Monique all but chuckled. “She’s out too. Listen, the photo place is just around the corner, so it would make more sense if I picked them up for him.”

Just around the corner . . . Bingo! That had to be the bank of mom-and-pop shops that had survived the crushing corporate jackboot of megamalls and global brands. The home of Ming’s Court Chinese Restaurant, where Kelly and Daniel had celebrated each tiny milestone in the early days of Crossroads with to-die-for steamed dim sims.

“Thanks, Monique.” Kelly cut the call with more than a little relish.

*  *  *

A tiny bell jingled and a thick curtain of acrid chemicals stung Kelly’s nose, firing memories of her high school photography class, of the first creative expressions on film and fumbles in the darkroom.

A young man with slicked-back silver hair stood behind the counter. Kelly approached him, a wall of antique cameras to her right, a jigsaw of framed photos on the wall to her left. She floated a disinterested air into her voice. This was just a routine family errand. “Hello. I was hoping to get a copy of some family photographs my husband had developed here.”

The man’s eyes clouded as if he were measuring her words. Or her.

The lightness in her voice slipped. “I would like one copy of the set he picked up yesterday.”

He tilted his head, his brow furrowing.

“Please?” She looked down at the name badge stuck to his white laboratory coat. “Simon?”

“Was there a problem with the photographs?” His voice was melodic and warm, marinated in honey.

“Not as such. We just need another—”

Simon’s frown stopped her mid-sentence. “I can’t do this for you.”

“What do you mean you can’t do this for me?”

“I sense you’re not being honest with me.”

“What does honesty have to do with it?”

Simon made his way around the counter. “Honesty has everything to do with it. I see this all the time—the world would be a better place if people owned up to what’s going on in their lives. Don’t you think so? Kelly?”

Kelly recoiled as if he’d slapped her across the face. “How do you know my name?”

With a light chuckle, Simon pointed to the Rubicon Pharma name badge on her suit jacket. “It looks like we’re both branded.” He guided her by the arm to the photo frames on the wall. “Let me show you what I mean about honesty.”

Simon stopped in front of a large, black, wooden frame that held a close-up photo of a young woman’s face. Behind her, a bathroom stall. Shame burned fierce in bloodshot eyes that looked beyond the camera.

Kelly peered at the photo, scouring for hidden meaning, and found none. “What’s so honest about this?”