Photo Finished Read online

  * * * * *

  FREE EBOOK OFFER

  Sign up for our newsletter to be the first to know about our new releases, special bargains, and giveaways, and as a bonus receive a FREE ebook!

  Sign up for the Gemma Halliday newsletter!

  * * * * *

  * * * * *

  PHOTO FINISHED

  an Aloha Lagoon Mystery

  by

  DANE McCASLIN & KIMBERLY GRIGGS

  * * * * *

  Copyright © 2019 by Dane McCaslin and Kimberly Griggs

  Cover design by Estrella Designs

  Gemma Halliday Publishing

  http://www.gemmahallidaypublishing.com

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  FREE BOOK OFFER

  ALOHA LAGOON BOOKS

  ABOUT THE AUTHORS

  SNEAK PEEK

  CHAPTER ONE

  "Just like that! Maybe with more hip this time, ok? Good!"

  I checked the focus on my Nikon camera and peered through the lens again at the bored-looking model, the itty-bitty bikini she was wearing barely covering anything at all. I'd snuck a peek at the price tag before the shoot and nearly fell over from shock. Most families spent that much on groceries for an entire month.

  "We're almost done," I said, putting more enthusiasm into my voice than I was feeling. This contract meant making a car payment and putting gas in the tank, not to mention the possibility of future work with the client. I was still trying to break into photographing the surfing world, my dream since I was a little girl, and photographing models with custom-made boards was as close as I'd gotten.

  "Now, just one more with the surf board, and it's a wrap."

  Posing suggestively on the board, the model gave me her version of smolder, and I snapped a few more pics for insurance. In Aloha Lagoon, one of Kauai's coastal towns, you could never overestimate the effects of the sun on exposures.

  I was carefully packing away my camera and lenses when a shadow fell across my bag. Without looking up, I said, "What's up, Jimmy?"

  "How do you do that?" James Toki, hot hunk of male and one of my closest friends, seemed to think I was gifted with second sight or something. Actually, I could always tell it was him by the sheer size of the shadow. Jimmy stood six feet five and was about the size of a small car, muscle-bound, and sun darkened—think The Rock but with hair. When the local resort had hired him to head up security, I'd had to agree that it was a perfect fit. Just one look at someone his size could scare the crap out of any punk kid.

  "Got any plans tonight?" He squatted down next to me on the warm sand, various joints popping in protest. "The resort needs a few more photographers for a luau tonight."

  "As in taking photos of folks as they arrive, cruise ship–style?" I absolutely hated that type of work—photography was art. Taking pictures of crying babies and perfectly posed couples was not art. But with bills to pay, I couldn't be choosy about whose signature was on my paycheck.

  "Something along those lines," he admitted with a wry smile. "I know it's not your cup of tea, but I was thinking that if you did a super job—not that you don't always," he added as I began to sputter. "Maybe you could get hired on as the official resort photographer. Not to mention the exposure to some of the most famous surfers and their sponsors."

  Now that was something I could get excited about. Steady income and exposure to the elusive surfing world? Yes, please.

  "So is this a trial gig, as in they'll be watching me while I work?" It wouldn't bother me—not really—but if I was going to be in the limelight, I needed to be at my best.

  Jimmy shrugged, his massive shoulders sending ripples down his arms. "Maybe. I think I'd plan on it, just in case. Now, how about grabbing something to eat? I'm starving!"

  That wasn't anything new. Jimmy was always starving. A good thing, too, since that was what had led to our first meeting. We'd hit it off over plates of pulled pork and fried rice in one of Aloha Lagoon's eateries, discovering that we both loved old movies, live music of almost any type, and surfing. After several movie nights, and a few practice photo sessions on the beach while he surfed, we'd soon developed a tight friendship, especially since he never made a wisecrack about my name.

  My parents—bless their hippy hearts—had named all of us kids after nature, and I was named Autumn, eldest sister to four brothers named Trout, Quail, Elk, and Winter. With the last name of Season, I'd learned early on how to deal with those who thought our names made a great punch line. Let's just say that I'd spent a lot of time in the principal's office. I might be short, but I was fierce.

  Blame the red hair.

  I breathed in the ocean air as we headed to Sir Spamalot, one of our favorite places to grab a quick bite to eat. (The owners did the most amazing things with Spam.) It was still hard to believe I had the privilege of living and working in Hawaii, the most beautiful place on earth.

  I'd longed to be a surfer growing up. My fascination began after watching Baywatch with my brothers. I'd been captivated by the surfing, while the boys had been captivated by the hot girls in bathing suits running on the beach. Typical. Pro-surfer Kelly Slater had glided on the waves as the character Jimmy Slade, and he'd made it look so effortless. As if he'd tamed nature. And I'd decided I wanted to do that. I wanted to ride on top of the waves like an ancient Atlantian who'd conquered the sea.

