Portrait of a Dead Guy (20 page)
Read Portrait of a Dead Guy Online
Authors: Larissa Reinhart
Tags: #Mystery, #humor, #cozy, #Humour, #amateur sleuth, #Contemporary, #Romance, #cozy mystery, #murder mystery, #humorous mystery, #female sleuth, #mystery series
Todd as front man on drums drew the females in flocks to Red’s, filling the area before the stage. The male customers appeared in anticipation of the ladies’ liquored-up fallout, tolerating the music during the wait. At this point, the Sticks fan base was entirely female and Todd-centered.
Red stood behind the bar with crossed arms and a clean rag flipped over his shoulder, his concerned sentinel look. Everyone knew someone stole my gun and truck and Pete’s life. Halo folks viewed me with a mixture of pity and scorn, something akin to finding a fox caught in a rabbit trap. Because the Tucker kids were a hair short of a “from across the tracks” identity and because I had further sullied our name by tussling with Dustin’s dead body (twice), this rare tragedy meant I had somehow brought it on myself.
Casey, Cody, and I may not resemble a loving family in good times, but our familial loyalty kicks in for a crisis. Casey whizzed in and out of view, dressed in a vampish version of her uniform, to check if I ate or talked. Cody scoped me from three stools away where he could check on me yet remain open to romantic liaisons without a sister cramping his style. Any unknown man close to my stool received a custom Cody snarl. His attempt at brotherly protection was sweet, although I doubted a killer would approach me in a bar to thank me for my truck and gun.
“My life is in the toilet, Red. We’re talking a serious septic tank situation.”
Red propped a thick arm on the bar. “Come on now, hon. The sheriff will catch this guy. You’re going to be okay. You’ve got plenty of people looking out for you.”
“I know. I just keep thinking, what if Todd had been home when the killer broke into my house? And poor Creepy Pete. He was nasty, but he was somebody’s son. Gunshot to the abdomen. With my daddy’s gun.”
“Did they find your gun yet?”
My head rocked on my arms for a hearty no. “Didn’t think I’d ever feel this way about Creepy Pete. It’s like Jack the Ripper is knocking off white trash mouthbreathers instead of prostitutes. A very conflicting feeling.”
“I know what you mean. Hate to see anyone taken like that, but those boys were troublemakers. That Dustin had his fingers in a lot of different pies. I heard he was at the arson in Sweetgum.”
I shot up in my seat. “Where’d you hear that?”
“Here, obviously. I’m privy to all kinds of things. Can’t remember from who. Most of what I hear, I take with a grain of salt.”
“No wonder Uncle Will’s having trouble sorting it out. The more I know the more confused I get.” I fingered a wing and reached for the beer.
Red grunted and pushed the wings closer.
“I just feel like the answer is staring me in the face and I can’t see it.”
Red flicked his gaze to the vestibule door as another group strode into the crowded tavern. I recognized several younger assorted Bransons in the group and held my breath. I expelled it with a huff. Looking like a cowboy for a Levi’s ad in blue jeans, denim shirt, and boots, Luke sauntered behind the group. Shawna trolled in beside him, swapping out her little black dress for blue jeans and a tight pink top. But kept the four-inch heels, of course.
My eyes narrowed and a scowl burned my mouth. I sucked on a wing and swigged my beer. Using the mirror behind the bar, I kept an eye on the group as they shoved some tables together.
“Isn’t that the kicker? My life was just fine a week ago. Luke Harper walks in, and now I’m a mess all over again. And I told myself never again! He runs hot and cold. And still manages to pull me in every time.”
I took another swig of beer. “Luke played me like a cheap fiddle. I’m telling you, if I was Sampson, he’s my Delilah. At least with Todd, I knew who was in charge. That’s another kind of exasperation, though. I don’t want to be lead dog all the time.”
“There’s always more fish in the sea. We grow ’em good looking enough around here. You’ll find someone else to make you a mess. Besides, you’ve got bigger things to worry about. Like this homicidal maniac running around.”
“Thanks for reminding me.”
“You know what your problem is, Cherry? You’re like a Jack Russell with ADD. You need to figure out what you want instead of just hopping around, wasting a lot of energy.”
“That’s just Cherry’s way, Red. The only time she’s focused is when she’s drawing or making something.” Leah scooted in next to me. “She thinks with her hands.”
“Sure doesn’t think with her mouth. That’s another problem. What can I get you, Leah?” Red whipped out a napkin and placed it in front of her.
“Dr. Pepper. Thank you, Red.”
“Hey.” I gave her a quick hug. “You make out okay at the burial?”
“I heard the news.”
“I’m alright. Just a little down in the dumps. Red’s right, though. I need to figure this out.”
