1 Portrait of a Dead Guy

by Larissa Reinhart

  I grinned and stood on my toes to peck his cheek. “Okay, you’ve got a deal. But that’s the only kiss you’re getting tonight.”

  “That’s okay,” he said, hugging me.

  I relaxed into his embrace and tested for any lustful feelings, but my mind wouldn’t stop buzzing over Luke’s accusations. Todd couldn’t be dangerous. He wasn’t smart enough to plan murders and burglaries and not get caught. Or was he? The male bimbo act fooled his poker buddies so he didn’t get the crap beat out of him when he won. Dumb luck, people thought. The dumb blonde front also lowered the defenses of women like me, those naturally wary of shrewd men.

  What was I thinking? This was good ol’ Todd cuddling me, albeit a little too warmly for a recent breakup. I allowed that sneaky Luke to wreak havoc on my life. He was the one acting suspicious. I needed to rethink the relevance of tall, dark, and vinegary. Why couldn’t tall, blonde, and sweet trip my trigger?

  Stumbling out of Todd’s embrace, I cut the light switch on. “You want to pose like you’re dead?”

  “Sounds kinky. Wait, do I get to close my eyes?”

  I pulled him into the living room to show him Dustin’s portrait.

  “Dustin sorta looks like he’s sleeping. He’s got some nice hands there.” Todd stood back, cocking his head with a critic’s gaze. “You’re doing a good job, baby. I’ll help you get it done.”

  “Thanks, Todd.”

  “Baby?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You going to keep that gun with you?”

  I glanced from the blued steel in my hand to the bare front window. Someone still snuck around Halo, invading homes and hitting innocent artists on the head. And I wanted to know who it was. Even if it meant revealing someone I cared about.

  “You better believe it.” I laid the shotgun on the floor beside the easel and picked up a brush.

  ELEVEN

  Cars filled Cooper’s Funeral Home parking lot like it was a Friday night tailgate. After waiting half the morning for Cody to deliver the Datsun, I finally snuck out with the finished portrait while Todd snored on the divan where he had fallen asleep, pretending to be dead. I arrived at Cooper’s without many minutes to spare. The Datsun jerked to a stop at the far edge of the lot. With my heart battering my ribcage, I waded through the vehicles carrying the large covered canvas. I didn’t know if my jitters came from the forthcoming reaction to the painting of a dead guy in his coffin on full display next to said coffin or from the pot of coffee that got me through the night.

  A Branson held open Cooper’s glass door. I slid through and maneuvered my way into the crowded front room toward the chapel. Cooper stood just inside the empty chapel door clad in his ubiquitous dark suit, looking all the part of an undertaker.

  “Miss Cherry?” He raised brows in desperate need of a trim. “I thought Sheriff said you were, ah, quit of the job.”

  “I got what I needed before I had the unfortunate incident here, so I thought I might as well finish.” I lowered the painting to rest on my boots. “I’m sorry about taking your key. I was just anxious to do a good job with this painting.”

  “I’ve known you to be impetuous,” he sniffed, “but not criminal. That’s the only reason I didn’t press charges. You’ll get my cleaning bill, though.”

  “Yes, sir. But when I figure out who actually broke in, you can be sure I’ll pass that bill to them.”

  “I hate to say it, hon, but all this talk of proving your innocence just makes you look kind of childish. Your Grandpa Ed must be real disappointed.”

  “Sir,” I stopped my thought, realizing my protests needed proof. Now that the painting was finished, I had a new project: finding the offender who trashed my name. I lowered my voice. “Have you heard any more about Dustin’s killer? Police say anything to you? They got any suspects?”

  Cooper shook his head and pointed toward the door. “You can ask Sheriff Will himself.”

  Will leaned against a wall, his body relaxed but eyes in constant motion over the crowd. His sensitivity to my glance bordered on psychic. His head swiveled toward me and the brown eyes sharpened. He crooked a finger. I sucked in a deep breath.

  “Listen, Mr. Cooper. Whatever you think of me, the Bransons need this painting.”

