Hijack in Abstract (A Cherry Tucker Mystery) (19 page)

Twenty-Four

“Wh
at am I going to do, Nik?” I said while adjusting the driver’s seat to accommodate my lack of height. “Shawna’s mother has a voice in the Tupperware community. I had hoped to live in this county for the rest of my life. Now in every shop I enter, people point at me like I walked off a Most Wanted poster. I can’t count on Mr. Max’s show to prove I’m not disreputable. Controversy kills deals in this area.”

Nik slouched in the passenger seat, put out that I made him turn over the keys. “You are born, you live, you die. You drink vodka and forget.”

“That is a horrible attitude,” I said. “My family history makes living in Halo an uphill battle. I had finally made some progress. I went to college and returned to start my own business. Last year at this time, I was hand lettering wedding announcements and painting studio portraits. I wasn’t getting rich, but at least I was getting by.”

“So now you paint my boss and get rich. Who cares what these people think?”

“I care. They’re my people. I could do without the Bransons, but most in this county are decent folks. Problem is, the Bransons set the standard for acceptable behavior. At least one of them is on every blooming committee and town council. Plus they own a lot of property and businesses. People respect the name and like their money.”

“So find the Branson who will help you.”

I pumped the brakes and cranked the wheel, spinning a U-turn in the subdivision street. “Nik. You are a genius.”

“You are still crazy lady.”

Twenty minutes later, Nik and I popped out of the town car in another subdivision, this time outside Halo. Stone and stucco house. Bigger, manicured yard. More money. The big house of Branson, belonging to JB and Wanda. Also the current residence of Deputy Luke Harper as he stockpiled his meager salary before getting his own place. He also liked to please his mother, Wanda, and after seven years in the service, she wanted some family time with her only son.

“Nik,” I said, pressing the doorbell. “This visit will be even trickier.”

“Will this woman have hands on me, too?”

“No, of course not. Miss Wanda was my Sunday School teacher. She’s a sweet lady and Luke’s momma.”

“Who is Luke?”

“My ex. Except he never told his mother and stepfather we were dating, so Miss Wanda doesn’t know he’s my ex-boyfriend. She just knows me from town.”

“This is tricky part?”

“Tricky part is I once did a painting of her deceased stepson. It’s complicated and her husband, JB, doesn’t like me. Not sure if it’s because I remind him of his son who passed or because he didn’t have a high opinion of my family before I did the portrait.”

“Your town politics are very confusing. Worse than Communists.”

Behind the wavy, leaded glass of the front door, a blurry form approached. A moment later, the door opened and Miss Wanda stood before us in a capri pant set featuring beach umbrellas and pink flamingos. Her short, wavy hair had been covered in a ball cap that didn’t jive with the rest of her outfit. Upon opening the door, her blue eyes grew wide. She snagged my arm and dragged me inside. Nik followed, shutting the door behind us.

“Thank the merciful Lord,” she said. “Look.” She pulled off her ball cap and turned around. Her blond hair had been highlighted with multicolored streaks of paint.

“What happened?” I said, fingering her hair. The paint had dried in a lovely pattern. “I like these colors. What are you working on?”

“Oh honey, this is why I always hire out.” Tears welled in Wanda’s eyes. “Shawna asked me to help her with a project, but I’m no good at crafts. I had hung some posters up to dry. I got paint all over my clothes, but didn’t realize it was also in my hair until I went to run a brush through it before going out.”

“You can get this out easily, ma’am,” I said. “I’ve had paint in my hair many times. If it’s water-based, it’ll wash out. For oil based paint you can use olive oil. Rub it in, leave it on for a while, then comb it out. But how exactly did you get paint on the back of your head?”

“I backed into the poster when the danged dog jumped up to lick me. I have no idea what kind of paint it is.”

I giggled. “Let me see the paint you used. By the way, this is my friend Nik. He’s driving me around while he works on my truck.”

“Nice to meet you, Nick,” said Wanda, blushing. “I am so sorry you had to see me like this.”

Nik bobbed his head at Wanda and followed us through the foyer to the back of the house and into the kitchen. We stepped through a sliding glass door onto a screened porch where Wanda had taped a line of poster board against the wall of the house. Two posters were a smeary mess. The rest advertised the Concerned Citizens Committee for Decency in Art. At least, that’s what I picked out from the drippy lettering.

I cut my eyes to Wanda. “Decency in Art?”

