Read Online Camera Never Lies by Elizabeth Goddard - Free Book Online
Authors: Elizabeth Goddard
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done, then I could see some resemblance. “Pleased to meet you, George.”
He picked up his gloves. “I like to feel the dirt with my bare hands.” When he turned his palms over, I noticed a cut.
“You’re bleeding.” I hoped I hadn’t caused it.
“No problem. My wife works wonders with her natural remedies. She’ll have me fixed up in no time.”
He tilted his head toward my camera. “So you’re a photographer?”
I nodded. Not too many tourists carried around a Nikon of professional quality, though some serious hobbyist might. George noticed the difference. His observation got me to thinking. “Say, since you know the grounds, how about a behind-the-scenes tour? I’m hoping to do an article to go with my photos.”
A distant, thoughtful look in his eyes, George wiped his brow with a rag then scratched his head with his still-dirty hand. “Can’t say I’ve ever done that before.”
Now it was my turn to scratch my head. I ran a mental list of excuses I could use to convince him, if needed.
“When did you want to do this?” He glanced down at his work clothes.
“I don’t want to inconvenience you or get you in trouble. But now is as good a time as any.” I held my breath. A tour of the grounds, including places that others might never see, was exactly the thing I needed to jump-start my amateur investigation of Alec Gordon’s death.
“As long as you don’t mind my appearance.” He jammed his rag in his back pocket so that half of it hung out like a small tail. “Let me put my tools away.” He pointed out a building across the parking lot in a wooded area.
“I’ll follow you.”
His long legs made bigger strides than my short ones, and I had to work to keep up as we crossed the parking lot. A ranger driving a park services vehicle stopped to let us pass then continued on and parked in a reserved spot in front of the lodge. I tried not to worry about Spencer, because I needed to focus on gathering information from George—information that could possibly help Spencer or Mom, if needed.
We arrived at the building that blended into the wooded area. George unlocked the door and went inside to store his implements. I didn’t go with him but focused my camera on the lodge. I zoomed in for a closer look at several park services cars and a few state police cruisers. Another chilly breeze gusted, whipping my hair across the lens. I wondered if George would offer his thoughts or if I would have to coax information from him. My palms began to sweat.
Once the door was secured, he turned his attention to me. “What would you like to see first?”
“Just walk and tell me about things as you see them.”
For the next hour, George showed me everything from the flower-trimmed grass surrounding the lodge and parking lot to picnic areas positioned within various groves of trees distanced from the lodge. He’d even begun a project to complement a newly added atrium with local plants inside the east side of the lodge.
George captivated me with his tour of the grounds. He was warm and friendly but never mentioned a word about the murder or Alec Gordon. I could feel the disappointment surface, though I tried to hide it.
After showing me the atrium, he led me outside once more, where we walked along the lake rim until we were far enough away that I could photograph the lodge, which enfolded the rim. From here, I could see the Terrace Café as well.
“And this is about the extent of the grounds that I oversee. Except I do help the tour guides, if someone’s sick. They let me keep my boat at the lodge dock, too.”
My spirits lifted as I gazed through the lens at a wide angle. “Yes, this is a beautiful place to get married.”
“Married, you say? Are you planning your wedding here?”
His question stunned me for a moment because I hadn’t realized I’d spoken my thoughts out loud. That habit kept getting worse, which scared me. I was destined to become my mother, with her enlarged space
He picked up his gloves. “I like to feel the dirt with my bare hands.” When he turned his palms over, I noticed a cut.
“You’re bleeding.” I hoped I hadn’t caused it.
“No problem. My wife works wonders with her natural remedies. She’ll have me fixed up in no time.”
He tilted his head toward my camera. “So you’re a photographer?”
I nodded. Not too many tourists carried around a Nikon of professional quality, though some serious hobbyist might. George noticed the difference. His observation got me to thinking. “Say, since you know the grounds, how about a behind-the-scenes tour? I’m hoping to do an article to go with my photos.”
A distant, thoughtful look in his eyes, George wiped his brow with a rag then scratched his head with his still-dirty hand. “Can’t say I’ve ever done that before.”
Now it was my turn to scratch my head. I ran a mental list of excuses I could use to convince him, if needed.
“When did you want to do this?” He glanced down at his work clothes.
“I don’t want to inconvenience you or get you in trouble. But now is as good a time as any.” I held my breath. A tour of the grounds, including places that others might never see, was exactly the thing I needed to jump-start my amateur investigation of Alec Gordon’s death.
“As long as you don’t mind my appearance.” He jammed his rag in his back pocket so that half of it hung out like a small tail. “Let me put my tools away.” He pointed out a building across the parking lot in a wooded area.
“I’ll follow you.”
His long legs made bigger strides than my short ones, and I had to work to keep up as we crossed the parking lot. A ranger driving a park services vehicle stopped to let us pass then continued on and parked in a reserved spot in front of the lodge. I tried not to worry about Spencer, because I needed to focus on gathering information from George—information that could possibly help Spencer or Mom, if needed.
We arrived at the building that blended into the wooded area. George unlocked the door and went inside to store his implements. I didn’t go with him but focused my camera on the lodge. I zoomed in for a closer look at several park services cars and a few state police cruisers. Another chilly breeze gusted, whipping my hair across the lens. I wondered if George would offer his thoughts or if I would have to coax information from him. My palms began to sweat.
Once the door was secured, he turned his attention to me. “What would you like to see first?”
“Just walk and tell me about things as you see them.”
For the next hour, George showed me everything from the flower-trimmed grass surrounding the lodge and parking lot to picnic areas positioned within various groves of trees distanced from the lodge. He’d even begun a project to complement a newly added atrium with local plants inside the east side of the lodge.
George captivated me with his tour of the grounds. He was warm and friendly but never mentioned a word about the murder or Alec Gordon. I could feel the disappointment surface, though I tried to hide it.
After showing me the atrium, he led me outside once more, where we walked along the lake rim until we were far enough away that I could photograph the lodge, which enfolded the rim. From here, I could see the Terrace Café as well.
“And this is about the extent of the grounds that I oversee. Except I do help the tour guides, if someone’s sick. They let me keep my boat at the lodge dock, too.”
My spirits lifted as I gazed through the lens at a wide angle. “Yes, this is a beautiful place to get married.”
“Married, you say? Are you planning your wedding here?”
His question stunned me for a moment because I hadn’t realized I’d spoken my thoughts out loud. That habit kept getting worse, which scared me. I was destined to become my mother, with her enlarged space
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