Buch lesen: «Familiar Vows»
“Talk to me,” Lucas said. “I have to hear your voice so I know where you are.”
“What would you like me to say?” she asked, a bit of acid in her tone.
“How about ‘Thanks, Lucas. You’ve just spent a day of your life trying to keep me safe and I really appreciate it.’ That would be nice for starters.”
“Dream on.” But she did thank him, even if she couldn’t bring herself to verbally express it. “Look, I feel bad…I didn’t want to involve you.”
“And what is it that you think I want to do?”
Irritation made his voice rough, and she responded with a hint of heat. “If those men are as dangerous as you say, then I didn’t want to put you…I wanted to fix this myself.”
“Lady, you may be a great photographer, but as a strategist against mobsters and murderers, you need some training.”
She jerked her blouse over her head. And just in time. He turned around as she pulled her hair free from her collar. His normally blue eyes were a gunmetal gray, and the intensity of his look made her catch her breath. He was furious with her, but it didn’t stop the heart-stopping jolt that ran through her body. Dealing with Lucas West was like grabbing a tornado and trying to hang on.
Dear Harlequin Intrigue Reader,
In honor of two very special events, the Harlequin Intrigue editorial team has planned exceptional promotions to celebrate throughout 2009. To kick off the year, we’re celebrating Harlequin Books’ 60th Diamond Anniversary with DIAMONDS AND DADDIES, an exciting four-book miniseries featuring protective dads and their extraordinary proposals to four very lucky women. Rita Herron launches the series with Platinum Cowboy next month.
Later in the year Harlequin Intrigue celebrates its own 25th anniversary. To mark the event we’ve asked reader favorites to return with their most popular series.
Debra Webb has created a new COLBY AGENCY trilogy. This time out, Victoria Colby-Camp will need to enlist the help of her entire staff of agents for her own family crisis.
You can return to 43 LIGHT STREET with Rebecca York and join Caroline Burnes on another crime-solving mission with Familiar the Black Cat Detective.
Next stop: WHITEHORSE, MONTANA with B.J. Daniels for more Big Sky mysteries with a new family. Meet the Corbetts—Shane, Jud, Dalton, Lantry and Russell.
Because we know our readers love following trace evidence, we’ve created the new continuity KENNER COUNTY CRIME UNIT. Whether collecting evidence or tracking down leads, lawmen and investigators have more than their jobs on the line, because the real mystery is one of the heart. Pick up Secrets in Four Corners by Debra Webb this month, and don’t miss any one of the terrific stories to follow in this series.
And that’s just a small selection of what we have planned to thank our readers.
We’d love to hear from you, and hope you enjoy all of our special promotions this year.
Happy reading, and happy anniversary, Harlequin Books!
Sincerely,
Denise Zaza
Senior Editor
Harlequin Intrigue
Familiar Vows
Caroline Burnes
MILLS & BOON
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For Kim Robertson, cat lover and Familiar fan
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Caroline Burnes has published more than forty Harlequin Intrigue books, many of them featuring Familiar, the Black Cat Detective. She first published with the Intrigue line in 1988 with a book called A Deadly Breed. Since that time, many of her stories have featured animals: horses, cats, dogs and even a few wolves and cougars thrown in for good measure. She lives on a farm in South Alabama with seven horses, eight cats and six dogs, most of them rescue animals. She urges everyone to please spay and neuter their companion pets to help reduce the number of unwanted animals.
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Michelle Sieck—She has a talent for taking extraordinary photographs—and for getting into trouble. When she snaps a wedding without permission, she sets in motion events that threaten innocent people, herself included.
Lucas West—A man scarred by the murder of his brother, Lucas wants justice. And he wants to protect the chief witness who testified against his brother’s killer. Michelle is a thorn in his flesh and a fire in his heart.
Familiar—Smart, savvy and always ready for a good case, Familiar finds himself in the backwoods of Alabama in his efforts to protect headstrong Michelle—and to help find the missing witness, Lorry.
Lorry Kennedy (aka Anna Sewell)—Lorry was at the wrong place at the wrong time. She witnessed a brutal hit on an undercover cop, and she was brave enough to testify. But as Antonio Maxim’s case comes up for appeal, Lorry is a prime target.
