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

better. The high schoolers were thrilled."

"I bet. Well, good thing I won't be—" I cut myself off with a gasp. "Oh no. Oh crap. Oh no. The community service."

"Hence the wince." He had the good grace to look sheepish again. "I didn't think of that when I offered to have you do the community service at the firehouse."

My shoulders slumped. Still, I'd rather work in the firehouse than among the town gossips. I'd have to pull up my big-girl panties and get over it. And absolutely still try to avoid Chief Duncan.

I rubbed two fingers on my forehead to stave off the tension headache threatening to overtake me.

"When do I start?" I asked, resigned to my fate. The sooner I started, the sooner I could finish.

"What are you doing tomorrow?" He raised his eyebrows and crunched into his cone.

"Absolutely nothing." Jeez, my life was pathetic.

"I get to the station around nine. Drop by any time after that." He leaned back in his chair and smirked behind his cone. "Bonus points if you wear that flamingo dress. Or maybe find one with Dalmatians."

I seriously considered dropping the rest of my ice cream in his lap.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 10

 

 

 

I did not wear a Dalmatian dress for my first day at the firehouse, as Linc had suggested, instead opting for cargo pants and a tank top—my usual uniform and much easier to ride a bike in. I thanked the gods of karma and awkward women that my mother had a fairly new adult bike in the garage from her brief stint in the Coastbusters, the local motorcycle club. Sure, it was banana yellow with a basket strapped to the front, but it was a thousand times better than riding through town on my rusty, purple ten-speed with banana seat and multicolored streamers blowing in the wind.

I rode past the hair salon and tried not to think about the last time I was there. Today, Kelly stood outside with a few men in hard hats. I slowed the bike to see what was going on. A new sign hung above the entrance. No longer did it say "Missy K's Hair Salon" in bright pink and lime green. Now it read "Shear-lock Combs" in a more subdued burgundy and gray. As Kelly instructed the men who were washing the old name off the windows and repainting the door, I watched in fascination, craning my neck to see what other changes Kelly had instigated.

Kelly turned, spotted me, and raised a hand to wave. Then her eyes went wide, and her mouth formed a little "o."

She said, "Alex! Watch out—" right before I ran my mother's bike into the old Missy K's sign that rested against the curb.

I managed to catch myself before completely tumbling over the handlebars. Barely. I landed with a thud and a whimper on the concrete sidewalk with the bike on top of me. Piney Ridge signs - 2. Alex Lightwood - 0.

Kelly and the construction crew ran over to help. One of the men lifted the bike, while another grabbed me under the armpits to hoist me up. Kelly wrung her hands and paced.

"Oh man. Are you okay? Do you need some ice? I have some in the staff room," she fretted. "I knew we should've put that stupid thing right in the dumpster."

"I'm okay," I said, assessing my abraded elbow. "I'm headed to the firehouse anyway, so Linc can take a look at it."

"Your next haircut is on me. The works. Whatever you want."

"That's kind but unnecessary. I seem to have a knack for running into signs," I deadpanned. I showed the sign my favorite finger.

Kelly barked a surprised laugh. The construction crew, seeing that I was alive, went back to their work.

I gestured at the front of the shop. "Doing a little redecorating?"

"I'm so excited. I've been wanting to rebrand for a while now, but Missy kept insisting consistency was key. I tried to tell her that no one came to the salon because the '90s threw up on the decor."

Now it was my turn to laugh. A more perfect description of the neon-pink and lime-green color scheme couldn't be found.

"I like the new look. Very modern and chic," I said.

And very quick after Missy's death. To hide my expression, I leaned over to pick up the bike. The basket was a little bent, but other than that, and a few minor scuffs, it seemed to be in working order. Much better than my ankle, which was now throbbing and beginning to swell. I willed it to hold out long enough to bike to the firehouse. I wanted to tell Linc about this new development in the "Alex Didn't Do It" case file.

"I guess you have sole ownership of the salon now?" I asked, hoping I sounded conversational and not accusatory.

"Mostly. Some of Missy's stock goes to her kids. But I finally get creative control."

I swore I heard the devilish "mwahaha" in Kelly's head. I waited for Kelly to tap her fingers together like the villains in the film noir movies I liked to watch before bed.

My astonishment must have shown on my face because Kelly quickly added, "I know it sounds horrible. Missy just"—she waved her hand, looking for an appropriate word—"passed away, but you have to understand, I've been waiting years for this to happen. Like I said the other day, Missy was a difficult business partner. And that was on a good day."

"I can see that. I was only around her for a few minutes, and I wanted to throw a kielbasa at her," I admitted.

"You and half the town," Kelly muttered. "I don't like to speak ill of the dead, but she really rubbed a lot of people the wrong way."

"Did you tell any of