by Kari Ganske
“A cigar? You don’t even smoke!” I said.
She shrugged a bony shoulder. “Yeah, but these old biddies don’t know that. I like to give them a shock. Keeps them alive.”
“Or you could give them a heart attack.”
“When it’s their time, it’s their time.” She noticed my gaping expression. “Oh, don’t be such a prude, Alex. Death is a constant companion around here.” She looked toward the residential buildings. “I bet Harold has a cigar hidden in his room.”
“Nana K, I’m kind of on a timeline here. Do you have a plan B?” I crossed my fingers behind my back.
She pursed her lips like a disgruntled teenager. “Fine. I guess by the wishing well will do. I can pretend to climb in the bucket.”
Faster than I would have thought possible for an octogenarian in three-inch wedges, she took off toward the front of the building. I grabbed my gear and scrambled after her, hoping I reached her before she fell down the well.
I caught her just as she leaned headfirst into the small well. I grabbed the elastic belt around her waist and yanked her back to standing.
“Aww. I wanted to see if I could reach any change,” she whined.
“You know those are other people’s wishes,” I said.
Her smile broadened as she shrugged. “How would they know? Half those wishes no amount of pennies in a dinky old well will help come true. No twentysomething Clark Gable look alike is going to come strutting through the lobby looking for a sugar mama.” She turned to the grouping of apartments behind her and yelled, “You hear that, Doris! You’re wasting your pennies!”
If I had a penny, I’d wish for Doris to be out of earshot.
“Hey, maybe you could pretend to be making a wish,” I said, trying to get Nana K back on track for the portrait. Her allotted time was almost over, and I’d yet to take a single picture.
“Perfect,” she agreed.
I gave a sigh of relief and stepped back to get the full scene in the frame. She stood to the side of the well, leaned a hand on the stone edge, and raised a leg like she was kissing a lover. She looked down in the well and made a little “o” with her mouth. I may be bias because she is my Nana, but it was the cutest thing ever.
Until she turned, crossed her eyes, and stuck her tongue out.
“Nana K! You’re worse than the preschoolers!” I scolded.
I’d photographed the end of year picnic for the preschool where my best friend, Colleen McMurphy, worked. Anytime one of the little rascals saw me shooting their way, they made a face. That group made me work for the handful of candid shots I felt were salvageable. Very rarely did the “outtakes” folder contain more than the final edits, but it did that day.
“Get one of me doing that duck face. It’ll make my cheekbones look fierce.” Her duck face more resembled my betta fish, but I snapped away to make her happy. And made a mental note to check who she was following on social media.
“Okay, Nana. I think we got a keeper in that bunch.” I wasn’t going to tell her it was the first shot I took.
“Let me see ‘em,” she said. Her deluge of costume jewelry jangling as she tottered toward me. I held my camera out of her reach.
“Oh no. I have a strict policy. Clients do not peep at the back of my camera.”
“I am not a client, Alexandretta Lightwood. I’m your grandmother! The matriarch of your family. The life blood of your lineage.”
“All true. But today, you’re also a client. So, hands off.”
She crossed her arms like a petulant child again. I giggled remembering my earlier comparison to the preschoolers. Life really was a cycle.
I swear I looked down for one second to pack up my gear in anticipation of meeting the next client in her room as we’d arranged—she was going to pose by her collection of porcelain cat figurines—only to glance back up and see Nana K with her head in the well again. Both feet were suspended in the air.
“Nana K!” I shouted.
She startled, tipped precariously forward, but managed through some miracle of physics to right herself, thank goodness.
“What were you doing?” I admonished.
“I dropped my glasses down there,” she said. “And I wanted to see if I could reach the pennies. We’ve got Bridge tonight. It would teach those card sharks a lesson if I used their own wishes to bet against them. Half of them pretend to be senile just to get away with things.”
“I’m sure you’ve never done that,” I said sarcastically.
“Who me?” She batted her eyelashes. Wait a minute, were they fake? I didn’t even wear fake eyelashes.
“So, you gonna get my glasses or what? I paid two bucks for those suckers at the Dollar Store,” Nana K said.
I didn’t think I’d be able to reach them either. I may have three and half inches on her in height, but my arms were just as stubby. Still, it was easier to pretend to try than to argue with Nana K. I put my camera bag beside the well and peered into the darkness. It was deeper and darker than I thought. I leaned over the edge in a half-hearted effort to reach the bottom, which I couldn’t see.
But Nana was hip to my game. She pulled my feet up and pushed me forward until my entire upper body was down in the well.
“Pull me back up this instant!” I shouted, trying to push against the wall of the well with my hands. The kept slipping on the damp and mossy surface. It smelled terrible in there.
“I got you. Just reach a little further. I think I almost had them before.”
