Dumb Ganger: Doppelgänger Mysteries #1

By Mary Lou Danielson

Dominik Doppelgänger survived the 1960s hippie movement, drugs, Viet Nam, and everyday life as an anti-establishment rebel. Can he survive a simple photo shoot, after which his model disappears and he becomes the prime suspect in her murder? Photography will prove his innocence, or guilt.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mary Lou Danielson
• Release date: Jan 9, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301134939

Mary Lou Danielson

Sit back, relax by a roaring fire, by the pool, or just in a comfy chair. Have a cup of tea or cocoa...or a nice glass of wine. There will be no monsters, mild horror, mild blood and guts, no war, or nightmares. Lull yourself in soft romance and contemporary relationships in the real world, and maybe partake of a few mild sexual scenes. You will be dredged in the emotions of the characters as they pursue love and overcome adversities, broken relationships, or grief and loss. Snuggle with a box of tissues for tears or laugher, but reserve a period of time for my stories to transport you to the land of contentment.Attention quilters: I am in the process of converting my easy to make, quilt patterns to ebooks. You may download them to your computer, ereader, or smartphone."Like me" at the link listed below to my facebook page to receive updates of new ebooks or e-quilt patterns.

Book preview

Prologue

If you're familiar with the Southern California coastal cities of San Diego County, you will be right at home. The names of the cities are fictional for wider latitude. Places and buildings may be recognizable or purely fictional to enhance the story. People are fictional and any similarity is coincidental. To avoid jurisdictional problems, I combined all of the story's imaginary cities under the umbrella of the Diego Norte Sheriff's Department, with sub-stations in each city. Future Doppelgänger Mysteries may also take place in the San Diego coastal communities.

Chapter 1

If she'd stayed in her own warm bed on Sunday morning, she would be alive and well on Monday. Instead, in a few days, they would find her bloated body lying among the rocks on the beach.

*

Sunday, October 29, 2006, 7:00 a.m. PST

*

Who in her right mind would meet a stranger at dawn, to do photo shoots, when she could be snuggled in bed with Sam? Jennifer pulled her coat tighter against the coolness of the ocean breeze, as her long reddish hair wafted in billows behind her. She stood gazing skyward through the arched metal canopy of the gazebo near the pier. If anyone actually saw her in this deserted place, she might resemble a flamingo in a birdcage.

The rumble of an approaching motorcycle caused her to turn, to see a lengthy braid, and a manicured mustache on a slumped back rider, whose arms stretched high to the chopper handlebars. The bike thundered into a parking space and shuddered to a stop with a roar and a putt-putt-putt, before it died into silence. She couldn’t tell if the rider was studying her through his smoked-lens glasses, while he removed the half helmet and suspended it from the handgrip. An earring dangled from each ear, one with a diamond. His tattoos, exposed on arms uncovered by a tie-dyed tank top, shocked her when he tossed his black leather jacket over the seat.

Oh God, she thought, this better be the photographer, because his shiny, black steed, didn’t match the middle age, hippie biker.

Black boots carried a gangly body toward the gazebo, and each step up the staircase magnified his height until he towered over her. The corners of his eyes showed the first signs of crinkles. He must be somewhere near her father's age.

I hope you’re Jennifer, he said, otherwise the slinky, red dress and stilettos, imply you’re a hooker who’s awake awfully early, or late, depending on your point of view.

His extended hand swallowed hers as she shook it and said, I hope you’re Dominik Doppelgänger, or I’m in trouble, alone out here this time of day. What’s the matter with sleeping late on Sunday?

Less clutter to remove from the background, this place gets wicked before noon, he said.

Leaning to her right, to peek around him at the bike, she asked, Ah, what kind of name is that, and if you're the photographer, where’s your camera and lighting equipment?

I'm the photographer; who else would use that name? Dominik means Lord and in German, Doppelgänger means double image, so it makes me Lord of Bad Photography. Jennifer giggled, as most people did at his pun. "In some cultures a doppelgänger is the evil twin, so with the biker look; you never know if I’m good or bad. Call me Dop, please, but some of my biker friends call me Dumb Ganger because they’re always loosing me when I stop to take pictures or do some other dumb thing. Early morning photography isn't one of them.

