Hijack in Abstract (A Cherry Tucker Mystery) (18 page)

Nik sighed and cut his eyes to me. “Why is Varsity so special? What is food?”

“Chili dogs, burgers, fried pies, frosted orange. It’s delicious and cheap. And the building is huge. Filled to the brim during Georgia Tech games. You’ll be impressed.”

“I can get burger anywhere.”

“You’ll like it. Trust me.”

Nik shrugged.

I swear I would smack him the next time he shrugged. I stared out the window and glared at the Buckhead mansions we passed. Luxury cars surrounded us at the intersections. I felt itchy and out of sorts. The way I used to feel when I first visited the Bear’s house.

“Nik, do you know Maksim Avtaikin?” I asked. “And don’t shrug or you’ll be sorry.”

“No.”

“How do you feel about Mr. Agadzinoff? What kind of man is he?”

“He is my boss. He is rich and powerful.”

“Do you like him?”

Nik glanced at me. “No.”

“Why?”

“He cheats.” Nik rattled off a rant in a language I didn’t recognize. However, curse words are evident in any tongue.

“He cheats at what? Cards? Is he one of Max’s deep pocket poker patrons?”

“Sure, cards. Anything. I don’t know Max pocket poker.” His English had broken down and he rubbed his forehead.

“It’s okay, honey.” I patted his shoulder. “It must be hard to think in two languages.” I should have known Rupert’s issues with Max might stem from the Bear’s underground high stakes poker games. I felt disappointed. Everything with Max seemed to boil down to padding his pockets with poker chips.

I sighed and cupped my hand around my chin to lean against the door and watch the downtown traffic snarl around us.

“What is wrong?” said Nik. “This sigh is not your style.”

A BMW pulled around us to pass, and I straightened in my seat. “Nik, have you noticed a BMW hatchback following us?”

“BMW hatchback? Why would One Series follow us?”

“I don’t know.” I turned in my seat to look out the back window. “You didn’t see a BMW this morning when we drove into the city?”

“This is Atlanta. Of course there are BMW One Series on the road. Also Three Series, Five, Six, Seven, X, Z, and M. Which series you interested?”

“A silver one. Must be my imagination,” I said. “But if you notice a hatchback, let me know.”

“Okay, crazy lady.”

“You are going to love the Varsity,” I told him. “And you’re going to love Red’s even more.”

“What is Red’s? Communists?”

“You’re sticking with me for the rest of the day. I’ll buy you wings and beer for dinner before sending you home.”

Poor Nik, I was taking him to the mother tiger’s den and he would need the reward. After fueling at the Varsity for strength, we would stop in to see Shawna Branson’s mother. Nik was going to need a beer after that visit.

Twenty-Three

By the time we reached Forks County, the town car smelled of grease from the crumpled white and red bags tossed in the back seat. Red cups half filled with melted chocolate shakes sat between us. I patted my contented stomach and tried to erase the sleepy stupor of chili dogs with a yawning stretch.

“Now Nik,” I said, pointing him down a Line Creek subdivision street. “I’m going to warn you. The woman you’re about to meet has spent her days living vicariously through her daughter’s failed cheerleading and art careers. Her husband took off some years ago, although some would say she’s better off. Billy Branson’s disappearance allowed Delia to leech off her husband’s family in style. Some thought Billy might have made it as a golf pro, but he enjoyed shagging his female students more than he did golf balls. Don’t bring that up.”

“Why would I bring this up? I don’t know this woman.”

“This is Shawna Branson’s mother. Shawna is the enemy. Remember this.”

“I do not understand why we are here.”

“Reconnaissance mission, Nik. Miss Delia might know about these pictures her daughter thinks I hold.”

“I still do not understand.”

“Nik, just stand still and look pretty. You’ll do fine.”

We pulled into the driveway of the two story brick and stucco house. The yard was small, but the landscaping lush and serviced regularly. A ruby red Taurus SHO sat in the driveway. Another gift from JB’s dealership.

I rang the bell. Nik stood behind me. After a long two minutes, the front door opened and a blowzy strawberry blond swung into the opening wearing a tiger print silk robe and matching silk pajamas.

My tiger’s den comment hadn’t been far off the mark.

This was not roll out of bed ware. Her hair and makeup had been done up and her copper lipstick looked fresh. Her blue-green eyes tripped over me and landed on Nik. She stroked a diamond pendant that hung between the lapels of her pajamas. At the sight of Nik, the gleam of her eye matched the stripe of her robe.

The Shawna apple didn’t fall far from the mother tree.

“Mrs. Branson,” I said. “I’m Cherry Tucker.”

Her eyes dropped off of Nik and she stopped salivating to flinch. “What do you want?”

“Well, ma’am, could we come in?”

Delia pulled the door open and waved us through. “Don’t think you’ve ever called on me before, Cherry.” Her voice dripped honey and antagonism.

Nik followed me into the living room tastefully decorated in a style that would make any genteel Southern woman proud. I breathed a sigh of relief.