  Unfortunately, being hundreds of miles from the nearest ocean didn't offer up many opportunities to catch any good waves, but I just knew that if I had the chance, I'd be the best female surfer alive.

  Since I couldn't practice surfing, I'd taken up photography as a teenager instead and soon found that I was quite good. With my meager savings in my pocket, I'd headed west three years ago and hadn't looked back. I'd started out trying to surf and that had been a disaster. If I couldn't surf, I could do the next best thing—photograph those who did.

  Watching Jimmy as he plowed his way steadily through a heaping bowl of Spam fried rice made me smile. He was the product of a Tongan father and a Hawaiian mother, and his rather intimidating physique hid a real teddy bear personality. If only he was into short redheaded photographers. I sighed.

&
nbsp; His muscles rippled in his arms as he brought his fork to his mouth. His eyes met mine, and he quirked a brow.

  "What?" he asked around a mouthful of Spam.

  "Nothing," I said hurriedly, embarrassed I'd been caught staring at his impressive biceps. "What time do I need to be there tonight?" Changing the subject was always a good distraction.

  "Hang on a sec." He tapped out a text. "I'm thinking maybe half an hour or so before it starts so you can get set up. Get your groove going."

  I could feel my blood pressure rise a tad as I thought about snapping pictures of shallow women and the indifferent men they'd dragged along. Jimmy was right—this was definitely not my cup of tea. I tended to see what I did as serious art, not just some means to a cheap souvenir.

  Think of the exposure, Autumn.

  "Yup, just as I thought." He checked the incoming text and read it aloud. "Have her meet me in the lobby at 6:30." He looked over at me, an impish grin on his face. "And wear your best muumuu, Red. It's a traditional luau in honor of the surfing champions from last year's competitions. In fact, my cousin is one of the honorees, so you can expect to see a bunch of my family."

  I rolled my eyes. I loved Jimmy's mom and dad, but the thought of hanging out with them dressed like that made me cringe. Don't get me wrong. While muumuus were certainly comfy and could hide a multitude of issues, they usually made me look like a flowered tent with really short legs. As small as I was (five foot nothing when standing straight), I'd never been able to find one that fit me right.

  "Fine, a muumuu it is. And what will you be wearing?" I eyed him suspiciously. In my experience, the island men dressed much more fashionably than the women did.

  "Oh, you know," Jimmy said casually—a bit too casually for my liking. "Traditional stuff. My best board shorts and an aloha shirt. And flip-flops."

  He ducked down, laughing, as I threw a handful of ice at him.

  * * *

  Instead of arriving just thirty minutes early, I decided to make it forty-five, giving me a few spare moments to check in with my BFF, Summer. Since we had the whole seasonal name thing in common, we'd become fast friends.

  "Hey, Summer!" I called out as she was bent over the reception desk, writing something on a piece of paper.

  "Autumn! Jimmy told me you have a job interview here tonight!" Squealing like a cheerleader, she rounded the desk, jumping up and down and clapping her hands in front of her face.

  "Um, I guess?" The statement came out as a question since Jimmy had said it might be an interview of sorts. He'd not been quite that definitive.

  "I'm so excited! This means we'll be co-workers, and we can hang out at the pool and drink mai tais on our breaks."

  "Isn't drinking during work hours kind of frowned upon?"

  "Oh right. Probably. Ok, well after hours then. Still, I can't believe you're going to be working here."

  "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. I still have to do the shoot. Speaking of which, I'm supposed to meet Julie here beforehand. Have you seen her?"

  "She's in her office, but she should be here shortly."

  As if I'd conjured her up, a whip-thin woman, hand outstretched in greeting, speed walked toward me.

  "I'm Julie Kekoa, events coordinator here at the resort, but you can call me Juls."

  "Hi, Juls. I'm Autumn Season."

  A brief glint of humor in her eyes was the only indicator that she thought my name anything out of the ordinary. That's a point in her favor, I thought as I followed her out of the lobby.

  "Bye, Summer," I tossed over my shoulder.

  She grinned widely and waved before looking back down at whatever she'd been working on before I'd interrupted her.

  "We're holding the luau on our private pier," said Juls. "So you'll probably want to set up a station somewhere near the ramp."

  I'd seen resort advertisements that featured the pier, which boasted a thatched ramada the size of my entire one-bedroom apartment and had lots of room for entertainment. Tiki lights and hanging lanterns enhanced the tropical flair, and I could already imagine graceful hula dancers swaying to ukulele music. My spirits began to rise. Maybe this wouldn't be so dull after all.

  "…and I'll be glad to answer any questions you might have."

  I'd missed part of her comments, so I just smiled and shook my head.

  "I think it'll be fine, Juls," I said as I stood looking around the entrance to the pier. "I can use the ocean as a backdrop," I added, already pulling out my equipment from my bag.

