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

to my loft, wondering how I had gotten to this point. Yes, Rick was the reason I felt I needed to leave New York. His lies about my work and my integrity gutted the connections I'd made there. But I didn't have to leave. I chose to. And I chose Piney Ridge.

As much as I hated to admit it, I couldn't blame Rick for everything that had happened since I arrived. He was the catalyst to my current situation, sure, but I was the fuel. I was to blame for losing my car. I somehow alienated Linc. I just insulted Colleen's entire way of life. I'd even somehow managed to warrant a lecture from my mother. And Rick absolutely had nothing to do with me being a murder suspect.

Okay, so maybe the last one was simply bad luck—wrong place at the wrong time—but the others were undeniably, absolutely, irrevocably my fault. When I first came to Piney Ridge, I promised myself I wouldn't give another thought to Rick, wouldn't let him manipulate me any longer. And yet I was letting my one bad experience with him shape my relationships with others.

Stupid. In less than a month, I'd managed to push away almost everyone who tried to support me. Linc and Colleen had been nothing but kind and supportive and indulgent. I'd been a regular Sour Patch Kid.

I had to fix this. I could fix this. My attitude and the way I treated my friends and family were in my control. I just hoped it wasn't too late.

Chief Duncan rolled out of an unmarked police car as soon as my bike's front tires hit the orchard parking lot. His face waffled between scorn and satisfaction. He was trying to look businesslike and serious but had trouble hiding the small grin playing on his lips. All of that meant nothing good for me. I looked up at the clear, blue sky—the ominous shadow must be from whatever was about to happen to me.

"Ms. Lightwood," Chief Duncan said. "I need you to come with me."

"Why?" I asked. I walked my bike over to the loft steps and leaned it against the barn wall. My soup from Scoop's teased me in the basket. Something told me I wasn't going to get to enjoy it tonight.

"We have a few questions you need to clear up. About Missy's murder. It's better if you come to the station for formal questioning," he explained, standing much too close behind me.

"Me? Why me?" I asked. When I turned to face him, handcuffs dangled from his fingers. My eyes bugged. "Am I"—I gulped— "am I under arrest?"

"Not yet," he said. "But we can do this the easy way or the hard way. Come with me voluntarily, and we won't have a problem. Like I said, just a few questions."

I didn't entirely believe him. If I weren’t under arrest, I could refuse. There was nothing he could arrest me for. Still, not complying would surely make me seem even guiltier. Breathing made me seem even guiltier in Chief Duncan's eyes. I sighed and followed him to his car. What else could I do?

"I knew you'd see it my way," he said smugly.

"Where is Detective Spaulding?" I asked. I needed someone on my side.

"Busy. He may swing by later," he answered. I felt my trepidation grow.

I texted my father and Nana K on the way to the station, told them everything was fine for now, but to have the lawyer on standby just in case. Since I wasn't under arrest, if I began to get uncomfortable with the questions, I could end the interview and leave.

When we arrived at the station, Linc was rolling out hoses in the adjoining parking lot. I wished I were there under different circumstances so I could appreciate the way his biceps rippled and flexed as he worked. He stopped what he was doing to watch as Chief Duncan held my upper arm and escorted me into the police station.

Joy, the receptionist, greeted us grimly. She obviously knew we were coming. Chief Duncan pulled me to the counter and stood behind me, essentially trapping me in place. An archaic-looking ink fingerprinting set took up space on the countertop. I arched an eyebrow at the chief.

"Just procedure. Like I said, you aren't under arrest, but having your fingerprints would help us in the investigation," he explained. I could see him practically salivating at the prospect of finding my fingerprints on the evidence. I instinctively balled my hands into tight fists.

Joy jumped in with a smile. "It's for elimination purposes, Alex. This is like a quicker version of DNA."

Yeah, right. I didn't think Chief Duncan would plant my fingerprints on anything, but he'd surprised me with his audacity before. Still, I knew for a fact my fingerprints weren't on the locket. And I hadn't touched a pair of scissors—whether from the salon or otherwise—since I'd been back in Piney Ridge. Against my better judgment, I held out my hand for Joy to take my prints.

Linc walked in as she finished rolling my last thumb.

"What's going on here?" he asked, his eyes darting from Chief Duncan to me and finally settling on the ink on my fingertips. His eyebrows knit together; his eyes turned to steel.

"Routine questioning. Nothing that concerns you," the chief said.

"Alex?" Linc asked, concern and anger edging his voice.

"I'm okay, Linc. Just trying to be helpful." I put on a bright smile to hide the swelling panic.

Chief Duncan left Linc standing there clenching and unclenching his fists as he corralled me down the back hallway. I thought we were going to his office where we took the calendar pictures earlier in the week, but instead he took me to a smaller, almost empty room on the other side of the hall. I knew an interrogation room when I saw one. The