by Kari Ganske
I stifled a yawn. "Did they find anything?"
"Not yet. If the scissors were from the salon, the killer didn't return them."
"Smart. I wouldn't return them either. I'd probably chuck them into the reservoir," I said, already half-asleep.
"You must be tired. Rest a little while. I'll wake you for some dinner later," he said.
I fell asleep with Linc stroking my hair.
Chapter 27
Another morning; another rooster crowing. I rubbed my eyes—still a bit swollen from my crying jag and lack of sleep—then rolled out of bed. Nugget, my adopted chicken, would be pecking at the door soon for her morning snack. I shuffled sleepily to the kitchen to grab the bag of bread.
A movement out of the corner of my eye had me climbing the countertop. I forced my tired eyes to focus, then let out a sigh. Linc was draped over my couch fast asleep. His long frame did not even remotely fit on the Nana K-sized couch. He had one arm across his forehead, the other dangled onto the floor. One of his long legs hooked around the back of the couch while the other was bent and resting mostly on the cushions. His knee protruded off the side. He'd grabbed one of the extra pillows from my bed to tuck under his head.
My eyes went wide. I looked down at my threadbare He-Man T-shirt that I used for pajamas. I had not been wearing this when I fell asleep last night. I ran my hands over my body, breathing a sigh of relief when I realized I still had on my bra and camisole that I'd been wearing yesterday. And a pair of shorts.
Had Linc changed me? I certainly had no memory of putting on my pajamas. I looked back over at him. In sleep he more closely resembled the boy I once knew. I tiptoed back to the bedroom to get my camera.
Was it intrusive to take pictures of someone sleeping?
Probably. Did I care right now?
Not really. He'd seen me cry last night, so I could take his picture this morning. Equal opportunity vulnerability.
I changed the settings to silent shutter, set my exposure for the dim morning light, and framed the shot. One wide-angle to set the scene—large man on a small couch. With the flowers he gave me on the mantel in the background.
I moved in closer for some details: the ropy muscle of his bicep, his enviably long eyelashes resting on his cheek, the curve of his foot dangling behind the couch. As the light began to warm the room, I got down low to capture the rim light wrapping around his body, casting him in an almost silhouette. I moved in again to get another close-up of his face, this time focused on his lips slightly open as he breathed softly. I snapped the shot, switched angles, and got ready to take another.
"What are you doing?" Linc's gravelly voice made me lose my balance and fall backward on my dupa.
I immediately put up my defenses, then saw the characteristic amused smirk playing on his lips. The eye that wasn't covered by his arm winked open to stare at me sprawled on the floor clearly holding my camera.
"I'm knitting a sweater," I answered.
"Weird place to knit." He unfolded himself from the tiny couch and groaned as he stretched out his muscles. "You need a new couch."
"I wasn't expecting overnight guests so soon."
He shrugged. "I didn't want to leave you so upset. Then it got really late, and I was tired."
"Thanks for putting me to bed," I said quietly, suddenly shy. Something about saying "bed" to Linc made me blush from my toes to my nose.
"I can think of one way you can thank me," he said, raising on eyebrow.
I gaped at him.
He chuckled and said, "With breakfast. What did you think I meant?"
I pursed my lips at him. "I don't have much in the way of food. It's hard to get out to shop when I don't have a car."
"I'm not picky."
"Then help yourself to whatever you can find. I'm gonna put my camera away."
I walked back toward my bedroom.
He called, "I'm going to want to see those pictures."
"Over my dead body," I mumbled. Sometimes photographs revealed secrets about the subject. Other times they revealed more about the photographer. I feared this series of Linc sleeping would be the latter.
When I disconnected my lens to put it in the side pocket, I felt a sharp prick on the side of my finger. I pulled my hand away to study the spot. A thin line of blood appeared—like a paper cut.
Weird. I didn't usually keep loose paper in that part of my bag. I stored my notebook in a different pocket.