“Figure this out?” Leah questioned. Red hopped back with the Dr. Pepper and placed it on the napkin.
“I aim to get my gun back. I’ll be damned if I let this bastard get away with shooting people with my own gun.”
“Don’t we have a sheriff for that?”
“Don’t worry, Leah. I’m not going to go after him myself. I’m not that crazy. But I’ve talked to a few people in town, including Creepy Pete before his murder, and I’ve got a few thoughts about who took it.”
“Like who?” The Dr. Pepper fizzed and popped in Leah’s hand. She paused to consider me before taking a sip. Red draped his arms on the bar, leaning in to listen.
“Virginia left the funeral early, she could have easily taken it. It’s also crossed my mind Creepy Pete could have stolen my truck, broke in my house and taken the gun, and when he returned to Cooper’s, someone wrestled him for it and shot him. Uncle Will thinks whoever took the truck used it to park at my house and breakin unnoticed. The killer could also have an accomplice. Shawna probably wouldn’t dirty her hands on Dustin, but she might hire somebody to kill him. But that’s true of any of the Bransons. Makes me look pretty bad, too.” I glanced behind me at the Branson table. “My feelings for Creepy Pete were well known, and he was shot with my gun. Maybe I’m unlucky or maybe I’m being set up.
“I got a couple other people on my list, too. I need to start eliminating suspects. Uncle Will says he knows all about the gambling at Mr. Max’s, but it’s too circumstantial to tie it to the killing. He pretty much rolled his eyes when I told him about my conversation with Max at the funeral.”
Red and Leah exchanged glances. As my mind wandered from the suspects, I stole a peek at Leah’s outfit. Pressed jeans, red pumps, and camisole with jacket? Miss Melanie struck again. Leah needed to move out of her mother’s house or start collecting cats for her future occupation as town spinster.
“This is what you’re wearing tonight?”
Leah nodded and smoothed her black twill suit jacket, checking the buttons held everything in place.
“You didn’t iron those jeans, did you?”
“Lay off, Cherry,” Red said. “I think you look real nice.”
“Thank you.” Leah flashed him a gorgeous smile from Maybelline Royal Red lips. Red’s freckles faded into the glow of his blushing skin.
“Leah knows I don’t mean anything. But look here, sister, you’re rocking out tonight. You can’t wear that.”
“Momma and I thought the jeans with heels was kind of rockish.”
Spying Casey behind the bar, I flagged her. “Case, you need to help Leah. She’s planning on taking the stage looking like a forty-five year old soccer mom.”
Casey studied Leah for a moment. “To start with, you’ve got on too many clothes.”
Leah fiddled with the hem of her jacket and darted a look at the amount of skin Casey revealed to Red’s customers. Maybe pulling Casey in wasn’t such a good idea. Still, our options were limited and Casey did have a flair for this.
“You’re performing a role. Tonight you’re not the choir director or the piano teacher. Tonight you’re a rock star.”
“Amen,” Casey said. “You just come with me, and I’ll fix you up.”
“Now Casey, I appreciate your—”
“Casey doesn’t share her secrets with just anybody,” I explained to Leah. “You’re going to look fantastic. Y’all get moving. The band is starting soon.”
I grabbed Casey’s arm before she skipped off with my friend. “Shoot for rock star, not porn star. This is Leah we’re talking about. She’s still gotta hold her head high in church on Sunday.”
“I know. Besides, I don’t want her to steal all the men tonight.” She winked and fluttered her fingers at Red.
“And what about your customers?” he bellowed.
She maneuvered Leah toward the kitchen, swaying her hips in a skirt hiked high enough to charge admission.
Red shook his head. “I hope you know what you’re doing. If Leah’s mother gets wind of her looking anything like Casey…” he stopped in terror of the thought.
I grabbed another wing and waved it at Red. “Don’t worry about Miss Melanie. Anybody who’d tattle on Leah is not the type to show up at the County Line.”
Red groaned and moved down the bar to take an order.
Leah made a great point earlier. Grabbing some napkins and a stray pen, I began doodling ideas. The first sketch ripped the thin paper. With a lighter touch, the second try gave me a fair sketch of a bear, a hand of cards, and dead Dustin. On the third napkin a heifer, a smoking trailer, and Dustin appeared.
However, the last napkin paired Dustin with a sketch of a rakish man with dark curly hair and dimples. I hesitated and then drew a question mark between them.
“You doing those funny sketches of people? Like they sell at Six Flags?”
I shuddered at the memories. Ronny Price hovered over my shoulder, examining the drawings with interest. With blue jeans, a braided belt and avocado dress shirt, he showed a fondness for the preppy line from Belk’s Department Store. I bit my lip to prevent my admiration of his color choice, remembering his misinterpretation of my earlier interest.