She was too concerned about her poor painting job to pick up on the intended victim of the campaign. “Some Arts Council meeting, I suppose,” she said. “I cannot paint or draw worth a lick. Look at these. I’m going to have to tell Shawna that she needs to find someone else. Oh, dear.”

“Usually folks use markers for posters. Or poster paint,” I walked to her patio table and examined the cans of paint she had used. “This is wall paint, ma’am. At least it’s latex. You can wash it out.”

“I didn’t have anything else and no time to run to the Crafty Corner,” Wanda patted her cheeks and shook her head. “Mercy, what a mess.”

She clutched my arm. “Cherry, can you please help me? I’ll pay you.”

“Miss Wanda, I’m not sure.” I didn’t know what to say. Should I clue her in to what this meeting was about?

“Please, Cherry. You do such a good job. I feel so bad about what happened with Dustin.” Her voice broke and fresh tears welled in her eyes. Her stepson had been laid to rest only six months earlier.

“Miss Tucker has commission now with Rupert Agadzinoff, famous lawyer in Atlanta,” said Nik. He stood with his back to us, looking out upon the backyard vista that included a pool and garden.

“Please, honey,” said Wanda. “I know it won’t take you but a minute. And you have all the supplies at home.”

“Cherry should help this fascist, Shawna?” said Nik, shaking his head. “No.”

“Stop it, Nik.” I made a mental note to not let Nik drink sweet tea vodka anymore.

“I don’t know Shawna’s politics,” said Wanda. “But I don’t believe the arts committee has any political affiliation. It would mean so much to me personally.”

“How many posters?” I said, sighing. I could not turn down a woman as sweet as Miss Wanda. Or humiliate myself by explaining the true subject of the posters. Even if it meant digging my own grave.

Wanda pulled me into a soft hug. “Thank you so much, honey. I’ll pick them up.”

“I’ll drop them off,” I said. I didn’t want Miss Wanda showing up at my house and greeted by Todd in a towel.

“You are too sweet,” she said and released me from her hold. “Don’t you go to too much trouble. Shawna said I just need the time, date, and title. She gave me a folder of photos to glue to the bottom of the poster.”

“Did you look at the pictures?” I couldn’t believe what I had just agreed to do. Maybe I could swap photos.

“Not yet,” she said. “I had a hard enough time with the lettering. I thought it would be pretty to use different colors, but then it got all runny and I forgot to use a ruler. Well, you can see for yourself.” She waved at the messes on the wall.

I glanced at the table and scooped up the file folder before Wanda could peruse it. “I’ll just take this with me.”

“Thank you, honey,” said Wanda. “I have choir practice and a garden club committee yet today. Looks like I’ll need to run to the salon, too.”

“Whatever you do, don’t let them use turpentine or mineral spirits. If you color, those chemicals will ruin your hair.”

Wanda patted her blond, streaky locks. “Of course I color, honey. But thank you for not mentioning it in public.”

She drew my arm through her elbow to walk me back through the kitchen. “Where are my manners? I didn’t even ask why y’all dropped by.”

Nik trailed behind us. “The fascist Shawna believes Cherry stole photos.”

I glanced behind me to shoot Nik a “shut-it” look. “Excuse Nik. His English is not so good. What he means is Shawna has mistakenly gotten the impression I have some of her pictures and she’s a tad miffed. I had hoped you might dissuade her from thinking this.”

“You mean you have some of Shawna’s Pictographs?”

“I don’t know what pictures are missing,” I said. “It would be helpful if you could ask her. A Pictograph is awfully hard to misplace. I know I don’t have one of those. I got the impression that the missing pictures are photos.”

Lord help me, I’d put my eyes out before possessing a Pictograph.

We sauntered arm in arm down the hall and into the foyer. Hanging on the wall was a grouping of family portraits. A few matted and framed photographs from Wanda and JB’s wedding. An oil of Dustin as a youngster grasping a bunny. And a photo of a young Luke, clutching a football. His smile didn’t feature dimples, which saddened me. He had mentioned to me his unhappiness with his mother’s remarriage to JB and gaining Dustin as a stepbrother. It seemed evident even at this young age.

Wanda glanced at the photos. “I could never get Luke to sit still for a painting. I felt lucky enough to get a few shots of him.”

I knew how she felt. Luke refused to model for me even when we were going out. “He was such a handsome child. Those gray eyes and that thick, wavy hair. I would kill for those eyelashes.”