Carefully I reached in again and extracted a wrinkled envelope. Then I remembered: the estimate for the sign. I sighed. Might as well rip off this Band-Aid before I put a new one on my cut finger. I stuck the injured digit in my mouth and held my breath while I opened the envelope.
My eyes darted immediately to the bottom line; I whooshed out the breath I'd been holding. It was much, much less than I anticipated. Thank the lucky stars! Then another line caught my eye, the signature at the bottom for the woodsmith.
Lincoln Livestrong.
What the actual towncar was happening?
As though summoned by my thoughts, Linc appeared in the doorway holding a bowl of cereal. He leaned against the frame and studied me, hair tousled from sleep.
"Are you expecting company?" he asked. "I think someone is knocking on your door."
"That's just Nugget," I said absently. "What's this?" I held the estimate out to him.
He took a quick look. "Looks like the estimate for the sign repair."
"Obviously. Why does it have your name on it?"
"Because I'm the one who will be repairing the sign." He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the entire world.
"But Bobby Bachman said that the sign-repair guy was the same person who helped him renovate this loft."
"Yup," he said, taking a bite of cereal.
"But you're a firefighter!" I exclaimed.
"Even firefighters have hobbies. Mine happens to be woodwork."
"Since when?" I'd never known him to be into woodwork when we were younger. In fact, he had even gotten special permission to take an extra gym class instead of shop in high school.
He shrugged. "I guess about a year after we graduated. I got stuck in a class in college and it turns out I had a knack for it."
"A knack? A knack!? Linc, this place"—I gestured to the room around me—"is freaking gorgeous! I'd say it's more than a knack."
"That knack grew into a hobby which grew into quite a lucrative side hustle. Being a firefighter in Piney Ridge doesn't really pay the bills."
"I had no idea." I looked at him again with new interest. Who was this strange man that used to be my best friend?
"I'm sure there are a lot of things you don't know about me, Alex. You left town and never looked back. Never even tried to keep in touch," he said, suddenly finding something very interesting about his cereal bowl.
I had a sarcastic comeback on the tip of my tongue—something about the phone working both ways—but he lifted his eyes to mine for just a moment, stopping the words before they could form. They were not full of anger or bitterness like I expected; instead, they held hurt. I'd hurt him. Somehow, awkward, introverted Alex Lightwood had hurt popular, strong Lincoln Livestrong. If I hadn't seen it for myself, I'd never believe it. By the time he looked back down, the pain I'd seen there vanished.
"I know. I'm sorry. I was... unsure of what to say to you," I admitted. "I didn't even think you'd notice."
"How about 'Hi, Linc. I'm in New York. How are you?'" he suggested.
"You make it sound so simple."
"Why couldn't it have been? Colleen visited you."
Was he obtuse? He really thought that after the disaster of a kiss in his truck I'd ever be able to face him again. Especially after he completely ignored me the next day and hung out with the Snob Blob instead. He probably told them all about my awkward slobbery attempt. I'd wished it could be that simple. I wished I'd been able to forget all about the kiss instead of persevering over it for—well, I was still thinking about it, wasn't I?
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"Who's Nugget?" he asked when I didn't respond.
"What?"
"Nugget? You said Nugget was at the door. Should we let them in?" he asked.
"No." I shook my head and laughed, thankful for the change in subject. "Nugget does not come in. Grab the bag of bread from the kitchen and meet me by the door."
He gave me a wary look, but obliged. He came back carrying the bread but not his bowl. I took a piece of bread, opened the door, and knelt down. Nugget immediately jumped onto my knee for her morning treat.
"Huh. I wouldn't have guessed that scenario in a million years," Linc said.
Chapter 28
Linc's cell phone sounding from somewhere in the loft broke up our cuddle fest with the chicken. He was still shaking his head as he disappeared down the hallway to find the ringing phone. I smirked at the Star Wars-themed ringtone. Then frowned remembering our earlier conversation.
I looked down at the chicken pecking by my bare feet.
