Jane Carter Investigates: Episode Sixty-Two
We walked back toward the house
and stationed ourselves where we could see the assembled guests on the lawn. It
was clear by this time that the guests suspected something had gone awry.
Significant glances were exchanged, a few persons looked at their watches, and
all eyes focused on Mrs. Furstenberg, who tried desperately to carry off an
embarrassing situation.
Minutes passed. The crowd became
increasingly restless. Finally, the usher returned, spoke quietly to Mrs.
Furstenberg, and they both retired to the house.
“It looks as if there will be no
wedding today,” Shep said. “Atwood clearly hasn’t been located.”
“I won’t dare use the story
unless I’m absolutely certain of my facts,” I said.
“We’ll get them, never fear.”
Shep proposed following Mrs.
Furstenberg and the usher inside the house.
“I refuse to stoop to listening
at keyholes,” I protested.
“Just come inside and hide behind
one of those potted palms in the hallway or something,” Shep insisted. “You can
stick your fingers in your ears if you want to save the stain on your precious
conscience.”
I snuck inside behind Shep. I hid
behind a large potted palm. I did not stop my ears with my fingers.
Mrs. Furstenberg and the usher
had stepped into the breakfast room, and Shep crept closer to the open door.
“But he must be somewhere on the
grounds,” I heard Mrs. Furstenberg say.
“I can’t understand it myself,”
the young man replied. “Thomas’s disappearance is very mysterious, to say the
least. Several people saw him arrive here, and everything seemed to be all
right.”
“What time is it now?”
“Two thirty-five, Mrs.
Furstenberg.”
“So late? Oh, this is dreadful!
How can I face them?”
“If you wish, I will explain to
the guests.”
“No, no, this will disgrace us.
Wait until I have talked with Cybil.”
Mrs. Furstenberg suddenly emerged
from the breakfast room before Shep could make an escape.
“What are you doing here? How
dare you disregard my orders? I will have no reporters on the grounds!”
For a minute, I thought she might
grasp Shep by the earlobe and drag him to the door personally.
“I’m only a photographer,” Shep
said. “Sorry to intrude, but I’ve been assigned to get a picture of the bride.
It won’t take a minute—”
“Indeed, it won’t,” Mrs.
Furstenberg broke in. “You’ll take no pictures here. Not one! Now get out.”
“A picture might be better than a
story that the bridegroom had skipped out,” Shep said persuasively.
“Why, you—you!” Mrs.
Furstenberg’s face became fiery red. She choked as she tried to speak. “Get
out, I say!”
Shep did not retreat. From behind
the sheltering fronds of the potted palm, I watched as Shep took his camera
from his pocket.
“Just one picture, Mrs.
Furstenberg. At least of you.”
I was a bit ashamed at that
moment to have allowed myself to become party to such sordid proceedings. I’ll
never make a real newspaperman because I certainly could not have brought
myself to do what Shep did next.
Shep raised his camera, and Mrs.
Furstenberg, realizing that he meant to take her picture with or without her
permission, suddenly lost all control over her temper.
“Don’t you dare!” she screamed.
“Don’t you dare!”
Whirling about, she seized an
empty plate from the tall stack on the serving table.
“Hold that pose!” chortled Shep,
goading her on.
The woman hurled the plate
straight at him. Shep gleefully snapped a picture and dodged. The plate crashed
into the wall behind him, splintering into a half-dozen pieces.
“Marvelous action picture!” I
heard Shep say.
“Don’t you dare try to use it!”
screamed Mrs. Furstenberg. “I’ll telephone your editor! I’ll have you
discharged!”
“See here,” offered the usher, taking
out his wallet. “I’ll give you ten dollars for that picture.”
Shep shook his head, still
smiling broadly.
The sound of the crash brought
servants running to the scene.
“Have this person ejected from
the grounds,” Mrs. Furstenberg ordered. “And see that he doesn’t get back in.”
I watched from my hiding place as Shep was hauled off by a couple of burly ushers.
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