1 Portrait of a Dead Guy

by Larissa Reinhart

  “Good Lord in heaven.” Grandpa ran his hands over his face. “What are you doing to us, Cherry? This is what happens when you get above your raising. I didn’t like you traipsing off to Savannah to hang out with all those fruitcakes. Everyone said, ‘Let her go. She’s got some talent, let her do something with it.’ I said, ‘Why not go to a school with some football then?’”

  He shook his head in disgust. “But no, you never listen to me or anyone. Had to go off to that crazy school and become ‘an artist.’” He mimicked my voice in falsetto. “Look what it’s done to you. Ruining folks’ funerals. I’ve a mind to jerk you out of Gam’s house and bring you back here where I can keep an eye on you.”

  “Cody.” I thumped the table. “Will you tell him that is not what happened? Grandpa, you know Cody exaggerates.”

  Cody shrugged his shoulders and folded his arms behind his head. “That’s just what I heard.”

  “That’s not what happened. And it wasn’t my portrait that freaked everybody out.”

  “So it really was a painting that caused everyone to go crazy?” Casey leaned forward on her arms. “I think there was something about that on Oprah with kids watching a cartoon on TV. The cartoon made all these kids have a seizure. Is that what happened with your painting?”

  “No, that’s not what happened with my painting. My portrait is beautiful. A gorgeous deep purple underpainting, which was a perfect tone. Very moody but still somber. And when I overpainted the cool with warm flesh tones and some pearly highlights, the hands popped from the blue suit. Dustin had wonderful hands. He could have been an artist with those long fingers. The hands almost glow in that coffin.”

  “Glowing hands?” Casey wrinkled her nose. “No wonder people had seizures.”

  Grandpa shook his head in shame, while Cody barked with laughter. He leaned back in the rattan chair until the hoop resting on the floor began to tip. Tears ran down his face as he snorted and choked on the glowing hands image.

  “It was Dustin’s childhood portrait that caused fits.”

  “I heard Shawna Branson had a nice drawing of Dustin as an angel,” said Cody.

  “An angel in camo gear holding a dead turkey. Has everyone gone insane?” I stomped away from the table toward the door, bumping Cody’s chair on my way. “Y’all are just mad because you didn’t see that funeral in person. And no one had a seizure.”

  “Someone might have had a seizure.” Casey nodded. “I’ll ask around.”

  “I was there.” I shouted and kicked the bag sitting next to the door. “Oh crap, this is Dustin’s collection. I hope I didn’t break anything.” I leaned forward to check the contents. “I need to finish this thing.”

  “Call me when dinner is ready. You best watch yourself young lady. That house in town belongs to the family, and I can take it back, taxes and all.” Grandpa drew his wiry frame out of his chair. His shrunken body straightened with dignity and voice shook with righteous indignation. “You know the Tucker reputation falls on you three kids now. It may not be fair, but that’s the way it is.”

  The screen door slammed against the wall. I jumped up and turned to face Cody, but he had slipped through the living room doorway.

  “You better run, Cody,” I called after him and flashed a look at Casey. “Why do you two love to get me into trouble?”

  “If you’d look around, we’ve got nothing better to do.”

  “Then you’re going to help me figure out how to fix my reputation while I make the memory box.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And you can heat me some mac-n-cheese.”

  Fueled by scrumptious cheesy noodles, I puttered with the memory box collection in the sunny kitchen. Casey sat across from me, eager to discuss the various possibilities leading to Dustin’s death. True to her nature, Casey quickly poked holes in my favorite theory: Shawna battering Dustin to death in outrage over the humiliation of a sex scandal.

  “Can you see Shawna risking breaking a nail?” Casey asked. “She’s into mind games. If Shawna killed someone, she’d hire a hit man and not dirty her hands. You just want to get back at her for spreading rumors about you robbing Dustin’s corpse.”

  “Was she behind that?” I pounded the table, causing the toy cars to roll. “I knew it. She knew my painting would outclass hers. Which it did, glowing hands or not. Why does she want to ruin me?”

  “It’s not just you. You’re just an easy target. I heard in high school she bullied a cheerleader into dropping out of school. Cheerleaders don’t usually lack self-confidence.”

  “Neither do I. Or at least I don’t let anyone know when I do.”

  “No kidding. Why do you think Cody and I have such fun with you?”

  “Anyway,” I shot Casey a hard look, “you don’t think it was Shawna.”

  “I don’t think you could pay her to go in a dirty garage. She’s just a bitch, not a killer.”

  “Luke said Dustin was hit from behind. Which means Dustin knew and trusted whoever killed him. He was looking up, getting ready to drain oil, when pow.”

  “If it was the torque wrench,” Casey said. “You’re going on Curtis Mather’s assumption.”

  “He seemed pretty certain. Whoever it was knew Dustin would be working on his Malibu in that garage after hours. Alone.”

  “That’s where he dealed. Everyone knows that.” Casey picked up a jeweled watch and tried it on her wrist. “I like this one. Do you think Miss Wanda would notice it gone?”