“I’ll buy you new ones. Just pull me up.”
“See if you can grab some change while you’re down there too,” she suggested.
Completely at her mercy, I sighed and slowly reached down toward the dark abyss. My fingers felt nothing but air. As a passing cloud revealed a bit of sun, something shone from the side of the well just opposite me.
“I think I actually see them on a little ledge. Can you push me just a smidge forward without dropping me?” I asked. I suddenly flashed to the scene at the end of Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade when Indy was reaching for the cup of Christ in the ravine. Luckily, Indy’s dad was able to pull him back to safety.
My grandmother, on the other hand, dropped me.
Chapter 2
There are not many times that being short has been to my advantage. In fact, I could probably count them on one hand: when playing hide-and-seek—I can squeeze into impossibly tight spots; when buying clothing—my size is always in stock; when flying on an airplane—I don’t mind a middle seat; and when falling down—I’m closer to the ground, so it doesn’t hurt as much.
I could now add “when being pitched down a well” to the list. Like a cat, I somehow managed to curl myself into a ball and land more on my hands and knees and pretty much avoid the rocky edges with my head.
“Kurwa!” Nana K’s voice echoed down the well. I don’t know a lot of Polish, but I know I got my mouth washed out with soap for saying that one when I was younger. Grampa K thought it was hilarious to teach me. I thought he should’ve been the one eating Ivory.
“I’m okay,” I said, when I got my breath back. Marginally okay anyway. It was darker than midnight in a jungle cave and smelled just as bad. At least I landed on soft dirt and not in a pool of stank, old water. Only about an inch or so covered the bottom of the well. I could feel the years of coins digging into my knees and hands as I slowly sunk into the muck.
“I’m calling Security,” Nana K said. “Just hold on.”
“Tell them to hurry. We might have a quicksand kind of situation happening here,” I said trying not to breathe too deeply.
I sat back on my heels, using the rocky sides of the well to help me sit up. I still felt a little dizzy from the fall—and the smell—and didn’t trust myself to stand right away. How deep was I? Could I simply climb out? The fall didn’t seem that long.
While I waited for the nausea to clear, I felt around for Nana’s glasses. My eyes weren’t adjusting to the pitch darkness, so I shoved a handfu
l of the dirty coins in my pocket instead. Maybe that would get me an extra line in her will. Or at least an extra slice of cheesecake.
No luck on the glasses by feel alone.
“What’s happening, Nana?” I called up the well.
“They’re on their way. They gotta find a ladder that fits down there. They didn’t think the bucket would hold you.”
And now I was conjuring images from Silence of the Lambs. Great.
My nausea and dizziness had abated some, so I took the risk to stand. Reaching up as far as I could, I was still about a foot away from the top edge of the well. Being stuck in the well was absolutely not on the plus side of being short.
I kept moving my feet around to make sure they didn’t get sucked too far down into the muck. It was like when you stand in the sand at the beach and let the waves crash over you. Little by little the sand underneath is carried out to sea and more sand is deposited over until your feet are buried. Sometimes you could even see little sand crabs rolling up and down with the ebb and flow of the waves.
Thinking of sand crabs made me wonder what critters could be lurking in the undisturbed depths of this void. I didn’t want to think about it, but I had to know. Against my better judgment, I reached into the back pocket of my jeans for my phone.
The pocket was empty.
Well, poo. Had it fallen out? If it landed in this mess on the bottom that probably meant I needed a new one. The smell alone would be hard to combat. I crouched down again and started feeling around in the dirt and along the sides of the well. I’d made it almost all the way around the edge, when my hand disappeared into an opening. I caught myself against the side of the well. With my face.
Trying to wipe the grime and slime from my cheek, I slowly felt along the wall for the opening again. There was a shaft or tunnel or something at the bottom. Probably originally to fill the well from the local stream when it was still functional. I reached in and felt something solid and cold blocking the way. Too soft to be a rock; too hard to be vegetation.
I pulled my hand back immediately, hoping I wasn’t patting the backside of a Jurassic-sized spider.
“Nana! Turn on your phone flashlight and shine it down here.” My voice sounded high-pitched and thin. I really hated spiders.
“Okay, Peanut.” A minute later the shaft was filled with a surprising amount of light. I located her stupid glasses right away and shoved them into the pocket with the coins. I glanced around once again for my phone with no luck. It had either been sucked up by the goop never to be seen again, or I’d left it in my camera bag. Please, let it be the latter.
“Did you find my glasses?” Nana K asked.
I rolled my eyes. “Yes, Nana. I have them.”
“Oh goodie.” She moved the light away from the well.
“Hey! I’d rather not be stuck in the dark down here!” The light reappeared.
