by Kari Ganske
Mike Vandenburg stepped forward when he saw Jodie in cuffs. "What's going on here?"
"Jodie Poledark is under arrest for the murder of Melissa Poledark Vandenburg," the detective said.
"I thought Alex was under arrest?" another partygoer called.
"Alex Lightwood is cleared of all suspicion. We have a recording of Jodie confessing. I'm not at liberty to say anything more."
"Jodie, I'll meet you at the police station," Mike said, turning to head back into the house.
"I don't want your help, Dad," Jodie spit at him. All eyes immediately turned to Mike.
"Let's get out of here," I said. "I've had about enough Vandenburg family drama to last me a lifetime."
I sat on the couch while Linc rummaged around my kitchen making tea. Once the adrenaline had worn off, I'd started trembling uncontrollably on the way home. Linc, ever the EMT, wrapped me in blankets to ward off shock and made me sit on the couch in front of the fireplace, which he'd expertly lit using the wood stacked outside. He'd wanted me to go to the hospital to get checked out, but I assured him I was fine.
Linc handed me the cup of hot tea and took the seat beside me, running his hands up and down my arms to try to stop the trembling.
"Thanks for coming to find me," I said quietly.
"Always." He turned me to face him. "Alex, when I heard her threaten you tonight, I-I've never been so scared."
"Me neither," I quipped with a wry smile.
"I'll bet," he said on a small laugh. Then his face turned serious again. He played with a strand of my hair, wrapping it around a finger and letting it slide through slowly. "I almost didn't make it to you."
"But you did. And I'm fine. A little shaky still, but okay. No silly twentysomething can take down this woman of the world." I tried again for levity, tried to bring back the signature amusement on his face. Serious Linc was much too intense for me.
"I don't doubt that. Adult Alex is pretty amazing," he said, a smile finally tugging the corners of his lips.
"Thanks. Adult Linc isn't so bad either." I stifled a yawn.
"Come on. Let's get you to bed," he said, standing and pulling me with him even though I was already pushing off the couch. The joint momentum propelled me right into his chest. His arms immediately wrapped around me. He held me there for a moment, one hand on the small of my back, the other cupping my head.
I sighed and allowed myself to lean into him. Had Rick ever just held me like this? I couldn't remember a single time. The only time he was cuddly was when he wanted it to progress to something more. And with that realization, I finally let Wreck-it Rick go completely. I'd never really loved him, I realized now. And he obviously had never loved me. We were shoved together through our jobs and acted on the convenience.
"Alex," Linc said softly. He moved his hand from my head to lift my chin. When I looked up at him, his eyes were the darkest shade of blue-gray I'd ever seen them. If I wasn't careful, I would drown there. His eyes flicked from my eyes to my lips, parted slightly as I tried to breathe, and back again.
"Alex," he repeated as he lowered his head to close the distance between us.
My eyes fluttered closed in anticipation. Did I want this? Did I want him to kiss me? Was he going to kiss me? I could feel his breath on my skin.
Then the door burst open with a bang, and we jumped apart. We stared at each other, each breathing heavily.
"Alex? Alex, where are you?" my mother's worried, loud voice sounded from the foyer. "Alex?"
I started laughing. I laughed so hard, tears dropped from my eyes. Linc shook his head at me but couldn't hide his smile. I'd moved out so my parents wouldn't interrupt "adult relationship time," and yet here they were. When I snorted and covered my mouth, he started laughing too.
"What in the turnip field is going on here?" Mom asked, following the sound of our guffaws to find us in the empty kitchen. She didn't wait for an answer, just gathered me into her arms and held on tightly. My father's arms came around me from the other side and I melted into their love.
"We thought we'd lost you too, Peanut," Mom said, "when we heard it on the scanner."
"I'm okay, Mom. I'm made of tough stuff," I assured them. Harrison was on all our minds.
Linc busied himself making tea for everyone. When my parents assured themselves that I was actually okay, they finally released me. Then bombarded me with questions. Although I'd already talked to my parents on the phone—Linc's phone since mine was confiscated by police—I again recounted the story, reassured them I was okay, and then reassured them some more. Linc handed out the tea as we stood around the kitchen area. Mom sat on the couch while the rest of us leaned against the counter.
"Who made the fire?" Mom asked when all their questions about the evening's adventure were exhausted.
"Linc did," I said. "Isn't it lovely? Almost feels like a home."
"You need a table. This conversation would be much easier if we had a proper place to sit."
"If I got a table, that would encourage people to come and sit," I said pointedly. My father smirked behind his coffee mug.
"Of course, dear," my mother said, completely missing my sarcasm. In Mom's world, everyone thrived on company. "Once I get you to join our book club, you could host a meeting. But not with this sparse seating," she added.
"I still have to pay for the sign and the car, so a table is low on the priority list," I explained. Before my mother could say anything else, I added, "I'm really tired. It was an exhausting evening. Both emotionally and physically. If you don't mind, I'm going to crash. Feel free to stay and finish your tea. Just lock the door on the way out, please."
I gave hugs all around, keeping the one with Linc short. I fell asleep as soon as my head settled on the pillow.