Antonio Maxim—Antonio heads a crime organization that spreads from Texas to New York City and involves luring innocent young girls into “modeling” jobs which turn out to be forced prostitution and drug running. He’s in jail—but can Lucas and Michelle keep him there?
Robert Maxim—Antonio’s brother, Robert is moving up in the ranks of the criminal world. He has one chance to free his brother, and that involves killing Lorry Kennedy or anyone who gets in his way.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter One
Ah, back in the South, where food is an art form and no humanoid would ever dare mention that I’m back at the hors d’oeuvres table for the fourth time. Love those salmon puffs in dill sauce! The yellowfin-tuna croquettes are superb. Let the bipeds waste their caloric allowance on champagne; I’m indulging in sustenance that will make my coat sleek and shiny and my eyes bright. Brain food, yum!
Everyone is taking their seats. The harpist has started. I do believe it’s showtime. And I’ve got to scurry to get to my seat beside my beloved owner, Eleanor.
I have to say, the bride is beautiful. The entire theme of a Civil War wedding, while admittedly strange to a feline, is beautiful. Charles looks handsome in his uniform, with the sword at his side and the gold sash, and Lorry is magnificent in a hand-stitched gown crusted with seed pearls. Maybe it’s just pretend, but the bridal party’s attire gives the wedding a solemnity that makes me believe Charles and Lorry will truly find happiness together. From what Eleanor tells me, Lorry deserves a break. Her life hasn’t been easy.
Ah, the bridesmaids have assumed their places, and all eyes turn to watch Lorry float down the aisle like a dream.
Uh-oh. It looks like the tall, lean best man has seen something he doesn’t particularly care for. It almost looks as if he’s going to bolt from his place, but no, he can’t, or the ceremony will be ruined.
But what does Lucas West see? All afternoon he stalked the wedding, as if he expected Jack the Ripper to show up, and now he’s craning his neck to watch…a woman with a camera? She’s probably been paid to assist the guy who’s photographing the wedding. Why should that unsettle Lucas so much? Two photogs instead of one—not cause for alarm as far as I can tell.
I have to say, though, the woman shutterbug should be in front of the camera, not behind it. She’s simply beautiful, and she has no clue. She’s all about getting her shot. And the money shot is the bride.
Lorry, with her honey-gold hair and inner beauty, is glowing with happiness. Miss Shutterbug is following her with studied diligence. Camera Girl is intense, that’s for sure. She’s going to get her picture, and the world be damned. She even stepped in front of the other photographer, which didn’t go over well with him or with Lucas.
Now Lucas and Eleanor are both acting strange. I’m sure there’s a story behind this, and I’ll find out as soon as the vows are said.
THE LIGHTING in the old clapboard church was incredible. Michelle moved around the chapel, her cameras whirring as she recorded the wedding digitally and also on film. Of the four weddings she’d photographed so far on this assignment for Bride Magazine, this one was the best—at least photographically speaking. The magazine had offered florists across the nation a free ad for alerting the magazine to the most unusual wedding, and Michelle made a mental note to send Bloomers Unlimited a thank-you note. This wedding was fantastic.
She had no clue if the bride and groom loved each other or had a chance at “happily ever after.” The truth was, she didn’t care. What mattered was capturing the image—that perfect blend of light, composition and human emotion, where one picture told the entire story.
As she moved along the west wall of the church, flanking the bride, Michelle noticed the best man giving her the evil eye. In fact, he looked as if he was going to step out of his role as Confederate attendant to the groom and confront her. Had she not been so focused on her work, she might have found that idea a tiny bit thrilling. He was the antithesis of the men she knew in New York. He was rugged and self-contained, and for some reason, she thought of the old black-and-white reruns of Marshal Dillon on Gunsmoke. Too bad he was eyeing her like she was a horse thief he meant to hang.
She tried to ignore him, but his steely gaze made her uncomfortable. Yes, she was an interloper at this wedding. What she offered this soon-to-be wife was something most brides would kill for—a featured photo essay in Bride Magazine.
Michelle used only natural light, so the flash wasn’t an issue during the ceremony. Yet when she caught a glimpse beneath the bride’s veil, she saw a young woman clearly in despair. It made Michelle uneasy, but she continued to do her job. Heck, if Iggy Adams, her editor-in-chief, couldn’t talk the couple into signing a release to use the photos, they wouldn’t be used. No one wanted a lawsuit.
