Secrets in a Still Life

by Kari Ganske

  I heard my parents' voices drifting up the steps as I set up the laptop and external hard drive: my mother's fast and almost constant; my father’s a low grumble interjected in between. I'd almost forgotten their familiar cadence in my years away. As a child, I'd fallen asleep to the rhythm of my parents' conversations, their friendship and comfort with one another evident and enviable. Their unwavering devotion to each other even got us through Harrison's disappearance intact. I rubbed my chest where a bloom of pain started radiating, locking it away in the little box where it belonged.

  I shook out the negative thoughts and tried to regain the calm serenity I'd felt in the woods. Sitting down to flag the pictures would help with that—take me back to the moments when I shot each one—remembering the light and the quiet and the stillness. I did a cursory, quick glance through each of them, flagging my favorites as I scrolled. I'd do another slower look later, but I'd grown to trust my first impressions. If I felt a tug for some reason as I looked through quickly, chances were others would too.

  Halfway through my second run-through, my mother called up the steps, "Alex? Are you home?"

  "Upstairs," I called back absently. I heard my mother's heavy tread on the steps.

  "I didn't hear you come in, Peanut. Dinner's almost ready. Did you have a nice walk?" Mom asked from the doorway.

  "Mmmm-hmmm," I murmured, only half listening as I focused on the photo on my screen. Something in the grass behind the cardinals pulled my attention. It was a good shot, but I wasn't sure it was worth the effort to crop the offender out. Especially since I may have another similar shot without it. I scrolled through the series.

  Nope, just my luck, it was evident in the whole series. What was it, though? I originally pegged it as a bald spot in the grass. If it were some sort of bag or trash that I could have moved and didn't, I would kick myself.

  I heard my mother's voice through the fog of concentration, her words registering in disjointed snippets.

  "I ran naked down Main Street today, so that should take some of the spotlight off you," Mom said, testing my attention.

  "Thanks, Mom," I said automatically. I opened the picture larger than the thumbnail to zoom in. Not a bag. Or bald ground. What was that in the tall grass?

  "We're having cooked snake for dinner," Mom tried again.

  "Cheese and crackers!" I exclaimed, finally realizing what I was seeing. I rubbed my eyes to clear my vision. It couldn't possibly be.

  "No. Snake. Like I said. With a side of anchovies."

  "It's a woman," I squeaked out. "I think... I think she's dead."

  Chapter 6

  "Maybe you were paying attention after all. Although I will say, this little tug-of-war has taken a dark turn," Mom said, clearly believing I was messing with her as she'd done to me moments ago.

  My hands starting shaking. I felt a bit faint. I must have looked upset because in two quick strides Mom was by my side, peering over my shoulder.

  She asked, "What's a woman?"

  "There. In the brush." I pointed a trembling finger to the picture. Just visible was the leg of a woman, turned at an odd angle away from her body. Most of her body was hidden by the bush in the foreground—the main subject of the photo—but no one would just lay in the grass with their body positioned like that. And why hadn't the woman moved at all when I was there taking pictures?

  "It's a joke, right? Someone saw me taking pictures and photo bombed. That's all. Right? That teenager I saw in the woods maybe. Gotta be a prank," I babbled, trying to rationalize the scene.

  "I think we better call Chief Duncan," my mother said quietly beside me. "Come downstairs. Sit with your father."

  What seemed like only moments later, Chief Duncan knocked on the door. He greeted my parents first. Both wore worried expressions. Mom was as pale as I felt. I sat at the kitchen table strangling a cloth napkin in my hands.

  "This is getting to be a bad habit—you and I," Chief Duncan said to me.

  I blinked up at him and tried to focus. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. Everything except my racing thoughts and even faster heartbeat. I kept trying to see the scene live. How had I missed the woman laying on the ground when I was there in person?

  But I hadn't. I'd been so focused on the light and getting my settings right.

  "Your mom said you found a body," the chief prompted when I remained quiet.

