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

waved to the retreating car as I mounted the steps to my apartment. I kept an eye out for chicken droppings but didn't see any. Thank goodness.

Nana K, still clad in her babushka and light jacket, got up from the couch as soon as I walked through the door. "Don't drop your bag, we're going out."

"I just got home," I protested.

"You need supplies. I could see you making your mental list yesterday. Besides, I need some things too."

I couldn't argue with that. As we drove to town, I told my grandmother about what I learned at the Ladies' Auxiliary lunch.

"Obviously, you have to talk to Danny Tidwell," Nana K confirmed.

"Right!?" Finally, someone agreed with me. "I just need to think of a reason. And figure out where he lives."

Nana K swerved the Mercedes into an illegal U-turn in the middle of the street without so much as a blinker or a brake pedal. I screamed and held on to the dashboard.

"What are you doing? You're gonna get us killed!" I shrieked over the blaring horns from other drivers.

"I know where the Tidwells live. If Danny is still living there, he'll for sure be home on a Sunday afternoon."

"Could you at least give me a warning next time?"

"This way is more fun. Puts some color in your cheeks."

I shook my head in disbelief. "What am I going to say to get him to talk to me? I don't have a plan."

"I find that sticking as close to the truth as possible is always a good idea," Nana K suggested.

I snorted. "Somehow I don't think 'Hi, did you murder Missy Vandenburg?' is a great way to engender conversation."

"Of course not. But what is your connection to him?" Nana K asked.

I thought about it a moment. "I guess we're both photographers."

"And..." Nana K prompted.

"And we've both worked on the firehouse shoot." I snapped my fingers. "That's it! I'll ask him for advice on the shoot. Men love when you play up to their ego, right?"

"Not only men. Everyone. Compliments catch more flies than vinegar," Nana K said, butchering the idiom.

"I think it's honey, Nana," I corrected.

"Call him whatever you want. Just figure out if he was bitter enough to murder Missy."

Armed with my camera and a bright smile, I rang the doorbell to the Tidwell residence. Nana K stood beside me for moral support. And to distract Mrs. Tidwell so she didn't hover while I talked to her son. She had a reputation of being a little overbearing even though Danny was in his twenties.

But Danny answered the door. "Sorry, no solicitors," he said and started to shut the door.

"Wait. We're not solicitors," I called. The door paused mid-swing. "I'm Alex Lightwood. This is my grandmother, Regina Klafkeniewski. I'm doing the first-responder calendar this year." I held up my camera as though that were evidence enough. It seemed to be because Danny opened the door again.

"Why are you here?" he asked.

"I was hoping you could help me. I've heard such amazing things about past calendars, and I don't want to mess it up. I'd love any pointers or, like, tips or tricks that have worked for you in the past. How do you get the pets and the people to look at the camera? I'm not used to directing," I babbled. I saw his face soften a bit and held my breath.

"Sure," he said finally. "Come on in."

Nana K and I gave each other a high five behind his back.

"Is your mother home, dear?" Nana K asked. "I wanted to show her a new technique in Bridge."

"She's out right now but should be back soon."

After settling in the living room, I listened to Danny blather on about flashes and strobes and posing—all things I had no interest in using. I made the requisite agreeable sounds occasionally.

Finally, when I couldn't stand it any longer, I interrupted to ask, "Do you have a copy of last year's calendar? I'd love to see these techniques in action."

When he left the room to fetch the calendar, I rubbed my temples. Nana K leaned in. "Did you understand all that?"

I nodded. "It's basic stuff. All of which I know and none of which I'll use. But I'm building rapport, right?"

"Could you hurry up? I want to get to the pharmacy before they close."

Danny came back with the calendar. I flipped through the pages. They all looked pretty much the same—gray background, subject leaning on a stool, animal either sitting on the ground or in the subject's lap. Everyone had fake smiles that didn't reach their eyes. None had anything personal. Danny had even managed to make Linc look a bit dull.

They were well lit and evenly composed. But they lacked life and vibrancy. This is what I feared my photography might turn into if I started family portraits. The same poses in the same places with the same fake smiles. Cookie-cutter portraits to match the cookie-cutter houses on the Hill. I felt myself shrink a little.

Out loud, I oohed and aahed at the photos. When I flipped to October and saw Mike Vandenburg, I almost laughed out loud at my good fortune. This would be the perfect segue into talking about Missy.

"Oh, Mike. Poor thing. So sad about Missy. I graduated high school with her," I explained.

"I wouldn't waste too many tears on feeling bad for Mike," Danny said, practically spitting his name. "He treated Missy like crap."

"I heard he cheated on her. But still, losing a wife so violently," I said and shuddered. I only had to half fake that.

"They were going to get divorced anyway. She cheated on him too. With a much nicer guy who treated her right." He flipped the page away from Mike. I studied Danny's face. There was anger there