Secrets in a Still Life by Kari Ganske (mobi ebook reader .txt) 📕

to say to me, Missy, why don't you say it to my face. Like an adult. Instead of spreading gossip and rumors behind my back. I don't know if you realize it, but high school ended a long time ago."

Missy stood up. She had me beat by a few inches. I didn't back down though, simply crossed my arms and waited. The rest of the salon slipped into silence. Jodie raised an amused eyebrow.

"You're right. High school was a long time ago, but it looks like you never grew out of your awkward stage."

"And it looks like you never grew out of your mean-girl stage. I've heard that bullies put other people down because they themselves are insecure. It's a shame you have such low self-esteem," I shot back. I could feel the heat rising on my neck and prayed I didn't go totally blotchy until I made it outside. Confrontation gave me hives.

Missy gave a little laugh of surprise. "Me? Insecure? What would I have to be insecure about? My husband is the mayor, in case you haven't heard."

"So?"

"So? That's like the most important job in town!"

Now it was my turn to chuckle. "I'm sorry. Did you just say that being the acting mayor of Small-Town, USA is the most important job? Puh-lease."

Missy scowled for real now. "His position holds a lot of power in this town. He has the ear of the judge and the chief of police. So, someone who recently had an unfortunate run-in with the law should be careful who they are insulting."

I cocked my head. "Are you threatening me?"

She shrugged. "I'm just stating a fact."

"I swear if you use your husband's title to interfere in my life all because of a high school grudge, I'll—" I faltered. What could I possibly threaten Missy with?

"You'll what?" A look of triumph flashed in Missy's eyes.

"Just keep my name out of your mouth from now on," I said, hating to let the bully win. I gave Missy one last glare and stormed out of the salon.

At least I had the last word.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 5

 

 

 

"Like she has any room to judge anyone else," Mom said as she hate-scrubbed the kitchen counter later that afternoon.

"Are you still rambling about Missy?" I asked. My mother had been huffing under her breath about Missy ever since we got home. "I hardly think she's worth the time."

"You forget how small towns work," she said, pointing her rag at me for emphasis. "She'll have bad-mouthed you all over by now. And like it or not, she has clout in town because of her husband's family."

"I don't care. You shouldn't either." I waved away my mother's protest before she could form the words. "I know, I know. Easier said than done. Plus, I haven't lived here in a long time. I don't have to answer to my book club or bowling league or cooking club or the Ladies' Auxiliary."

Mom clamped her mouth shut since I indeed took the words out of her mouth. Instead, she nodded in agreement and found something else to scrub. I felt my own anxiety ratcheting up just watching her frenzied pace. I needed some quiet. I needed some alone time.

I needed to find my own place, pronto. That would be priority one tomorrow. Today, I wanted to shoot. The usual tug of my camera had failed me since I'd been back in town. I chalked that up to the stifling, claustrophobic feeling I got from being here. But now, finally, the will to pick up my trusty, old friend had returned.

"I'm going to the reservoir. Don't wait for me for dinner," I said and scooted out of the room before my mother could protest. I grabbed my gear bag from the bedroom where it had been sitting, neglected, since my return earlier that week. Quickly, I checked the battery, memory card, and lenses before stuffing my wallet and car keys into the side pocket and sneaking out the front door.

I stopped short in the empty driveway. Where the heck was my car? The crunch of metal against wood sounded in my consciousness, and I remembered the poor thing was still in the shop. For all of four seconds, I contemplated asking my mother to borrow the family car. But that would require going back into the house and potentially getting another lecture. Or worse, she might ask to come with me. I love my mother, but there would be no quiet if she came. I didn't think Connie Lightwood understood the word "quiet."

The forecast promised no chance for rain, so I could walk. I set off through the backyard path well worn by countless feet, including mine, throughout the decades. One of the first built in modern Piney Ridge, my parents' neighborhood sat on the edge of the pine forest surrounding the reservoir. The hike was harder than sticking to the sidewalks, but I really didn't want to run into anyone else in town at the moment.

The sun hung low in the sky as evening neared, creating interesting patterns through the trees and across the path. I'd almost forgotten how peaceful this little slice of wilderness was. Living in New York for the last dozen-plus years had me accustomed to horns, sirens, shouts, and sizzles. In Piney Ridge, birds chirping and leaves rustling serenaded me. As I neared the reservoir, gentle waves lapping the rocky shore joined the natural symphony.

Piney Ridge may not have as robust and diverse ecosystem as the Brazilian rain forest or the interesting ever-changing hustle and bustle of New York, but it definitely held its own charm and beauty. I set about capturing that beauty with my camera. Although I preferred to photograph people or animals—expressive eyes, emotions, energy—it couldn't hurt to expand my stock photography portfolio. Who knew when