Secrets in a Still Life Read online

  A moment later, he returned with supplies. We got me set up at the desk so I could work on organizing some of the files on the computer. Fang, sensing my stress decreasing, disappeared back into the engine bay.

  "I need to hear the story of your second sign attack," he said as I started moving the myriad of desktop icons into some semblance of order. I filled him in as I worked, unable to control the excitement in my voice.

  "So that's weird, right?" I asked, forgetting about the computer and leaning my chin on my knuckles. "Missy has been gone for barely forty-eight hours, and Kelly is already renaming and redecorating? I mean, who can have a custom sign made that quickly? She definitely had that thing laying around before Sunday. Right?"

  He ran his fingers over his chin. "The timing does seem a bit inappropriate. We haven't even had a funeral yet."

  "Exactly! She totally had motive and opportunity." I realized my voice had taken on the pitch of a kid on Christmas morning. But the sooner I figured out the real killer, the sooner I'd stop being the prime suspect. I tried to bring my excitement down a notch. "Should we tell Chief Duncan?"

  "I think that's a bit premature," Linc said.

  I gaped at him. Why was he not on my side?

  "Really, Alex. We don't even have the time of death. For all we know, Kelly has an airtight alibi because she was knuckle-deep in someone's hair while Missy was being murdered."

  That blew the wind out of my sails. He was right, dangit. "Okay. So we sit on this until the autopsy results come back."

  "Any other townspeople you want to accuse of murder today?" he asked.

  "Well, it has to be somebody," I grumbled, turning my attention back to the computer.

  Chapter 11

  I didn't even argue when Linc offered to drive me home at the end of the day. Although I'd been icing and elevating my hurt ankle, and the swelling had gone down a bit, it still hurt when I put pressure on it. As evidenced by the fact I almost fell twice while trying to go to the bathroom earlier. Awkwardness and crutches were not a good mix.

  "Keep icing that ankle. Twenty minutes on, twenty minutes off," Linc instructed as he lifted my mother's now less-than pristine bike from the bed of his truck. He wheeled it to the garage and then ran back to help me hobble to the door.

  "What in blazing turnips happened now?" my mother asked when she saw me on crutches.

  "You mean you haven't heard? My latest adventure hasn't made the gossip rounds yet?"

  Thank those blazing turnips for small favors, I thought.

  Mom put her hands on her hips. "What adventure?"

  Just then, Colleen's little green VW bug parked behind Linc's truck. An unexpected bubble of joy spread in my chest. I'd missed my friend. And although Linc was a good sounding board for my current troubles, Colleen was free from embarrassment and residual crush-like feelings.

  "Thanks for the lift, Linc. I'll see you tomorrow to clock more service hours."

  He helped me onto the porch step by gripping my uninjured elbow to steady me. I ignored the little jolt of heat emanating from that skin-to-skin contact and focused on not falling down.

  "See you tomorrow. Mrs. Lightwood," he addressed Mom with his mother-killer smile. She practically melted. "You look lovely as always. Be sure Alex elevates her ankle and keeps ice on it."

  "Of course, Lincoln. Thanks for taking good care of her."

  "Anytime. I'll come pick you up tomorrow, Alex. Quarter to nine, okay?" I nodded. "Unless your ankle gets worse, and you want to rest it. Just text me. I put my number in your phone."

  "When did you do that? And how did you get around my password?" I asked.

  The dingbat winked at me and, with a small wave to Colleen who was walking up the porch, sprinted back to his truck. Alan Jackson blared from the speakers, and Fang's head hung out the back window as Linc drove off down the street.

  "Now there is a boy who aged to perfection," Colleen commented as all three of us watched the truck turn out of sight.

  "Whatever. I'll always think of him as the kid who shoved me in Mr. Albright's pond when we were eleven," I lied. I had one hundred percent noticed the man he had become. Like a puppy, he'd grown into himself.

  Unlike me, who still couldn't manage to walk through a doorway without banging an elbow. Maybe that's why I liked the desert so much—nothing to run into.

  "Okay, Peanut. Let's get you in the house," Mom said. "You can tell us both what the heck happened."

