Secrets in a Still Life

by Kari Ganske

  Was I crazy for going? I was accused of Missy's murder. Even if the entire town believed in my innocence, which I highly doubted, showing my face at the memorial was a bold move.

  On the other hand, if I didn't go, would that make me appear more guilty? Maybe I could hide behind Colleen and Linc—like sort of burrow into their backs. Maybe I should exchange my heels for flats so I was even smaller.

  A honk from the parking lot startled me out of my contemplations. Too late now. Before I could change my mind, I grabbed my camera bag and started out the door. Linc waited at the bottom of the steps; I stopped midway down when I saw him. Since I'd been home, I'd only seen him in T-shirts and either jeans or his station-issued pants. He usually left his mass of dark hair unruly in a sort of purposeful bedhead look.

  Now he wore a tailored, button-down shirt the color of his eyes with a sports coat overtop. Except for one rebellious strand that fell into his eyes, he'd tamed his thick, dark hair into waves. He looked up when he heard my heels click-clack on the wooden steps and placed a hand on his chest. His expressive gray eyes lit up as he gifted me one of his fully charged megawatt smiles.

  "Sexy Lexi," he said on a breath. "All grown up."

  I did a slow turn on the steps, swiveling my head to be able to see his reaction when he saw the back of the dress. Or rather lack of the back of my dress. Although the front was demure, the back dipped down from my shoulders into a V just below my waist, leaving the expanse of my back bare. It was one of the few dresses I owned and, truth be told, was more club than funeral. Still, I'd argue my backless black dress was still more appropriate than any crazy pattern I would have borrowed from my mother. Besides, I'd brought a cardigan to slip overtop when we got to the Vandenburgs' house.

  When I finished my twirl, Linc held out his hand to me. I placed mine in it and he helped me down the rest of the steps.

  "You look beautiful, Alex," he said, giving me another sweep of his eyes from head to siren-red painted toes.

  I didn't want to admit how much I needed that compliment. Rick was more about corrections than compliments. Rick, I was really beginning to realize, was kind of a jerk. And a terrible boyfriend.

  I pulled on the lapel of Linc's suit coat with one hand. "You clean up nice yourself."

  He'd look good in a burlap sack, but the smoky-gray shirt really did do amazing things to his eyes. And with the added inches from my heels, I could appreciate them at a closer distance.

  We stood like that for a minute before I became self-conscious about drool dripping down my chin. My hand, still clasped firmly in Linc's, suddenly felt clammy. I went to pull it away, but he held on tighter and took a breath as if to say something.

  "Colleen is meeting us there," I blurted, cutting off whatever he was about to say. I couldn't explain why I didn't want to hear it, but something in the way he looked at me made my stomach flip-flop.

  He smiled. "Okay. We'd better get a move on before fashionably late turns into a grand entrance." He tugged me to the truck.

  Colleen waited for us by her parked VW in front of the Vandenburgs' house. The driveway and surrounding curbs were already full of cars and trucks. Safety in numbers? This actually helped assuage my growing anxiety about being here: the more crowded the house, the more I could blend in. Disappear. Go unnoticed.

  I hoped.

  "You look amazing! Much too nice to be at a Hill house. Linc, turn right around and take her on a proper date," Colleen said when we met her by her car.

  "Would you?" I asked, suddenly hopeful for an excuse to not go in.

  "Oh no, scaredy-cat. Our first date is not going to be an 'instead of,'" he said. I felt my stomach flip-flop again. He said it like he anticipated there would be a first date at some point in our future. But I was probably projecting again.

  "What's our plan?" Colleen asked, back in spy mode.

  "Divide and conquer?" Linc suggested. When he caught sight of my big, anxious eyes, he chuckled. "Or not."

  "We'll play it by ear. I prefer to stand back and observe. Maybe lob a conversation starter and see where it takes us," I suggested. "Maybe I should run back to the truck and grab my camera. I could pretend to be photographing the event."

  I made to turn, but Linc gripped my elbow firmly. "No running. Besides, photographing a memorial for a dead person is kinda macabre, don't you think?"

  I shrugged. I really wanted to hide behind my camera instead of facing the gossip-hungry crowd.