“Hey Ronny, I’m just doodling.”
“I’m teasing.” A half smiled played across his lips. He smoothed the gelled pompadour with both hands.
Cody raised his chin to observe my admirer. Seeing his boss’s boss, he curled his lip and turned a blind eye to my situation. I laid my arm across the napkins and shifted to face Ronny.
“The painting you did of Dustin was very good.” Ronny eased himself into the empty stool next to mine.
“Thank you. I feel pretty satisfied with the portrait. Especially considering the difficulty I encountered trying to finish it.”
“Difficulty?”
“Let’s just say it’s been a rough couple of days.” I slipped another napkin between us and let my pen drift across it.
“That’s what they make tequila for, right?” He gave me that salesman chuckle that sounded like a self-provided laughtrack and turned in his stool to study the busy bar.
I glanced over my shoulder and locked eyes with Luke. After a couple seconds of the no-blink game, I slid my gaze to Shawna. She waggled her fingers and dropped her hand on Luke’s arm.
“I’m surprised the Bransons would come here after the funeral,” said Ronny. “Although I guess the young ones wouldn’t be interested in hanging around the house.”
“They lack maturity. Particularly certain Bransons.” I eyed Ronny, realizing maturity might have its benefits. His age came with advantages, like dressing well and money. He probably didn’t stiff dates at the Waffle House. He probably took his dates to somewhere nicer than the Waffle House. Not that I wanted to date Ronny Price, but I counted on him being good for a drink or two.
“What did you think of Shawna Branson’s painting?”
“Shawna Branson’s painting?” He blinked and turned in his seat to face me. After a quick assessment of my solitary situation, he eased into a comfortable angle. “I’d say Shawna Branson’s painting was not as good as yours. You’re very talented.”
“Thank you,” I said, feeling vindication roll through me and break on the shores of self-righteousness. “Mine wasn’t perfect — maybe the hand color was a little too strong — but I spent a lot of time on that work. It’s not like I colored in a blow up photo with tempura paints. How could she charge people portrait fees for that? There wasn’t even a sitting. Not that Dustin could sit for anyone.”
I straightened on my stool and peeked over my shoulder at Luke. Finishing a remark to a cousin across the table, he swigged his beer and glanced at the bar. I scooted on my stool closer to Ronny and felt the tingle of satisfaction at Luke’s eyebrow quiver. I swung my attention back to the bar and glanced at my empty bottle. If I could keep Ronny’s attention, I might gain some helpful information. And it didn’t hurt to keep Luke guessing. Maybe it would prevent him from dancing with Shawna when the band started, because if that happened I might do something stupid. Like go home with Todd.
“I could use another drink,” I said. “This week has been so stressful, and I feel like letting my hair down.”
“Hey, Red,” called Ronny. “How about a couple of drinks over here?”
The simplicity of men sometimes made life easy. “Thanks.”
“My pleasure,” he said and scooted his stool closer to be heard over the noise of the crowded bar. “So what are you working on now? Art wise?”
“I lost a framing job today and got a call from the art league in Stillwater. They’re putting off the local artist show where I was supposed to exhibit. This funeral gig really hurt my career.” I lobbed an angry glance in the bar mirror at Shawna. Her attention riveted on the stage where clusters of women were trying to catch Todd’s attention. I added a pin-up figure with horns and a pitchfork to the circles on the napkin. My pen sketched in a tiny mustache and beard on the girl’s face.
“Too bad you can’t do more for the Bransons. Those folks have plenty of money.”
“Oh, I have another little job. A memory box. You probably heard about it.” I grabbed another napkin and drew a gridded box. Tiny cars filled in the holes.
Ronny leaned closer to listen. “What’s a memory box?”
“A deep frame partitioned to show objects. It can be for anything. Baby or wedding mementos, usually.” I gnawed the pen cap, thinking of Dustin’s treasures. I hadn’t encased the items yet, wanting to discuss their validity with Miss Wanda. I added a belt buckle to the little box on the napkin.
Ronny pulled out his wallet and threw some bills on the bar as Red approached. I eyed the drink set before me with suspicion. Ronny picked up his rocks glass. The ice tinkled in amber liquid, and he tipped it toward me. “Cheers.”
“Cheers,” I replied. My brow furrowed at the long stemmed martini glass filled with magenta liquid. We clinked our glasses together. Ronny took a strong sip of his drink while I hesitated. “What is this?”
“I got you a Cosmo,” Ronny said. “Do you like them?”
“I don’t know. Never had one. I mostly stick with beer. What are you drinking?”
