“We chatted a bit, then I asked if she wanted to join me for dinner, she said no, she had a date with a ‘Prince Charming’ who was taking her to a nightclub—she was going to tell him something shocking.”
“Did she mention the man’s name to you?”
“Yes.”
“What’s his name?”
“Don Kimberley.”
“Did she tell you she was going to tell him he was about to become a father?”
“She said she was going to tell him something shocking.” Nelson turned to face Kimberley.
“I think you wanted to hear this,” he said, “Given Mrs. Bushnell’s account, I think I should take a look around—unless you object. If you do, I’ll get a search warrant, and I’ll still look.”
“I understand,” Kimberley said sarcastically, “This is a typical police tactic; if you can’t solve the case, you try to pin it on someone.”
“Who said anyone’s trying to pin anything on you?”
“That’s what you’re implying.”
Kimberly was furious. “Go ahead and search. I’m coming with you to make sure you don’t plant anything,” he said.
“Oh, is that wise?” Nelson asked. He stood up, wandered around the living room, then pointed to a door and asked, “What’s that?”
“Bedroom,” Kimberly replied curtly.
Nelson went in, followed by the others. He looked around, opened the wardrobe doors, carefully examined the clothes inside, searched the bathroom, paying special attention to the bottles in the medicine cabinet. Then he walked into the kitchen, pointed to another door, and asked, “What’s that?”
“Darkroom,” Kimberly said.
Nelson pushed the door open, with the others standing at the entrance. “Please turn on the amber light. It looks like you’re developing something here,” Nelson said.
“Yes, I’m enlarging some photos,” Kimberly admitted.
“He’s helping me enlarge some negatives,” Page added.
“I know,” Nelson said absentmindedly as he began to open the various bottles on the shelves, sniffing the contents. “I’ve done quite a bit of photography myself. Your equipment here is pretty expensive; I couldn’t afford it. That’s a fine enlarger. Do you prefer a condenser lens over a cold light?”
Kimberly didn’t answer. Nelson, whistling, moved around the darkroom, inspecting bottles, pondering labels, and sniffing contents. Suddenly, he stopped. “What the devil is this?” he asked.
