Free Kill Shot by J. D. Faver

photos, paying special attention to the people captured in the periphery of each of the frames.
    In the pictures with the lake as a background, Aida improved the images to reveal several individuals and groups of people involved in various activities. Some were boating while others jogged or strolled around the lake. There was a couple locked in an embrace and another couple walking hand-in-hand. In the background of the mother-daughter shots, Micki captured the edge of the playground where children frolicked and their parents or sitters sat nearby, watching.
    “I can’t believe your camera can capture an area this wide and deep with such clarity,” Aida said.
    “It’s a very expensive camera with a fine lens. It belonged to my father.” Micki pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes, her temper kicking into high gear. “Funny you should mention cameras. A camera is a delicate precision instrument. It must not be forced. It must not be left in hot places and it must not be subjected to fingerprint dust.”
    Aida turned to examine Micki through her thick, black rimmed glasses. “I don’t do fingerprints.”
    Over Aida’s head, Micki met Oz amused expression with one of her own. She hoped it conveyed threats of grievous bodily harm.
    “Sorry, I was misinformed,” she said. “In answer to your comment about my photographs, the camera is an excellent tool, not unlike an artist’s brush but it’s only as good as the artist.”
    “What are you saying?” Aida asked.
    “It’s a technique used by professional photographers,” Micki said. “I increased the depth of field so that the subject in the foreground is in focus and the background is in focus. I shoot in a recognizable location. It would be idiotic to have a great locale and blur out the background.”
    “What about all the people in the background? Doesn’t the bride object to all the people flitting through her wedding photos?” Aida pointed to a smiling Zondra in the center of the frame with a couple of joggers appearing to emerge from her veil.
    “I can selectively crop or blur out anything distracting. It’s an art form.”
    “Okay,” Oz said. “Enough female bonding. Aida, can you make that larger?” He pointed to the lovers embracing and Aida made their heads fill the screen. “Anyone you recognize?”
    All three viewers squinted at the faces.
    “Can you enhance her face?” Micki asked. “She looks familiar. I’m thinking, society pages. I make a file of people I should recognize, you know, the beautiful people?”
    Aida shook her head. “I’ll save it.”
    “What about the guy?” Oz asked.
    “He’s in profile.” Micki shook her head. “Not familiar to me but he’s hot.”
    Oz gave her a frown. “Hot?”
    “Attractive, well built...”
    “Yeah, I agree. Look at the shoulders on that man,” Aida said. “And butt. Cute butt.”
    “You women are savages.” Oz shook his head, but grinned.
    “This from a man dating a stripper.” Micki gave him an eye roll.
    “A dancer,” he corrected. “It’s an art form.”
    “What’s this?” Aida pointed to one of the boats on the lake. She enlarged the area and enhanced it.
    “It looks like a man rowing a boat with someone else riding in the stern.”
    Micki leaned closer. “Can’t see the faces.”
    “It’s probably a rental boat,” Oz said. “Blow up the letters on the side.”
    “What else looks suspicious?”
    “That,” Micki said. She tapped her finger on one of the playground shots.
    A lone man sat on the edge of the sandbox with several gleeful children throwing handfuls of sand.
    “What do you see, Micki?” Oz had come to stand beside her. “It’s a guy watching his kid play.”
    “No parent would allow kids to throw sand. It would get in someone’s eyes, and he’s sitting way too close. A normal dad wouldn’t want to get the fine playground sand on his clothes.”
    “Good catch, Micki,” Oz said.
    Aida tilted her head to one side. “You’re right. He