When the groom lifted the veil, the purest light filtered in through a loft window, and Michelle snapped a photo that every photographer waits a lifetime to get. The groom bent to kiss the bride, and then it was over.
Michelle sighed, wishing she actually knew this couple. But she’d never met them. As part of the deal she’d cut with Iggy, she had no responsibility to inform the bride and groom about the photographs. The whole idea of catching the bride and groom unaware—while it had yielded some of the best wedding photographs she’d ever seen—was still a bit strange. But that was Iggy’s problem. All she had to do was show up and get the pictures. Iggy would handle the sticky details.
Speaking of moving on down the road, she had another wedding to shoot. It was time to book out.
She picked up her camera bag and took long strides toward the exit, almost stumbling over a black cat, who stared up at her as if he had something to say.
“Hey, kitty.” She bent to stroke his sleek fur, but his gaze never wavered. He watched her. Not critically, but with curiosity. Well, she’d always heard that curiosity killed the cat. Too bad she didn’t have a way to take this black beauty home with her to the Big Apple. He had the attitude and demeanor of the perfect roommate.
When she walked outside, she was amused to see that the cat followed her. Maybe he didn’t have a home. She gave him a critical once-over. He was certainly well-fed and cared for. He had loving owners somewhere, but why was he attending a wedding?
At the car, she popped out the digital memory card and stuffed it in her jacket pocket. She rewound the film in the other camera, put a sticky label on it and also put it in her jacket. As she reloaded her cameras and began to store them in the cargo bay of her car, the cat began to rub against her ankles and purr.
“Excuse me, ma’am.”
She turned to face the lean man who’d been in the wedding. His chiseled features were ruggedly handsome, and his assessing gaze made her feel as if her blouse was unbuttoned. “Yes?”
“I’m afraid I can’t let you leave here with those photographs,” he said. His soft drawl belied the deadly sincerity in his eyes.
Michelle pushed her long red hair back. “My boss will be in touch to get all the necessary release forms.”
“Your boss?”
“Iggy Adams, with Bride Magazine. We’re doing a feature article on brides in out-of-the-way places. Blakely State Park down here in Spanish Fort, Alabama, is pretty darn out of the way.”
“I’d like the film and the digital memory cards, please.”
The man was made of ice. He acted as if she’d held up a bank or something.
“That’s not going to happen.” She started to slam the cargo-bay door when the cat jumped in. She reached in to remove the cat, and the man put his hand on the door, blocking her.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but you have to give me those photographs.”
Whoever he was, he was trained to show no emotion. He acted as though he were asking for a piece of gum. “Those photographs are my property,” she said coolly. “Now, if you want a court case, try to take them.”
“No, ma’am. We don’t want a court case at all. I just want those pictures. You had no right to take them.”
“Look, I agree that the whole idea of photographing the wedding without notifying the bride and groom is a bit strange, but so far, every couple has been thrilled to be in Bride Magazine. The bride and groom will have total say over which photos are used.”
“You don’t understand.” The man’s jaw tensed as he spoke. “Those photographs won’t be used at all.”
She took a breath. “Iggy won’t use them if the couple refuses to sign a release. That’s between them and the magazine. But Iggy paid me to come here. I’ve spent at least a week of time, not to mention airfare and hotels. I’ve got to take something back to show for the expense.”
She was out of breath when she finally stopped. He was looking at her with that steely-gray gaze that said so clearly that he didn’t give a damn what her story was, and he wanted what he wanted.
“Ma’am, if it were any other wedding, I’m sure the participants would be delighted to be in a fancy New York City magazine. Not this wedding, I’m afraid. Ms. Lorry asked me to get that film, and that’s what I intend to do.”
He reached for the camera bag, pulled it out and removed her digital camera.
Before she could blink, he had the memory card in his hand. He went for the other camera. Michelle brought the door down on his arm, not hard enough to harm him, but with enough force that he knew she meant business.
“Don’t touch my equipment.” She eased off the door to let him remove his arm.
“You don’t understand what’s at stake,” he said.
