Portrait of a Dead Guy (21 page)

“Everything okay over here?” Casey asked from behind me.

I nodded. “You remember Ronny Price?”

“Sure, from Branson’s dealership?”

“Casey Tucker.” Ronny slid off his stool and held out his hand. “Nice to see you again.”

Casey allowed him to pump her arm. Her grip had the obvious consistency of overcooked noodles. “Y’all need anything? Cody’s taking off.”

“Beer,” I mouthed. I could feel the scotch desensitizing the end of my nose. And my feet felt farther away than usual.

“I could use another scotch. Dewar’s is fine, Casey.” Ronny climbed back on the stool and slid an arm along the bar, making a private space for us to talk. I scooted closer to keep the conversation between us.

“So you don’t like Mr. Max so much?

“I find him ill bred.” Ronny slurped his drink in expectation of the next round. “And a social climber. Although I did sell him his Escalade.”

“He does have humble beginnings,” I conceded, thinking about my conversation with Max at the funeral. “And he knows his art. And history. But what about the gambling? I’m worried about his influence in Halo.”

A beer appeared on the counter before me. I picked it up gratefully, leaving the hard stuff to Ronny. The scotch had numbed my lips. I smacked them, trying to regain feeling.

“Influence? I guess Avtaikin is making himself known in certain circles.” Ronny watched my mouth, fascinated with my lip exercises.

I noticed his interest and stopped. “You ever see Dustin Branson with Mr. Max?”

“Dustin? I heard he worked for Mr. Avtaikin. JB didn’t like that at all.”

“Dustin got in a lot of trouble, didn’t he?”

“Unfortunately, Dustin couldn’t stay out of trouble. He lied and stole.” Ronny leaned closer. “I think Mr. Avtaikin turned a blind eye to certain things Dustin did, but maybe he didn’t know about it either.”

“What? Dustin stealing?”

“Yes. Pity, really. Dustin was a mess.”

I nodded and squinted one eye in concentration. “Do you know exactly what he stole?” My stool jostled as someone slid into the seat next to me. I spun to the left and locked on eyes the color of slate after a recent rain. Watercolor would capture that darkened expression of mixed irritation and exasperation Luke wore so well.

“What are you doing up here?” I said. “Slumming it?”

I didn’t give him a chance to answer and whipped back around, spilling beer en route. Ronny’s hand found my shoulder to keep me from tumbling off the stool.

“Hold on there, little lady.” He pushed another martini glass toward me. “I ordered you another drink.” He slid it closer. “Enjoy.”

“You’re hitting on Ronny Price?” A low voice breathed in my ear. “You’re not fooling anybody, especially me. I told you to stop interrogating folks.”

Portraying lazy indifference, Luke swiveled on his stool and leaned into our circle, pushing a glass of water at me.

“Good evenin’, Ronny,” Luke said and glanced at my stack of sketches. “You doing bar napkin portraits now, Cherry?” Luke flipped through the stack. A crease marred his forehead and tugged down his dark brows.

“Leave those alone.” I swiped at the inky napkins and stole one. It tore and stuck to my fingers. Ink bled through the thin paper and tattooed my fingertips. I drug my fingers across the bar, making little paper pills on the sticky surface.

“How are you, Luke?” Ronny asked, trying to get back to the higher ground of sophisticated conversation. “How’s Miss Wanda holding up?”

“She’s doing as well as can be expected, sir. Thanks for asking. It’s been a strange day, to say the least. Strange week.”

“So it has. Looks like your gal is missing you.” Ronny gestured to the Branson table with his glass. I looked over my shoulder. Shawna’s face held the diligent smile of the seasoned debutante. Fresh lipstick and the correct amount of eyeliner maintained a mask of pleasant affability. Her eyes, however, appealed to Luke for relief from impending boredom and irritation at his choice of location.

“Maybe she’d like my Cosmo.” I pictured flinging the Cosmo in her face as payback for my ruined palette. Petty is as petty does.

“Good idea. Why don’t you bring her back a Cosmo, Luke?” Ronny held up his hand for Red. “Don’t want to keep the little lady waiting.”

“You trying to get rid of me, Ronny? Better view of the band from here. Y’all go on with your conversation.”

“What’s the matter, Cherry?” Ronny pushed his glass away. “You want to get out of here?”