The decor wasn’t original and tended toward a golf theme, but at least I didn’t have to shade my eyes. Delia waved me to a side chair and pointed Nik toward the couch. She sank beside him, angling her crossed legs toward Nik.

“Who’s this?” she asked.

“Nik,” I said. “He’s my driver. He’s kind of quiet.”

Her penciled eyebrows rose fractionally, but she kept a better poker face than her daughter. She pointed at a tray with crystal glasses and a pitcher sitting on the coffee table. “Y’all want some tea?”

“Thank you,” I said, not wanting to start the visit on a rude note.

She smiled prettily and leaned forward to pour the tea. “I always keep glasses out for company. You just never know who will drop by.”

I wondered if the droppers-by liked to find Delia Branson in her PJ’s, but didn’t think it appropriate to comment. “Thank you, ma’am. I suppose you know who I am?”

“I should think so,” she rose from the couch to hand me my glass, careful to stick her hind end near Nik.

His poker face was better than Delia’s.

“Your family is quite notorious in the county,” she said. “Bless your heart.” Which translated as “everyone knows your skank mother abandoned her kids and your grandparents were too old to take a belt to you and your wild siblings.”

I was used to such comments, but took a hefty sip of tea to calm my nerves. And came up coughing.

Delia smiled without her teeth. “I picked up this recipe in Charleston. They make delicious sweet tea.”

“A sweet tea martini,” I said. “Your guests must enjoy this beverage after a round on the links.”

“Vodka not gin,” she said.

“All the better. Gin has a stronger odor. You can drink this all day and no one would be the wiser.”

She frowned. “Why are you here?”

I set my tea glass on the side table next to my chair, careful to use a coaster. “Actually, it’s about Shawna. She is looking for some pictures and thought I might have them. I would like to help her, but I don’t know what pictures she means. I thought you might have an idea.”

“You’d like to help Shawna? She hasn’t mentioned any pictures to me.” Delia curled her legs on the couch, draping an arm over the back. “She’s very busy, though. I’ve been hosting Pictograph parties for her all over town.”

Delia’s hand landed behind Nik’s neck. He straightened and gulped his tea, allowing Delia another reason to scoot toward him to refill his glass.

“Pictograph parties?” I said.

Delia giggled. “Isn’t Shawna clever? I do jewelry parties to make a little mad money. We convinced that client list to also host parties to show Shawna’s art.”

“Very clever.” Shawna had a foothold in every soccer mom’s house in the county.

“Didn’t you also have a little art business, Cherry?” Delia’s fingers dallied with Nik’s collar.

Nik scooted forward, finding sudden interest in the coffee table.

“If I don’t have these pictures, can you think of someone else who might have them?” I said, ignoring the cut about my failing art studio. “Would Shawna have lent them to a friend and forgotten?”

“Shawna has an excellent memory. I doubt that.”

“Could she have misplaced them and thought someone took them?”

“If Shawna says you have her pictures, then you have them.”

Delia made Nik look like a brilliant conversationalist.

“I don’t have them,” I said. “That’s why I’ve come to you for help. I don’t even know the subject of these pictures. Or if they are even drawings or photos.”

“Shawna doesn’t draw. Of course, they’re photos.”

At least someone admitted Shawna couldn’t draw.

A phone rang in another room. Delia glanced behind her. “Excuse me.”

I waited until she left the room to stand. “This was a waste of time.”

“The tea is good,” said Nik. He tipped back his glass and swallowed the remaining liquid.

“How many glasses have you had? I’m driving to the next stop.” I circled the room, agitated. “How can these people ruin my reputation? It’s akin to the patients running the psych unit.”

Nik rose and crossed the room to join me before the fireplace. He pointed to the photographs on the mantel. “Which one is Shawna?”

“She’s in nearly all of them. Giant red head with boobs. Take your pick of age.” I wrinkled my nose at the frames. Her prom photo featured one of my high school boyfriends. Next to it was a framed, faded snapshot of a red haired toddler with a younger version of Delia and a dark haired man. They stood next to a set of clubs, the Line Creek golf course recognizable in the background. “That must be Billy Branson. Shawna’s daddy.”

“The golfer,” said Nik.

“Yep. That’s one thing Shawna and I have in common. Neither of us had a daddy growing up. Which should make us get along better. ‘Course, mine passed and hers left.” I cast an eye toward the entry Delia had disappeared through. “At least Delia stuck around to raise Shawna. Not that she did a very good job.”

“Let’s go,” said Nik. “This woman make me nerves.”

“She makes me nerves, too. You’re right. Miss Delia’s not going to help me stop Shawna.”

We didn’t wait for Delia to return, which would have gotten me a talking-to from my Grandma Jo. Politeness requires you to say your goodbyes and thank yous before leaving. However, I didn’t respect Delia and was starting to feel my effort to be polite in this county didn’t make much of a difference anyway. The people of Forks County, at least the ones who could be paying customers, had formed an opinion of me twenty years ago.

I wasn’t sure if there was much I could do to change their minds now.