  "Do we go for the main players first? Or stick to the edges? See what the scuttlebutt is?" Colleen asked as we made our way slowly toward the entrance.

  "I say main players," Linc said at the same time I muttered, "Periphery players."

  Colleen agreed with Linc. I scowled at her. I'd only get her milkshakes half the time.

  "Well, I still think Mike could have done it. He and Crystal could have slipped out with the neighbor noticing. Or Kelly. Or maybe one of them hired someone to do it," Colleen suggested.

  "You think there are hitmen wandering around Piney Ridge?" I asked.

  Colleen shrugged. "Stranger things have happened."

  I caught a hint of sadness underneath her excitement and hope. It would be easier for the residents of Piney Ridge if the murderer was an outsider. Reason number one why I couldn't really fault them for easily believing it was me. I'd been gone—to the big city and beyond—for so long, I'd slipped out of their fold.

  I tensed as we reached the door. I concentrated on Linc's warm hand on my arm, grounding me. I was innocent. I hoped I'd prove it soon. Then all the accusatory, judgmental people of Piney Ridge would move on to the next bit of juicy gossip and leave me alone.

  "We'll start with Mike," Linc said. "It'll be easy because we need to give our condolences. He's low on the list because of Crystal's alibi anyway."

  I let out a breath. My hand started trembling so much, I almost dropped my clutch. "Easy for you to say. You're not the one accused of killing his wife."

  "I'm sure no one believes you did it," Linc assured me even as several pairs of eyes drifted our way.

  "Darnit," I said, reaching for an excuse to leave. "I forgot my cardigan in the truck. I'm gonna run back really quick."

  Linc gripped my arm tighter. "No, you don't. We're right here."

  Colleen sized me up. "You do look really pale, Alex. Why don't you go to the bathroom, and we'll talk to Mike. I'll come get you when we finish."

  I could have kissed her. Colleen won herself back the full promise of milkshakes.

  "Thank you," I mouthed silently, detached myself from Linc, and hightailed it away from them before Linc could object again.

  I wandered down a hallway but didn't see any rooms that resembled a bathroom. It was probably in the foyer that I just vacated. As I doubled back, I noticed a door partly open that wasn't so on my way past originally. Perhaps this was a bathroom that someone just vacated?

  I pushed open the door to reveal a study instead. The furniture and décor screamed masculinity—dark wood, dark leather, sports memorabilia. This must be Mike's home office. I chanced a quick glance down the hallway. All clear. Before I could overthink it, I ducked inside and shut the door quietly behind me. Mike was hopefully engaged with his guests, so I could snoop a little.

  I didn't really know what to look for—a receipt for a hitman? Did hitmen write receipts? Was that something you could write off on your taxes? I chuckled at myself. Clearly lack of sleep made me loopy.

  I rifled through the papers on his desk, wishing I knew anything about invoices and accounts payable. Maybe Missy was killed as revenge for fishy business practices in Mike's seafood distribution. Except I'd never know because numbers made my head swim. I clicked a picture of a few of the sheets with my cell phone, then moved to the desk drawers.

  Locked. Locked. Locked. Every last one of them. Darnit. I contemplated trying to pry the doors open for a nanosecond, then realized that was both out of my wheelhouse and totally obvious. I reached under the desk to see if he had
taped an extra key underneath. A ripped-up document in the trash can under the desk caught my attention. Really the word DNA on one of the pieces caught my attention. I reached in to grab the ripped sheath of paper.

  It looked like the results from a mail-away DNA ancestry kit. Those were a big hit at Christmas this past year, so not surprising that the Vandenburgs would have one. Out of curiosity, I held a few of the ripped pieces together.

  "Where was your family from, Mike? Were you related to Nazis? Or were you on the right side of history?" I said to the empty room.

  Except the name on the top wasn't "Michael Vandenburg"; it was "Jodie Poledark." Why would his sister-in-law's DNA results be ripped up in Mike's trash can? I tried to hold another piece together in place, but a sound from the hallway had me shoving the small pieces in my clutch and racing to the door.

  The doorknob twisted under my fingers.