The camera and collapsible tripod are in the tail bag on the back of the bike. I only need the built-in flash, because the morning sun saturates the picture with a particular light. Anything else I can enhance on the computer. Digital photography is amazing, so let’s get started.

***

Jennifer was twenty-one years old, 5' 10", with blue eyes and strawberry blond hair. Her hair hung nearly to her waist, gently curving at the ends. The freckles covering her fair skin resembled the millions of stars in a clear night sky. Her long, trim legs and slim hips were perfect for a model, but her upper arms and shoulders were too well developed. She had been the star swimmer on her high school swim team.

Until a year ago, when she moved in with Sam, her boyfriend, she was an only child living with her divorced mother. She seldom sees her father, who lives on the East Coast. She and Sam share a one-bedroom apartment in a coastal town south of the pier. Both were born and raised in San Diego County's north coast communities. They have low paying jobs, so they're not ready to get married or to begin a family.

Her love of children led Jennifer to earn a certification to be a nursery school teacher at a local childcare facility. She hopes to continue her education to become an elementary school teacher. She dreams of being a model, but knowing her chances are slim, she settles for part-time jobs to earn extra money.

The one hundred year old pier, where Jennifer met Doppelgänger, extends about two thousand feet into the ocean. The metal gazebo sits near its entrance and resembles a Victorian birdcage. Sometimes couples use it for beach weddings. It's tall enough, and sits far enough from the pier, so photographs only show the ocean and sky.

Today she wore a long, red dress, which clung to her lithe body. The neckline plunged into her cleavage and the side slit revealed a slender leg. Yes, she might be mistaken for a working girl. Per instructions, her makeup was minimal, because Doppelgänger could enhance skin tones later.

*

Dop led Jennifer to his bike where he opened the tail bag. He removed his camera and two remote headsets; he wore the set with the microphone. He said, Put on this earpiece so you can hear me talking to you. I want you to slowly move and pose, move and pose as I give you direction. Periodically I will give you a prop; react to it as you would naturally. You will range from happy, to sad, to fearful, and so on. Please show your true feelings, not what you think I want. Truth shows like a neon sign in photographs.

Moving towards the gazebo, he said, We'll begin with a few casual shots to test the light so I can adjust the camera. Go to the center, and follow my instructions. Can you hear me? She nodded, climbed the stairs, and began to work. Soon she forgot the chilly air.

A few minutes later, Dop said, I like the way your dress drapes on your body, but panty lines are showing; please remove them.

Startled, Jennifer looked around, and said, Where should I go?

Reach under your dress and pull them off. I'll turn my back, he said.

After tossing her panties into her bag, she said, Ready.

Thanks, Dop said, that saves hours of work. Move around the gazebo and inspect it as if you've never seen it before. Touch it; caress it. If you find something strange, inspect it closely. That's it. Keep moving and turning. When you get to the next column, pretend it's the pole in a nudie bar. Work it as if you're in love with it. Good. Keep going. Show me how it feels when your boyfriend touches you.

Shocked, Jennifer stopped and looked at Dop. That's a little personal, isn't it?

Click, click, Dop never stopping shooting, but said, Sex sells. Make it real if you want to be a pro or go home and forget about modeling. It took a minute before Jennifer was comfortable showing her emotions, but soon Dop said, Good. He's touching you in all those magic places. Feel it and let it show. Work the column. Good.

Jennifer was so engrossed in her actions; she didn't realize Dop was inside the gazebo with her. Quietly he said, Open your eyes and look at me like I'm the one touching you. Move toward me and beg me for more. I'm refusing you. Beg; beg. That's it. You're Marilyn Monroe, Madonna, every sexpot who ever lived.

Backing around the gazebo encouraging her emotions, the wind whipped her hair in sunlit swirls around her face and arms. Dop reached behind his back and handed a fluffy, white stuffed kitten to Jennifer, and said, If you like kittens, love it. If you hate cats, show me your angst. Be honest. Don't worry about what others would do with the kitten. Be you. Next Dop gave her a picture of a ragged child in South America. Touching the photo, she frowned and portrayed sadness. Next, he handed her a rag and said it was a dirty diaper. Her reaction was less than he expected, because she changed babies daily at the nursery school.

