Secrets in a Still Life, Kari Ganske [best fiction books to read .TXT] 📗

that happened in high school when a wife and mother had lost her life.

Linc shoved an ice cream cone under my nose, bringing me out of my thoughts.

"I took the liberty of ordering for you since you didn't answer the three times I asked what you wanted. One scoop of apple pie, one scoop of cinnamon on a cake cone."

I almost cried. It was exactly what I would have ordered myself. Exactly what I always ordered. He'd remembered.

"Please don't be nice to me. I can't handle it right now," I whispered.

"I took a big lick of your cone, just to make sure it wasn't poisoned. So, I'm not that nice," he said, taking a lick of his own. And now I wanted to be an ice cream cone. Desperately.

"Thinking about high school? Or Missy?" he asked, still able to read me like a book.

"A little bit of both," I admitted. "She was definitely murdered, wasn't she? No chance it was a trail accident?"

He shook his head slowly. "Unfortunately not. Look, I'm not sure how much I'm allowed to tell you. I've never handled a murder victim before," he said.

I noticed, then, the pallor under his normal complexion, the sadness in his usually amused gray-blue eyes. This trip for ice cream was just as much for him as it was for me.

"And I've never been suspected of murder before. You aren't bound by investigative privilege, right?" I asked, taking a bite of the ice cream. The trick was to get equal amounts of cinnamon and apple pie in the same bite—an art I'd been perfecting for years before I left.

"I don't even think that's a thing."

"Then spill, Livestrong," I said. "I need to know what I'm up against. Was she shot? Could it have been a hunting accident?" I still didn't want it to be a murder.

"Not shot. I'm not a medical examiner, but I know that wasn't a bullet hole. And it was no accident." He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. His stubble rasped under his fingers. "The state guys took her to their lab for the autopsy since Dr. Wells has never worked a murder before."

"Stabbed?" I whispered.

"That would be my guess. I only saw her briefly as I checked for a pulse and then again when I helped load her into the van. And her hands were messed up."

I shuddered. "Like she put up a fight."

"Exactly."

"Then I'm off the hook!" I said, louder than I intended. Mary, wiping down the counter, raised her eyebrow. I lowered my voice. "I don't have any wounds from being in a fight. So, it couldn't have been me."

"Were you unsure?" Linc asked with the ghost of a smile.

"No, dingbat. I know I didn't do it. But Chief Duncan was all over me like ants at a picnic the night we found her. I'm numero uno on his suspect list." I grabbed a napkin from the canister on the table to catch a dribble on my chin.

Linc took the napkin from me and dabbed at my nose. It was ridiculously charming, and I felt it in my gut. I gave myself a mental shake. What was wrong with me? Clearly, the emotional events of the last week were also affecting my hormones. Also, clearly high school crushes were as deeply ingrained in me as the taste of Scoop’s ice cream. Nostalgia was playing havoc on my mental state lately.

"Like I said, Chief Duncan is used to public intoxication and kids stealing candy bars," Linc continued the conversation after returning my napkin. "In the last few years, he's gotten even more lackadaisical, pawning off anything substantial to Andrea Martinez, then taking credit for it. The only reason he isn't out of office is because no one ever runs against him."

I licked my ice cream as I thought. Even though Chief Duncan was acting like a bumbling idiot, there were a lot of things stacked against me—I had an argument with the victim; I found the body; Missy and I had a volatile history; I was new in town; I didn't have a solid alibi; I'd already killed a sign. Could I really blame Chief Duncan for focusing on me?

But, on my side, I didn't have defense wounds; I hadn’t touched any scissors, and I didn’t have a strong motive. With the way Kelly talked, Missy was far from the town sweetheart. Not to mention the fact that Missy was a few inches taller and quite a bit heavier than me.

And I didn't do it.

I took another lick and refocused on Linc. His expression knocked me back—his eyes dark, lips in a tight line. Was he mad at me? He exuded intensity. When I cocked my head in question, his usual half-amused, half-bored façade slipped back into place. Maybe I'd imagined it.

"At least Detective Spaulding seems like he knows what he's doing," I said, choosing to ignore it. "I just need to lie low and avoid Chief Duncan."

Linc winced and looked away.

"What? What is that look for?"

He remained mute.

"Lincoln Livestrong, if you don't want ice cream in your lap, tell me what you aren't telling me," I demanded. Not that I would ever waste this amazing ice cream by spilling it in his lap, but he didn't need to know that. I held it aloft to give credence to the threat.

"Okay, okay," he said, holding up his hands in surrender. "It's nothing really. Except that the firehouse is kinda connected to the police station offices." He mumbled the last part, but I caught enough.

"Wait? What? When did that happen?" I asked. The police station had always been in the building beside the high school. The firehouse was across town.

"We renovated a few years back. The town council thought a one-stop shop for all your emergency needs would be