Chapter 34
A few weeks later, I sat on the hood of the fire truck, camera in hand, documenting the Welcome sign regaining its proper place as the sentinel to Piney Ridge. Colleen, leaning against the fender below where I clicked away, clapped, and whistled. The new acting mayor promised an official unveiling later in the week. Mike Vandenburg had quietly stepped out of the role to help focus on Jodie's upcoming legal problems. An ominous For Sale sign sat in front of the Vandenburg home. Rumor around the Ladies' Auxiliary was that he was packing up his children and moving to Baltimore, where Jodie was being held—probably for a long, long time. She finally got the attention from her birth parents that she craved.
I checked the histogram on the back of the camera. The sign really did look spectacular. Since it was flat on the ground for several weeks, a few townies took it upon themselves to touch up the paint that had been chipped and flaking for years. The new posts and new paint really did breathe new life into the historic sign. I smugly, and silently, congratulated myself on being the cause of the transformation. At least my money had gone to something worthwhile.
And someone worthwhile. I snapped a few pictures of Linc, muscles flexing under his tight T-shirt as he worked with the other firefighters to secure the sign in place. We'd pretended the almost kiss in my loft never happened. That didn't mean that I didn't think about it. A lot. I mean even though our teenaged kiss was awkward and messy, it was still good. Linc knew what he was doing then. Kissing Adult Linc would have been even more inspiring, I was sure.
But that ship had sailed away as the wave of adrenaline and danger surrounding that night ebbed. I was officially back in the friend zone. Or even worse—in the "like a little sister" zone.
"Stop that," Linc said, catching me taking pictures of him out of the corner of his eye.
"Outtakes for the calendar," I said, even though I'd already finished the calendar and sent it to the printer. But I obliged. My file of Linc pictures was growing at an embarrassing rate. Having just been cleared as a murder suspect, I needed to be careful I didn't turn into a stalker suspect. I tucked my camera into the gear bag in my car.
Yes, my car. I'd gotten a reprieve on the safe-driving class and the rest of my community service
from Judge Cockran. Much to my surprise, I also got a begrudging apology from Chief Duncan. I wanted to respond with a "You're welcome for doing your job for you." But my mother, knowing the snarky spark in my eye, gave me a death stare over Chief Duncan's shoulder. I wrinkled my nose at her and kept it at "Thanks for the apology."
Linc joined me and Colleen by the Fiat. "Congrats. You can officially wipe this black mark off your consciousness. Much like you wiped out the sign," he said.
I smacked his arm. So what if I let my hand linger there for a moment longer to feel his hard muscles. I may be in the friend zone, but I wasn't dead.
"Come on back to my place," I said. "We can sit outside and drink something cold to celebrate my liberation from all things criminal."
Stalking aside.
A large box sat at the base of the loft steps when we arrived. I checked the return address with a giddiness in my stomach. The first-responder calendars. And a day early.
"Are those what I think they are?" Linc asked, coming up beside me after parking his truck.
"The calendars! As soon as I figure out how to lug this up the steps, we can check them out." I looked around for a hand truck or something—they were always laying around the nearby orchard marketplace. I looked back to see Linc lift the box easily onto his shoulder and start up the steps.
"Show off," I teased.
"Hurry up with the key, will you?" he huffed. "This is heavier than it looks."
I scooted past him on the stairwell to unlock the door, then led him into the kitchen.
"Just put it on the table," I said. Then stopped short.
In the center of the once empty space sat a gorgeous table handcrafted from a piece of salvaged wood, the bark around the rough edges still showing under the light layer of lacquer. The small imperfections and knots in the surface mirrored the rustic look of the loft seamlessly. I ran my hand over the surface, reveling in the shape and texture and rawness of it all. It was exactly what I envisioned for the space.
Then, realization dawning, my eyes snapped to Linc's. His lips were curled into a hopeful smile. Anticipation shone in his eyes.
"Do you like it?" he asked.
"Did you do this for me?" I asked. He nodded slightly. "Linc. It's too much."
"Do you like it?" he repeated.
"I love it. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," I said. "I can't accept it."
"Of course you can. Besides, I'm not hauling it back out of here." He moved forward to put the box on the surface. I almost squawked at him for scuffing the perfect, shiny surface.
I moved to him and touched his arm. "Thank you. It's the nicest gift I've ever received."
He put his hand over his heart in mock pain. "Six-year-old me is hurt. He thought the whistle he won you at the carnival was the nicest gift. He really, really wanted to keep that whistle for himself, you know."
I almost admitted I still had that stupid whistle in a box in my closet but decided that only added to the stalker vibe. Instead, I said, "Okay, the table is the second nicest gift. But only because it's going to give my mother an excuse to come over more often. And if I have to join her book club, so do you." I poked a finger in his chest. He grabbed my hand and held it to his chest. His eyes turned dark again, like they had the night of Jodie's confession.
And in a moment directly out of a rom-com, the door burst open again. Colleen bustled through.
"Sorry. I had to stop by my—" She stopped when she saw the table. "Holy cow! Linc, did you make this? It's amazing!" She spotted the box. "Are those the calendars already?"