She could see that he was working hard at reasoning with her. What he didn’t understand was that she’d never let anyone touch her equipment. Not ever. Not for any reason. Before she could answer, she noticed the black cat had hopped to the front seat. To her amazement, the cat opened the glove box and began to rifle through the contents. “Hey!” she yelled at the cat.
The man took her moment of inattention to strip the film from her camera. He dropped the roll in his pocket and handed the camera back to her.
“Sorry, ma’am,” he said.
She was furious, but she still had her photographs. Whoever this Neanderthal was, he’d only gotten blank film. The best thing she could do was beat a hasty retreat before he tried to search her.
She walked past him to the driver’s door. “Shoo, kitty!” She waved her hands at the cat until he hopped out a front window. She got behind the wheel.
“Ms….” the man started.
She gunned the motor and drove out of the church parking lot like Satan was on her heels.
When she looked in the rearview mirror, he was standing there in his Confederate finery, the black cat sitting beside his polished black boots.
LUCAS WEST WATCHED THE red Alabama dust rise from the tires of the photographer’s SUV, a rental from Atlanta. He memorized the tag number, but since he had the film, it was a moot issue. And it was thanks to the cat that he’d gotten the film. He looked down, but the feline had disappeared.
He stood a moment longer, pondering the strange events. Whoever the photographer was, she’d come into the wedding like a Texas tornado. He felt the corners of his mouth begin to tug into a smile. Well, maybe that was an exaggeration. She’d been quiet and professional, but the first time he’d looked at her, she’d given him a jolt. She was a looker. No doubt about that. With her lacey white shirt, tailored black slacks and stiletto boots, she’d almost stolen his breath. Until he’d seen the camera.
He sensed someone approaching and turned to face Eleanor Curry, a lovely woman who traveled with a black cat. The idea of it made him smile.
“Who was she?” Eleanor asked.
“Photographer for Bride Magazine.”
Eleanor whistled softly. “That’s the magazine to be in if you’re into wedding royalty.”
“Lorry can’t risk it. I got the film. Cockamamie idea to send a photographer to photograph a wedding without asking the bride and groom.”
“It’s all about that candid moment,” Eleanor said as she took his arm and they walked toward the celebration in an arbor beside the church. “But you got the pictures, right? No harm done. Let’s have a glass of champagne.”
Lucas felt himself relax. He had the pictures; the danger had been averted. Now he wanted to enjoy this new beginning for a young woman who’d proven to be courageous and strong.
“It’s wonderful to see Lorry like this,” Eleanor said. “I was afraid she’d never be happy again.”
“She did a very brave thing for me.” Lucas took two glasses from a passing waiter and handed one to Eleanor. “I promised I’d see her into a new life. A happy life. I think this is the first step. Lorry and Charles have the whole future ahead of them.”
“They’re so in love.” Eleanor pointed her champagne glass toward a black shadow slipping along the chairs at the buffet table. “And I’d better get Familiar. He loves wedding food, but we have to catch a flight out this evening. It’s back to D.C. for a few weeks, then on to my seminar in New York. Peter will join me there when he finishes lecturing in Chicago.”
“Peter’s lucky to have you, Eleanor. And your cat. I know you believe he’s some kind of detective, but my imagination won’t stretch that far.”
“Oh, Familiar will stretch it.” Eleanor linked her arm through his. “Familiar has a way of letting you know exactly how smart he is. Now walk me over to kiss the bride and groom good luck. Then I’m going to retrieve my cat and head for the airport.”
Chapter Two
Michelle walked through her studio, counting the photographs that would be shipped to Marco’s Gallery in SoHo. Her show, a collection of black-and-white pictures that ranged from landscapes to studies of the human body, had been selected with care. Since returning home from the gig for Bride Magazine, she’d spent the entire three weeks working on this show.
The men would be there within the hour to carefully crate the large canvasses and then transport them to Marco’s Gallery. This was a big moment, and Michelle savored it.
She toured the studio, and she stopped before each picture marked to go. The most extraordinary photograph—a bride, her gown weighted with seed pearls, a gossamer veil shading her beauty—was untagged. Michelle studied the picture, remembering the day in detail. Beside the bride was a handsome and gallant man in a gray Confederate officer’s uniform. He was leaning in to kiss his bride, and the look shared between them was one of total commitment and love.
