Secrets in a Still Life Read online

  Danny, on the other hand, had lots of motive. He'd risked and ultimately lost his marriage for Missy only to have her dump him the moment he found freedom. Now he was stuck at his parents' house and the butt of a lot of town gossip. It wasn't hard to imagine a man stewing in his childhood bedroom plotting revenge on the woman he loved and lost. The woman who'd cost him everything.

  The more I thought about it, the more I liked the theory. I had to find a way to talk to Danny.

  "Good luck with the calendar, Alex," Victoria's voice cut into my thoughts. I looked up to see the woman standing in front of me. "I can't wait to see what you come up with."

  I stood to say farewell. Victoria took my shoulders and put an air kiss on both of my cheeks.

  "So good to meet you, Ms. Munhouse," I said. "Thank you all for inviting me to the luncheon."

  "The more the merrier. Tell Lincoln we said hi when you see him next," Anne said. She followed Victoria out the door, and the rest of the ladies followed soon after.

  "You didn't tell me you were doing the calendar shoot," my mother admonished me as we drove back to the loft. "Your first Piney Ridge job. How nice!"

  "Not exactly a job since it's part of my court-ordered community service."

  "Pish-posh," Mom said. "Any publicity is good publicity. Once people see your work, they'll be banging on your door for photo shoots of their own."

  "Great. Just the way I wanted my career to go." I pouted. "Taking pictures of babies and housewives."

  Mom was quiet for a moment, then said, "I've had about enough of your little pity party, young lady."

  "What?" I asked, surprised. Usually my mother pointed her ire outside her own family.

  "You once told me that you loved capturing real moments with real people. Piney Ridge may not be as tragic as some of the villages you've been to, or as exciting as the big cities, but the people here are as real as anyone else. And they deserve to have their images captured for the next generation same as everyone else. Family portraits may not win you any awards, but they will undeniably be treasured by generations of the family you gift them to."

  I stared at her. I never really thought my mother "got" my profession. Apparently, she did. And better than me lately.

  Mom looked over at my astonished expression. "What? I'm right. And not only that, but family portraiture also pays the bills. That sign isn't going to fix itself. And you can't continue to barter photos for rent forever."

  "I know. I'm still bitter about how the whole thing ended. I didn't do anything wrong, and yet I'm the one paying the price."

  "Yup. It sucks. But are you going to continue to let Rick knock you down? Or are you going to put your Lightwood on and not give up?"

  I sighed. That was the million-dollar question. Was it selling out if I went commercial? Was it just another form of defeat? I could look at it like a means to an end, I supposed. An "in the meantime" professional detour to help me put food on the table—after I got a table—and not a permanent career move.

  "I guess you're right. I have to do something while I wait for the magazines to grovel on my doorstep begging for my return," I said. That was what I wanted. I wanted the photojournalist world to realize what they were missing without me and seek me out. I wanted them to see Rick for the lying, cheating idiot he was and blacklist him instead. I wanted my integrity and reputation to be restored immediately.

  In the meantime, I might have to take pictures of babies.

  Chapter 22

  Nana K's Mercedes, parked in the orchard lot, twinkled at us under the bright afternoon sun.

  "What is she doing here?" Mom asked. I shrugged.

  "Maybe she brought me some more furniture?" I suggested. A table would be nice. Or a desk to put my laptop on. Or a comfy chair to curl up in with a good book. Those things would require a lot of squirming toddler pictures to purchase myself.

  "Your father and I have bowling league in a bit. I hope you don't mind me dropping you off. If I go up there, it'll be an hour before she lets me leave," Mom said.

  "No problem. I have no plans because my life is currently in the toilet," I said brightly. I reached across to give my mother a kiss on the cheek. "Thanks for letting me tag along today. It was fun. You have really nice friends."

  "Thank you, darling. Use dinner at our house as an excuse if Nana overstays her welcome."

  I waved to the retreating car as I mounted the steps to my apartment. I kept an eye out for chicken droppings but didn't see any. Thank goodness.

