1 Portrait of a Dead Guy

by Larissa Reinhart

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Ever the gentleman, I took you home, tossed you in bed, and decided someone better keep an eye on you. If Todd showed up, I’d feel awfully sorry to hear you blew a hole through his leather pants.”

  “What would I shoot him with?”

  “I heard about your truck and the missing shotgun.” He sipped his coffee and leaned in the archway, crossing his legs. Sunlight trickled from the living room into the darker kitchen, reddening the tips of his dark waves. With his face cast in shadow, his gray eyes appeared pewter. He pursed his lips and blew on his coffee, casually dropping his gaze down my bare legs.

  “Speaking of that, you want to show me Dustin’s things?”

  “Is that what you were looking for in my desk? Gentleman, my ass. You took me home to snoop around. Something’s been fishy with you all along.” I poked a finger in his chest. His coffee cup dipped, threatening to spill. “What are you up to?”

  “Relax. Your sister said you have Dustin’s stuff. I think it’s best if you turn over his things to me.”

  “Why?”

  “Listen, I know what you’re up to. I saw your little pictures on the napkins last night. And you’re questioning everyone in Halo. Very poorly, I might add.”

  “So?”

  “Sugar, let the police do their job. You can’t make detective work into an art project. Why don’t you just show me Dustin’s things? Maybe you should put some pants on, though. It’s hard to resist a girl who’s missing her britches, especially with legs like yours.”

  I caught myself before one of those foolish smiles — the kind held by slow-witted women in the presence of sweet-talking men — slid across my face.

  “If I’m going to show Dustin’s treasures to anyone, that person would be Uncle Will.”

  He peeled his eyes off my legs to scan the room again. I had hidden the items well. My triumphant smirk irritated him, but instead of arguing, Luke hooked a finger in the neck of my shirt and dragged me a step closer. His sudden change of tactics caused my smirk to falter.

  “Stop trying to seduce me. I’m on to you. You get what you want and then leave.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Luke murmured, lowering his lids to bedroom level. His long digits strolled down my spine with the nonchalance of a Sunday walk on Main Street.

  I scowled at the lazy grin creeping closer to my face. It looked eager to do some damage to my lips.

  “The other night your little Calamity Jane act ticked me off. I’m feeling differently now.” His fingers danced around my waist and found the bottom of my shirt. He darted a look at his coffee cup, wishing he had an extra empty hand. “A lot differently. I’ve been thinking about that all morning.”

  “Luke Harper, you told me in my carport two nights ago that we would never work out. And that was directly after you were all over me like butter on a hot skillet. I am tired of your games and I am suspicious of your intentions. I’ve a mind to tell your Momma what you’ve been up to. Or Sheriff Will.”

  I’ve a mind? Good Lord, I was channeling Scarlett O’Hara.

  “Come on. Don’t be mad. Is it Shawna? I know you get jealous, but honestly, I can’t help she won’t leave me alone.” He squeezed my shoulder. A plaintive appeal darkened his eyes further. However, his evil dimples threatened to emerge, and I knew he thought he could use those dimples to trick me into handing over Dustin’s belongings.

  “To be jealous has not occurred to me.”

  “You know how cute you are when you get mad?”

  My glare lengthened to what my grandma called slitty-eyed. “That cute stuff doesn’t come close to working for me. You always get me all riled up and then take off. But not this time.”

  “We get each other riled up. That’s why I take off.” Luke’s hand retreated from my shoulder, and he dropped the teasing tone. “Yes, I want Dustin’s stuff. I’m not trying to seduce it out of you. I can’t help myself. You’re standing there in your undies.” His hand sliced the air near my legs, sloshing coffee on my floor.

  “Dammit.” Luke wiped the mug on his jeans. With a grunt, he kicked his heel against the archway. “I’m usually more in control. Do you think I like feeling this way? You’re like malaria or something. I think I’m over you and suddenly you’ve worked your way into my system again. I’m trying to stay away from you, but you keep showing up and getting into trouble. This town is too small for the two of us.”

