Portrait of a Dead Guy (18 page)

“The law?” Max narrowed his eyes. “I don’t know what you imply.”

“I imply that I’ve heard a thing or two about you.”

“I hope what you learned was pleasurable.” He grunted and lifted a thick eyebrow, returning my scrutiny. “I imply that it should be.”

“Touché,” I said, thrilled with the chance to use movie French.

“Maybe you’d like to see my collection. It’s quite extensive.”

I thought about Dustin’s effects and Mr. Max’s request to see Dustin’s room. “Do you collect belt buckles?”

“I collect all manner of items related to your war between the American states. Did you know it’s considered the first modern war?”

“I don’t know much about that. But I do know Manet’s exhibition about the same time is considered the first modern painting.”

“Le Déjeuner Sur L’Herbe.” A smile creased the long lines in his broad face. “You know art history well.”

“From school. But here’s how I remembered the painting: ‘a naked chick picnicking with two guys in suits.’” I laughed and broke out in goosebumps. I was trash talking Manet with a murder suspect running an illegal gambling establishment in his basement.

“Now what could you two be talking about?” Luke strolled from the side door. “Cherry, shouldn’t you be running along now? Painting’s done and delivered. I’ll make sure you are paid.”

“I’m having a private conversation.”

Luke moved around me to stand next to Max. “Mr. Avtaikin, we’re going to finish the service at the cemetery. If you’d like to join us, you can ride with me.”

“Don’t you need to ride in the limo with your parents?” I glanced toward the Branson clan convening by the doorway. “Besides, Shawna’ll be disappointed.”

“So she said.”

“Caught up on all the Eagles news, then?”

“No, I’d rather drive myself.” Luke glanced at Max, hoping he’d take his offer for a ride and scoop me on information about the Bear.

“It is very hospitable of you to offer me a ride, but no thank you. Artist, I did not receive your name.” He held out his hand. “Maksim Avtaikin. Some call me Max.”

Luke threw me an irritated look. I tossed one back.

“My name is Cherrilyn Tucker.” Max’s hand swallowed mine. “I hope to know more about you,” I paused to emphasize the next word, “Bear.”

“Cherry,” Luke rolled his eyes.

Max ignored Luke, focusing his piercing blue eyes on me. “You know my name means bear. It is my, what you call, nickname. I look like a bear, no?” He pawed the air and tossed his large head back with a laugh. “So I can call you by your nickname, too? Cherry?”

I bit my lip. “I guess so.”

“Okay. Time to go,” Luke nudged me with his foot.

“Au revoir, mon Cherry?” Max teased and lifted my hand to his mouth.

“Come on, man,” Luke sighed with disgust. “Really?”

Max dropped my hand with a laugh. “Just a joke, friend. Her name makes a good use of words.”

“Bear,” I said. “I was wondering about your relationship with Dustin. Just how well did you know him?”

“Enough, Cherry,” Luke grabbed my arm. “Goodbye, Mr. Avtaikin. Very nice to meet you.” Luke yanked me toward the door.

“He didn’t get to answer the question.” I called over my shoulder, “We’ll continue this another time.”

“You may count on it,” said Max. “I’ll ask around after you. I want to know more about you, artist.”

“Me, too.”

“Why are you provoking Mr. Avtaikin?” Luke muttered as we frog-marched to the parking lot. “You’re dumber than Todd McIntosh. You two deserve each other.”

“What are you talking about?” I shook my arm from Luke’s hold. “I was just trying to get information.”

“You weren’t getting squat.” Luke gripped my shoulders. “Stop this. I know you suspect Mr. Avtaikin and Pete, but this is not how you go about getting intelligence. He was just flirting with you anyway.”

“It wasn’t flirting. You should have heard our banter. It was like something from a 007 movie. I got to say touché.”

“Oh my God.” Luke dropped my arms to smack his forehead. “You are certifiable. Please, just go home. I’ve got to go to the cemetery and hold my mother together. This day just continues to be one long nightmare.”

“Where’s Virginia?”

“Hopefully she hightailed it back to Sweetgum with Darren. More than likely she’s waiting at the cemetery. Why?”

“She left Amos behind. Not that he noticed. He’s higher than a kite,” I squinted in thought. “Butterbean said Virginia wouldn’t come to the funeral unless she was paid. Do you think someone paid her, knowing she’d disrupt everything?”

“I don’t know about that. But leave it alone. I’ll worry about Virginia. Stay away from her and Mr. Avtaikin. And Creepy Pete. No more questioning. You don’t know how to do it anyway.”

I watched him retreat into the circle of Bransons standing in the foyer. Luke couldn’t order me to not ask questions. I had a name to clear. No one would commission portraits from an artist who had dead bodies constantly dumped on her. All of Halo probably thought I was into performance art.

“Why don’t you ride with me, Mr. Avtaikin?” I mimicked in a nasty drawl. “You’ll tell me everything I want to know because I’m Luke Harper and I’m just so good at everything I do.”

Luke said he’d make sure I’d get paid, but I didn’t count on it. The only person who appreciated my painting today was Max Avtaikin. That thought depressed me. Reaching the sidewalk, I realized I had passed the Datsun.

I jumped on the sidewalk as a mass exodus of cars poured from the parking lot intent on following the hearse through stoplights. I watched the cars depart as I fumed. Who did Luke think he was, calling me ineffective? I found out Dustin worked as a heavy for the Bear. Everyone else thought it was a drug deal, but poker connected Dustin to Mr. Max.