  Nana K, still clad in her babushka and light jacket, got up from the couch as soon as I walked through the door. "Don't drop your bag, we're going out."

  "I just got home," I protested.

  "You need supplies. I could see you making your mental list yesterday. Besides, I need some things too."

  I couldn't argue with that. As we drove to town, I told my grandmother about what I learned at the Ladies' Auxiliary lunch.

  "Obviously, you have to talk to Danny Tidwell," Nana K confirmed.

  "Right!?" Finally, someone agreed with me. "I just need to think of a reason. And figure out where he lives."

  Nana K swerved the Mercedes into an illegal U-turn in the middle of the street without so much as a blinker or a brake pedal. I screamed and held on to the dashboard.

  "What are you doing? You're gonna get us killed!" I shrieked over the blaring horns from other drivers.

  "I know where the Tidwells live. If Danny is still living there, he'll for sure be home on a Sunday afternoon."

  "Could you at least give me a warning next time?"

  "This way is more fun. Puts some color in your cheeks."

  I shook my head in disbelief. "What am I going to say to get him to talk to me? I don't have a plan."

  "I find that sticking as close to the truth as possible is always a good idea," Nana K suggested.

  I snorted. "Somehow I don't think 'Hi, did you murder Missy Vandenburg?' is a great way to engender conversation."

  "Of course not. But what is your connection to him?" Nana K asked.

  I thought about it a moment. "I guess we're both photographers."

  "And..." Nana K prompted.

  "And we've both worked on the firehouse shoot." I snapped my fingers. "That's it! I'll ask him for advice on the shoot. Men love when you play up to their ego, right?"

  "Not only men. Everyone. Compliments catch more flies than vinegar," Nana K said, butchering the idiom.

  "I think it's honey, Nana," I corrected.

  "Call him whatever you want. Just figure out if he was bitter enough to murder Missy."

  Armed with my camera and a bright smile, I rang the doorbell to the Tidwell residence. Nana K stood beside me for moral support. And to distract Mrs. Tidwell so she didn't hover while I talked to her son. She had a reputation of being a little overbearing even though Danny was in his twenties.

  But Danny answered the door. "Sorry, no solicitors," he said and started to shut the door.

  "Wait. We're not solicitors," I called. The door paused mid-swing. "I'm Alex Lightwood. This is my grandmother, Regina Klafkeniewski. I'm doing the first-responder calendar this year." I held up my camera as though that were evidence enough. It seemed to be because Danny opened the door again.

  "Why are you here?" he asked.

  "I was hoping you could help me. I've heard such amazing things about past calendars, and I don't want to mess it up. I'd love any pointers or, like, tips or tricks that have worked for you in the past. How do you get the pets and the people to look at the camera? I'm not used to directing," I babbled. I saw his face soften a bit and held my breath.

  "Sure," he said finally. "Come on in."

  Nana K and I gave each other a high five behind his back.

  "Is your mother home, dear?" Nana K asked. "I wanted to show her a new technique in Bridge."

  "She's out right now but should be back soon."

  After settling in the living room, I listened to Danny blather on about flashes and strobes an
d posing—all things I had no interest in using. I made the requisite agreeable sounds occasionally.

  Finally, when I couldn't stand it any longer, I interrupted to ask, "Do you have a copy of last year's calendar? I'd love to see these techniques in action."

  When he left the room to fetch the calendar, I rubbed my temples. Nana K leaned in. "Did you understand all that?"

  I nodded. "It's basic stuff. All of which I know and none of which I'll use. But I'm building rapport, right?"

  "Could you hurry up? I want to get to the pharmacy before they close."

  Danny came back with the calendar. I flipped through the pages. They all looked pretty much the same—gray background, subject leaning on a stool, animal either sitting on the ground or in the subject's lap. Everyone had fake smiles that didn't reach their eyes. None had anything personal. Danny had even managed to make Linc look a bit dull.