“He always was an old soul and so serious. My baby is too handsome for his own good,” she said, shaking her head. “The way women throw themselves at him.”

What women? I bit my tongue before I could ask. “Good luck with your hair, ma’am.”

Nik gave her a brief bow and strode out the doorway, muttering something about the bourgeoisie. I followed and opened the passenger door for him. “What happened to stand still and look pretty? You can’t call Shawna a fascist. You don’t even know her.”

“You call Shawna names,” he said. “Why can’t I call her names?”

“Because I have earned that right, growing up around her. You have a lot to learn about America, son.”

Twenty-Five

After dropping off a pizza at the Coderres, I felt Nik had earned a reprieve from errand running. Jerell had held the air rifle on Nik while I carried in the pizza and checked on Miss Gladys. She had been agitated and the house looked messier than usual. My worry had augmented when a woman in the next trailer leaned out her front door to screech at us. Miss Gladys had patted my hand and told me, “not to trouble myself.”

Miss Gladys’s hand pat did not reassure me. In fact, it doubled my worries. But at least being held at BB gunpoint by an eight-year-old had stopped Nik’s ramblings about political despots. After a stop at home to change my clothes, I rewarded him with a trip to Red’s. Sticks played at Red’s County Line Tap on Friday nights. The bar would be packed, and Red’s was a safe haven from the Branson ugliness. I needed to bask in the warmth of friendship.

We arrived early. Most of the stools lining the old, wooden bar were empty. The local youth and barflies would show later when the dinner crowd dispersed. However, at the far end of the long, narrow bar, a rabble of women crowded around the small stage, shrieking and laughing.

I hadn’t realized the Sticks fan base had grown. But between Leah’s golden chops and an improvement in the coherency of Todd’s lyrics, perhaps word had gotten out. And Todd’s hiney did look good in his black leather-like pants. I put that thought away and searched for my buddies.

Leah sat at the bar, sipping a Dr. Pepper and chatting with Red. She had unbraided her extensions to cascade down her back in dark waves. Seeing Nik and I, she waved us over. I cast a critical eye over her choice for performance attire. Tonight she wore belted, high-waisted mom-jeans and a lacy, formless blouse, but her red stilettos sauced up the frumpy style. She and her mother would still buy Leah’s clothes from the Miss Modest Line at the local department store if the line produced sizes above age twelve.

Of course with my shrimpy size, I could possibly squeeze into a Miss Modest. But I wasn’t into smocking and Peter Pan collars. I had my own line of Cherry Tucker clothing, mostly pieces from Walmart retrofitted with bling, dye, and a pair of scissors. Tonight’s ensemble included a gossamer-thin blouse worn over a tube top decorated with multicolored, micro-beads spelling out my name. Nik’s expression proved him impressed. Or disturbed. Sometimes it’s difficult to tell those expressions apart.

Hauling Nik with me, I plunked my poster materials on the bar, snagged a stool next to Leah, and introduced Nik to the surrounding folks.

“You’re a chauffeur?” said Red. He leaned a freckled arm on the wooden bar top and studied Nik. Red turned his cobalt green eyes on me. “Why do you have a driver? Did your truck die?”

I cast a scathing glance to Nik. “I hope not. My new boss is a little overprotective of my choice in transit.”

“Can’t blame him there,” said Red. “The Datsun could leave you stranded in the city.”

“I’m stranded in the country. The Datsun’s lying in pieces in my patron’s garage.”

“Heavens,” said Leah. “I guess you’ll be staying home tomorrow.”

“Are you kidding?” I said. “I’ve got things to do. I need to visit the Coderres. I also might have to work at the SipNZip.”

Red shoved Nik a beer and placed a frosty mug before me. “You got a job at the SipNZip?” He didn’t bother to take the incredulousness out of his voice. “I thought Todd was looking for a job.”

“Where is Todd, by the way?” I said. “Did he squeeze into his pleather yet? I seriously fear those pants will inhibit his ability to produce offspring. However, that might also be a blessing.”

“He’s signing autographs,” said Leah, “over by the stage.”

“Autographs?” I leaned back in my seat so I could see the stage. The crowd had swelled and a few women on the outer ring jumped up and down to catch Todd’s attention. I could barely see the top of his sun-streaked blond locks over the gaggle of women.

