Hijack in Abstract (A Cherry Tucker Mystery) (17 page)

“You need to have these paintings in your show. So this town can see their beauty.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea anymore. Forks County is seeing that beauty all over town. Shawna Branson has posters of the paintings hung all over the place. Embellished with a Sharpie.”

Rupert tapped his lips. “I want to be involved in this show.”

“We could use any sketches I do of you,” I said. “I could use colored pencil. Forks County would like the Christmas tree.”

“Brilliant,” Rupert clapped his hands together. “I must come to this show. Have you changed your mind about staying at my house? You can work on more sketches for this show while you stay here.”

“No,” I said. “In fact, I’m trying to get a graveyard shift at our local SipNZip.”

“Darling,” Rupert laughed. “You are a wonder. The graveyard shift at the SipNZip.” His body shook as he tried to contain his mirth.

Not that I didn’t love a good compliment, but I couldn’t figure out why I was wonderful for wanting the late night shift at the SipNZip. Unless it was one of those jabs at country folks soaked in irony so we wouldn’t know city people were making fun of us. I gave him a good redneck glare just in case.

“Have you told Maks you plan to work at the SipNZip?” asked Rupert.

“No, and I’d appreciate you not mentioning it to him.”

“Well, well. This is interesting. I think you’ve sketched enough for today. I have work to do. You may go home. We’ll keep the SipNZip our little secret,” Rupert giggled. “But don’t forget to tell Maks about our portrait commission.”

Rupert was making fun of me. Therefore, I might not tell Max diddly. And I didn’t like the idea of Rupert crashing in on our show. Or Rupert and his entourage coming to Halo again. That was all I needed. More fodder for gossip. A chauffeured car was one thing. Rich people looking down their noses was another.

I needed to find those pictures fast. Not just to save my reputation. Now I needed a preemptive strike against a Max and Rupert showdown in Halo.

Twenty-Two

I left my easel and other supplies, but packed the sketchbook in my satchel. Rupert would go through the sketches, of that I was fairly sure, and I didn’t want him seeing my bear next to his mustache. Although he’d most likely find it a riot.

In the hallway, I sought out Miss David. She carried a tray with a glass teapot and dainty mugs of etched glass set inside gold filigree stands. I jogged to catch up and then walked back toward the office with her.

“We’re done for the day,” I told her, careful to annunciate my words.

“Goodbye,” she said and juggled the tray to free a hand to enter the office.

I grabbed the doorknob for her, but didn’t open the door. “Let me ask you something,” I said. “Do you know Maksim Avtaikin?”

“Why?”

“He’s a,” I hesitated. What was Max to me? Business associate? Friendly adversary? Friendly adversary with benefits? I stopped on that thought, annoyed with myself. My rebound symptoms were out of control. “He’s a friend. Rupert seems to have a competitive relationship with him. I get the feeling this portrait is all about showing Max up.”

“What is it to you?” She laid her tray of tea things on the Chippendale table. “Are you in a position to care about the reasons why someone wants to buy your paintings?”

“Not really,” I admitted. “However, I feel like I’m in an odd spot. A bit stuck between the two men.”

“I’d unstick and get your job done. You have a contract for a portrait and you’re getting paid extremely well. Let the men work their issues out without your interference.”

“Good point.” I cocked my head, fascinated by Miss David. “How do you know Mr. Max?”

Her delicate nose flared. “I work for Mr. Agadzinoff. Maksim Avtaikin was a client. I’m familiar with all the clients.”

“Why is Rupert so interested in besting Max? Rupert’s rich and successful. I wouldn’t think Max would be a threat to his manhood.”

“Men,” Miss David snorted. “Everything is the pissing contest with them.”

“True. Sometimes I wonder if Luke and Todd are really interested in me or only trying to settle some old high school score. I’m like a ten point buck. They both want the kill, but in the end I’m the one mounted on the wall with the glassy eyes. While they’re cleaning their guns, getting ready for the next deer season.”

“Who is Luke and Todd? They want to murder you?”

“Sorry, thinking out loud. I have a poor view of marriage at the moment. My mother’s fault. Just ignore that.”

She picked up her tray. “You are very odd.”

“Just chalk it up to artistic temperament. Makes it easier on you to think of me that way.” I adjusted my satchel and eyed the front door. “Is my truck nearby?”

