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

of me by the end of the week. I'm spending a ridiculous amount of time with him because of the community service. We'll both need a break from each other by then," I pointed out.

Nana K's small, bespectacled head popped out from the market door. She shouted, "You two slow pokes are gonna miss out on pie if you don't put a little boogie in your step. Get your skinny butts moving!"

Colleen laughed. "All right, hobbles, the sooner we eat this pie, the sooner we can get you back home to ice that ankle again. I need you a bit more mobile tomorrow night."

"What's tomorrow night?" I asked. "I'm not moving until the weekend, right?"

Colleen gave me a dumbfounded look. "Are you sure you didn't hit your head in the fall? We're following Mike Vandenburg, remember? Wednesday night is poker night, but his adventures take on a different meaning to poke-her, if you get my drift."

"Ew, Colleen," I said, but chuckled. "Are we really doing that?"

"You betcha. Mainly to help you clear your name. But also for the gossip," Colleen said, rubbing her hands together. "Working at a preschool doesn't usually give me a leg up in the juicy-gossip game. The book club is going to eat this up!"

I shook my head at her. I took one last look back at the outside of the barn that I would likely call home in a few short days. Maybe my luck was starting to turn around after all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 13

 

 

 

I iced and elevated and elevated and iced my ankle all day Wednesday until it returned to almost normal size. The color was still as brilliant a blue-purple as my fish, however. I'd even begged off going to the firehouse so I could rest up for our spying tonight.

Bruising and swelling was the excuse I gave Linc, anyway. Really, I knew that as soon as he saw my face, he'd know I was up to something. Know I was hiding something. I didn't want to hear the lecture about snooping.

Colleen beeped the horn outside at exactly six thirty like we'd planned. The poker night started around seven, so we wanted to be sure to catch Mike before he left his McMansion. Halfway there, I got the jitters.

"This is silly. Why would he still sneak around with Missy dead? Couldn't he be more out in the open about seeing other women?" I asked. He wouldn't need the cover of the poker game without Missy.

"We'll never know unless we go. Stop being a Polly Pissypants. I'll get you ice cream on the way home," Colleen placated in her teacher voice.

"I'm not a child. I'm just wondering if this is a waste of time."

"Look. From what I understand of men, they are creatures of habit. If he has a standing date with some chick on Wednesday nights, he'll probably keep it. Plus, coming right out with a new relationship less than a week after your wife turns up dead isn't a smart move. If I were him, I'd totally still keep any affairs clandestine. Not only for my reputation, but also to keep the cops off my back."

"Fair point," I admitted. I tapped my fingernails on the doorframe as the town passed beside us. The Vandenburgs lived on the Hill, as the townies called it. A grouping of overpriced, cookie-cutter mini-mansions on small lots situated on a hill overlooking the reservoir. These were the types of impersonal dwellings that all looked the same and had rooms that no one ever used. The developers named all the streets after the trees they cut down to create the planned community.

I much preferred the comfort and personalization of my parents' smaller home in town. Although we didn't have a view of the reservoir since the surrounding pine forest blocked it, we did have immediate access to it through the backyard path. The Hill dwellers had to drive to get to the water. Not that most of these spoiled housewives would be caught dead in the woods.

I shivered. Except that Missy was found dead in the woods. What would she have been doing there in the first place? Did someone lure her there? How? Threaten her kids? Threaten to chip her manicure? I couldn't guess what motivated Missy to wander into the woods that day. I just wished she hadn't.

"Almost there," Colleen said, slowing so we could see the house numbers. She stopped a few houses away from the Vandenburgs' and parked along the curb. "Now we wait to see if the target leaves the nest."

"You watch too much television," I said.

"Maybe you don't watch enough. I can't believe you didn't wear all black. You're such an amateur."

"I didn't have any black pants. And you know my mother doesn't have any that I could borrow. These cargos are close enough." I paired the darkest pair of green camo-printed cargo pants I owned with a black tank top. Seemed good enough to me at the time. But given the lack of actual foliage beyond the crisp landscaping, the camo wouldn't really help as much as I thought.

"If we get caught, I'm blaming your green—" She stopped talking as a light in the Vandenburg garage came on. "Look!" Colleen pointed at the house.

"I see it. I see it." I didn't know whether to duck down in my seat or tell Colleen to start the car. "What do we do? What do we do?"

Why was I suddenly a parrot?

"Follow him, of course. That's literally why we're here." Colleen sounded like she was speaking to one of the toddlers at the preschool where she worked. Again.

"Shoot. He's coming this way. Duck down!" I said. We both crouched down in our seats as the car drove past. As soon as the headlights moved away from the back seat,