Oh, boy. This is a recipe for disaster. I quickly pulled out my phone and called Zach, asking if he wouldn’t mind bringing some stanchions to the area. I’d seen some earlier in a storage closet off the main hall.
As I spoke, the voice continued growing more irritated. Pushing through the crowd, I made my way toward the waving hand, finding it attached to a now angry-looking young man. His skin was flushed the same color red as his hair. “Hi,” I greeted, with my cheeriest voice, hoping to defuse his anger before he exploded.
His expression softened as he regarded me as a possible customer. “Are you looking for information about my photography services?” The banner on his booth said Rufus Manning Photography. A little more excitement crept into his voice as he continued, “I can provide you with a total package from engagement photos all the way through the reception. Perhaps you’d like to look at my portfolio.”
“Are you Rufus?” He nodded. I shook his hand and introduced myself. “I just wanted to let you know that I’m going to get this problem taken care of quickly.” I explained about bringing in stanchions to cordon off a waiting line for the Babylonian Fortune-Teller.
“Thank you,” he replied. “I haven’t had a single visitor so far. I don’t think anyone can even see my booth.” I felt the crowd pressing against my backside as a group of ladies pushed forward to catch a glimpse of Mama in action. I swear, she’d turned into a fortune-telling rock star overnight.
“Well, I’m glad I made it through,” I commented, admiring a collection of his work displayed behind the booth on a large black partition. There was something about his photographs, something that couldn’t quite be put into words. It was as if he’d captured all the unseen moments that happen at a wedding: the prick of a tear in a father’s eye, the devilish look on a flower girl’s face, the bride’s veil dancing in the wind as she embraced her groom under the widespread branches of a live oak. He’d not only captured beautiful images of his subjects, but also absorbed their emotions, archived them for all time. “Your work. It’s exquisite.”
His eyes followed mine as I studied his work. “Funny you should say that. I’m never quite satisfied with my work. There’s always the shot I missed. The one that got away, so to say.”
A burst of giggles drew my attention back to the ladies in front of Mama’s table. She was looking up at a young blonde and saying, “This card here tells me you’re in for smooth sailin’ ahead. Maybe you just fixed some problem, or got rid of somethin’ agitatin’ you.”
The blonde tipped her head back and laughed. “I just told my mother-in-law to go jump in a lake. Does that count?”
Another round of laughter ensued as the crowd continued pressing in tighter. I shuffled sideways, trying to open up a little breathing space between me and the edge of Rufus’s booth. Where is Zach with those stanchions?
Rufus shoved a large album my way. “Here, take a look and tell me what you think of these.”
I flipped through the pages, each photo more stunning than the last, until my eye stopped on a photo that looked like the same close-up I’d seen earlier in Makayla’s shop. My finger traced the outer edge of the couple’s entwined hands, pausing on the engagement ring. It was the same. There was no mistaking the unique setting . . .
The sound of rusty tires rolled closer and screeched to a halt somewhere on the other side of the spectators. Then Zach astonished the crowd into silence as he cried out, “Zach to the rescue!”
I gave Rufus an apologetic look and excused myself. Then I weaved back through the bystanders to help Zach unload the full cart of stanchions. It took a while, but we were able to erect a dozen posts and organize the line in front of Pam’s table. When we finished, we’d opened up access to all the adjacent booths.
“Much better,” I said to Zach, thanking him for his assistance.
“No problem.” Then, leaning in closer, he asked with a mischievous glint, “Found the murderer yet?”
I hesitated, wondering if he was serious.
“No, huh? Well, no worries.” He hitched both his thumbs to his chest. “Zach’s on the case. And I guarantee I can crack it before you.” He held out his hand. “Wanna bet on it?”
“No!” I said, letting his hand hang. “I don’t think that’s what Bentley meant this morning. She just wants us to keep a lookout for the obvious, not actively pursue leads. That could be dangerous, Zach.”
He rotated his palms up in a mocking gesture. “Whoa. I never pegged you as someone afraid of a little competition. Scared you’ll lose?”
“Lose?” I shook my head. “I’m not even playing the game.”