Michelle traced the scar that was barely visible on the bride’s neck. She’d noticed it when she printed the picture, but she had no explanation for it. It looked as if someone had meant to cut the woman’s throat, but surely that wasn’t possible.
Michelle sighed. It was the finest picture she’d ever taken, but she didn’t have a signed release form. No matter how good, the picture would never be shown publicly. After she’d told Iggy about the man at the wedding trying to take her film, the editor had flatly refused to even consider using the Confederate wedding photographs. Michelle had printed this one, just for herself.
She put the last tag on a picture of two horses running in a pasture in a heavy mist. They were phantom creatures, coming out of the fog, nostrils flaring. She could almost hear the hoofbeats ring on the earth.
By tomorrow morning, the art critics would have reviewed her work. They were often unkind to magazine photographers who set up shop as artists. Only time would tell how they treated her.
Her cell phone rang, and she answered it with a smile. “Sure thing, Kevin. I’ll meet you in fifteen minutes. The guys are—” The sound of a knock interrupted her. “They’re here now, I think. Give me a few minutes to get them started, and I’ll meet up with you for that celebratory drink.”
Hanging up, she opened the door. Two men from Marco’s Gallery stood in the hallway, packing crates stacked neatly beside them. She showed them the numbered canvases.
“We’ll take care of it, Ms. Sieck,” one said. “Marco told us to use extra caution.”
“Marco is a good friend. Lock the door when you leave, and be sure and tell your boss I’ll be at the gallery by six-thirty this evening.”
Time for a Bloody Mary with Kevin, then a facial and massage. She’d scheduled her day to be as stress-free as possible. Tonight she’d be on public display.
Clutching her handbag, she hurried to the curb to flag a taxi. This was the day she’d been waiting for. Ten years of hard work—and twenty years of dreaming. It was all out of her hands now.
LUCAS ENTERED THE AUSTIN office complex of the U.S. Marshals Service, his boots tapping on the polished tile floor. How many mornings had he come into this same office ready for a day’s work? Not until Lorry Kennedy had he ever thought about quitting. Now the time was on him. He’d tendered his resignation and had only to turn in his badge and gun.
In twenty minutes, he’d no longer be a federal marshal.
As he walked down the corridor to the office, he thought about the ranch he’d bought in the Hill Country. His new life would involve cattle and horses and hard physical work. It was the remedy he’d chosen to help him deal with the death of his brother, and he was relieved to see that his fellow officers had honored his decision to quit. No one had made any effort to dissuade him.
When the official part was over, he accepted the handshakes of his fellow officers, a few jokes and back slaps, and then it was done.
As he left the building, he saw Frank Holcomb, his former partner. Frank had chosen not to be around when Lucas said his goodbyes to the rest of the guys.
“Is it official?” Frank asked.
“I’m an ordinary citizen.” Lucas had to admit he felt naked without his gun and badge. “It’s going to take some getting used to, but this is the way I had to play it.”
“I know.” Frank fell into step beside him. Once at the pickup, they stood awkwardly.
“You’ll come out to the ranch. Soon. Right?” Lucas asked.
“You bet.” Frank extended his hand. “I’ll miss you, Lucas.”
“Not too much.” The moment was tougher than Lucas had expected. “Be careful, Frank.”
“Will you be there for Antonio’s appeal?”
Lucas felt the knot of anger that had precipitated his need to quit a job he loved. “I’ll be there. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“You take care till then.”
They stood in the Texas sunshine as traffic passed beside them.
“You, too.” Lucas got in the truck and pulled out into the street. It was hard to close the door on this life. Really hard. But the murder of his brother by Antonio Maxim and the near death of the only witness to that murder—Lorry Kennedy, aka Betty Sewell—had pushed Lucas too close to taking the law into his own hands.
He had to leave Antonio Maxim to the legal system while he focused on the future. Or else he’d be swallowed whole by the past.
He aimed the truck north. He had fence to ride. With enough time and enough miles on a horse, maybe he could find peace.
THERE IS NOTHING LIKE a cool summer night in Manhattan. The city is alive all around me. While I love D.C. and the nearness of my most beloved Clotilde, I do enjoy a bit of Big Apple hustle.
Eleanor is preparing her speech for the linguistics conference in the morning, and I took the opportunity to sneak out and head to Marco’s Gallery.