  “Mr. and Mrs. Branson are with family in my office at the moment, waiting for me to bring them in. I’ll have Abe take it to them. We’ve got the other paintings in back.”

  Other paintings? Did Shawna make more than one? “Thanks, sir. Be careful with this one. Paint’s still tacky.”

  I handed the painting to Cooper in time to meet Will’s approach.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “Just delivering the painting, Uncle Will.”

  “I told you to drop that gig. You deliberately disobeyed me.”

  “And you don’t look like my daddy.” I planted hands on my hips. “This painting brings comfort to Miss Wanda. Even though it seems weird and a little icky, I’m helping her. And I need to show JB I follow through on my word.”

  “Don’t give me your sass. I am the law. I think you and your brother and sister tend to forget that. I’m investigating a murder. That’s a little more important than drawing a picture, no matter how much they’re paying you. You keep getting in my way, and I’ll serve you with obstruction.”

  “You’re being a little ridiculous, dontcha think?”

  “Really? How’s that goose egg? Heard you treated it to a few at Red’s last night. Messed around with the victim’s friend, then left with the victim’s brother?”

  “Stepbrother. And I would never mess around with Creepy Pete. I just talked to him for a minute. Can’t anybody mind their own business in this town?”

  “Do you see what I’m saying? I’m investigating a murder, and I keep hearing about you. You know what the town’s saying about you? I never took you for stupid, Cherry.”

  We stared each other down with a hostility brewed from a long familiarity. Will broke the look with a sigh filled with patience worthy of Job.

  “You’re like a daughter to me, hon. You, Casey, and Cody feel like my kids. And when y’all do something dumb, it gets under my skin like nobody’s business.”

  “I didn’t do anything wrong. Except for trespassing, but I had good intentions. Everyone seems to forget that I’m the one that fell victim to an intruder.”

  “Believe me, that’s in the forefront of my mind.”

  “Then why don’t you spend more time investigating the scum that’s moving in, instead of people who care about Halo?” I spun around and shoved into the crowd, marching through the clusters of people waiting to enter the chapel.

  “Cherry.” A husky voice strung out my name into three syllables. I recognized the rich resonance of my friend, Leah Daniels. Men parted to let her pass, sneaking covert glances at the plush body artists like Rubens would have given an eye-tooth to paint. She crossed the room, her hair swinging in long, dark ringlets and her body swaying to an internal rhythm. Unfortunately, her wardrobe choices bordered on cataclysmic. For today’s funeral, she wore a lilac print dress that my grandma probably wore to church. If Leah would stop dressing like her mother, she could do some serious man-damage.

  “Looking good, Leah. Like the heels,” I said, “but where did you get that dress? The Blue Hair collection at Kmart? Honey, the only thing that matches that dress are bunions and a pair of Depends.”

  Leah pressed down the polyester ruffles hiding her generous bosom. “It’s my funeral dress. Momma picked it out.”

  “God Almighty, Leah. Stop letting your mother dress you. You’re twenty-six! If you’ve got it, flaunt it. If I had any money, I’d purchase a pair of appendages like yours. At least then I’d appear three-dimensional.”

  “You’re just slow to blossom.”

  �
��I’m not fifteen. Grandpa is a stick, too. I’m destined to shop in the junior section at Walmart forever.”

  “Girl, from what I hear, that skinny butt of yours is attracting plenty of attention.”

  “I think it has more to do with my loud mouth,” I grimaced. “Anyway, Uncle Will’s not too happy with any part of me right now. I can’t stay.”

  Leah threaded my arm through hers and pulled me toward the chapel. “Sheriff Thompson loves you. Now Miss Wanda asked me to sing some hymns. Since you’re here, you can help me.”

  I jerked to a stop. “Leah, look at me, I’m not dressed for a funeral.”

  She glanced at my denim mini skirt trimmed in brass studs and tie-dyed Panama Beach t-shirt with a handmade puka shell collar. “And you’re insulting my wardrobe? The boots are a little much, but I think it’s okay. I just want you to turn pages for me while I play.”