  If the situation weren't so serious, I probably would've found his expression comical. This was likely the first unnatural dead body he'd had to deal with in his career in Piney Ridge. He had his hands folded and resting on his large middle; his face mimicked all the cops in crime dramas, but just missed the mark. He looked half constipated and half angry instead of stern and serious.

  I nodded slightly. "I think so," I said in response to his question. I barely recognized my own voice, now thin and unsure.

  "Tell me what happened." He pulled a notepad out of his pocket. Mainly for show, I thought as I watched him. I could see the skepticism plainly splashed across his face. Things like murder didn't happen in Piney Ridge. And I was already a troublemaker because of the Welcome sign.

  "Let me show you instead," I said, turning my laptop to face him. A picture was worth a thousand words. And would hopefully also stop a thousand denials.

  He wandered over to peer at the screen. "What am I looking at? Looks like a bunch of birds," he said, squinting.

  I pointed to the leg in the background of the photo. "Look here. Beyond the birds. See, in the grass there? It's a woman's leg."

  He raised an eyebrow. "Could be. Could be it's a mannequin. Or a kid playing a prank. Or a trick of the light."

  "I hope so," Mom said, standing behind me with comforting hands on my shoulders. "But we thought it warranted a least a look."

  The chief glanced out the window at the darkness beyond. "Where was this taken? When?"

  I explained my photo walk in the woods earlier that evening. "I didn't see it—her—when I was there. Like you, I focused on the birds. Focused on getting the light right in camera."

  "Do you know how to use Photoshop?" he asked, one eyebrow raised.

  I narrowed my eyes at him. "Yes. I'm not sure what that has to do—"

  He cut me off. "It lets you add things to photos, right? Manipulate them?"

  "Sure. But this is straight out of the camera. I haven't edited it at all," I said, resenting the insinuation.

  "We'll see soon enough. Can you find this spot again?" he asked, cutting off further protest about my credibility. He put the unused notebook back in his pocket.

  "I'm sure I could. It's down the path at the back of the house." I pointed in the general direction.

  "Grab your hiking boots and a flashlight. I'm going to call Linc."

  I paused halfway out of my chair. "Why Linc? Why do you have to call Linc? Why Linc?"

  He gave me a curious look. As did my parents. "He's the EMT. If this woman is actually there, she may need medical attention."

  "If," I echoed. "You really don't believe me."

  "In this day and age of Photoshop and filters, I need to see it with my own eyes. No offense." He turned away with the phone to his ear.

  Mom huffed an angry breath. "Well, really, how rude. Come on, Peanut. I'll find you a flashlight. George, get your shoes on. You're going with them."

  We met Linc and Fang at the head of the path. Armed with powerful flashlights, I led the men into the woods. At the risk of being ridiculous, I stuck close to my father's steady, warm frame. As a light-chaser by profession and by passion, the darkness always unnerved me. Yet another reason I loved New York—it was never fully dark, never fully still.

  An owl hooted, and, startled, I stopped on the path. Linc ran right into the back of me, almost knocking me to my knees. He grabbed my arms before I pitched forward.

  "Whoa there. You okay?" he asked, steadying me against his broad chest. Being there felt much too comfortable and much too dangerous at the same time. Fang danced aroun
d our legs.

  "Sorry. I'm a bit spooked." I took a breath and a tentative step forward out of his grasp. I found it easier to breathe when I wasn't so close to him. "I'm not used to so much darkness."

  "Ah, New York, right? The city that never sleeps."

  I frowned, glad he couldn't see my face. I didn't realize he'd known where I lived. Of course, with a mother like Connie, the whole town probably knew my exact address in Manhattan.

  I slowed again as we reached the spot by the reservoir. I pointed, and four light beams followed my finger.

  "My girl's no liar," I heard my father mumble. This time, I wished it were true. But visible in the grass, in a perfect, albeit shadowy, replica of the photograph on my laptop, was the body of a woman.

  With a "Fang, stay," Linc launched into action, carefully picking his way through the tall grasses and pricker bushes to kneel beside the woman. Chief Duncan didn't follow. I don't know why his inaction surprised me, but it did. He probably didn't want to get his shiny shoes dirty.