I want a peek at that long-legged siren who had Lucas so “het up” at Lorry’s wedding. He was worked up good, and while 90 percent of it may have been about the photographs, the other 10 percent was that strange chemistry that sometimes happens between a man and a woman. Or a handsome black cat and his feline love.
New York is the easiest city in the nation to get around. A solitary black cat taking a relaxing ride on the subway doesn’t even raise an eyebrow. I can ride beneath the city to any destination. Although, while I love New York, I have to say, if I were picking a destination spot, it would be Egypt. Now that was a trip to remember. The Egyptians understand that cats are gods, and well they should.
Here’s my exit, and it’s up the stairs and into the streets of SoHo. I’m so glad I snooped into Miss Shutterbug’s glove box and found her schedule for the photography exhibit. I can’t wait to see what her pictures look like.
I’m a little early, but the crowds are beginning to gather. Ah, the young, beautiful and sophisticated people of the city are in attendance. There’s the star of the moment getting out of a limo. Wow! Be still my heart. She is a knockout in that little black dress with the crisscross straps. She is gorgeous, no doubt about it. Now let’s see about talent and brains.
A few people are giving me stares, but most people don’t even notice me. In a city of a thousand stories, no one is interested in one lone black cat. I’m almost invisible, which is why I’m such a successful private detective. Tonight, though, I’m off the clock. This is strictly for my pleasure.
Yeah, baby. And this exhibit is fine! The photographs are incredible. Miss Shutterbug has talent, in spades. As to the brains, perhaps that isn’t important. She has enough talent to cover any lack of common sense.
The crowd agrees with me. People are captivated by her images. The one of the horses makes me want to live on a farm, as long as I don’t have to ride. And that looks like the Hudson River—more of a painting than a photograph. Miss Shutterbug is amazing.
And back here is a bride and—
I’m not believing this. That’s Lorry and Charles. This is not good. In fact, this is very bad. I’d better get back to the hotel and let Eleanor know about this. Something has to be done.
INHALING DEEPLY, MICHELLE reminded herself to smile and relax. Everything was going better than she’d dared to hope. A large crowd had gathered even prior to the official opening time, and she’d felt like royalty stepping out of the limo into the flash of several cameras. Marco, the gallery owner, had come through with some press coverage.
The news cameras were being set up, and while she didn’t relish the idea of being filmed, if she wanted to sell her work as an artist, publicity was the name of the game. So far so good.
She allowed herself to be swept into the gallery with a cluster of socialites who’d come with checkbooks in hand. She wanted to pinch herself to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating.
Photojournalism was as much a part of her as her skin, and she’d never give it up, but to be accepted as a fine artist who worked with a camera instead of paints and brushes was her dream. One she’d been afraid to reach for until Marco had encouraged her.
She walked over to the tall, distinguished gallery owner and linked her arm through his. “You are a magician!”
He kissed her cheek, beaming like her father should have, had he been able to accept her for who she, was instead of always faulting her for who she wasn’t. “I merely hung these wonderful prints, Michelle. Nothing more.”
“Right, fairy godmother. Where’s my pumpkin coach and the white mice you turned into horses?”
His laughter echoed through the gallery. Cameras clicked and flashguns popped. “Thank you, Marco,” she said as she stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.
“Tend to your public, Michelle.” He frowned. “Did that cat come with you?”
Michelle looked in the direction he’d indicated. A beautiful black cat sat on an antique table, staring at her. It almost seemed as if the cat had singled her out. The idea was preposterous.
“No, he didn’t come with me.”
“If he’s a stray, I think I’ll keep him. He lends a certain air of sophistication to the gallery, don’t you agree?”
“Indeed.” Michelle strolled over and stroked the cat’s back. He purred and rubbed against her. There was something very…familiar about him. “Behave, and you may have yourself a good home,” she whispered to him before she went to the rear of the gallery to check on the pictures there.
She picked up a glass of champagne from a waiter and moved through the gallery, listening to the flattering comments of the guests. As she turned a corner, she saw the photograph of the Confederate wedding. She was so shocked, she stopped, forcing the traffic behind her to halt or collide with her. For seconds, she merely stared at the picture, wanting to believe that it wasn’t really there.
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