"What am I going to do about him?" I asked Nugget.
Nugget pecked my toe.
"Well, you're no help," I said, standing. I gave the bird one more pat on its feathered back and then wandered back inside. Linc's muffled voice drifted down the hallway from the kitchen. Not wanting to interrupt, I went to the bathroom instead. I wanted to wash my hands and face and brush my teeth. And I had zero idea what my hair looked like.
I groaned when I looked in the mirror. My mascara had puddled under my eyes and run down my cheeks creating an Alice Cooper Meets Rocket Raccoon look that wouldn't even be attractive on a Kardashian. My hair, usually flat and boring, decided this was the morning to stick up in any number of directions out of the hair-tie knotted on top of my head. Not quite the look I would've picked for waking up with a hot guy in the house. No chance of moving out of "like a little sister" zone with this look. I quickly scrubbed my face and ran a brush over my teeth and finger-combed my hair.
I was wrestling the last wayward strand back into a low ponytail at the nape of my neck when I heard Linc call my name from the hallway.
"Be right there," I called back. My face was a bit splotchy from where I washed it, but it was a thousand times better than looking like I was auditioning Halloween costumes. I wished I'd had time to change into something a little more mature than He-Man, but he'd already seen me in it, so I let it go.
I met him back in the kitchen where he was finishing his bowl of cereal. I poured myself my own bowl and sat beside him on the couch.
"I like your jammies," he said, tugging on the tattered sleeve.
"No one is supposed to see me in this," I said defensively.
"I've seen you in worse in our years together," he reminded me.
"Yeah, but seeing a kid in something crazy is different than seeing an adult in something embarrassing."
"Aww. It's almost like you care what I think."
"Don't get ahead of yourself," I lied. I totally cared what he thought. I just couldn't figure why I cared so much. The thought made me uncomfortable, so I changed the subject. "Who was on the phone?"
"Oh. Right. I got distracted by He-Man. That was Andrea," he said.
I couldn't fix my face to hide the scowl fast enough.
Linc must have thought I was confused because he clarified, "Officer Martinez?"
"I know who Andrea is," I snapped. Then took a breath and tried for sweetness. "Why is she calling you so early? Wondering where you laid your head last night?"
"Why would she care about that?" he asked. I raised an eyebrow. He said, "We're gonna circle back to that. First, though, she informed me that the Vandenburgs and Poledarks are having a memorial service for Missy tonight at Mike's house. I think we should go."
"Oh no. I'm not going there."
"Why not?"
"I was just brought in for questioning in suspicion of her murder. I'm sure that's all over town by now."
"Well, I'm going. If you want to hide here, that's your choice. But I told you last night I would help you get out of this mess, and I meant it. The memorial will be a great place to see all the key players in one setting."
I sighed. He was right. I'd have to suck it up and face the uncomfortable stares. Means to an end. The sooner I figured out who really killed Missy, the sooner I wouldn't have those accusatory stares directed at me.
"I knew you'd come," Linc said, reading me perfectly. He put a hand on my knee to push up off the couch. I felt the skin to skin contact in my gut. The blush from earlier rekindled and overtook my neck. Luckily, Linc wasn't paying attention. He was washing his bowl out in the sink.
What was wrong with me? I hadn't turned into a puddle over a guy since—not since Linc in high school. I must still be embarrassed about my crying jag last night. That was all.
"I've got to head to work. I'm late already, not that anyone else is there to notice. Why don't you take the day off from your community service? I'll pick you up around seven for the memorial."
"Thanks. I do need to apologize to Colleen and face my parents. I'm surprised they aren't here banging down the door already."
I walked him to the door. Even though I'd known Linc practically my whole life, I suddenly felt awkward and unsure around him. Almost like this was the end of a first date with a stranger.
Linc turned at the door, one hand on the frame. My traitorous eyes flicked down to the edge of skin exposed by his lifted shirt. How did he still look so fabulous? He was the one wearing yesterday's clothes after being crumpled on my small couch. Yet I looked like a disaster while he looked like a god. It wasn't fair.