“Scotch on the rocks.” Smiling, he took another sip. He slid closer. “I think we may be some of the few sophisticates in Halo. I admire you for being an artist and going away to school. I like living in Halo, too, but sometimes the people here don’t understand quality. Not like me. Or the Bransons.”
Ronny turned in his seat and lifted his glass to the table behind us. I stole a glance in the mirror at Luke who nodded toward Ronny and half-heartedly lifted his beer.
Sophisticated? I don’t think I’d ever thought of myself as sophisticated. I glanced at my bedazzled tomato-red Henley. I had replaced the tiny buttons with orange and pink rhinestones and decorated the back in a kind of Pointillist beach scene. My denim cutoffs had purple and blue rhinestones along the pockets and seams. I drew the line at bejeweling my boots. “Speaking of the Bransons, how do you like working at the dealership?”
“Truthfully, some days are better than others. Been hit hard by the economy. But when it’s good, the money is great. A couple years ago I bought a condo on the Gulf. Padre Island. Incredible beach and close enough to slip over to Mexico whenever I feel the call for fresh tequila.”
“What’s JB like?” I fished carefully. “He seems like he’d be a difficult boss.”
“I don’t really think of him as a boss. We’re more like equals. I’m head of sales, you know.” Ronny slurped the rest of his scotch and shoved it on the bar. “But if you really want to know, he can be a pain in the ass. Especially with this Dustin business. Not that I don’t feel bad for the family.”
“How do you mean? He hasn’t appeared like the grieving father to me.”
“Exactly. He’s trying to work all these deals in between the visitation and funeral. At least, I think that’s what’s going on. He’s always in meetings or on the phone, and I haven’t had a chance to talk to him. He even blew me off the other day to meet with that jackass.”
“Which jackass would that be?” I waved at Red and pointed toward Ronny’s glass. Liquor seemed to be loosening the greased slickster, and I had a feeling where the conversation headed.
“You met him the other day at the dealership. I think you experienced his so-called European sophistication and first-class personality.”
“Max Avtaikin? He did lack a bedside manner. I’ve also heard that Mr. Max runs a little poker game in his fancy basement.”
“Really?” Ronny pointed at my empty glass as Red turned. “Make it two, Red.”
I glanced at the refill Red poured into Ronny’s glass. The Cosmo tasted like candy, and Ronny’s admissions spurred me to something stronger. “Let me try one of those instead.” I fluttered my eyelashes. “If you’re buying, Ronny.”
“Sure, sure,” he said. His hands drifted to his hair.
Red stared at me as if I had grown horns. “You want a scotch? How about a beer?”
“Single malt for the lady,” Ronny said. “Spare no expense, barkeep.” He shook his glass to make the ice cubes swirl and took a large swallow. “Like butter down your throat. Warm butter.”
I grasped the glass Red offered and socked back a strong slurp. Tears sprang into my eyes and a shuddering cough burned through my lungs. “Kind of burns. All the way through my sinuses.” My nose hairs felt singed.
“You’re funny.”
Noise swelled from the far side of the bar, and I twisted in my seat. Before the stage, a table of women hooted in ecstatic revelry. Todd had reappeared on the stage. He smiled and waved at their enthusiasm. Grabbing a notebook off the floor, he strode toward the kitchen. I watched him exit the room in a stiff-legged swagger. He had changed his cargo shorts for tight, black faux-leather pants.
Shawna swooped in between Cody and Ronny, running a hand over her smooth up-do. “Excuse me,” she called to Red. “Your waitstaff is dawdling like we’re willing to wait all night. We need menus and a better waitress.”
Red handed her menus and scuttled to the far end of the bar to lecture Casey.
Shawna arched an eyebrow in my direction. “I’m surprised you’d show your face in here tonight, Cherry.”
Cody whistled low and tipped his cap back. Ronny’s head snapped to the right. He gave Shawna a once-over followed by a hair smooth.
“I can’t think why,” I said. “I usually pay my tab.”
The laughter trilling from her glossy peach lips reminded me of a jay squawking. She fanned her bosom, directing the men’s eyes toward her bounty. “Always joking. But humor is a coping mechanism. If my life were as unfortunate as yours, I’d guess I paint on a happy face, too.”
“I suppose you would, considering how much paint you use on your face anyway.”
“Didn’t your mother teach you not to talk so ugly?” She snatched the menus and slid away from the bar. “Oh, I’m sorry. I guess she couldn’t, considering she wasn’t around.”
“Ouch,” said Ronny.
“That’s nothing,” I said, taking a strong pull from the scotch. “You should have heard what she said about me in high school. You might have, if you were at my senior homecoming football game when we played Line Creek. That was before they started locking the broadcaster’s booth.”