  “Please find somebody else.”

  “Which is it? You want to avoid your Uncle Will or you want to hide from Luke Harper? Or you slinking out with your tail between your legs because the last time you appeared at Cooper’s you robbed the departed?”

  Leah doesn’t miss much. “If you put it that way.”

  “That’s what I thought. Let’s go.”

  Leah strutted into the chapel and I stole in behind her. We slid onto padded folding chairs beside the piano in the back of the room. The rest of the crowd poured through the wooden double doors in their Sunday best. Their hushed chatter floated past us. The large Branson clan filled the front rows. Townsfolk, JB’s business acquaintances, and funeral groupies settled in back.

  After most of the seats had filled, Cooper led Wanda and JB through a side door. With rigid formality, Luke strode after them in a blue dress suit. Shawna, in all her flame-haired-femme-fatale glory, stuck next to Luke with a matched stride. I compared her black sundress and pumps with my more casual attire.

  Four-inch heels. As if she needed the added height. And wasn’t a plunging neckline a little trashy for a funeral?

  On the other hand, Luke in a suit looked hotter than a Georgia tin roof in August. His steely eyes swept the room while he waited for his mother and Shawna to sit.

  Leah nudged me, and I turned to her with relief. “Wow, Luke looks good enough to eat. Who is he staring at?”

  I glanced back to Luke and followed his line of sight. Four rows behind the assorted Branson mob, the hulking Bear reclined with relaxed ambivalence. An arm over the back of the adjacent chair, his head bent toward the man next to him. With that distinctive height of gleaming hair, Mr. Max’s funeral seatmate had to be Ronny Price. Ronny scooted forward on the chair, as far from Mr. Max’s bulky body as he could without appearing rude. Whatever the Bear whispered, Ronny didn’t like it.

  Slipping behind those two to get a whiff of their conversation seemed like a good starting point to my investigation. I rose from my chair, ready to find my new seat. A hand pressed on my shoulder, easing me back in the chair. I half-turned.

  Will towered over me, a massive frown on his face. “Trouble finding the door?”

  “I’m helping Leah.”

  He waited for further explanation.

  “You know, turning the pages for her while she sings hymns.”

  Leah glanced up at Will and waved. “Hey there, Sheriff Thompson. Thanks for letting Cherry help.”

  “Leah. How are you, girl? Very nice of you to sing for the funeral.”

  “Thank you, sir. Miss Wanda was my Sunday School teacher once.”

  “You still running the choir at New Order?”

  “Yes, sir. The SonShine Choir. I’m also the organist at First Baptist. And Cherry got me into a band that plays at Red’s. We may even go out on the road.”

  Will blinked at me. “Did she now?”

  I bit my lip, feeling bad about introducing Leah to Sticks, but a gig’s a gig. Artists have to stick together. “Do you want my seat so you two can catch up?” I eyed the row behind Mr. Max and Ronny Price.

  “Only if you plan on leaving,” said Will.

  “Oh, no. I’m here to help.” I gave him my most obliging customer service smile.

  “Seems like you’ve been a little too helpful lately.” Will shot me a warning glance and circled us to take a seat in the back row.

  While we spoke to Will, Cooper had shuffled to the back of the room, eager to shut the chapel doors and begin the funeral service. A conversation buzzed on the other side of the door, pulling Cooper out of his well-practiced funeral track and into the foyer.

  “What’s going on?” I leaned forward so Will could catch my whisper.

  He shrugged and turned in his seat. Leah and I craned our necks. As the conversation escalated, other people turned around. Cooper retreated from the hallway. The heavy wooden door flew open to bump against the wall, and Virginia sashayed into the chapel with two men flanking her. She tossed her lank hair and stood with doughy arms planted on hips that would make an Angus steer look small.

  “What are you waiting for?” Virginia screeched at Cooper. “Go get us some chairs. I’m shocked at your service. We’ve been waiting half a Sunday for you to come get us.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am.” Cooper dropped his voice. “I didn’t know you were in that room.”