  "I'll leave you to it then." She checked her smartphone as it beeped. "Guests have already started arriving, so it looks like it's almost showtime. I'll be back as soon as I check on the entertainment. Plus, Alex, my boss, needs a word with me." With a brief smile, she was off.

  The end of the pier was a beehive of activity as waiters in flowered shirts and leis set large tables overflowing with pineapples intricately carved into works of art. I inhaled the glorious scents of mochiko chicken, roasted pork with a pineapple glaze, and something vaguely fishy, if my nose was to be trusted. Was that sushi? My stomach gave an expectant rumble, and I hoped part of my remuneration included dinner. By the time I finished with my photography duties, I would probably be hungry. Again.

  "Hey, Red!"

  I turned around and spotted Jimmy heading in my direction, one hand raised in greeting.

  "Nice tent."

  I gave him a mock punch on his arm. "Whatever, dude." I looked around him and spotted several couples strolling toward us. "Looks like I need to get my camera warmed up. And I wouldn't say no to some grub."

  "Yes, ma'am, right away." He gave me a salute, and I gave him another fist to his arm. I hated to be called ma'am. Holding his arm as if he were in pain, he headed for the food station. I should've reminded him to get me something to drink as well. Whenever I ate while I was working, I tended to gobble my food and usually ended up with a wicked case of hiccups.

  I set my camera bag down on the emerald green grass and squatted beside it, unzipping the compartment for the lenses I planned on using. I'd saved up for months to buy the expensive camera and attachments and couldn't wait to use them on something besides portraits.

  I spotted a great place for a quick snap and pointed my camera in that direction to check the lighting and shadow play. With great views everywhere I looked, the backdrop was the very least of my concerns.

  I'd just set the focus to my satisfaction, when my first customers of the evening approached me, she in an off-the-shoulder sheath and he in a loose linen shirt and shorts. I directed them to stand just to the side of the pier, the ocean and setting sun visible in the background. A quick "say I love money" and two fast clicks of the shutter, and they moved off toward the ramp, ready to enjoy what smelled like a fabulous luau.

  I was kept busy for the next thirty minutes shooting couples and families as they arrived and taking special requests for solo shots. The sound of ukuleles drifted down from the pier as I posed and shot, encouraged and thanked. I'd prepared a price list on the off-chance that this would be a one-and-done assignment, but Juls had handed me a resort guide for costs to share with the guests. The typical arrival picture was a freebie, and anything else, such as the individual pictures, would be billable through the main desk. I could definitely get used to someone else doing the books for once.

  A heavily made-up woman headed my direction, her rather imposing bosom leading the way as she hobbled across the uneven ground in a pair of ridiculous high-heeled shoes. She was followed by a man with a thick salt and pepper mustache that matched the wings of hair that framed his broad face, and dark eyes that could burn a hole through someone.

  "Look, Derrick! They have a little photo booth set up just like on the cruise ships!" Her high-pitched voice sounded like nails on a chalkboard and was equally as grating.

  Mustache-man, or Derrick, as she called him, grunted in reply.

  It took all my willpower not to trip her as she teetered by, but instead I plastered on my best s
mile and told them where to stand.

  "Honey, that's not my best side," she said in what sounded like a very fake southern accent. "I need to stand over here. Also, could you not get any of this disgusting wood pier in the picture?"

  The hoity-toity woman moved to the other side of Derrick and stuck her chest out as she posed for the picture. I was too angry to tell her that she'd effectually ruined the lighting and the picture would come out with shadows across their faces.

  With the phrase "the customer's always right" running through my brain, I took several pictures as the brash woman took different poses, each highlighting her enormous breasts. Finally, it appeared as if Derrick was done.

  "Ok, Patti, that's enough. Annie, tell the picture girl our names, please." He took Patti's arm in a firm grip and started toward the activities.

  "Wait! I want to see the pictures," Patti said, pulling her arm free of Derrick's grip.

  "I'm sorry. I use film, not digital." I wasn't sorry, and there was no way I would have let her handle my camera even if I did use digital.

  "What? Film? What year do you think this is, 1920? What kind of photographer uses film anymore?" She huffed then flipped her bouffant hair over her shoulder, as much as the tremendous amount of hairspray would allow, and marched her way to the tables on the pier.

  Fuming, I turned my attention to the mousy young woman slinking in the shadows, whom I'd not seen when the train wreck had arrived. Her hair hung limply, her glasses too big for her face, and her hands gripped the giant purse she had slung over one shoulder. It was almost as big as she was.

  "Hi," she said quietly.

  "Hi, I'm Autumn Season," I said as I handed her the order form the resort had provided.

  "I'm Annie Morris. Sorry about them. Mrs. Stone can be a bit of a handful. You get used to her after a while." Adjusting the enormous purse out of her way, she took the form and wrote Derrick and Patti Stone on it, along with their address and information, and then handed it back to me.