  They were well lit and evenly composed. But they lacked life and vibrancy. This is what I feared my photography might turn into if I started family portraits. The same poses in the same places with the same fake smiles. Cookie-cutter portraits to match the cookie-cutter houses on the Hill. I felt myself shrink a little.

  Out loud, I oohed and aahed at the photos. When I flipped to October and saw Mike Vandenburg, I almost laughed out loud at my good fortune. This would be the perfect segue into talking about Missy.

  "Oh, Mike. Poor thing. So sad about Missy. I graduated high school with her," I explained.

  "I wouldn't waste too many tears on feeling bad for Mike," Danny said, practically spitting his name. "He treated Missy like crap."

  "I heard he cheated on her. But still, losing a wife so violently," I said and shuddered. I only had to half fake that.

  "They were going to get divorced anyway. She cheated on him too. With a much nicer guy who treated her right." He flipped the page away from Mike. I studied Danny's face. There was anger there but directed more at Mike than Missy. He sniffed once, and I saw the tears welling in his eyes.

  "Do you think Mike did it?" I asked, pretending not to see his distress.

  "Probably. He has a temper."

  "I still can't get over where it happened. And right in the middle of the day," I said, remaining vague on purpose. Maybe he would let something slip—like that she'd been killed by the water, not in the woods. That happened all the time in Law and Order.

  "I wish I'd been here," he said quietly, looking out the front window with unfocused eyes.

  "Where were you?" I asked, equally as quietly.

  "Mom and I went antiquing in Annapolis. I didn't hear about it until the next day," he said.

  "That must have been hard," I said. Danny sniffed again and then turned his attention back to me. He blinked me back into focus and seemed to realize what he said.

  "Hard for anyone. Everyone loved Missy."

  "Of course. I remember her fondly from high school." I practically choked on the words. "Well, thank you for your time. And your wonderful advice. I feel much better about the calendar shoot now."

  I stood and pulled my almost sleeping grandmother up with me.

  Danny walked us to the door. "Glad I could help. It's nice to talk shop with someone else who knows photography. I'd be happy to help you choose the final images after you're done."

  "Thanks so much for the offer," I said, plastering on a fake smile of my own. "I'll definitely keep that in mind."

  When we got back in the car, Nana K said, "You'd think he commissioned the Mona Lisa with the way he talked about his photographs. His calendars are not that inspiring. The only reason people buy them is to look at Linc. I told him last year if Linc took his shirt off, he'd sell a lot more calendars."

  She wasn't wrong.

  Chapter 23

  I awoke Monday morning to the dulcet tones of the rooster crowing his head off outside the barn. I'd forgotten earplugs on my shopping trip yesterday. Nana K had distracted me with other frivolous things like real plates and towels. Could I shove the towels in my ears? Maybe roll up some of the washcloths Nana insisted I buy. Why one person needed a twelve pack of washcloths, I'd never understand. But they were in my closet, taking up space where earplugs could have been.

  Now I had an extra hour to sulk about not being able to find a ride into town today for my community service. All of my usual contacts had fallen through. Even Nana K had plans this morning. My mother had given me her bike when we moved on Saturday as a just in case. I didn't think I'd need to use it so soon.

  I was still sulking an hour later since I couldn't find any rideshare opportunities in the area. No surprise there. I laced up my boots for the bike ride into town. I wanted full ankle support before getting on that thing again. Then a tap-tap-tapping came from my front door. Did someone take pity on me and come to get me after all? Could I be that lucky?

  "Coming!" I called as the tapping continued. It was too light to be Linc, not that I really thought it would be him. He had barely answered my texts all weekend. I still didn't understand why he was so angry with me. Was it really because of the locket?

  When I opened the door, no one was there. A movement by my foot caught my eye and I glanced down. The same chicken stood there looking up at me expectantly.

  "You aren't coming in."