Freeze, he shouted. There's a huge rat by your foot. He might bite if you move.

Her reaction was real, because she didn't know if Dop was telling the truth. She pulled her arms to her chest and made fists while scrunching her face. Frozen, she said, Chase it away. I hate rats.

There's no rat, so look at me with hate for scaring you. He nearly fell off the platform as he tried to avoid her onslaught, and finally grabbed her and held her tight to his body until she calmed herself. He released her and began shooting her sobbing, wet eyes.

Trying to avoid Dop's camera, she said, Stop it. Leave me alone. That was a terrible thing to do. I'm through; I want to go home.

Realizing her discomfort, Doppelgänger dropped his camera to his side and said, Sorry, I went too far. You captured me with your emotions. You were good.

Jennifer glared at him and said, I displayed feelings in public I didn't know was possible. You worked me. Other photographers say pose like this, pose like that. You found my soul, but it will take a few minutes to recover from that session. Let me walk around. Glancing at Dop, she said, You can take pictures.

Soon she was flirting with Doppelgänger and his camera as he let her take the lead, and be herself. By the end of the session, he knew he had some prize winning photos. Every picture he could sell put a few extra bucks in his pocket.

At 10:45 a.m., Dop rapped up the shoot. Thanks Jennifer, I worked you hard and you were a good sport. Want to do it again sometime?

Grinning, she said, Yea, but go easier on me, okay?

Wait until you see the photos. You'll understand why I use those techniques, he said. I'm going to shoot casual pictures on the boardwalk for a while. You can watch or go on your way.

I want to enjoy the sun. I might walk on the beach, she said.

Careful, Dop said, you're already pink. With your fair skin you'll become a crispy critter.

Jennifer laughed, and went to her bag.

Doppelgänger sauntered toward his bike as Jen extracted her cell phone from her purse, which was half-open on the ground. He heard her squeal, I’m free for the rest of the day, wanna meet me at the beach?...Rats, maybe another time.

In real life, Dop admired her trim body, because during the shoot, his camera shrunk her best assets. At times, he thought he missed special sights while viewing the world through a two-inch rectangle.

Since he was planning to shoot casual photos of the locals, he folded his tripod into his tail bag. He glanced toward the beach, saw his friend Sonja, waved, and locked the case. He turned to wave at Jen, but she seemed to be in a heated discussion about Sunday football. After one last glance at Jennifer, smiling at Sonja, he crossed the street.

***

Chapter 2

Sunday, 9:15 a.m.-

Earlier, when Jen left for her photo session, Sam was sleeping peacefully in bed.

He woke and saw 9:15 a.m. displayed on the clock. As the sun hit his eye, he moaned, Morning I presume. He flopped his arm to Jen’s side of the bed, but finding it empty, he remembered she went to a photo shoot earlier. In the husky voice of sleep, he said, Tough luck, Jen. No, he thought, my tough luck, I had other plans for this morning. Grinning and thinking of their last encounter Thursday night, he pulled the covers over his head and cuddled her cool pillow. Jen had her flaws, but sex was not one of them. He imagined how the cool morning air would affect her nipples in the red dress she modeled for him yesterday. Ah, no wonder the photographer wanted her so early. Creep! He’d have words about it later. She was his, not the property of some fly-by-night photographer who wanted to make money off a beautiful young girl.

Expecting his friends to arrive about eleven, Sam rose, showered, and padded barefoot to the kitchen for coffee. None. Grabbing the empty pot, he said, Damn Jen, at least make coffee. I could have nuked a cup in sixty seconds instead of waiting for a whole pot to brew. He found cold pizza in the refrigerator and nuked two slices, and thought it would do until fresh ones arrived for the games. Since there was no coffee, at least the beer was cold, which he used to wash down the pizza. Rubbing his belly, he said, Breakfast of champions. Maybe they ought to feed them to the players. A few carbs are good for sports.