  Malaria? Was that supposed to be a compliment?

  “You don’t want to give ME Dustin’s junk,” he continued, “yet someone else has stolen your gun and truck and has murdered two people. What’s wrong with you?”

  “Nothing’s wrong with me. Stop worrying. I hid everything so well even you couldn’t find it.”

  Luke strode into the living room, his eyes roving the cracked plaster walls and stained wood floors. He shook his head in disgust. “Man, your house needs a lot of work. Why are you living here?”

  “It’s free except for the taxes and upkeep?” I followed him into the room and leaned against my roll-top desk. “Couldn’t you come up with something better than malaria? Do people still get that?”

  “I meant why do you insist on staying in Halo?”

  “Duh, my family is here. Now I’m worried that Casey is going to leave and someone will need to take care of Grandpa. Besides, I like it here.”

  “Eight years ago you told me you wanted to move back to this P.O.S. town. For eight years I’ve tried to figure out why a town could be more important than me.” He sipped his coffee and took a deep breath before continuing. “You know what I came up with? I think you’re waiting for your mom to come back.”

  My jaw dropped. “What?”

  “You heard me.” He dropped the coffee cup on my paint table and approached me with tentative steps.

  “Oh no, you don’t. You can’t say something like that and expect me to crumple into your arms like some pathetic loser.” I straightened my spine and swallowed the sting from his words. “And you know what I think?”

  The hiss of my words halted his steps. “This isn’t about me. You think you’re too good for this town, always have. But it’s not Halo’s fault our fathers died and neither of us got a normal childhood. At least you had a mother that didn’t flake out on you.”

  “She might not have left, but she flaked out plenty. She was so busy trying to make Dustin love her and placate her new husband that she forgot about me.”

  He shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. “Just forget about all that. I don’t know where that came from. Just give me Dustin’s stuff and I’ll go.”

  “That’s a huge revelation.” I pushed off the desk to sidle closer to him. His confession took the edge off my anger, his vulnerability softening my approach. “You probably needed to get that off your chest for a long time now.”

  “Cherry.” Luke exhaled my name with a bitterness that made me wince. “I’m only interested in two things. One is Dustin’s effects. The other is your currently pantsless state. You got an opinion on either one?”

  “You can go to hell on both subjects.” I thrust my chin up and tightened my lips.

  “That’s what I thought.” He grabbed his keys off the desk and swung open the door. With his hand on the knob, he looked over his shoulder. “Leave Dustin’s murder alone.”

  “Back at you. You’re as suspicious as anyone.” Whipping around, I skipped out of the room, listening to the thump of the closing door behind me.

  I wasn’t sure if I should laugh or cry. I finally broke Luke Harper’s spell over me.

  Even worse, I think I broke the spell I had over him. Unfortunately, like everything good in my life, that power was gone before I knew it existed.

  I stood on my front porch dressed in jeans and a stretch lace t-shirt. Paired wi
th a Victoria’s Secrets bra and hunched shoulders, I almost looked like a B-cup. And it was a B-cup kind of day. I started with Luke and planned to work my way through a list that ended with the villain who helped Shawna wreck my career and murder two men who may not have been beloved, but belonged to this town.

  And as my truck had been shot up, my siblings weren’t answering their phones, and the sheriff forbade me to do what I needed, I demanded number two on my list to get his faux-leather butt over to my house. He needed to apologize for his insulting song lyrics.

  I also needed his car.

  The object of my desire, Todd’s functioning vehicle, jerked to a stop at the curb while the object of my ire bounded up the slope to my porch. I fussed with a fern and waited for his apology. I had a feeling Todd McIntosh had been holding out on me, stringing me along on some joke I didn’t get.

  “Don’t get ugly about this,” Todd said, folding his arms over his chest and leaning against one of my porch columns, “but I’ve thought about it and decided not to apologize.”