  Linc looked toward the group. Even though I knew she was dead—she'd been lying unmoving for hours—when Linc gave a small shake of his head, my knees buckled a little.

  My father's strong arms wrapped around me. "Got you, Princess," he whispered into my hair.

  "I hoped I was wrong. I hoped it was a mannequin."

  "It's never a mannequin," my father quipped.

  Chief Duncan called it in on his radio. The Piney Ridge police force consisted of the chief and two deputies, none of which were properly equipped to handle a dead body in the woods. Hopefully, he also called in the state police. At least they would have crime scene techs.

  Linc stood and walked back over to us, a dazed and pinched expression on his usually jovial face.

  "I know her," he said, stunned. Fang whimpered at his tone. "I mean, it's dark and she's pretty messed up, but I'm like ninety-nine percent sure."

  Chief Duncan took him by the arm and led him a little away. They talked in low murmurs. Despite my better judgment, despite knowing I would absolutely regret it later, I inched closer to the body, moving my flashlight beam to her face.

  Missy Poledark Vandenburg.

  I gasped. Except for the unnatural red bloom spreading on her chest, she could've been sleeping. Hands on my shoulders twisted me around so I faced away from the body. I leaned into my father's chest.

  "Why would you do that? Why would you look?" Linc asked from behind us. I looked over Dad's shoulder to see Linc's stormy gray eyes full of concern.

  "I found her. I had to know. It's Missy," I said.

  "Yeah. That's what I thought too."

  I saw an unnamed emotion pass across Linc's face. I didn't even like Missy, and I felt terrible. Linc had been friends with her—dated her even—he must be feeling ten times what I was.

  "I'm sorry, Linc. I'm so sorry."

  He waved away my sympathy. I saw him visibly put emotions aside and transform back into first-responder mode. Unfortunately, I didn't have that ability.

  "She was murdered, Linc," I said, trembling in earnest now. Ice coursed through my veins and embedded in my bones. "Her chest. All that blood."

  "Linc," Chief Duncan called. "Take Alex and George back to the house. Then wait at the trailhead for the others. I'll wait here."

  "Wouldn't it make more sense for them to come in from the park?" Linc asked. "I can drive around and meet them there instead."

  "Oh, uh, sure. That's fine. I'll radio to let them know."

  Linc gave my arm a little squeeze. "We'll take care of her now."

  Dad took my shoulders to guide me up the path toward the house. Linc and Fang followed close behind.

  "Alex, I'm going to want to ask you some more questions," the chief said. "Don't go anywhere."

  I nodded. "The only place I'm going is into a hot shower."

  I wanted to wash the day away. Wash the memory of Missy's lifeless body from the inside of my eyelids. I'd seen violent death before—on location in far away war-torn cities. But never this unexpected. Never this close to home. Never someone I knew personally. And although I didn't particularly like Missy Poledark, I'd never wish this on her. I wouldn't even wish this on Wreck-it Rick.

  Mom enveloped me and Dad in her arms as we arrived back on the doorstep. She fussed and fumed and fed. I ate without tasting, mechanically and only because my mother stood over me until I did so.

  "I'm going to take a shower," I announced when I thought I ate enough to satisfy my mother's fretting. "Let me know when the chief comes back."

  Chapter 7

  Hot water, as hot as I could stand it without my skin melting off, cascaded over my head and down my back as I stood under the spray. When I closed my eyes, I saw Missy's lifeless body, the dark red stain blossoming on her chest. When I opened my eyes, I got water in them. The whole situation felt a little like my life right now—damned if you do, damned if you don't. Still, I stood there until the temperature turned cold, then forced myself to turn off the water and function as a human again.

  When I emerged from the bathroom, I could hear voices downstairs—more voices than just my parents'. The police must be back. I threw on a sweatshirt and some leggings—I still couldn't seem to warm my bones—ran a brush through my wet hair and joined the group in the kitchen.