“You will have to ask Nik. I will call him after I deliver this tea. Wait in the foyer.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I pulled my phone from my bag and walked down the hall. No calls from Luke.

However, I didn’t think much of it. Luke wasn’t a phone guy. He would rather confront me about my irrational behavior in person. I knew I had become a burr in his saddle, but I couldn’t think of how to change that fact. We had broken up. I was trying to move on. Our last relationship was in college, and he broke up with me by joining the Army. If we were going to live in the same county, he would have to learn to ignore me. Not take me to trucker bars and trailer parks.

Although I liked it when he took me to trucker bars and trailer parks. I rubbed my chest and wished my heart would stop hurting.

I searched for a roll of Rolaids in my satchel, found an old toothpick, and my thoughts drifted to Zach and the hijacking. I realized I should check in on the Coderres again. Thinking about Jerell and his great-grandma revved up my heartburn. I couldn’t think what else to do with them other than solve Tyrone’s murder so they could take the killer to civil court and sue for damages. Even then they’d have to wait for the criminal trial and I didn’t know if Miss Gladys would live that long.

I hoped I didn’t have to work at the SipNZip tonight. I was a busy girl. Find the elusive Shawna pictures and save my reputation. Help the Coderres. I also needed to bring Max the sketch and question him on his background in organized crime.

I should make a list. And find an antacid. The people in my life had my heart in a vise clamp.

In the foyer, I hauled open the front door and stepped on to the porch. The town car waited in the donut drive, but I didn’t see Nik or my truck. I glanced behind me. The hall was empty and quiet. To my left, the French doors of the red room stood open. To my right, a closed door. A bathroom possibly stocked with over-the-counter medications?

The closed door beckoned. Seeing another example of Rupert’s god-awful decorating style had become akin to poking a sore tooth.

With a quick glance outside and down the hall, I approached the unexplored room and grasped the lever, waiting for an alarm. Pushing the door open, I sucked in my breath, surprised by the simplicity of the room. Royal blue and gold pervaded, but the extra molding and accessories had been left out. Not a bathroom. A desk with the usual filing and office apparatus had been tucked in one corner. A sofa and chairs lined the walls and a coffee table laid with magazines sat before them.

I strode to the table, hoping for a peruse through a
People
or
Us
while I waited on Nik. A foreign language with extra punctuation and funny letters adorned the magazine covers. I abandoned the illegible magazines for the desk. Neat, tidy, and impersonal. Obviously Miss David’s hang out. Apparently butlering wasn’t her only duty. She was also a secretary. Or maybe only a secretary. I had assumed Rupert’s office was somewhere in the city, but doubling your home and office had nice tax benefits. I knew that from personal experience. Although, if audited tomorrow, the IRS might have issues with the dead pheasant couch and mega-television in my studio.

Photos in tasteful gold frames covered the two long walls. I strolled the room studying the pictures of immigrants holding their citizenship papers. In each snapshot, Rupert grasped the new citizen around their shoulder, flashing his toothy grin. It warmed my heart to see Rupert helping so many people. I didn’t care for his snobbery, but I figured when you were a successful attorney, that went with the territory.

I moved to leave the office when a picture hung in the middle of a grouping caught my eye. I doubled back to study the photo of Rupert and the Bear. Rupert had the same plastered smile. Max didn’t look as pleased. He clutched his papers at his side, unlike the other immigrants who held theirs for the camera. He looked impatient to be done with whatever scene had just finished.

Maybe the pissing contest started in this photograph. Max didn’t give Rupert the due that Rupert thought he deserved. The other immigrants had the cheap clothing and hungry expressions typical of the Statue of Liberty’s “give me your tired and poor.” Max wore a fine suit. Hand tailored, not bought off the rack at the Big & Tall store.

I heard Nik call my name, and I left the Bear’s citizenship photo with additional questions floating in my mind.

Rupert had been correct. Max Avtaikin was a difficult man to read.

I hastily exited Miss David’s office, closing the door behind me, and went in search of Nik. He stood on the porch, smoking. The Datsun was nowhere in sight.

“Hey Nik,” I said, slowing my words. “Is my truck ready?”

He stubbed his cigarette out in a portable ashtray and slipped it into his pocket. “No. Your truck is not working.”

“What do you mean she’s not working? She was running like a top. The wind-up kind, but running anyway.”