Luke extended an arm across the bar, his hand settling near my elbow. I shook off the interfering hand and smiled cooly at Ronny. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” I had gained some information and enough alcohol to numb my worries. Mission accomplished as far as I was concerned. I felt a little bad for Ronny, but I wasn’t that cheap of a date. It had also occurred to me Ronny held some grudges worth exploring. “Sticks is getting ready to play.”

The recorded music stopped and a lull settled over the crowd. Two guys trooped on the stage. The first, a guitarist, wore a t-shirt reading “Beer Advocate,” although his lack of gut indicated more muscle than love handle. He slunk across the stage in black Pumas with an electric guitar slung over his back, bandito style. Meanwhile, the bassist, tall and thin as a Georgia pine, planted himself on the edge of the short stage. His ash blonde hair waved past his shoulders and a mustache ran into his beard. Brown eyes blinked at the crowd in either fear or crazed belligerence.

“Now where did Todd dig up this bunch?” I called to Red. “A college boy and a reject from Lynyrd Skynyrd?”

After a moment’s delay, Todd swaggered onto the stage in the tight pleather. Crimson colored drumsticks twirled through his fingers. Like steak and gravy, he appeared all sizzle and smooth. A sigh rolled through the women’s section. Todd’s ripped t-shirt and tight pants left little to the imagination. I fanned my cheeks, warmed by alcohol and a sudden shot of adrenaline.

“Good Lord,” said Luke. He swigged his beer in contempt.

“Oh my,” I said and straightened on my stool. That strange magic cast by band musicians washed over me, as well as the other women in the audience. I suddenly remembered what had enticed me to Vegas. Ronny fidgeted on his stool and ordered another drink.

“Put your tongue back in your mouth, Cherry.” Luke folded his arms over his chest, unimpressed with Todd’s transformation into rock god.

“Would you like another drink?” Ronny asked me.

Luke shot Ronny a glance that would have withered grapes into raisins. I shook my head, not to give Luke the satisfaction, but to stop my world from spinning.

“Ronny, I did want to talk to you some more,” I said with my eyes fixed on the stage. “But just now I’m having trouble remembering about what.”

Todd maneuvered into the tight spot behind the drums with a final spin of his drumsticks. He wore his rocker persona with the right combination of confidence and hunky male deliciousness. The other men on the stage faded in my sight, as did the two on either side of me. While I salivated over Todd, a shrill whistle blew from the audience followed by a hoot. Someone else had appeared on stage. I shook my head, took in the newcomer, and blinked in surprise.

“Wow,” said Luke. His arms unwrapped from his chest and slid onto his knees as he peered at the stage.

A woman in tight jeans and a tiny black cami stood before the lead mike. One hand twitched at her side. The toe of her red pump rubbed a small track in the stage floor. Her hair towered high above her head in a backcombed beehive. Metallic rods stuck out of the upsweep in different directions. Her body undulated in majestic curves, the camisole and jeans straining to hold everything in place.

“Holy shit.”

I glanced over my shoulder. Red stood slack jawed with one hand clasping the bar rag on his shoulder.

“Holy shit is right. Is that Leah?”

Red nodded. “No wonder her mother tries to cover her up.”

Taking advantage of the silence that had fallen over the crowd, Todd grabbed his microphone. “Hey y’all. I’m Todd. That’s Sid and Llewellyn. She’s Leah. We’re Sticks because we rock.”

Todd raised his drumsticks overhead and struck them together three times. The guitarist licked into a smooth chord set before the rest of the band joined him. Leah’s voice faltered over the first few notes, grew in strength, and deepened into her full, sensuous tone. The audience sat spellbound through the first half of the song before returning to their drinks. By the chorus, Leah let go of her fear, grabbed the microphone and belted the lyrics. The song evoked a vampire theme, but Todd always did have a fascination with the undead.

“Your love’s sucking the life right out of me. You think it tastes so sweet just to watch me bleed.”

The lyrics faltered in meaning, but I hadn’t high expectations for Todd’s writing. However, his drumming had the frenetic elegance of a Jackson Pollack painting. My focus slipped between Leah and Todd. Casey’s ingenious creation of Leah’s clothes and beehive befuddled and excited me. Todd’s ripped arms flying over the drum set befuddled and excited me in an altogether different way.