"Thanks for breakfast," he said. "Best cereal I've ever eaten."
I rolled my eyes. "Only the best at Chéz Lightwood." My smile faltered a little. "Thanks, Lincoln. For last night. For forgiving me even though I've been a grumpy jerk. For not price gouging the sign repair."
He surprised me by reaching out to pull me into a hug. I hesitated a moment, then wrapped my arms around him.
"What are friends for," he said. He gave me another tighter squeeze, then chuckled. "I always forget how short you are without your shoes on." I lifted up on my toes a little and heard him chuckle again.
When he released me, I took a step back into the shadows of the interior to hide whatever expression might be playing on my face.
"I'll pick you up at seven. No chickening out," he said. "No offense," he added to Nugget, then disappeared down the steps.
After a shower and a fresh, non-cartoony T-shirt, I wandered down to the orchard market to sit at one of the picnic tables outside. It was a beautiful spring day. I hoped the fresh breeze and bird songs would carry over into my mood. And help me get through the conversations with my parents and Colleen.
I called my father's cell phone. That way he could put me on speaker, and I'd only have to have the conversation once. Mom and Dad were equally angry at Chief Duncan: "To think I allowed him to eat at my table," and worried about my mental health. "Do you want me to bring you some tea? Or a warm compress?" I assured them I was fine and not officially under arrest. After promising to keep them in the loop, I disconnected and braced myself to call Colleen.
A simple, heartfelt apology worked with Linc—along with crying like a blubbering baby on his shoulder—so that would be my approach with Colleen as well. Minus the crying.
Of course, I forgot Colleen was an actual adult with an actual real job, so I got her voice mail. I left a message for her to call me back.
I gave myself a little pep talk to get back on my bike for a ride to the store. I desperately needed those earplugs if I ever wanted to sleep again. I should probably also look for another chair or some sort of table.
Colleen called me back when I was headed back from the store. I'd found earplugs and some more bread but struck out on the furniture.
"Hey," I breathed into the phone, steering with one hand. "Thanks for calling me back."
"Sure. What's up?" Colleen's voice sounded clipped and irritated. Not a great start.
I
pulled over and stopped the bike. "I wanted to apologize for being an idiot. I've been in a funk since I've been home, and I'm sorry for taking it out on you."
"Go on," Colleen said, her voice softening a little.
"Being bitter about being here has nothing to do with Piney Ridge and everything to do with my expectations for my life. I love Piney Ridge. That's why I chose here to sulk back to. I'm an insufferable snobby grouch. But that stops now."
"I'm still listening," Colleen said. I could hear a small smile in her voice.
"And to make up for it, I'll buy you Scoop’s milkshakes for a month," I offered.
"Deliver them to work when I ask?"
"As soon as I get my car back," I promised.
"And you get to listen to me complain about things next time we have lunch."
"Deal. I really am sorry, Colleen."
"I forgive you. And I'm sorry for calling you a snob."
"I was a snob! And I needed someone to call me out on being one."
"What are friends for?" Colleen asked, echoing Linc's statement from earlier. I hadn't had true friends in such a long time, I'd almost forgotten what it felt like.
"Hey, are you busy tonight?" I asked.
I told Colleen about Missy's memorial. She agreed to meet Linc and I there. As I disconnected, I felt a weight lifting from my shoulders. Sure, I was currently, technically, the primary suspect in a murder, but the people whom I cared about most believed in me. With my family and friends by my side, I felt like I could conquer anything.
Chapter 29
Little black dress? Check.
Styled, curled hair? Check.
Subtle, classy makeup? Check.
Killer high heels? Check.
Although maybe I should alter that last description given the circumstances for wearing said heels. I paced up and down the hallway of my loft, both to practice walking in the heels, which I didn't wear that often, and because I was antsy about tonight.
Linc texted a while ago to say seven o'clock was still a go. I had three minutes until I lost my mind.