  Chapter 30

  I did the only thing I could think of—pulled open the door quickly. Mike Vandenburg stumbled right into me. Jodie stood right behind him, her bloodshot eyes open wide in surprise.

  "Oh, goodness. I'm so sorry!" I cried. "Can you point me to a bathroom?"

  "It's off the foyer," Mike said skeptically.

  I didn't wait for any follow-up questions. Just gave a little finger wave as I moved past Jodie and walked away without looking back. I didn't stop, or breathe, until I caught up with Linc and Colleen in the great room. They stood huddled together drinking what looked like martinis.

  "There you are," Colleen exclaimed when I approached. She handed me her glass. "Here, you look like you need this more than I do."

  I took a big gulp and almost choked. "Is this an appletini?"

  Linc rolled his eyes and nodded. "Signature cocktail. Apparently, it was Missy's favorite drink."

  "Doesn't surprise me," I muttered. "Who has a signature cocktail at a memorial service? Isn't that usually reserved for weddings and bachelorette parties?"

  "Why do you still look so pale?" Colleen asked, ignoring me. "You were supposed to, like, splash cold water on your face or something. Instead, your eyes are the size of saucers."

  "We should probably go. Like now," I said, looking over my shoulder toward the hallway from which I came. "We need to go now."

  "What's gotten into you?" Linc asked.

  "I'll tell you in the car. Then you can tell me what you found out."

  "We haven't talked to anyone but Mike so far," Colleen whined. I knew she wanted to play spy a little longer.

  "Is Kelly even here? Or was she smarter than me and stayed home?" I asked, scanning the crowd while trying to look like I wasn't scanning the crowd. I took another small sip of the overly sweet drink in my hand.

  "I don't think she's here," Linc said. "At least I haven't seen her. We could mingle, though. See what everyone is talking about."

  By the looks the partygoers threw my way, I would bet my new 85mm prime lens that I was what everyone was talking about. Still, I was curious about the gossip. And even if—and that was a big if—Mike noticed the DNA results missing from his trash can, they may not even be connected to the murder.

  "She's overthinking things again," Colleen whispered to Linc.

  "I heard that," I said, but relented. "Fine. We'll take the long way out and hover by some conversations to hear what we can hear."

  "That's the spirit!" Colleen said on a laugh. "Eavesdroppers unite!"

  I gave her a rueful look and followed them around the room. Okay, more hid behind them, than followed, but I'd never admit it to them.

  Snippets of conversation floated our way:

  "So sad. Gone too young..."

  "... never know what tomorrow will bring..."

  "Patsy's already gone back to school. Can you imagine?"

  "Jodie is staying here to help with the kids..."

  I tucked that last one away. If Jodie moved in here with Mike to help watch the kids, then that might explain how her mail ended up in the trash can. I relaxed a little. Why would someone pay all that money for a DNA test to just throw it away? Then again, who knew why most people did most things? For all I knew, the company sent duplicate copies or a hard copy and a digital copy.

  Someone stopped Linc to ask about repairing the sign. I turned my back to the conversation, hoping I wasn't recognized as the sign killer. When I turned, I met Jodie's eyes from across the room. I put on my best "My condolences" face—or at least I hoped I did. Jodie nodded once, and then her slightly unfocused eyes drifted away from me. She looked terrible, as I knew anyone who lost a sibling would look, especially one they were particularly close to. Her hair was a little out of place; her cheeks tear-stained and pale. She fidgeted with a bracelet around her wrist, turning it around and around by the little charm that hung from it. I made a mental note to reach out to her when she had a little more time to process. Since I, too, had lost a sibling, perhaps I could help her through the initial grief.

  Just then I felt a warmth on my lower back. Linc had his fingertips on my skin. He slowly spread them until his entire palm was flat against my bare spine. I felt that warmth roll through me from my back all the way to my toes and the tip of my skull. Before I realized what I was doing, I leaned into his touch, inviting more. He stepped up close behind me, not moving his hand.

  "Ready to go?" he whispered by my ear in his deep voice. I nodded and signaled for Colleen. We made our way out; Linc never removing his hand from my back.

