including me. More than once, I had to step in and smooth ruffled feathers. I was getting tired, and the breaks between shoots were getting longer. I was offered a couple of small jobs that I accepted, and they were well received. Carl told me my work was inferior.”

“Fucking bastard.”

Kelly came back to the sofa and sat down. “We had a job in South America. A big one. Different for Carl. There were very few model shots. It was mostly nature. He struggled with it.” She shook her head. “His work was uninspired. Common. Like a snapshot a tourist would take on holiday. He wasn’t happy. He was short-tempered and nasty. We broke for a couple days so he could relax and clear his head. I traveled around taking pictures on my own, and when I got back, it was as if a switch had been turned on. Carl was relaxed and happy. At ease. We finished the shoot and headed back to his place. The client was thrilled with the end result. Carl had insisted on handling all of it. It surprised me, but at least he was showing an interest again, and I didn’t think much about it. I was used to his whims. We did a couple of other jobs, then we headed to Costa Rica.” She stopped, her sudden silence showing me her tension.

I nodded, knowing we were getting to the crux of the story now. “Keep going, Shutterbug. Get the words out.”

“This time, I was allowed to hire a couple of locals. One of them I liked, the other I was leery of, but he took off some of the burden, and it wasn’t forever. Carl and he got along well.” She stood again, wandering the room, fixing the blanket on the back of the sofa, adjusting the fringe on a pillow. “Carl let me share his Dropbox account. I was the one who organized it, kept it updated, deleted shots he didn’t like, sent files to clients, all that sort of thing. He knew how, but it was a grunt job, so I handled it. He had an unlimited storage account, and I stored my stuff under my name. He was fine with it, and it saved me money—in fact, it was his suggestion. I was also the one who kept up with the emails and social media. He hated all that, and I was good at it. It was a nice way to wind down sometimes, returning emails, posting pictures he took but wasn’t using. He got a lot of work and sales from those posts.”

Tags: Melanie Moreland Reynold's Restorations Suspense
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