  “Doesn’t matter where I was. Now get.”

  Cooper teetered to a closet and retrieved three folding chairs. I glanced to where Luke half-stood with his mother’s and Shawna’s hands planted on either arm. JB folded his arms and glared at the coffin, not acknowledging Virginia’s presence.

  “Casey’s going to be mad she missed this,” I said.

  Leah nodded. She swiveled in her chair, watching the proceedings.

  Cooper’s assistant, Abe, — so short and round we dubbed him Butterbean in grade school — saw Cooper’s struggle with the chairs and trotted down the aisle in rescue. He passed by with the chairs tucked inside his sweat-stained armpits.

  “Hey, girls.”

  “Someone forget to invite Virginia?” I asked.

  “She told us yesterday she wouldn’t sit in a room full of Bransons unless somebody paid her. Was fixing to go straight to the cemetery. Guess she and JB had some words after the visitation.”

  “Abe,” Leah asked. “Should I do something to help?”

  “Maybe you could go ahead and play something,” he offered. “Best get these down front. See you girls.”

  “I wonder who paid Virginia to show up? ”

  “Seriously.” Leah rose from her seat and I followed her to the piano. With a graceful sweep of her skirt, Leah scooted out the bench and lowered her body. I stood on the far side of the piano to hide my clothing from the crowd.

  “I don’t need help with this. I’m just going to play some classical music until they get started.” She pulled a book of music from her large purse and stood it against the music stand.

  Leah’s fingers worked the keys while I leaned against the piano and watched Butterbean set up three chairs in the front row, separating Virginia’s group from JB with as much tact as possible. Virginia continued to pace before the doors, waiting for an official escort to the front. Her two companions slouched against the wall. The older man had thinning hair and a rumpled suit three sizes too big. He stared at his dusty brown shoes with a vagueness bordering on apathy. A kid with dirty blonde hair in his mid-to-late teens stood next to him. His jaw thrust forward as he scanned the crowd, defiant in his stare. Jeans, work boots, and a cheap button-down fit his definition of funeral wear.

  I glanced down at my swirly violet and safety-orange t-shirt.

  Cooper approached Virginia with slow concentration, thrown off his game by the bizarre events connected with the funeral.

  “Well?” she said. She turned toward the men behind her. “Amos. Darren. Come on then.”
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  Amos Fewe jerked, as if surprised to find himself in a funeral chapel. He scuffled his worn shoes to the front of the room without taking interest in the gawking crowd. The younger man pushed himself off the wall and approached Virginia.

  “Momma Virginia,” he said and took her arm. His eyes circled the heads of the assembly and narrowed in on Luke like a buzzard sighting a fresh kill. Luke blanched and fell back in his seat to stare at the ceiling. Shawna patted his shoulder in comfort, causing a disgusted snort to rip from my mouth.

  “Did he just say ‘Momma?’” Leah asked. Her fingers continued to run over the piano keys. Music to soothe the savages as the war parties threatened to form.

  “That’s what it sounded like. I’m having trouble keeping up with all these family additions.”

  “No kidding. This is getting good. You better have the play by play ready for Casey.”

  Leah reached the end of the song and let her hands fall to her lap. She turned toward Cooper, waiting for a cue to continue, while he stood before the assembly, dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief, lost in thought. Wanda Branson canted forward in her seat. Cooper stooped to hear her whisper. He nodded and motioned to Butterbean, who retreated out the side door and returned carrying two paintings. Cooper struggled with a third painting that outsized the first two by at least a square foot.

  “Uh, oh.” I slid down the piano to hunker next to Leah on the bench.

  “What’s going on?”

  “An unveiling. I didn’t think Miss Wanda would make such a production. I thought she’d pick one and just set the painting off to the side or something.”

  “You’ll be famous now.”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose to quell an oncoming headache before sneaking a look. Cooper grimaced as he fiddled with one of the three easels placed on one side of the closed casket. Butterbean handed a painting to Cooper. Together they positioned the paintings while the crowd watched with growing anticipation.