He had a passing interest in photography and knew the look created by large slow cameras using photo plates. Or maybe it was the clothing of the subjects that made him think the camera was from another era. A giant redwood tree served as the backdrop for the composition. In front of the tree stood a woman, a man, a dog, and a young woman. Dan somehow knew the dog belonged to the man. It was doubtful that the woman even liked the dog, although he could surmise from the look of things that she liked the man.

But it was the younger woman who piqued Dan’s interest. She wore a skirt appropriate to the day, drawn in tight at the waist, ballooned out, then falling straight down from the hips to the top of her black, sharp-toed boots, not unlike the boots he had seen on female clients at his law office—in winter, never summer.

Her face had a lean angularity, the nose strong but not too prominent and the cheekbones high. If only he could see the detail of the eyes that looked at him, that tugged at the darkest recesses of his mind. He knew that those eyes

held a child’s innocence, that they owned the sun, that under the sepia tone of the photograph her eyes were golden, surrounded by blue.

The first time he looked at the photo, it had taken him a moment to recognize her. He had watched her from across the courthouse hallway a couple weeks ago. Last summer, he’d sat a foot from her in a pickup. It was now apparent that Maria Fischer’s reason for choosing to meet at Muldoon’s Pub, next door to the antique shop in Old Town Palmer, was that she had some connection to this place.

He checked his watch. 9:55 AM. He took a new grip on the briefcase. Even though the handle was slick with sweat, its contents growing heavy, he didn’t want to put it down. He stroked his lip, where up until this morning there had been a mustache. He was unable to escape the odd feeling that someone might be watching him. Yet the many mirrors revealed no one.

“Can I help you?”

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