  I scanned the crowd huddled there. Dad sat stoically at the table; Mom stood vibrating behind him. Chief Duncan lounged across from my father, leaning back in the chair, feet outstretched and a coffee mug in his beefy hand. A young woman in a Piney Ridge PD uniform stood in the corner of the room holding a notepad. An unfamiliar man sat next to Chief Duncan, wearing a sports jacket and a five-o'clock shadow. Unlike Chief Duncan, this man sat forward in his chair, nodding as my father spoke and taking notes on a small notepad.

  When I walked farther into the room, all eyes turned to me. The man in the jacket stood to shake my hand.

  "Detective James Spaulding with the Maryland State Police. I'll be working in tandem with Piney Ridge PD on this investigation. Mind if we ask you a few questions, Ms. Lightwood?" he asked.

  His handshake was firm, his eyes sharp. I immediately relaxed a little. He'd clearly done this before. I trusted him a heck of a lot more than I trusted Chief Duncan, who did nothing but take another sip of coffee when I entered.

  "Sure. I'm happy to help," I said. I glanced again at the woman in the corner.

  "I'm Officer Martinez," the woman said when I caught her eye. She pointed at the badge pinned to her uniform. "With the Piney Ridge PD."

  I gave her a nod, mustered up a small smile, then turned my focus back to Detective Spaulding, who held out a chair for me to sit. When I did, my mother came and stood behind me. She placed a hot mug of tea in my hands. I sipped automatically.

  "Can you tell me how you found the body?" Detective Spaulding asked.

  "I saw it in a picture I took," I explained. I told him about my photo walk. He interjected here and there to ask some clarifying questions, but mainly let me talk unimpeded. When I got to the part about downloading the pictures onto my computer, Chief Duncan sat up in his chair, suddenly interested.

  "I noticed something in the back of the picture and zoomed in to see how easy it would be to edit out," I said.

  "Ah-ha! So you admit to altering photographs," Chief Duncan blurted out.

  "I already told you I know how to use photo manipulation software. It isn't a secret. I haven't used any on that picture yet," I explained again. My shocked stupor moved quickly into annoyance. If he questioned my integrity again, irritation would undoubtedly become full-blown anger.

  "You're a photographer? Professionally?" Detective Spaulding asked, pulling my attention back to him. He was a little older than me, or maybe that was the stress of the job, but had a mollifying way about him underneath the ripples of power and confidence. Some, who were not in the middle of an interrogation, might even call him dark, brooding, and ruggedly handsome. The scar running across his chin added to his mystery. He screamed
cop whereas Chief Duncan screamed Homer Simpson.

  "Yes. A photojournalist mostly, so I don't manipulate those photos at all," I said pointedly, staring at Chief Duncan. "The photos from today were for my stock photography page. I put them up on a host site where advertisers, bloggers, and authors can buy the rights to use the pictures. It's a profitable side hustle. Although I can manipulate stock pictures as much as I want to, I haven't gotten to that stage in the process yet for today's shoot. I was doing an initial cull to see which ones were the most marketable," I explained.

  "So, you noticed something in the back of the photograph?" Detective Spaulding prompted, easing me back into my story. He kept his alert brown eyes trained on mine.

  "Yes. I thought it was a bit of trash or a bald spot in the grass. It pulled my eye away from the main subject. I zoomed in a little closer and realized it was a woman's leg."

  I shuddered as the icy fingers of dread gripped my bones once again. My mother's grasp on my shoulders tightened. She leaned over me to press the hot mug into my hands once again.

  "We decided to call the police," my mother said, picking up the thread. "Even if it was a mannequin or someone playing a trick, we wanted to report it just in case."

  "Convenient that Alex is the one to discover a body right after being the subject of another criminal investigation," Chief Duncan remarked, one eyebrow raised.

  "Now, Chief," my father cut in, his voice carrying a warning. "I'd hardly label Alex's traffic accident criminal."

  "It's convenient, is all," the chief mumbled.

  "Convenient, how?" I asked, that prick of annoyance returning full force. "You think I wanted to discover a body? You think I wanted someone dead? Why? To get my picture off the front page of some rinky-dink newspaper?"