  An hour later, hot tea mugs empty, cookies eaten, ankle fussed over, and story told, Mom left me and Colleen seated in the living room while she ran some errands. "Errands" were merely an excuse to gauge the scuttlebutt about town, but I took advantage of her absence to tell Colleen about the events of the weekend and my suspicions about Kelly.

  "Okay, the timing is weird. But Kelly has definitely grown up since her mean-girl high school stage," Colleen said when I finished.

  "But what if she's just acting all sweet and innocent, but underneath is a cold-blooded killer?"

  Colleen pursed her lips. "You haven't known her these past years. She's changed. And why would she act now? Why not years ago?"

  "I don't know. Maybe they got in some argument and Kelly finally lost it. She's been living in Missy's shadow since high school."

  "So have a lot of people. If you ask me, I'd put the money on the husband." Colleen took another cookie from the plate. I scowled. If I ate any more cookies, the calories would go right to my hips. But Colleen could eat an entire cake and still be a rail. She was tall and thin and Irish to the core. I'd always been jealous of her thick curls and bright-green eyes. Colleen was vibrant like a kaleidoscope where I resembled the bland sands of the Sahara.

  That's it. I was moving back there. I could stay with Abbas and help him rent camels.

  "Earth to Alex," Colleen said, waving a hand in my face. "I said, I think Mike did it."

  "Sorry. Zoning. Maybe I hit my head in the tumble this morning. Why Mike?" I shifted in my chair. The rest of my body was now feeling the aches of falling too.

  "The husband always does it, right?"

  "I'm going to need more solid evidence than that to get off Chief Duncan's list," I pointed out.

  "Okay, how about this? I have it on good authority that Mr. Acting Mayor is having multiple affairs. Multiple! Maybe Missy found out, and he killed her so he could be with one of his side pieces." Colleen practically giggled. I caught the excitement.

  "Oh, that is juicy. Do you know who any of the women are?" I asked. Maybe we could have a little chat with them, you know, being friendly neighbors and all.

  "Only through rumors and speculation. But my dad plays poker with Mike and a bunch of other guys on Wednesday nights. I heard him mention that Mike hasn't been coming the last few weeks. But he has been telling Missy that's where he's going," Colleen said.

  "We have to follow him," I blurted out. "Do you think he'll go tomorrow night?"

  "Normally, I'd say no. His wife just died; you'd think he'd have a little more respect." Colleen tapped a purple nail on her lips. "But this is Mike Vandenburg we're talking about. Couldn't hurt to try."

  "You're willing to go with me? Just like that?" I asked, genuinely grateful to have such a great friend.

  "Are you kidding? Every episode of Forensic Files I've binged has led me to this very moment. Plus," she added with a smirk, "who's gonna keep you from falling through a window or smashing into yet another sign?"

  "Ha ha, funny guy," I said, but I smiled too. Colleen wasn't wrong. I'd be even more impeded if my ankle didn't miraculously heal by tomorrow night.

  "Soooo, I've been trying to think of a way to ask without sounding like a complete creep, but—" Colleen started.

  I cut her off, "You want to see the picture."

  "Please?" Colleen asked, wrinkling up her nose. I understood completely—the same morbid curiosity drove me to look more closely at Missy's body in the woods.

  "Grab my computer and hard drive from my bedroom."

&nb
sp; Colleen practically ran up the stairs.

  "And some ibuprofen!" I added. If I was going on an adventure tomorrow night, I needed my body to cooperate. From a vast number of prior experiences, I knew I always hurt worse the day after a fall. Like the time I was taking pictures of a memorial procession in India, backed up to get a better angle, and stepped right off the edge of a small cliff. I saved my camera. My back and head? Not so much. I was stiff for a week.

  Colleen made it back downstairs in record time. She fetched me a glass of water while I booted up the computer and navigated to the saved photos. Hard to believe this was only a few days ago. I took the pill and opened the photo file.

  Colleen sucked in a breath, then let it out, and leaned closer to the screen. "What am I looking at? I mean it's a great picture of the birds, but is this the right photo?"

  I zoomed in to the area behind the bush with the cardinals. I pointed to the lighter part among the grass and detritus covering the ground. "Here."

  "Oh my goodness! That's it? How did you even notice that?" she asked, clearly disappointed.

