Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 116, Nos. 3 & 4. Whole Nos. 709 & 710, September/October 2000

“I’m ready to start if you are,” he said, and they came in from the kitchen, leaving their drinks behind. The living room now had a 35 mm camera on a tripod, and two flash arrangements with reflective screens. Power lines snaked across the floor, and for a moment Clay felt good at what he had just done. He probably could have gotten away with half of the equipment and most of the aggravation, but for what he intended to charge these two nitwits when the day was done he wanted to make sure that they at least felt they got their money’s worth.

Jack and Chrissy came out to the living room and Clay went to one of his gear packs, pulled out a Polaroid instant camera. Jack eyed what Clay held in his hand and said, “All this work and you’re going to take our picture with that toy?”

Clay tried not to squeeze the camera too hard. “No, this is just what I use for a sample shot. That way I can make sure everything’s blocked right and that the scene looks good.”

Chrissy said, “Oh, Jack, leave the poor man alone. Look, where do you want us?”

“Sit right on the couch for now, and we’ll take it from there.”

As Clay watched, they both sat down on the couch, the Christmas tree and gifts to the left. He moved the coffee table away so their legs and feet could be visible, and he stepped back and lifted up the camera, and then lowered his arms.

It was all wrong.

Jack said, “What’s up now?”

Clay shook his head. “It doesn’t work.”

“You haven’t taken a single picture and already there’s something wrong?” Jack demanded.

“It’s your clothes,” Clay said.

“And what’s the matter with our clothes?”

He took a breath, held it, let it out. “The problem is, you have a Christmas tree and gifts piled up next to you. It’s supposed to be Christmastime, but you’re both dressed for the summer. I’m sorry, it doesn’t work. If you want to make this look realistic, you’ve got to start with the basics. And the basics are the clothes.”

Chrissy said, “What do you suggest?”

“Something a bit more formal, something that suggests it’s December. Maybe a dress for you and long pants and a shirt for—”

Jack stood up, face red. “Nice thinking, pal. If you’d have thought of this ten minutes ago, we’d already be that much further along.”

Chrissy stood next to her husband, arm quickly around him. “Now, Jack, you know he’s right. C’mon, I know exactly what we’ll wear. I’ve got that silly elf costume I wore two winters ago for that club party, and you can get those dreadful suspenders and tie that Aunt Cecile sent you. C’mon, it’ll be a scream.”

Jack seemed to calm down, but he still shook his head as he headed to the stairs. “All right, but let’s hurry it up. I still don’t want to be late.”

When they’d both gone upstairs Clay walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the lawn and the lake. He let out a breath with a low whoosh and leaned forward until his forehead was up against the glass. He was hot and tired and thirsty and felt like rolling up the sleeves on his shirt. He could hear them upstairs, going through dresser drawers and closets. If he had his druthers, he’d pack up his gear and get out of here before they came down, but he couldn’t. This would be a good-paying job when it was wrapped up, and he had worked too hard and long in setting up this legit business to let his irritation get the best of him. Don’t let this one get away from you. Don’t.

Just an hour or so, he thought. Get through the next hour or so and then we’ll be all done. They’ll be at their overpriced club with their overpriced friends, and we’ll be back at our apartment, music on the stereo, steaks on the grill, and maybe we can invite up that single mom from downstairs, Melissa. Even if he just rented a video and sat on the couch and made some popcorn he was sure he’d have more fun and satisfaction tonight than these two.

A woman’s voice from the stairs: “Ta da!”

He turned. Chrissy Tate was there, all smiles and not much else. She had on a red velvet costume with intricate green embroidery that did make her look like an elf, but only a fantasy elf for some adult Santa. It was short on the legs and had a scoop cut up front, and hugged her quite nicely. A red stocking hat with a white pompom on the end topped off her head, and she had on short high-heeled leather boots and black stockings.

“What do you think?” she asked slyly, walking over to him, the heels tap-tapping on the tile floor.

He found his voice. “It looks... it looks quite nice.”

She dipped, as in a curtsy. It looked like she was carrying two neckties in her left hand. She came closer, lowered her voice. “Tell me, when you’re done, when will you have prints ready for us to look at?”

“Five, six days,” he said.

She smiled, lowered her voice even more. “Then bring them by Friday next. To the house. Jack... he’ll be away on business that day. Okay?”

Oh, my, he thought. He just nodded, and in a desperate attempt to change the subject, “What’s up with the neckties? Your husband couldn’t decide?”