Casey sidled in between Luke and I. “Hey, they’re not half bad,” she yelled in our ears.

“What did you do to Leah?”

“Do you like it?”

“You’re a genius.” I dipped toward her. Casey threw out a hand to push me back in place. “Where’d you get the clothes?”

“I took off that ugly jacket and pinned the jeans and top to tighten them up. Simple, really.” She smiled, feeling proud of her work in trashing up the untrashy.

“Wow. You’re good.”

“The forks in her hair were Todd’s idea.”

“Forks?” I leaned forward, slipping on the pleather, and squinted at Leah’s hair. “Are those the metal bars in the bird’s nest? Her head’s gonna hurt in the morning.”

“So is yours. Are you drunk?”

“Yes,” said Luke, his eyes on the stage.

“No,” I said, glaring at Luke.

“Maybe,” I corrected. “It’s all those drinks Ronny bought me.” I swung my head to my left. “Where’d he go?”

“Oh, probably the rooster’s room. I haven’t seen you this tight in ages,” Casey laughed. “Did you have fun?”

“Not really,” I yelled. “I was with Ronny Price.”

“At least he was buying,” she nodded with economic astuteness.

I pointed my cup at Casey before taking another slurp of water. “I think he might know more about Dustin.”

“You have no business asking about Dustin,” Luke said grimly.

“My reputation is ruined. And I gotta find out who has my gun.”

“She’s got a point,” Casey nodded. “Can’t have some stranger walking around shooting people with Daddy’s gun.”

“Exactly.”

“I think you have more to do with ruining your reputation than you give yourself credit. Let the police do their job.”

“Oh, they’ve got plenty to do.” Casey leaned back against the bar with her eyes on the stage. “Look, Leah’s fixing to sing another song. Besides, Cherry’s doing pretty good with her list of suspects.” I shook my head at Casey, but she took no notice. “And Cherry did notice something strange about Dustin’s collection.”

“What collection?”

“You know, the stuff your momma got for the wall box. Cherry thinks half the items are not even Dustin’s. Miss Wanda probably didn’t notice because she was so upset and all. Some of it looks expensive. Some of it’s drug related.” Casey flicked a knowing side-glance toward Luke. “And some of it’s yours.”

“Where is this stuff?”

“At Gam’s house, I think.” Casey shook my arm. “Honey, is your little project still at the farm?”

“I hid it.” I crossed my arms and couldn’t help grinning at my brilliance. “Until I talk to Miss Wanda.”

“Hid what?”

They were drowned out by Todd’s voice, this time crooning a ballad about a runaway bride: “By the time she bailed me out, she bailed on me.”

“Wait a minute.” The lyrics took weight and their significance floated to the top of my liquor-addled brain. “That’s about me.” I threw up my hands to stop Casey and Luke from talking and listened to a few more bars.

“That’s me. Isn’t it Todd?” I yelled across the room. The music drowned out my bellowing. “Is this song about Vegas?”

I launched off the stool, my hands clenched at my side. I stood immersed in the lyrics and caught “bets off the table” and “white, fringed boots.” A shriek of laughter ripped from Shawna. Leah harmonized with her eyes closed, head tipped up, and hands rising and falling with the rhythm. As he sang, Todd’s wistful look matched the slowed tempo. I watched him drawing out the story into a bluesy tale of heartache, with me as the evil bitch from hell. Lyrics about MY failure to become a wife. With all of Halo to hear.

Of course, he left out his gambling habit that left me a poker widow on our wedding night. My sight blurred to crimson edged with a throbbing magenta.

“Grab her,” Casey said. “She’s heading for the stage. No telling what she’ll do. But if she ruins Leah’s big night, she’ll hate herself in the morning.”

An arm flung around my middle yanked me off my feet. Two seconds later I stood in Red’s vestibule, puffing with exertion and the desire not to get sick. I glowered at Luke, not trusting my voice to the queasy feeling in my stomach.

I expected him to turn back through the door, but instead he ushered me into the cool night air. I set my lips together and gave him one of my fierce looks, even though it made my temples pound. However, Luke wasn’t looking at me. His thoughts were turned inward as he ushered me toward his truck. Finally he laughed.

“That song was about you?”

“Yes.

“I have to give Todd credit. He may not be as dumb as I thought. But he sure is an idiot.”