Free Camera Never Lies by Elizabeth Goddard Page A

thinking.”
    I’d never been face-to-face with a murderer, and at that moment, I was sure I wouldn’t know if I had, but she brandished no weapon. “All right. You’ll have to excuse my appearance though.”
    She stepped into the room and looked around, her gaze stopping to rest on my camera, which sat next to my laptop. This would be a perfect time to work on my questioning technique—that is, after I found out why she’d come.
    “So what did you need to speak to me about?” Had she dropped something in the restroom and thought I’d found it?
    “You have to destroy any pictures you’ve taken that include me.”
    Now it was my turn. “Excuse me?”
    “You don’t have any right to take pictures of me.”
    I closed my eyes, both stunned at her demand and mentally flicking through the snapshots I’d taken over the last two days. I’d been steeped in a portrait studio for so many years, I wasn’t certain that there weren’t laws on the matter.
    Before I could respond, she continued. “Look, in case you work for a newspaper or magazine or even something on the Internet, I’m warning you.…” Then she glared at me.
    At that instant I remembered that I’d seen her before we met in the restroom. She was the woman who had practically glared through my camera lens at me yesterday by the lake rim. I resisted the urge to shudder. How had she known where my room was? Had she followed me?
    I combed my fingers through my hair and stared back. Was she hiding from someone or running from the law? Shouldn’t she have simply avoided me, rather than arouse my curiosity? I wanted to ask more about her warning but thought better of it. I was more concerned about finding Alec’s killer.
    “All right.” I moved away from her and over to my camera then glanced back.
    Her eyes widened, giving me the impression she’d been expecting an argument. She nodded and put her hand on the doorknob, preparing to leave.
    But I couldn’t let her do that yet. I ran my fingertips over my camera. “Did you know Alec Gordon?” Even if they hadn’t released the name of the murder victim, I felt sure the news would have spread all over the lodge by now. Unofficially.
    The woman stared at me, as if caught off guard yet again. “I’ve never met him, no.”
    The way she said “him” conveyed emotion. My breath came quicker. I’d looked at hundreds, even thousands of people’s eyes over the years as I’d taken their portraits. I’d developed an instinctive ability to read hidden expressions. But could I use this gift for sleuthing? Emily had proven that I’d been right when I felt her glare was warning me not to take her picture.
    But that gift usually showed up when I examined the photographs themselves. I wasn’t sure I could read Emily by the way she’d spoken a word.
    I had to keep her talking, see if she would reveal anything. “He was a regular guest here at the lodge, you know. Do you come here often, too?”
    Her brows wrinkled when she attempted her you-must-be-crazy look, the same one as the night before, except today I saw obvious fear in her eyes. “That’s none of your business.” She slipped through the door, looking like a gangly teenager with her awkward gait. It was as if she weren’t accustomed to wearing those shoes.
    Strange, very strange. I decided I’d keep the name—Emily the Strange—I’d given her.
    I plopped onto the bed, breathless. There was no doubt I’d read fear in the young woman’s eyes. Was she afraid I’d publish a photograph of her? Or had my question about Alec sparked the fear?
    I wondered if the two things were related—something like the old saying: Which came first, the chicken or the egg?
    Things were strange indeed, Emily.
    She was obviously more worried about her photograph appearing somewhere than she was about broaching the topic with me, alerting me she had troubles. But panic hadn’t flashed through her eyes until I’d questioned her about Alec Gordon. She hadn’t