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

"Great choice," I said. I couldn't believe I hadn't demanded Solomon's as soon as I came home. I was too caught up in my feels at the time.

Mom and Nana K joined my father on the couch to eat, balancing their plates precariously on their knees. Colleen and I leaned against the kitchen counter. Conversation lulled a bit while we all enjoyed the meal and concentrated on not dropping our food. A sharp rap-rap-rap on the door jolted me out of my food coma.

"Expecting someone?" Mom asked.

"Detective Spaulding," Colleen and I said at the same time.

"Why would Detective Spaulding be here?" Mom asked. She wiped her hands on her apron and went to open the door. She expertly replaced her confused expression with one of warmth and welcome as she swung it open.

"Welcome, Detective. We were having lunch from Solomon's. Come in, come in." Mom stepped aside to let the detective into the loft.

"Thank you, ma'am." His cop eyes immediately evaluated the space. It didn't take long until they landed on me with a mixture of concern and curiosity. I placed my plate on the counter behind me as he approached.

"Ms. Lightwood," he greeted me with a firm handshake. "Thank you for contacting me."

"Please. Call me Alex. Do you want some lunch first?" I asked. I purposefully avoided my mother's questioning glances.

"Actually, I just might, if you don't mind. I've heard amazing things about Solomon's chicken, but haven't had the chance to partake."

Dad stood to make a spot for him on the couch.

"We were just going," my father said before Mom could resume her seat. "Alex, we put some supplies in the fridge. Call us later, okay?" It wasn't really a question; his tone meant I had better call him later to explain the situation.

"Thanks, Dad. I will."

"But I haven't had any pie yet, and—" Mom started. But Dad cut her off with a look. She pursed her lips, but acquiesced. A rare move for Constance Lightwood. Then again, Dad didn't ask too much of the ladies in his life, so when he put his foot down on something, we usually complied.

After my parents left, Detective Spaulding turned to Nana K, who still sat comfortably on the couch with no outward intention of following her daughter and son-in-law out the door.

"I'm James Spaulding from the Maryland State Police," he said, holding out his hand. "I don't think we've met before."

"I'm glad we've met now," Nana K said. She rose from her seat, which didn't change her height much, and gave him her hand. "Regina Klafkeniewski. I'm Alex's very single, very young-at-heart grandmother. And you"—she made a show of looking him up and down—"are one tall drink of water."

Detective Spaulding blushed and ducked his head to hide his laugh.

Colleen quipped, "Nana K, everyone is a tall drink of water to you."

Nana K ignored her. "Come sit down, James. I'll get you a plate."

"No, please. I can do it. I don't need to be waited on." Nana K didn't have to be asked twice. She gestured to the spread on the kitchen counter and resumed her seat on the couch. Colleen joined her.

I took a moment to assess Detective James Spaulding with fresh eyes as he loaded a plate with chicken and sides. The last time I saw him I had just found a dead body and became suspect number one. Now, with a relatively clearer head, I could see what my grandmother was talking about. He was rather tall, just shy of six feet if I had to guess, and broad shouldered. His sandy-blond hair held a military cut—high and tight around his ears. He carried a little weight around his middle, but who didn't really. Well, besides Linc, whose body probably had a built-in machine that immediately turned carbs into muscles.

When Detective Spaulding turned around with his plate, he caught me staring and smirked. Instead of averting my eyes, I smirked back, surprising us both. His green eyes went wide, and the other side of his mouth hitched up as well. He had a great smile. It lit up his face and created little smile lines beside his eyes. His hands looked large on the small, disposable plates my parents had provided. I had the sudden urge to reach across the space and trace the scar on his chin.

Nana K, an expert in the art of subtlety, said, "Alex is single, you know. She moved into this big space today all by herself." I shot daggers out of my eyes and scowled.

"Just moved in. That explains the—" He struggled for a non-offensive word, but eventually gave up and waved his fork around in a circle.

"Sparseness?" I supplied. He smiled and nodded. "Unfortunately, what you see is what you get. I moved here from New York City. Not a lot of storage space there, hence the minimalist style."

"I see," he said, taking a bit of his chicken. His eyes went wide again. "Wow. This is really good!"

Even though his demeanor seemed light and his bearing relaxed, I sensed that he operated in cop mode all the time. He took in everything we said, every move we made, and made a mental note. All of this would go in a report at some point, or at least help him to form an opinion. His eyes were shrewd and sharp. I recognized that look. I felt the same way when hunting for the perfect shot on location. I had to be careful despite liking him immediately.

"We've ruined chicken for you forever. Definitely stop on the way back to the city for a to-go bucket. It is just as good cold on a sandwich tomorrow," Colleen said. She, like Nana K, had dreamy eyes for Detective Spaulding.

He turned his attention back to me. "What did you want to see me