  “Red said Dustin and Virginia tried to sell drugs in the County Line parking lot.” I glanced at Casey. “Put the watch back. That’s all I need, getting accused of stealing Dustin’s jewelry. And why do you think Miss Wanda is letting me make this memory box if she believes I tried to steal Dustin’s baby teeth?”

  “Because she knows you didn’t try to steal Dustin’s baby teeth. It’s obvious you were there to paint. Why would you make such a mess if you were going to steal something?”

  “Exactly. Then why does everyone believe Shawna and not me? You know I had an appointment to do some framing for Mrs. Malleck and she called and cancelled? I’m losing jobs over this thing.”

  “You know how it is in Halo.” Casey tossed the watch on the table. “Appearances mean more than fact. You were at the wrong place at the wrong time and therefore you are guilty of something.” A half-smile twisted the corner of her mouth. “And I think the charge of trespassing still applies.”

  “Trespassing I can deal with. But you’re right about appearances. Maybe Dustin’s death was drug related. But there are a lot of folks who didn’t like Dustin. Shawna admitted he had incriminating pictures. He worked for Mr. Max who runs a poker game in his basement for highfalutin people with deep pockets. JB has some secrets. If Dustin would have incriminating pictures of his cousin, you think he would sell out his boss or his dad? Or his stepbrother?”

  “With Dustin, anything is possible.” Casey snagged the lion’s head belt buckle, tilting the face so the light bounced a ruby glow on the tabletop. “You don’t buy stuff like this by working at an old garage.”

  “Good point.” I positioned a few old coins between the cars and the class ring. “And speaking of garages, what do you think happened to my truck?”

  The clatter of Tater’s hooves on the porch followed by the sound of gravel churning in the driveway caught our attention. We flicked a glance toward the window over the sink. Casey hopped up and peered through the gingham curtain.

  “Why don’t you ask the sheriff? That’s him now.”

  “Help me hide this stuff. If Uncle Will knows I’m doing another job for the Bransons, he’ll kill me himself.”

  Will and I contemplated one another across the kitchen table while Casey rattled dishes behind us. She plonked a steaming cup of coffee before Will and returned to the counter. Soup bubbled on t
he stove. Sweet smoky bacon popped and sizzled on the griddle pan. Will rubbed a hand over his face and let it drop next to the coffee cup.

  “Thank you, Casey honey, but you don’t need to go to all this trouble.”

  “No trouble, Uncle Will.”

  Will sniffed and threw a glance at me. We both knew Casey found a project in the kitchen to listen to our conversation. I wiggled in my chair. I couldn’t control myself from staring at the bag holding Dustin’s collection by the door. Dragging my eyes back to the table, I tried to concentrate on Will.

  “So what brings you by? Rest stop on your journey? How was the burial? Hear anything about my truck yet?”

  “The burial was quiet, thank the Lord.” Will drummed his fingers on the table.

  I shot another glance toward the bag and looked back at Will with a forced smile.

  “At least that’s what my deputy said. Virginia Springhouser disappeared. I had Chris Wellington take Darren and Amos Fewe to the cemetery and stick with them. Darren, by the way, is not her son. He is Amos Fewe’s son.”

  “Why’d she pretend he’s her son?”

  “That remains to be seen, but most likely to get back at JB.” Will paused and sipped his coffee. “Now Cherry, I need to talk to you about something.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned back in the chair. My eyes wandered back to the shopping bag. “What? Is this about what happened at the funeral? That was not my fault.”

  “I do have news about your truck.”

  I straightened in the chair. Casey flipped the bacon from the pan and spun around to listen. “Did you find it?”

  “We did.” He held the mug between his hands and rotated it clockwise three times.

  The pause seemed ominous. I glanced at Casey. She gave up the pretense of cooking and slipped behind my chair.

  Will filled his chest with air and expelled it with slow deliberation. “Cherry. I need you to fill in some details about last night and this morning. Let’s start with the Datsun. You drove it to Cooper’s this morning and arrived a little before ten?”

  “What’s this about, Uncle Will?” Casey spoke for me. She tightened a hand on my shoulder.

  Will flickered a glance to Casey and looked back at me. “Just answer the question, Cherry.”

  “Yes, sir. I picked up Casey yesterday and drove it to Red’s last night. Left it there and got a ride home. Casey took it home, and Cody dropped it off at about nine-thirty this morning. I took him to work and got to Cooper’s just before ten like you said. Is my truck okay? Did someone take it for a joyride and get in an accident?”

  Will rotated the mug in the opposite direction. “Who might have seen your truck last night at Red’s?”

  “Uh, a table of nurses. Couple families. Red, of course. Who were those men at your table, Casey?”

  “Trevor Collins and Lobby Smith.”

  “Anyone else?” Will pulled out a small notebook from his shirt pocket.

  “Big hunter at the bar,” I said.

  “Merry Blake,” Casey corrected.

  “And I talked to Pete Billocks and Jackson Raydorn. They’re Todd McIntosh’s roommates. And Casey said Todd showed up later, after I left. But my truck was still there.”

  Will scratched the names on the pad and tapped the pen against the table.

  Casey flopped onto a chair. “Don’t forget Luke Harper.”

  He scribbled the names. “Anyone else?”