“I don’t know where this surge in his popularity came from,” said Red. “To be honest, I’m a little annoyed. These fans aren’t buying anything. I’m going to have to start charging a cover.”

“I am not paying a cover to see Todd,” I said. “I see enough of him as it is. Rarely clothed, too. I swear he was raised by nudists.”

“Who is Todd?” asked Nik.

“Cherry’s ex-husband,” said Red. “Don’t get hooked on Cherry. She will break your heart. She has issues with committing.”

“I am not hooked on Cherry,” said Nik. “She is crazy. Not my type.”

I glared at Nik and then Red. “I do not break hearts. They break mine. I thought y’all were my friends.”

“Friends keep it real,” said Red. “We want to help you.”

“I don’t need that kind of help. I get enough of that kind of help from everybody else.”

“We don’t want to see you end up alone,” said Leah. “You had two men willing to put up with you. We were surprised you got that many.”

“She’s feisty,” said Red. “Some men like cute and feisty. They think they’re going to get the milk for free with this one. You can tell she’s not ready to settle.”

“Hey,” I said. “I don’t give away milk.”

“She could have a pet. A dog. A cat will not listen to her always talking,” said Nik. “A dog is more forgiving.”

“Both Todd and Luke have their own issues.” I swigged my beer and glared into the mirror. “I might just try someone else out. Casey said I should have some fun.” I thought about Max and this time didn’t get the nauseous feeling that had previously accompanied thoughts about his maneuvers. Of course, the beer probably helped.

“Another one? You still haven’t gotten over Luke. Would you like me to replay your dramatic scene from two weeks ago when sweet, little Tara Mayfield asked Luke to dance, Miss Jealous Much?” Red looked at Leah. “She’s going to try rebound dating. Always a bad idea.”

“I know, Red.” Leah shook her head at her Dr. Pepper.

“Hello, I’m still here,” I said. “And now I’m changing the subject to Shawna Branson.”

“Not again,” said Nik. “I am not liking this subject.”

“No one asked you. Red, please get Nik some wings. I bragged on them, so make sure they are extra tasty.”

“I did visit Shawna at her shop for you, honey,” said Leah. “Those are some scary baby heads she has hanging in there.”

“Shawna has baby heads hanging in her shop?” asked Red. He waved at Casey and made the international sign for ordering wings. He pointed at me and twirled his finger to hurry her up.

Even at the other end of the room, I could feel Casey’s eye roll.

“Not real baby heads,” I said. “Shawna hasn’t gone that loony. Yet. Did she tell you what kind of pictures she is looking for?”

“Some snapshots. That’s all I could get out of her before she started ranting,” Leah shook her head. “Shawna is horribly jealous of your new commission. I shouldn’t have told her.”

I couldn’t help but smile.

“Fascist,” said Nik into his beer.

“Whatever you do, Red, don’t give Nik any vodka,” I said.

“Did you know Mr. Max has hired out her gallery?” said Leah. “She is very happy about that. Ecstatic, in fact. And would like to rub it in your face.”

“I thought the Bear was going to help me, not Shawna,” I pouted.

“I thought you found Mr. Max suspicious,” said Red. “Why would you want him to help you?”

“He is the only person in Halo willing to buy my art at the moment. I don’t really have a choice. I’m not sure if I trust him, but he seems very willing to help.”

“But what does he want in return?” said Leah.

“Good question,” I said. “The Bear does nothing for free. But he hasn’t suggested anything yet.”

“You be careful,” said Red. “There’s got to be other people in this town willing to back your art.”

“There is posters,” said Nik. He pointed to the signboard paraphernalia I had left on the bar.

“That’s good news,” said Leah. “Who’s having you do posters?”

“Miss Wanda.” I gulped my beer. “The posters are for Shawna. I didn’t have the heart to tell Miss Wanda the announcements are intended to decimate my career. They advertise Shawna’s Concerned Citizens brigade.”

“You’re helping the enemy?” said Red. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I couldn’t tell Miss Wanda no. She’s too nice.” I wiped a drip of beer off a piece of poster board. “However, I thought I could put a positive spin on my artwork while still including the information Shawna wanted.”

“A Trojan horse poster?” said Red.

“Subliminal advertising,” said Leah, reaching for the folder of material.

“Something that would make people not want to go to this meeting,” I opened a notebook and drew a pencil from my bag. “I thought y’all could help me brainstorm.”