I sucked in my breath. Grandpa said they believed the murder resulted from drug deals in the tire shop. Could Max be the distributor, Virginia the maker, and Dustin, the middleman? I needed to talk Cody out of working for Curtis Mather.

But Creepy Pete didn’t connect Mr. Max to drugs. Then who killed Dustin? Creepy Pete? He seemed jealous of the relationship between Max and Dustin. I could picture Dustin mouthing off and Pete clocking him. Or maybe Luke was right about his stepdad. Would JB be so embarrassed by Dustin that he’d kill his own son?

Or did sweet Miss Wanda turn on her stepson, causing Luke to protect her by fixing the murder on JB? Luke certainly didn’t like me asking questions. He made that plenty clear. However, Miss Wanda taught Sunday School. She knew the Ten Commandments pretty well. I remembered Thou Shall Not Kill in there somewhere.

I wanted Shawna involved just so I could shove it back in JB’s face. Although maybe that was wishful, not logical, thinking.

And what was the killer searching for? The same thing Dustin was hunting? Or something like Shawna’s photos? Maybe Dustin caught her trading spit with someone important. A blackmail deal would be motive for murder.

I watched the last car bump over the sidewalk and onto the road. The blacktop looked lonely in the late morning sun. No cars, no funeral, just a peaceful lot on an ordinary day. I flicked a glance right and left, closed my eyes, opened them, and looked again.

“Aw, hell. Somebody took my truck.”

“Tell me, little Miss Britches, whose house are you living in?”

“I’ll get the food,” I grumbled. “Doesn’t anybody care my truck is gone?”

“That piece of crap finally die?” The screen door slammed into the wall. Cody tramped in and kicked Wanda’s shopping bag on the floor. “What happened? I just dropped it off this morning.”

“It’s not dead, it’s missing. So you didn’t take it either? Maybe I better call the police.”

“The police?” Cody grunted. “They’re not going to find your truck. Who’d want to spend time looking for that piece of junk? Just call your insurance and maybe you’ll get some money for a new one.”

My eyes glimmered at that thought and then considered the Datsun’s worth. “I couldn’t even put together a down payment with what they’d give me. No, I’ll call Uncle Will and ask him to keep an eye out for it.”

“Why would somebody steal that truck?” Casey slung several plates on the counter. “It’s old and falling apart. Besides, everybody in town knows it’s yours. You’ve been driving it since high school.”

“Exactly.” I plopped on a chair next to Grandpa.

He spun the tobacco can on the table and glanced at me. “Somebody stole your truck? Where’d you have it parked? That’s what happens when you hang out at bars. You kids play too wild.”

“It was parked at Cooper’s. Can’t get more safe than that, I would think.”

“Cooper’s?” Cody slid into the seat across from me. “You were at Cooper’s today? For the Branson funeral? I heard it got pretty interesting.”

Casey pivoted from the counter. “Interesting how?”

I leaned back in my chair and folded my arms, readying myself for telling the story of the year. “Oh, let’s see. Y’all know JB’s first wife, Virginia Springhouser? Doesn’t live in Halo, but hangs out in Sweetgum some. I guess she planned on avoiding the funeral service because of some altercation at the visitation. But she showed up anyway with Amos Fewe and a kid claiming to be Dustin’s brother.”

“Amos Fewe?” Grandpa leaned back in his chair and scratched his cheek. “Don’t know him.”

“Lives in Sweetgum, keeps bees, and sells wacky tobacky on the side,” Cody explained.

“I thought it was meth,” I said.

“Naw, I think someone else was mixing meth there. Burned their trailer down.”

“Anyway.” I stared at Cody for a beat, wondering where he got his information. “Amos was three sheets to the wind. Virginia stomped in like a bull ready for a red flag, hollering at Cooper because he didn’t usher her in when he didn’t know she was there. Then, she gets in an argument with JB. And her son, or whoever he is, gets in a fight with Charlie Turnbuckle. All this before Pastor Earlie can spout any scripture.”

“No way,” Casey stared at me. “Two fights at a funeral? I thought the Bransons were rich.”

“Rich doesn’t buy you class,” said Grandpa.

“Poor doesn’t buy class either,” I pointed out.

“From what I heard, you were part of that altercation,” Cody raised his eyebrows at Grandpa.

“Cherrilyn. First I heard you were breaking and entering and robbing the dead, now this? Did I raise you to fight at funerals?”

“No, sir.” I glowered at Cody. “I was not involved in a fight. I accidentally got in the way of this Darren and Charlie Turnbuckle when they were wrestling.”

“I heard one of them knocked you out. You fell right into the coffin. Shawna Branson tried to save you but was too late.”

“That’s not what happened. Shawna Branson did nothing to help me.”

“Cherrilyn B. Tucker. Your grandmother is rolling in her grave.” Grandpa swiped the can off the table and shoved it in his pocket. Laying an arm on the laminate tabletop, he leaned into our conversation and riveted his focus on me.

“Tell them what started the fight,” Cody snickered.

I narrowed my eyes. “Where’re you going with this, Cody?”

“Turns out the fight started because the Bransons set up some paintings of Dustin. One picture of a dead guy was so God-awful creepy, people started pitching fits. Virginia went insane with shock. Old women were fainting. Kids screaming. Young guys started fighting. And Cherry’s right there in the middle of it, trying so hard to defend her painting, she gets knocked in a coffin.”

“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?”