Nighttime Is My Time

70

True to his word, when he left President Dowries' office, Jake Perkins went directly to the classroom that had become headquarters for the newspaper. There he dug through the files of Gazette pictures that had been taken during the four years that Laura Wilcox had been a student at Stonecroft. In preparation for the reunion, he had looked through the yearbooks and found pictures of her. But now he wanted to get others, maybe some that were a little more candid than the yearbook shots.

In the next hour he found some photos that were right on target. Laura had been in a number of school plays. One of them was a musical, and he found a great picture of her performing in a chorus line, a standout in a Rockette-like group, with her high kick and dazzling smile. No question, she was a knockout, Jake thought. If she were in school now, there isn't a guy I know who wouldn't be trying to get her attention.

He snickered to himself as he thought of the way in which a boy would have tried to win favor with a girl back then, probably by offering to carry her books. Today he'd offer to drive her home in his Corvette, he thought.

It was when he came across the graduation picture of Laura's class that Jake's eyes widened. He used a magnifying glass to examine the faces of the graduates. Laura, of course, looked beautiful, with her long hair spilling over her shoulders. She even managed to be attractive while wearing that stupid mortarboard. It was Jean Sheridan's picture that shocked him. Her hands were clasped together. There were tears welling in her eyes. She looks sad, Jake thought, really sad. You'd never guess she'd just walked off with the History medal and a full scholarship to Bryn Mawr. From the expression on her face, you'd swear she'd just been told she had two days to live. Maybe she was sorry to leave this place. Go figure.

He moved the magnifying glass from one to the other of the graduates, looking for the honorees. One by one he picked them out. They've all changed a lot, he thought. A couple of them looked like real losers back then. Gordon Amory, for example, was almost unrecognizable. Boy, was be ugly, he thought. Jack Emerson was Fat Boy even then. Carter Stewart needed a haircut-no, make that a total makeover. No-neck Robby Brent was already going bald. Mark Fleischman looks like a beanpole with a head on it. Joel Nieman was standing next to Fleischman. Some Romeo, Jake thought. If I were Juliet, I'd have killed myself at the thought of being stuck with him.

Then he noticed something. Most of the graduates had inane grins on their faces, the kind people save for group pictures. The biggest smile, however, was on the face of one guy who wasn't looking directly at the camera but instead was staring at Jean Sheridan. Talk about contrasts, Jake thought. She looks as if she's lost her last friend, and he's wearing an ear-to-ear grin.

Jake shook his head as he looked at the pile of pictures on the table in front of him. I have enough now, he thought. Next he would talk to Jill Ferris, the teacher in charge of the Gazette. She's a good sport, Jake thought. I'll convince her to let me use the picture of Laura dancing on the front page of the next issue, and the graduation picture on the back page. Between them, they bring out the theme of the story-the had-it-all girl who's now on the skids and the nerds who made it big-time.

His next stop was the studio where the camera equipment was kept. There he ran into Ms. Ferris, who let him sign out the heavy old-fashioned camera that he delighted in using when he was on a photo shoot. In his opinion it had a sharpness that no digital camera could possibly match. The fact that it was a backbreaker did not faze him when he was on an important assignment, especially since this assignment was one he had dreamed up himself.

He did admit to himself that his newly acquired driver's license and the ten-year-old Subaru his parents had bought for him made his jaunts around town considerably easier than when he used to play roving reporter on his bicycle.

Camera over his shoulder, notebook and pen in one pocket, recorder in the other in case he happened to run into someone worth interviewing, Jake was on his way.

Can't wait to do the house where Laura Wilcox grew up. I'll shoot from both the front and the back. After all, it was the house where that medical student, Karen Sommers, was murdered, and the police were sure then that the killer went in the back door. That will add another human interest touch to the story, he decided.