My stomach sensed approaching food and called out to claim it. I clamped a hand over my belly as a few of Todd’s fans turned around to search the room for the source of the bee swarm sound.

“Who’s this?” said Casey, plunking two plates of steaming wings on the bar before us. She cocked her head and eyed Nik, who straightened from his slump and eyed her back. Casey looked particularly fetching in her Daisy Duke’s and County Line t-shirt with the sleeves and bottom hem line hacked off. Her bar apron created the only shield between her belly button ring and Red’s public. Considering Red’s public was mostly women at the moment, I couldn’t help but fear for her tips.

“I am Nik.” Nik held out a hand to capture Casey’s and kissed it. “And you must be the angel sent to save me.”

“Good Lord, Nik,” I said, “You can’t come up with a line better than that?”

“Hush,” said Casey. “I’m taking a break, Red.” Before Red could open his mouth to stop her, she had dragged Nik from his stool and they had exited the premises.

“I swear I’m going to fire her, Cherry,” said Red.

“You said yourself the Todd fans aren’t ordering anything. She’ll be back after she and Nik,” I coughed, “get to know each other in the parking lot.”

“Red, calm down,” Leah patted his arm, “you look apoplectic.”

“Your face is so red, your freckles have disappeared,” I added. “Anyway, Nik needs some cheering up. I don’t think he likes working for Rupert. Nik’s a very gloomy person.”

“Let’s work on your posters and take Red’s mind off Casey,” said Leah. She flipped open the folder of copies. “Lord help us. Have you looked in this folder?”

She held up a photocopy that featured an enlarged section of Todd’s anatomy. “This is what Shawna wants stuck on these posters? How could Miss Wanda approve of this?”

“Miss Wanda hadn’t looked at the copies yet. Let me see that,” I snatched the paper, which caught the eye of two women striding toward the autograph signing. They turned fifteen shades of pink, but slowed their walk and halted before us.

“Are those flyers for the Sticks drummer to sign?” asked a woman with a dark haired bob and carrying a purse that looked suspiciously like a diaper bag.

Before the “what?” could fly from my mouth, the older of the pair snatched the flier from my hand. “I recognize this from the other posters. It has to be him.”

“What’s wrong with you?” I said. “Give that back.”

The older woman shoved the flier into the diaper bag. “I know we’re late, but my daughter needs a night out and wanted to see him for herself. Me, too.”

“See what for yourself?”

“The man in the posters. Word has spread the model performs in Sticks. We’ve got one hour before Sissy needs to get home and feed the baby.” She gave Sissy a shove and they sped to the far end of the room.

Red shook his head. “I bet they’re not ordering anything, either.”

I scanned the other copies. “I can’t believe this. Shawna has made Todd into a porn star and turned the female population of Forks County into a bunch of degenerates. And she’s trying to make me look depraved?”

Leah shoved the copies back into the folder. “This is horrible and wrong. I don’t want to see Todd like this.”

“Todd’s image has been sliced and diced and corrupted,” I said. “Shawna has taken an object of beauty and turned it into an object of lust.”

“This kind of notoriety might bring in customers now but will doom my business.” Red leaned over the bar to reexamine the crowd. “Folks will think I support this kind of smut.”

“You have to stop her, Cherry,” said Leah with a lethal glare at Red. “I’m sure Red is just as concerned about what these posters would do to you and Todd as much as his business.”

Red’s ruddy complexion brightened. “Well, of course, Leah. Maybe I should disperse this crowd.”

“I’m getting out of here. I’ll work on these posters at home.” I hopped from my stool, slung my satchel around my shoulder, and turned toward the door. “Actually, I’ll go out the back way. I think seeing my sister and Nik getting acquainted in the breezeway may turn my stomach.”

“She better not be in my foyer,” called Red.

I eased past Todd’s groupies, hoping not to be recognized. The bingo crowd still had it in for me and there was no sense in riling that group. Women addled with Todd-induced hormones and deprived of bingo were a dangerous lot. I caught the gleam of Todd’s tight, faux-leather tush and pushed through the swinging kitchen door. I waved a “hey” at the staff and scooted toward the back door where the cooks took their smoke breaks.

Slamming through the door, I hooked a right toward the parking lot, remembered I didn’t have my truck, and stumbled to a stop at the edge of the building. I scanned the lot for Rupert’s town car and couldn’t find it. Todd’s Civic was also missing. However, Casey’s Firebird had been parked in a prime slot in front.