  Once we reached Colleen's car, she practically shouted, "What did you find out? What was so urgent?"

  "Why don't we meet at Plum Crazy to discuss. I could use something to get the awful taste of those appletinis out of my mouth," Linc suggested.

  "Ugh, fine," Colleen said. She pointed a finger at us. "No talking about it while you're driving. I don't want to miss anything."

  Chapter 31

  True to our promise, Linc and I waited until we were all seated at our usual booth at Plum Crazy before talking about the memorial. Peggy Sue shot us a raised eyebrow when we sat in silence as she took our order. I didn't blame her suspicions; we were usually boisterous and chatty. Something about the conversation we were about to have seemed important. Heavy, almost. And absolutely private.

  As I sat there waiting for Peggy Sue to deliver the milkshakes and basket of fries we'd ordered, I thought about the time I had an assignment in San Francisco. The Californian city, known for its cascading hills, colorful townhouses, and the Golden Gate Bridge, also had the oldest running system of trolleys. Those trolleys ran on completely electric rails and the whole city crackled with it. A slight buzz constantly played in the background of my time there. At the time it made me feel a constant mixture of excitement and anxiety—a sense of anticipation that something big was on the horizon. That's exactly how I felt right now—buzzing with anticipation. My leg jiggled under the table and I tapped my fingernails on the countertop in a frantic rhythm.

  As soon as Peggy Sue delivered our order and moved out of earshot, Colleen reached across the table to still my tapping hand. "What is wrong with you?"

  "I feel like we're about to solve this," I said, eyes lit with excitement.

  "Spill. What did you find out?"

  I reached into my clutch and pulled out the ripped pieces of the DNA test. I explained where I'd found them—ignoring Colleen's astonishment and Linc's amusement—and what I'd been able to piece together on the scene.

  On the scene—geesh, I was starting to sound like Colleen.

  "Why would Mike have a ripped-up copy of Jodie's DNA results?" Colleen asked.

  "I asked the same thing!" I exclaimed. "Now that we have the time and space, I thought we could puzzle piece the rest of it together."

  Linc voiced my earlier skepticism. "Before you two blow a blood vessel in excitement, we should at least entertain the idea that this has nothing to do with Missy's murder."

  Colleen waved him away. "Sure, sure, sure. But at the very least, we'll possibly have some juicy gossip. I never have
gossip beyond whose kid is still wearing diapers."

  We worked together to fit the pieces back into place as we munched salty, warm fries and sipped sweet, cool milkshakes. As the scraps formed coherent information, I felt that same buzz from earlier—my heart beat like a hundred birds trying to escape my chest. When I was photographing, my body reacted in almost the same way when I knew I got the shot. There was something important here.

  I leaned across the table on my elbows to get a closer look. I practically bumped heads with Linc who was doing the same thing. He may seem all nonchalant and uncaring, but I could feel his excitement growing.

  Colleen said, "This doesn't look like the results from a typical send-away DNA kit. One of the parents at the preschool had one done on her precious baby angel and it was much vaguer than this. Just listed countries of origin and possible genetic diseases to look out for. This is much more detailed."

  "Interesting," I said. Why would any twenty-year-old need an intricate DNA report? An assignment for a college class? Or maybe she wanted to work at Quantico or the Pentagon. I knew plenty of people who had their entire lives picked apart for the privilege of working at those two places—both of which were within driving distance from Piney Ridge.

  "Okay, not a lot of surprises in this first part," Linc said, scrutinizing the pieces. "She's related to the Poledarks. Very close relation to Missy—to be expected for siblings. But I don't understand this second part." He pointed to section two of the report where the results listed the paternal information.

  According to the DNA report, Jodie was also related by blood to the Vandenburgs.

  "Did the samples get mixed up? Are we sure this is for Jodie and not one of Missy's kids?" Colleen asked, leaning in now too. "It doesn't make sense."

  "It's definitely her results," Linc confirmed. The information on the top was clear as day.

  "So what could it mean? Let's assume there wasn't cross-contamination. Why else would Jodie be related to her sister's husband's family?" I asked. Colleen was right; even if this had nothing to do with Missy's murder, it was definitely juicy gossip.