Taking a few deep breaths, I worked up the courage to peer into the small opening at the base of the well.
Please, don’t let it be a spider. Please, don’t let it be a spider.
When I finally saw what it was, I would have gladly used all those ill-gotten coins in my pocket to wish it were a spider.
I recoiled immediately and swallowed a scream.
“Nana, call the cops,” I screeched. If I thought my voice sounded scared before, this was full on panic mode.
Still, my grandmother needed an explanation. “Why?” she asked. “Security can handle a ladder. If I called anyone else, it would be the fire department. If they can get cats out of trees, they can get a Peanut out of a well.”
“Słuchać, Nana K,” I said, hoping that telling her to listen in Polish would get her attention. “Call the cops.” I took a deep breath and pressed myself as far as I could away from the opening. “There is a dead woman down here.”
To Be Continued in
One Click in the Grave
Book 2 of the Alex Lightwood Cozy Mystery Series
Ebook available now for preorder on Amazon and in KU
Paperback available for preorder on the website
Author’s Note
TL;DR - I'd love it if you could leave a review on Amazon. Good, bad, or great I genuinely care about what readers think. I'd love to say I write for myself, but really, I want to reach readers like so many authors have reached me. I read every single one of the reviews and take any feedback with me when writing and editing the next book.
Thank you so much for reading one of my books! This was so much fun to write. The Alex Lightwood series is the first series of books I've written and published in the cozy mystery genre, so it has a special place in my heart. Although the idea of a mystery series has been marinating for a while—and by a while, I mean years—the COVID-19 pandemic gifted me the time and opportunity to really bring my musings to fruition. If nothing else good came out of lock-down, for me this series was it!
I've been an avid reader of mysteries since I learned the ABCs. Cozy mysteries especially really speak to my true crime loving soul. As though maybe one day I could become an amateur sleuth and solve a real-life mystery. While I love true crime, the process of solving the mystery is really what intrigues me. Which is another reason why the cozy genre was a perfect fit.
My kids (two daughters who also love to read and write) are finally old enough to entertain themselves—praise be—so I had some extra hours to spend in the world of Piney Ridge, Maryland. I hope you enjoyed being immersed in it as much as I did! Although I took some inspiration from my real small-town hometown, most of Piney Ridge is an amalgamation of everywhere I've lived and many of my own experiences growing up in small town Maryland.
Since my husband and I have a second chance love story, I knew I wanted to include that trope in this book too. We dated in high school—after having met in marching band—but then lost touch after we graduated. Teasingly, he never lets me forget that I broke up with him when I was in 10th grade—an egregious error that is apparently not remedied by the fact that I did marry him and have had his children. Luckily, a decade after high school, we reconnected and have been inseparable ever since. Perhaps Linc and Alex can find a happily ever after as well...
Although, like many of you, I read voraciously and in all genres, my favorite genre is actually romantic suspense. Give me some crime, some murder, some adventure, an alpha male, an equally strong female, and a death threat and I'm all in. Since I'm also a true crime junkie/murderino, I have a lot of plots and characters swimming around in my brain, so there will be many more Alex Lightwood adventures to come.
Why photography? Because I was always told to write what I know. And I'm a hobbyist photographer as well. You can follow my photography (mostly pictures of my kids and farm) on Instagram at http://www.instagram.com/kariganskephotography if you are interested in photography. I'd love to connect with other photographers—both hobbyist and professional!
As a new author, and a teacher trying to overcome the "those who can't do, teach" cliché, I'd love to hear your thoughts on this first series. What did you love? What was your favorite part? What left you wanting more? What photography questions do you have?
One way to connect is through the Amazon reviews. Good, bad, or great I genuinely care about what readers think. I'd love to say I write for myself, but really, I want to reach readers like so many authors have reached me. I read every single one of the reviews and take any feedback with me when writing and editing the next book. Plus, they let Amazon know that you have read my stuff and they'll put it in even more reader's suggested book lists. And that means that I can supplement my paltry public school teacher's salary and keep writing.
Thanks again for reading! I look forward to hearing from you.
About the Author
Kari Ganske
Kari Ganske, pronounced Gan-ski, is a wife, mother, reader, writer, photographer, fountain soda addict, and true crime aficionado. She married her high school sweetheart and has been a hopeful romantic ever since. She lives with her hu
sband, two daughters, and a menagerie of animals on a small farm in rural Maryland. When she isn't writing, you can find her binging true crime shows or stalking her kiddos with her camera.
She has a dual B.A. in English—Secondary Education and Psychology. Kari's Master’s Degree in Liberal Arts included classes in ceramics, grammar/linguistics, the madness in genius, and juggling among other things. She still practices juggling with oranges in her kitchen much to the delight of her children and horror of her husband.
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