  I knew as much about chickens as I did about cars, but I didn't think letting it into the house was especially sanitary. The chicken made the little noise again and pecked at the ground. I could have sworn it was telling me it wanted food. I eased the door closed and went back to the kitchen to get some bread. Did chickens eat bread? They were birds, and the pigeons—also birds—at my old apartment loved bits of bread. I half expected the hen to be gone when I opened the door again. But there it stood, pecking and scratching at the stairway landing. I leaned down and offered it some bread. The greedy little thing took it right out of my hand with no hesitation.

  "Aren't you friendly." I offered another piece, then reached out a hand to see if I could pet it. The hen didn't even flinch, just let me run a hand over its feathers. Softer than I would have thought. I broke up the rest of the bread and scattered it on the landing.

  "Don't tell your friends," I warned as I stood. "I don't want a bawk party up here." I giggled at my joke. “Get it? Bawk party… like block party?” The chicken ignored me.

  I went back inside to wash my hands and grab my camera bag before heading down the steps to the bike.

  Thirty incident-free minutes later, I arrived at the firehouse—a little sweaty, but otherwise unscathed. Linc barely glanced at me as I came in. He shoved an envelope in my hands.

  "The invoice for the sign," he said.

  "Thanks." My bank account whimpered, so I tucked it in my bag to deal with later. "I found out some more interesting things this weekend," I tried, hoping to get him into a conversation.

  "I don't want to hear it. I'll help you with Becky and then I'm done. I'm not going to continue to help you put yourself in harm's way."

  "I wasn't in harm's way. I was at the Ladies' Auxiliary lunch. The best place to pick up on some gossip and backstory," I explained.

  "Whatever." He clipped Fang to a lead by his desk and led me through a hallway toward the police station. I hated that he was mad at me. Besides Colleen, he was my only friend here in Piney Ridge. I couldn't even count my parents or Nana K because, as my family, they were obligated to like me.

  I decided to let it go for now since the anxiety of being near Chief Duncan was already making my tummy hurt.

  To add insult to injury, being here was my own stupid idea. Since I wanted authentic, personal shots, photographing the police officers in their environment made sense. In addition to Becky, I would also have the other police deputy and Chief Duncan as models today. I hoped Detective Spaulding hadn't told the chief about the locket yet. Wishful thinking.

  The humane society provided another dog and a few more cats for the day's shoot. I could hear the scrambling of claws before we even crossed the threshold into the statio
n.

  Becky, one of the 9-1-1 operators, was first. I set up the shot at her desk. Becky chose a cat for her companion. Like most cats, this one made a beeline for the keyboard. I got a great shot of Becky laughing as she lifted the furry adventurer off the desk.

  Linc stayed true to his word and coaxed Becky into conversation about Missy. Her face turned to stone at the mention of Missy's name, but Becky mentioned she'd been in Virginia with her sister all weekend. Nowhere near the reservoir. Cross another suspect off the list.

  I tried not to be offended when Linc was his normal, jovial, fun-loving self with everyone else. He reserved his steel stare for me. And it wasn't only anger—disappointment laced every sigh before he answered my direct questions. Was he really that mad at me for wanting to know about the case? Wouldn't he want to try to figure out the mystery if he were one of the prime suspects?

  I mulled it over as we walked to Chief Duncan's office. I didn't realize my steps had slowed until Linc called, "Stop dragging your feet," from a few feet ahead of me. To say I dreaded this was the understatement of the month. I was half tempted to pass my beloved camera off to Linc and wish him luck as I ran for the hills. If the thought of passing my expensive camera to anyone else didn't give me automatic hives, I absolutely would have.

  I didn't want to show the chief I was rattled, so at the door, I gave myself a little shake and squared my shoulders. Linc looked down at me, his eyes softer than they had been all day.

  "You okay?" he asked in a moment of cease-fire. "We can postpone until after the investigation if you want."

  "No," I squeaked. Then cleared my throat and said more definitively, "No. I'm okay. I can't keep hiding from my problems."

  "Okay," he said. "I'll do the talking. You just point and shoot."