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

Aloud he said, “That sounds like a good idea. Do you have an old sheet you could put over the couch?”

“Sure we do,” she said, heading to the kitchen. “But first, let me get the red food coloring.”

Clay went back to his camera gear and then scooped up the prints as Chrissy came out of the kitchen and headed to the stairs leading up to the second floor. “I’ll be back in a couple of minutes!”

Jack nodded and stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, arms folded. Far up the lake the sky was darker and there was the low grumbling of thunder. “Looks like rain,” he said.

Clay made himself busy by wiping down one of his camera lenses. He was surprised when the man turned and said, “You feel like a beer or something?”

That was the best thing he had heard all day. “Yeah, a beer would be great.”

In a minute they were in the large kitchen and Jack opened the stainless-steel door of the refrigerator, which looked like it had enough food to last the summer. He pulled out two Sam Adams and Clay greedily drank almost half of his in one long, delicious swallow. Maybe the day was improving after all. Maybe.

Jack leaned back against the large refrigerator. “You been doing photo work for long?”

“A couple of years.”

“Do you like it?”

A shrug. “Most times. Usually it’s pretty straightforward stuff. Weddings. Family portraits. Class reunions.”

Jack took a swallow of his beer. “I’d guess today’s not pretty straightforward, am I right?” And Jack grinned, like he knew exactly what Clay was thinking.

Clay smiled back. The day was definitely improving. And to show his appreciation, he’d boost the final bill another ten percent.

“Yeah, I must admit, seeing a Christmas tree set up in June gave me a start there for a second.”

Another wide smile. “That’s Chrissy for you. She’s a good girl, a guy couldn’t ask for anything better. But when she gets her mind set on something, watch out. She really wanted a Christmas card this year to stand out, and I figure to go along. Why the hell not? Makes her happy and keeps her quiet. Jesus, it sure is hot, isn’t it? Air conditioning on this floor isn’t worth shit.”

Then, maybe a bit loopy on the beer and easy conversation, Clay made a mistake, and knew it the minute he did. It was hot, damn it, and he rolled up the sleeves on his black turtleneck shirt.

Jack spotted it instantly. “Man, those are interesting tattoos.”

Idiot, he fumed quietly. Why the hell did you go and do that?

Clay kept his voice neutral. “One of these days I’ll save up enough and have them burned off. They use lasers nowadays.”

“Hmmm,” Jack said, eyeing his forearms. “Bleeding skulls, daggers, and a rattlesnake. Pretty interesting.”

Clay said nothing.

“Friend of mine, he’s a cop down in Manchester,” Jack said, his voice now inquisitive. “Said tattoos like that, ones that are blue-black and blurry around the edges, you can only get them in one place. Prison.”

Clay took a small swig of the beer. “Really?”

Jack nodded. “Unh-hunh. So tell me, did you get those while you were in jail?”

Clay stared at the man’s eyes, seeing a flinty hardness, the inquisition coming right at him. So, Jack was no doubt thinking, who are you and why are you in my house?

Clay tried to smile. “Yeah, long time ago. When I was young and dumb.”

There, he thought. That was an easy lie.

Jack now looked fascinated. “Really? What for?”

Quick, it was now time for lie number two. “Stupid stuff. I got drunk in a bar and some guy was coming on to my girlfriend. I didn’t like it and we started fighting. Problem was, I got pretty rough with him and I had a juvenile record for stealing a couple of cars, so I got extra time tagged on. But I did my sentence and I’ve been clean ever since.”

Sure, the voice inside him said. Clean and uncaught.

“That’s wild,” Jack said. “Prison. Man, that must have been something.”

“Yeah,” Clay agreed. “It was something.”

A voice from the living room. “Fellas, come on back, I’ve got the stuff.”

He followed Jack out into the room, where Chrissy had spread a white sheet over the couch. A tube of red food coloring and two toy guns were on the coffee table. The guns were black plastic and did look real. Jack spoke up as he stepped over to his wife. “You want to hear something, something interesting?”

“Sure,” his wife said.

Jack gestured to Clay, and Clay wished he had never come here. “Our photographer here. He’s actually done prison time. Can you believe that? An ex-con, in our house. Wait till I tell the people at the club tonight who we had in our house.”

Chrissy looked at Clay, straight on, and just smiled. It didn’t look like the thought bothered her at all. “Was it hard, being in prison?”

He looked away, picked up the food-coloring tube. “Yeah, it was hard. Look, I don’t want to waste any more of your time. Let’s get this going.”