  “Not really,” Casey said. “It was pretty quiet. Oh, a big table for a Little League team and all their coaches and parents. They were from out of town, though.” Casey stuck out her lip and rubbed it. “A couple came in late. I don’t know them either.”

  “Okay,” Will flipped the cover on his notebook shut and took another sip of coffee. “So last night, you took your sister to Red’s and left with?”

  “Luke Harper,” I said with a small cough, “and some wings.”

  “And he left your house at what time?”

  “Oh, about an hour later. We ate some wings and then heard something out in my carport. He took off soon after that.”

  “Say that again?”

  “We heard noises in the carport, sir. The lights were off in the house,” I ignored Casey’s snigger, “but the light in the carport was on. Somebody broke it. Luke went out to check. I got my gun out. That somehow ticked Luke off, and he left.”

  “What gun is this? Karl Tucker’s Remington?”

  “Yes, sir.” Some fact tickled my mind. Something Casey had said earlier. “Hey Case, when did Pete leave?”

  “Before Todd went to your house.”

  “Todd McIntosh went to your house, too?”

  I sounded like the town harlot but with nothing to show for it.

  “Todd came a minute after Luke left. It was Casey’s idea of a joke to send him over and see what would happen.”

  “Peter Billocks.” Will massaged his cheeks with one hand. “Did he return to the County Line Tap, Casey?”

  “No. He threw a hissy after Cherry and Luke left. Took off after that. I’m sorry, Cherry. That was actually another reason why I sent Todd to your place. I got the feeling that Pete might follow y’all home and make a scene.”

  “What did you do with the gun, Cherry?”

  “Took it in the house, of course. I had to finish the painting. And Todd came in with me. I used him for a model.”

  “What did you do with the gun?” Will repeated.

  “I, uh.” My thoughts ran over the evening. “I walked in with Todd. Did I put the gun down then? I must have. On the counter? No wait, he said something to me about it in the living room. I know. I set it by my easel. I felt nervous.”

  “What time did Todd McIntosh leave?”

  I scooted around in my chair and stuck my hands under my legs. “I don’t know. He was asleep when I left. On the lounge in the living room. Somebody’s always crashing at my house. You know that.”

  “Have you talked to Todd today?” Will pushed out of his chair and pulled the radio from his belt.

  “No.”

  I glanced at Casey. She shrugged.

  “What is going on?”

  “Mrs. Leonard saw your truck driving down your street around ten-thirty this morning. She has shingles and didn’t go to the funeral. But lucky for us, she kept an eye on the square, same as always. Someone stopped at your house and forced their way in through the back door. Then they drove your truck back to Cooper’s and parked it in back. Cooper actually found it after the burial.”

  “Someone used the Datsun to break in my house and then returned it?”

  “Why would they keep it? It barely runs,” said Casey.

  “Someone broke into my house?” I took a shaky breath. “Oh God, Todd. Was Todd still there?”

  “Not that we’re aware of. I’m going to need you to come to the house and see if anything is missing.”

  “Did they take my gun, Uncle Will?”

  “That’s what concerns me. Someone shot Peter Billocks with a shotgun. He was found next to your truck.”

  “Shot? Is he dead?”

  Will nodded his head with closed eyes. “Let’s go see if your gun is missing.”

  My stomach dropped to my feet. “Oh my Heavenly Father, help me. Somebody used my gun for murder.” I laid my face on the cool tabletop and blinked away the black spots dancing before my eyes.

  “We don’t know that for sure. No weapon was found. Billocks’ car was spotted across the street from the funeral home in the old pharmacy parking lot. Probably saw your truck drive into Cooper’s and walked over to confront you. We found empty liquor bottles and other paraphernalia in his vehicle. I’m going to have my dispatcher put some calls out for Todd McIntosh.”

  Will walked around t
he table to stand behind my chair. “Thanks for the coffee, Casey. Can I take one of those bacon sandwiches to go?” He cupped a hand on my head. “You’ll be all right, sugar. Problem is you Tuckers attract bad luck like a magnet.”

  “What am I going to do?” I whispered.

  “I bet Great Gam is rolling over in her grave knowing some deranged killer waltzed through 211 Loblolly and took daddy’s gun like it was the door prize at a Mary Kay party,” said Casey.

  Casey was right. Taking a deep breath, I sat up. I found my feet and rustled up some resolve to accompany Will to my violated home. It’s amazing what you can make yourself do when someone steals your daddy’s gun and sets you up for murder.

  THIRTEEN

  Sighs ripped through my chest so often I sounded like a pregnant woman at a Lamaze class. My pointy, little chin rested on folded arms. My boots dangled from a wood and pleather barstool. Another Friday night at Red’s. This time I showed for fear of being alone, and I didn’t like that feeling one bit.

  The County Line thrummed with people and piped-in music. Folks from Halo and parts nearby poured in to get their Friday night drink-on. At the far end of the room, Todd and his band fiddled with the microphones and a soundboard. Excitement for Sticks’ debut performance mounted in the smoky atmosphere, putting the wait staff in a dither over the abundance of orders. Whiskey shooters and pitchers of beer floated around the men’s tables. Margaritas and nachos flowed at the women’s.

  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.