When Sam undressed to take his shower, he noticed Jen left so long ago for the photo shoot, her towel was dry. He grabbed it from the rack and threw it on the floor for the laundry, muttering aloud, Sometimes she's such a pig. She'd use the same towel for a month if I didn't take care of our things.

***

Chapter 3

Sunday, 11:15 a.m.-

As Sam's friends were settling in front of the TV, his phone rang. Hi, Jen, you on your way? The guys are here and food will be here soon if you’re hungry.

Oh, Sam, she said, I’m tired of football. It’s too beautiful to be stuck inside in front of the TV. I think I’ll stay at the beach for a while and get some sun. Joanie had plans, so I’ll hang out alone. Maybe I’ll go shopping later, but you have fun. You'll look like a marshmallow next to my tanned body.

Fat chance. You only burn and peel. You hanging out with your new photographer? Is he cute? Is that it? Sam said.

God, Sam, she said. The guy’s old as my dad and he’s already making eyes at some blond chick on the boardwalk.

Guys are never too old for a hot young girl in a slinky red dress. Did he touch you so your tits popped? Sam asked.

Stop it, Sam, she said. We need the money to pay for your football parties. You stayed in a warm bed, while I froze my buns off. For your information, Mr. Doppelgänger didn’t need to touch me. The cold did the job. Maybe if you didn’t pass out at night, you could make it happen. You and your parties and football games are getting to be a drag. I don't need you today.

Jen, Jen, Sam said to the dead phone. Returning to the living room, he said to his friends, Damn women. They’ve got too many rules. Sex at night, but not in the morning. Don’t mess up my hair and makeup. Eat your vegetables. Too much beer. Put the toilet seat down. Hang up your wet towel. Be on time. Too many sports on TV. Watch stupid chick movies and sitcoms. The music’s too loud. Can’t do rowdy sex ‘cause the neighbors might hear. You guys are lucky, you don’t live with girls.

They have their good points, his friend said. Sex, sex, sex.

Yea, if it wasn’t for the sometimes sex and half rent, I’d be out of here. She’s too good in bed, Sam replied. When she's in the mood.

Sam and his friends watched football until 5:00 p.m. They left him sacked out on the couch, and the apartment was a mess, but they didn’t care. Sam would clean it up so Jen didn't blow a gasket when she got home. It wouldn't be the mess, but the idea of a wasted day.

***

Chapter 4

Sunday, 11:16 a.m.-

After moving down the boardwalk, Doppelgänger stopped, brought the camera to his eye, and began photographing Sonja. She laughed and casually changed poses for Dop who never let the camera fall from his eye…pose…click…pose…click. Doppelgänger wasn't sure which of Sonja's features he preferred; her bright white smile, her tight pants, or the deep cleavage peeking above her plunging neckline. He gave equal attention to each attribute, as well as the whole, beautiful package.

*

Sonja had known Doppelgänger since elementary school. In high school, her older sister dated him, but Sonja, being four years younger, was a Mussel Beach, obnoxious kid, until he returned from Viet Nam. They had both grown up, especially her chest.

She turned eighteen just before his return; he was twenty-two. She attended his welcome home party with her boyfriend, but by the end of the evening, the old boyfriend was history, and Dop was the permanent man in her life. She wasn’t sure if he first noticed her long blond hair, blue eyes, or the deep-v shirt stretched across the push-up bra. She knew now it wasn’t the hair or eyes, since a fair amount of her income came from nude modeling for Dop’s camera. He and it made her look beyond good.

The party ended early for Dop and Sonja when they slipped out and strolled on the beach below the cliffs south of Mussel Beach. There were numerous caves eroded from the sandstone walls, which the kids used for privacy. It was all he could do to keep his fingers off her, until they reached the beach, but soon he was exploring her youthful body with his mouth and hands. Dop discovered Sonja’s endowments were very real as he removed the thin layers of fabric masking her ripened form, which more than filled his large hands. Four years away in a stupid war was enough to make any young man eager for romance, but romance alone was not his main goal.

Dop had his share of shore leave during the past