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

but directed more at Mike than Missy. He sniffed once, and I saw the tears welling in his eyes.

"Do you think Mike did it?" I asked, pretending not to see his distress.

"Probably. He has a temper."

"I still can't get over where it happened. And right in the middle of the day," I said, remaining vague on purpose. Maybe he would let something slip—like that she'd been killed by the water, not in the woods. That happened all the time in Law and Order.

"I wish I'd been here," he said quietly, looking out the front window with unfocused eyes.

"Where were you?" I asked, equally as quietly.

"Mom and I went antiquing in Annapolis. I didn't hear about it until the next day," he said.

"That must have been hard," I said. Danny sniffed again and then turned his attention back to me. He blinked me back into focus and seemed to realize what he said.

"Hard for anyone. Everyone loved Missy."

"Of course. I remember her fondly from high school." I practically choked on the words. "Well, thank you for your time. And your wonderful advice. I feel much better about the calendar shoot now."

I stood and pulled my almost sleeping grandmother up with me.

Danny walked us to the door. "Glad I could help. It's nice to talk shop with someone else who knows photography. I'd be happy to help you choose the final images after you're done."

"Thanks so much for the offer," I said, plastering on a fake smile of my own. "I'll definitely keep that in mind."

When we got back in the car, Nana K said, "You'd think he commissioned the Mona Lisa with the way he talked about his photographs. His calendars are not that inspiring. The only reason people buy them is to look at Linc. I told him last year if Linc took his shirt off, he'd sell a lot more calendars."

She wasn't wrong.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 23

 

 

 

I awoke Monday morning to the dulcet tones of the rooster crowing his head off outside the barn. I'd forgotten earplugs on my shopping trip yesterday. Nana K had distracted me with other frivolous things like real plates and towels. Could I shove the towels in my ears? Maybe roll up some of the washcloths Nana insisted I buy. Why one person needed a twelve pack of washcloths, I'd never understand. But they were in my closet, taking up space where earplugs could have been.

Now I had an extra hour to sulk about not being able to find a ride into town today for my community service. All of my usual contacts had fallen through. Even Nana K had plans this morning. My mother had given me her bike when we moved on Saturday as a just in case. I didn't think I'd need to use it so soon.

I was still sulking an hour later since I couldn't find any rideshare opportunities in the area. No surprise there. I laced up my boots for the bike ride into town. I wanted full ankle support before getting on that thing again. Then a tap-tap-tapping came from my front door. Did someone take pity on me and come to get me after all? Could I be that lucky?

"Coming!" I called as the tapping continued. It was too light to be Linc, not that I really thought it would be him. He had barely answered my texts all weekend. I still didn't understand why he was so angry with me. Was it really because of the locket?

When I opened the door, no one was there. A movement by my foot caught my eye and I glanced down. The same chicken stood there looking up at me expectantly.

"You aren't coming in."

I knew as much about chickens as I did about cars, but I didn't think letting it into the house was especially sanitary. The chicken made the little noise again and pecked at the ground. I could have sworn it was telling me it wanted food. I eased the door closed and went back to the kitchen to get some bread. Did chickens eat bread? They were birds, and the pigeons—also birds—at my old apartment loved bits of bread. I half expected the hen to be gone when I opened the door again. But there it stood, pecking and scratching at the stairway landing. I leaned down and offered it some bread. The greedy little thing took it right out of my hand with no hesitation.

"Aren't you friendly." I offered another piece, then reached out a hand to see if I could pet it. The hen didn't even flinch, just let me run a hand over its feathers. Softer than I would have thought. I broke up the rest of the bread and scattered it on the landing.

"Don't tell your friends," I warned as I stood. "I don't want a bawk party up here." I giggled at my joke. “Get it? Bawk party… like block party?” The chicken ignored me.

I went back inside to wash my hands and grab my camera bag before heading down the steps to the bike.

Thirty incident-free minutes later, I arrived at the firehouse—a little sweaty, but otherwise unscathed. Linc barely glanced at me as I came in. He shoved an envelope in my hands.

"The invoice for the sign," he said.

"Thanks." My bank account whimpered, so I tucked it in my bag to deal with later. "I found out some more interesting things this weekend," I tried, hoping to get him into a conversation.

"I don't want to hear it. I'll help you with Becky and then I'm done. I'm not going to continue to help you put yourself in harm's way."

"I wasn't in harm's way. I was at the Ladies' Auxiliary lunch. The best place to pick up on some gossip and backstory," I explained.

"Whatever."