  "It was drawing my eye away from the birds. I wanted to see how easy it would be to crop it out," I explained. Again.

  "Hmph. You can't even see the cause of death." Colleen flung herself back on the couch, arms crossed. "At least the birds are pretty. You can totally crop her out."

  "Colleen! I'm not actually going to use this photo," I exclaimed. Just what I needed—some mommy blogger using this photo and then finding out later it was a crime scene.

  "It's a great picture!" Colleen started scrolling through the rest of the shoot. "These are all great. Okay, fine. You have others that are equally as amazing."

  "Thanks," I said.

  "So, tell me all about your day with Linc," Colleen said.

  "Nothing to tell. I cleaned up the firehouse desktop; he iced my ankle." I shrugged.

  "Boring." Then Colleen's eyes sparkled. "Unless 'iced my ankle' is a euphemism for—Hey!" she shouted, catching the pillow I threw at her head.

  "Honestly, I spent a good portion of the day searching for apartment rentals. I love my parents, but I need to get out of here. I'm used to being on my own." I thought of the apartment I'd shared with Wreck-it Rick for the last year. "Or mostly on my own."

  "Come on, then. Let's go look! I'll be your chauffeur."

  "I'm supposed to be icing and elevating," I said evasively, gesturing to my ankle. As much as I wanted to move out, I wanted to move out to New York, not find a place here in Piney Ridge.

  "No excuse. You can bring the ice. And elevate when you get home."

  I bit my lip. Was I ready to take this step toward permanence? Was I willing to not take that step and stay at my parents’ house?

  "Come on," Colleen whined. "I'm bored. We can drive by and at least look if you don't want to tour any."

  Before I could respond, the front door slammed open, making us both jump. Nana K stood there in thick stockings, thicker glasses, and a scarf covering her shock of white hair. Or at least it used to be white.

  "Nana K!" Colleen exclaimed. "What do you have going on under that babushka?"

  She whipped off the scarf to reveal a pink- and purple-ombre pixie cut. "Whaddya think?" she asked.

  I smiled so broad I thought my face might break. "Nana, I missed you so much. It looks perfect."

  Nana K shuffled over to where I had my foot propped on the coffee table. She leaned over to give me a light kiss on the forehead. Then did the same to Colleen.

  "The other ladies in the community think I'm nuts for this hair. I told them I may be nuts, but I'm not dead."

  "Of course you did," I said fondly.

  "Your mother called to tell me what happened," Nana K explained. "I came to see if you needed anything. Cheesecake? Pierogis? I'll make whatever you want."

  Before I could open my mouth to say, "Yes, please," Colleen cut me off. "I'm trying to convince Alex to go look at some apartments."

  I gave her a look. If Nana K agreed, there would be no begging off. Mom absolutely got her stubbornness from her mother.

  I watched with dismay and amusement as all of Nana K's wrinkles rearranged themselves into a bright smile. The thick lenses of her tortoiseshell cat-eye glasses magnified her hazel eyes.

  "Fabulous idea," Nana K said. "We can take my car so we can all go."

  I sighed. No cheesecake for me.

  Chapter 12

  Our unlikely trio piled into Nana K's pale-pink Mercedes. She already had the convertible top down and the babushka tied back around her head by the time I managed to get myself and my crutches in the front seat.

  "There are extra scarves in the glove box. Buckle up, ladies, this baby likes to go fast." Nana K ground the gears into first and took off like a shot down the road.

  "I didn't even give you an address!" I shouted over the wind.

  "I know the perfect place," Nana K shouted back in her raspy voice. We sped through town—stop signs seemed to be optional—and ended up on the other side of the reservoir near the Bachman's Orchard and Farmer's Market. I pried my white-knuckled fingers from their death grip on the door handle as we screeched to a halt in the driveway. Glancing in the rearview mirror, I saw Colleen looked as shell-shocked as I felt.

  "Why are we here?" I asked. "Hungry for a road snack?"

  I wouldn't put it past my grandmother to detour miles out of the way because she craved a piece of Anita Bachman's famous apple pie. My stomach grumbled. Apple pie wasn't my grandmother's homemade cheesecake, but it would be a fine consolation prize.

