skill to come up with a batch of shots that put the mayor’s wife in a compromising position. A very compromising position, he reflected, and chuckled once again.

The mayor had paid through the nose, but the mayor could afford it. And the mayor could definitely not afford to have his opponents get hold of those pictures. His wife seemed to be doing things that a mayor’s wife shouldn’t do. Very interesting things.

Falch chuckled again, and patted the packet of money tenderly. Of course he’d had to leave town, but Tarleton was a dull town anyway. And with ten thousand in his suitcase he could go far.

No more portraits, he thought. No more squirming brats in family groups, no more dirty pictures for backroom boys, no more publicity shots of fertilizer plants. For once in his life Jake Falch could do what he damn well wanted.

And Jake Falch knew what he wanted. Plenty of relaxation, for one thing. Decent food, and a woman now and then. His tastes were inexpensive enough, and he could be very happy in the dumpy hotel, with his battered coupe parked outside.

Oh, he’d take pictures now and then. A little cheesecake, if there was a decent-looking broad in the town. And, when the money ran out…well, every town had a mayor, and every mayor had a wife. Or a daughter. Or a sister.

He looked around the room for a hiding place for the money. No, he realized, that was senseless. It would be hard hiding a toothpick in that place, let alone a nice thick wad of bills. And, since he was staying in town, he might as well bank his dough, like a respectable businessman. He chuckled again, and left the room.

The desk clerk stopped him on the way out. “You a photographer, Mr. Falch?”

Falch nodded.

“Figure on staying in town?”

Falch nodded again, impatiently.

“You’ll need a studio, a darkroom. Brother of mine has a place…”

“No,” said Falch, cutting him short. “I won’t be working for a while. Came into some money and I feel like taking it easy.” He smiled again, the same easy smile he had flashed to the mayor, and walked out the door. The bank was across the street, on the corner.

Five minutes later he strode out of the bank, with $9500 in a checking account. He breathed deeply and headed across the street again to a restaurant. He felt good.

It was then that he saw the girl. She was walking toward him on the other side of the street, and even a half-block away he could see that she was beautiful. She was young—eighteen or nineteen, he guessed—and she had soft, shining blond hair that fell to her shoulders and framed her face perfectly. Automatically, Falch placed her face inside a mental picture frame.

By the time he reached the restaurant, the girl was within twenty yards of him. He saw that her body was a perfect match for her face. It was the kind of body he liked, with full, round curves. It was a lush body, a young body.

Just as he had placed her face inside a frame, he mentally undressed her. He let his eyes run over her body, lingering on the firm, jutting breasts and the rounded hips. Guiltily, he tried to turn away and enter the restaurant, but before he could move she had walked right up to him.

“Hi,” she said. “You’re new in town, aren’t you?” Her voice was as soft and as fresh as the rest of her. She’d make a good model, he thought. She had a face and a figure, and that was a rare combination.

He smiled then, the wide, friendly smile that came so easily to him. “That’s right. My name’s Jake Falch.”

“Mine’s Saralee Marshall. Are you the photographer?”

He blinked. “How did you know?”

“Jimmy at the hotel told my ma, and Ma told me. I figured you must be the photographer, because not many strangers ever come to Hammondsport.” She made the name of the town sound like a dirty word.

He smiled again. “You don’t like this town?”

“Oh,” she said, “I guess it’s okay. But it’s so awful dull. Nothing ever happens, hardly.”

“Where would you like to live?”

She shrugged her shoulders, and her breasts rose and fell with the motion. “New York, maybe. Or Hollywood.”

“You want to be an actress, huh?”

“No,” she said. “I want to be a model.”

He had to catch his breath, and before he could get a word out she was off a mile a minute. “I wonder if you