Nik shrugged. “I take you home. Mr. Agadzinoff said I drive you.”

“I want to see my pickup.”

Nik jerked his head toward the drive and stalked off the porch.

I hurried after him. “You didn’t try to wash her, did you? I told you soap is no good for that truck. The grime holds her together. She gets rained on occasionally.”

“You need new car,” said Nik.

“I need a ton of new things. The Datsun and I’ve been through a lot together. I’m not putting her to pasture in Atlanta, I can tell you that. She needs to make it home so Cody can look at her.”

Nik strode off the donut and began following another drive around the side of the house. We slowed before the garage, a three door. The far side had my little, yellow pickup. Her entrails were spilled all over the garage floor.

“What have you done?” I cried, rushing to the truck. “Why are you taking her apart?”

Nik followed me into the garage and leaned against a Jaguar in the opposite bay. “She no run. I am mechanic. Checking her parts.”

“Baby, I am so sorry,” I said to my truck. “I’ll bring Cody up to take care of you.”

I turned on Nik. “How could you dismantle her engine without talking to me first?”

“I take care of cars. It’s what I do.” His eyes fixed on my truck and refused to glance in my direction.

“That’s bullshit. You aren’t my mechanic. You don’t work for me.”

Nik shrugged. “Your truck is here. She no run. I take care of her.”

“I can’t believe it,” I said. “What am I going to do this weekend for a vehicle?”

My look stopped his shrug.

“Sorry,” said Nik, his eyes falling to the floor where my carburetor lay.

“Is there a problem, darling?” said Rupert.

Nik and I turned to peer into the interior of the neat garage. In the far corner, Rupert stood in a doorway. Leaving the door open, he stepped onto the garage stair landing and leaned on the railing.

“Your chauffeur has taken it upon himself to dismantle my truck,” I said.

“Oh yes,” said Rupert. “He told me it was having some difficulty with starting.”

“I find that very odd considering it has a brand new starter.”

“Maybe you need a new battery? I know nothing about cars. Don’t fret, dear. Nik is an excellent mechanic.”

“So is my brother. And if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather Cody fix my truck. At home.”

“Nik will take you home.”

“And what do I do for a vehicle this weekend?”

“I’m busy tomorrow, but I’m available on Sunday. We’ll set a time, and I’ll send Nik to pick you up. You can always just stay here.”

“Don’t you get a day off?” I asked Nik. I had a feeling Rupert had ordered the disabling of my vehicle. The control freak wanted me under his thumb just like Nik and Miss David.

“Don’t worry about Nikolai,” interrupted Rupert. “I will see you Sunday, Miss Tucker.” He turned and disappeared into the house, shutting the door behind him.

I wasn’t sure if I liked painting rich people. Actually, I was pretty confident I didn’t.

“Come on.” Nik pushed himself off the Jaguar and left the garage.

“I can’t believe I’m at the mercy of a chauffeur. This is just crazy.” I huffed after Nik, pumping my arms to help my legs move faster. “You listen to me, Nik. First of all, I call shotgun. I’ve had enough with playing princess riding in the back. It doesn’t suit me and anyway, nobody notices.”

Nik shoved his hands in his pockets, searching for his smokes. He jammed a cigarette in his mouth, lit it, and began smoking furiously.

“Second, we’re stopping for lunch on the way back,” I continued. “You can just buzz into the Varsity, because I’m mad enough to eat two dogs. And a peach pie. And maybe some chili fries. Third, once we get to Halo, I’ve got errands to run and you’re running them with me.”

I felt no sympathy for Nik. My poor Datsun had been disemboweled and left for dead. Someone had to be punished.

Before Nik could open a car door for me, I yanked on the passenger handle and set off the alarm. With a smirk curling around his cigarette, Nik pulled his keys out of his pocket and cut the alarm. While he stubbed his smoke in his ashtray, I scrambled into the front seat, belted myself, and folded my arms over my chest.

“I don’t like being controlled like this, Nik.”

“I can tell,” Nik smiled and floored the car, racing down the steep drive.

My hands flew to grasp the door handle. “I’m not talking to you until we get to the Varsity.”

“Good,” said Nik.

Which was not what I wanted to hear. “Have you eaten at the Varsity?”

“No.”

“It’s an Atlanta tradition. You need to eat at the Varsity. Every time my family comes to Atlanta, we eat at the Varsity.”