Linc dropped my hand and moved to rummage in my kitchen junk drawer for scissors to open the box. I flinched a little as he brought them over to open the box of calendars. I wondered how long it would take before I could see scissors without thinking of Missy.
Colleen pulled the first calendar out before Linc even had the box all the way open. Her eyes widened at the cover shot—Linc and Andrea, both in uniform, playing happily with Fang and completely unaware of the camera.
"Alex. This is brilliant. You have both organizations represented on the cover. I'm in love with it already and I've only seen one picture," Colleen said. She eagerly flipped through to reveal all the candid shots I chose for the spread.
"You have to say that since you're my best friend," I said, downplaying the compliment.
"Why do you do that?" Linc asked.
"Do what?" I looked through a calendar too, noting a place where I dropped a shadow in one and realizing my composition was slightly off in another.
"Diminish your ability." I looked up at him, brows creased. He continued, "I've heard you do it at least three times. Every time someone compliments you on your photographs, you make some excuse for why it's not true."
"Do I?" I asked. I'd never thought about it.
"You do. I'm going to tell you this as many times as you need to hear it. You are an amazing photographer." He held up a finger, stopping the denial on my lips. "You are. You capture more than just pictures. Anyone can point a camera at someone in good light and get a shot with their eyes open. But you, Alex, you capture their spirit."
"Thank you," I said, truly touched. "I didn't realize how much I needed to hear that."
"He's totally right," Colleen confirmed. "You're gonna have every mother in Piney Ridge banging down your door down after this to take their Christmas pictures."
I waited for the slab of stone to weigh down my chest at the mention of becoming a family photographer, of opening a business in Piney Ridge. To my surprise it didn't fall. Sometime during the last few weeks, this place had seeped back into my being. Maybe taking a break from the go, go, go of my past and settling into the slow ebb and flow of this still life was exactly what I needed.
As I looked at my friends and the beautiful space around me, only one word came to mind. And that one word held so much promise, so much possibility, that it practically filled the entire room.
Home.
THE END
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Excerpt from One Click in the Grave
Book 2 in the Alex Lightwood Cozy Mystery Series
Chapter 1
This was supposed to be an easy shoot. One to ease me into my new business adventure. The subjects were slow moving and therefor easy to capture in my sights. A couple hours tops, the client had promised and offered a generous fee for the few shots this would take. In and out. Easy, breezy. Payment upon completion.
What they forgot to take into account was my grandmother.
“Nana K? Do you need those glasses to see?” I asked her. She was wearing star-shaped, rainbow-colored glasses which were ridiculous in their own right, but the lenses were also causing a nasty glare in camera.
“No. But they do enhance the outfit. I’m not losing them,” she answered, slamming her thin lips into a pout.
Her “outfit” consisted of a form-fitting rainbow unitard with interspersed sequins, a plethora of brightly colored plastic necklaces and bangles, and chunky bedazzled wedges that added a few inches to her five-foot-nothing frame. She colored the tips of her spiky white hair to match the rainbow pattern. For my mother’s sake, I hoped it wasn’t permanent.
“You can keep the glasses, but I’m popping the lenses out. They’re causing a glare I’m not in the mood to edit out in post-processing,” I said, snatching the glasses from her face before she could protest and popping the plastic lenses into my hand.
“You break ‘em, you bought ‘em,” my loving grandmother said.
“They’ll be fine.” I handed her back the fra
mes. “Now, what did you have in mind for the portrait?”
Normally, I would be the one directing the subject of a photo shoot. Or gently nudging, as I prefer to think of it. However, with my spirited 80-going-on-18-year-old grandmother, I knew she’d want to call the shots. Literally.
The other members of the Aged Pine Retirement Community had all chosen unassuming activities to engage in for the annual yearbook photo shoot. Beatrice Cornwallace showed me her knitting. Ethel Mayburn laid out a hand of bridge. Harold Martingale met me at the little fishing pond on the property. My grandmother, on the other hand, looked like she was about to strap on some roller skates and join a derby.
As I waited for her reply, I held my breath and thought about what lead me to this exact place. If you had asked me a few months ago if I’d still be in Piney Ridge, the teeny-tiny town in teeny-tiny Maryland that I left right after graduation, I’d have laughed in your face. If not for a douche canoe of an ex-boyfriend who ruined both my career and my personal life by blacklisting me from the photojournalist community, I’d still be living in New York. Or off on a shoot in an exotic locale. His lies and cheating prompted me to tuck tail and return to my childhood hometown to try to piece my life back together.
What I thought would only take a few weeks—surely the industry would realize they made a terrible mistake and bet me to return—had now turned into several months. And although I’d never admit it to my conniving ex or my ambitious eighteen-year-old self, I didn’t actually mind it.
“Think we could find a cigar?” Nana K asked, pulling my attention away from thinking about a name for my new photography business. Since the first responder calendar shoot, residents had been tentatively asking when I was going into business so they could officially hire me for their events. Not a bad problem to have since my photojournalism income was now nil, and I had a needy betta fish to support.