  “What?” Why were these men failing me? My lucky bra wasn’t working. “You can’t write songs casting me in a negative light.”

  “I’m an artist. I write what comes to me.”

  “You are a drummer who puts rhyming words together. If they string into a story you got lucky.”

  “That’s not fair.”

  “And it’s not fair to write songs about life’s fruit salad that’s full of sour Cherry’s. Or lyrics like ‘flat bottomed girls may not bounce, but it’s not the size of their butt that counts.’”

  “That’s actually a compliment.”

  “On what planet is that a compliment? How about runaway bridezillas in white, fringed boots that stomp all over your heart and make you lose at cards? You named it ‘The Ballad of Cherrilann!’”

  “See, I didn’t even use your name.”

  “You think nobody is going to know you meant Cherrilyn? What if I paint you with a tiny penis, slap a mustache on the face, and hang it up in Red’s? You think nobody will guess it’s you?”

  Todd’s fingers halted. He drew in his breath. “You wouldn’t.”

  “Try me. You’ve been embarrassing me over this Vegas thing ever since we broke up. Which was mostly your fault. I didn’t tell anybody about what happened to you. And what’s with the vampire song? Is that supposed to be me, too?”

  “No, I just like the undead. Sid and I are writing a zombie song now.”

  I rolled my eyes. “No more songs about how I ruin your life or the size of my derriere.”

  “I promise. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

  “You have a funny way of showing it.” Yanking open my screen door, I marched inside with Todd trailing behind me. The door creaked and banged. “Why do you want to be around me when I’m always ticked at you?”

  “You’re just feisty. You don’t mean it.”

  “No. I mean it.

  Todd grinned at my scowl.

  “Why don’t you believe me?”

  He continued to grin.

  “Never mind. I need a favor.”

  “I knew you wanted me.”

  “I want your car.” His eyebrow waggling did nothing to improve my mood.

  “That’s not a double entendre. My truck’s stuck at the dealership garage. I have a list of people I’m checking into.”

  “Am I on your list?”

  “Considering you were with my brother at Red’s when I was assaulted at Cooper’s and you have no motive for killing Dustin or your roommate—”

  “I have reason for finding his killer. I’ll help you.”

  “I am sorry about you losing your roommate.” Guilt washed over me. In my personal struggle, I had neglected Todd’s grief. Pulling him toward me, I hugged him, whispering words of sorrow. As his hand snuck past my waistline toward my flat bottom, I ripped away from our tender embrace and rethought his words. “Just a minute, how did you know I was looking for the killer?”

  He shrugged, an impish smile fleeing his face.

  “I’ve been considering several suspects. But last night, Ronny Price said some interesting things about Mr. Max. I talked to Max at the funeral, so he knows me now. I figure if we go to his house together, we’d be safe enough. Especially if we drop enough hints that people know our location.”

  “That sounds smart.”

  I studied Todd for sarcasm. “I think there’s a tie-in between his poker games and what Dustin stole. I want to know more about these secret games. We’re going to tell him you’re interested in playing in the next big poker game.”

  “That sounds real good.”

  “You’re not really going to play, Todd. It’s just an excuse to question him.” I cocked my head. “You told me you stopped playing poker after Vegas.”

  “I did,” he discharged the words with the momentum of a split-finger fastball.

  I raised an eyebrow in disbelief, but Todd’s vices were no longer my concern. I strolled to the rolltop desk. After Luke left, I pulled Dustin’s collection from their various hiding places for closer examination.

  “The Bear will expect money for the pot. We’ll ask about collateral. I’ll show him the sketch I made of this.” I picked up the lion’s head belt buckle from the top of my desk. “And maybe sketches of the other stuff and see what he says. I looked up this buckle on the Internet. If it’s real sterling silver and rubies, it’s got to be worth around a thousand dollars. Maybe more. The other buckle is fourteen karat gold and turquoise.”

  “That’s pretty nice.”