  "Two birds, one stone," Nana K said. "I happen to know on good authority that Bobby Bachman has a room to let in the loft of the barn. He's been saving it for his wayward son, Tony. But everyone knows Tony does not want to take over the family business. Not that he'd be any good at it anyway. So the beautiful space is sitting there empty, collecting hay dust and cobwebs."

  "Sounds charming," I mumbled, hobbling on my crutches after my grandmother. For an octogenarian, she sure was spry.

  Colleen stayed by my side as Nana K bustled along ahead of us. "Was this place on your list?" she asked me under her breath. I wasn't sure if Colleen was trying to keep her voice down or if it was leftover anxiety from the car ride here. My heart still pounded from the near-death experience by the Scoop, There It Is intersection. Did Nana K even see that stop sign?

  "Nope," I answered her. "Wasn't even listed on any of the websites I looked at. I'll just wait for an opportune moment, make an apology, and steer Nana K toward the pies. I mean, how does she even think I'm going to be able to look at a loft with a bum ankle?"

  "No kidding," Colleen chuckled. "You can barely climb a ladder on a good day."

  By the time we caught up to Nana K, she'd already cornered Bobby Bachman and his mother, known to everyone under the age of 60 as Mrs. Anita, at the back of the market space where they were restocking fresh-picked strawberries from their fields.

  "No, no. Don't give me that nonsense about Tony. We all know he isn't coming back anytime soon," Nana K was saying.

  I gave Mrs. Anita an "I'm sorry" look. Anita Bachman, only a few years younger than Nana K, smiled back.

  "You're letting that place sit empty when you could be renting it. For money. And Alex is as quiet as a mouse. You'll never even know she's here. You might even convince her into taking some professional photos of this place. Your advertising could use some sprucing up," Nana K continued, unabashed.

  "Nana!" I admonished. "I'm sure their advertising is fine."

  Nana K shook her head and hitched a thumb at Bobby. "Bobby here takes the photos with his phone and uploads them right to the website. Without any filters. I know; I follow them on Instagram."

  "She's not wrong," Mrs. Anita said. She turned to her son. "That loft has been sitting unused for quite a while. No reason we can't rent it out while we wait for Tony to make up his mind."

  Maybe this could work. If there was the threat of eviction at any moment, then there would
n't be a long-term lease. Which meant I wasn't pressured into staying in Piney Ridge.

  I said, "I'm looking for some short-term lease options anyway, so that isn't a deterrent."

  "Why are we standing around gabbing? Let's go look at the space, then," Nana K said. She grabbed Mrs. Anita by the elbow and marched her out the door.

  "Your gramma looking for a job?" Bobby asked as we followed the two matriarchs. "She could sell a glass of water to a drowning man."

  Instead of a ladder, like I imagined, a sturdy set of wooden stairs with an elegantly crafted handrail led from the outside of the well-kept barn to a door on the second level. With Colleen's help, I managed to hop up the steps without spraining another ankle. Bobby pushed the door open to reveal what in New York would be considered a studio apartment. Except this was nothing like I would have found in New York.

  The space dwarfed the one-bedroom apartment I'd shared with Rick. The exposed rafters of the barn ceiling added to the spacious, open feeling. It was longer than it was wide—running about half the width of the barn below, but beautifully renovated. More log cabin than stinky, old barn, which was the image floating through my mind when Nana K described it. And, to my delight, not a cobweb to be seen.

  "Wow," Colleen said on a breath. "I'll trade you."

  "Not much to see, but I'll take you on a tour," Bobby said. I could hear a sense of pride in his voice despite his humble comment.

  "Did you do all the work yourself?" I asked. The wooden floors and walls shone with fresh lacquer. The dents and scuffs in the age-worn wood only added to the rustic, authentic vibe.

  "Mostly, but I had some help. The same guy that's gonna fix the Welcome sign. He helped some," Bobby said.

  Mrs. Anita leaned in toward me and Colleen and whispered, "Bobby mainly stood around and replenished water bottles. Occasionally fetched a tool. Bless his heart."

  I hid a laugh behind a cough. The Welcome sign would be in good hands if the same man that crafted this space worked on it. I felt a little better about where my money was going.