  “Exactly. I should’ve gone into jewelry design. Wouldn’t a high relief rhino head emerging from a buckle look cool?”

  Todd’s brows puckered.

  “Anyway, there’s no way something this expensive belonged to Dustin. You ever seen Dustin wear this buckle?”

  “No, can’t say that I have. I think he did have a big D buckle at one point.”

  “Max might recognize this jewelry. We’ll play it cool. Ronny said Max could have known Dustin was a thief. Maybe Max will tip us off.”

  I grinned with excitement. We could work our way through the list of suspects with a sketchpad. I’d give my results to Uncle Will and allow him to do the dirty work. I’d go home, make a shadow box for a Pound Puppy and toy cars, and call it a day with a nice paycheck. Commissions would start rolling back in. Who wouldn’t want a personal portrait created by an artist who solved the murder of her last subject?

  “Cherry?”

  I shook myself out of my Cherry-absorbed musings. “Are you going to tell me this is stupid and dangerous and I should let the police work it out without my help?”

  “No. It sounds fine to me.”

  “Really?” I laid the silver buckle next to the other items of value I collected from Dustin’s stash. The Pink Pig bank held quite a few pieces of jewelry and odd coins. “You’re very agreeable to this. Are you sure you don’t see any problems with my plan?”

  “I think I saw something like this on a TV show once. It turned out okay,” Todd shrugged. “What could go wrong?”

  I sucked on my lip, feeling the weight of Todd’s trust in my schemes. However, it felt better to not worry Todd needlessly. His ability to live in the present made him adaptable to a sudden change of plans. “Can you handle this or not?”

  “Baby, I married you. I can handle anything you deliver.”

  That was a scary thought. Todd’s safety was now my responsibility.

  And I didn’t know if I could handle what I planned to deliver.

  FIFTEEN

  Touched by that vague discomfort that occurs from sharp disparities in socioeconomic straits, Todd and I shuffled our feet on the deep porch of Max’s antebellum style house. Although it impersonated a plantation home, this tow
ering wedding cake represented similar McMansions springing up in new subdivisions throughout the countryside. It seemed a lot of Yankees liked the old southern architecture when accompanied with modern amenities like swimming pools and sprinkler systems.

  For that matter, so did rich southerners.

  “Did you see the cannon?” Todd hopped from foot to foot, his hands shoved in the pockets of his cargo shorts. “Pretty cool, huh?”

  I glanced at the flowerbed where a normal rich person would have put a fountain or a fancy tree. Instead of water gurgling from angel’s lips, a long cast iron barrel rested between oversized spoked wooden wheels.

  “Looks like someone has an inferiority complex.”

  My eyes drifted from the canon to the immaculate drive marred by Todd’s beat-up Civic. The tailored gardens and clipped Bermuda grass looked worthy of the Masters Championship course in Augusta. Someone only needed to dig a few holes, stick flagged poles in them, and Max could charge locals for a three-holer.

  “He must be mega-rich,” said Todd.

  “Don’t you wonder how he got all this money?” I leaned into the doorbell. Adrenaline juiced my nerves. My finger retreated from the doorbell, but a gonging had already echoed inside the house. Todd peeked in another window.

  “You think he’s got a butler?”

  “I thought you’ve been here before.”

  “Not his house.” Todd peered in a tall window. “I met him at a bar in Line Creek. That’s where I introduced him to Pete. I believe he was looking for ringers.”

  “Ringers?”

  “He talked kind of funny. Probably misunderstood him,” Todd said quickly. His expression snapped from thoughtful to vapid. “So you think he’s got a butler?”

  Before I could respond, one of the double wooden doors swung open, and we jumped back. A shadowy figure paused in the dark foyer.

  “Ah, the artist and, wait.” Conjuring his memory, Max waved his hand at Todd. “The card sharp. The artist and the card sharp. To what do I owe this pleasure?” His beefy hand grasped my fingers and he swept my hand up to his lips. “Ça me fait plaisir de te revoir.”