1 Portrait of a Dead Guy Read online

  “I’ll walk with you. Let’s go out the back door.”

  He rose, towering over me, and placed a large hand on the back of my neck. Like a dog on a leash, Will guided me through the hallway until we reached an arched doorway. After a glance down the hall, he hustled me through the door and into a kitchen. I shook free of his grip and crossed the room. Leaning my back against a formica counter, I waited for Will to say his piece.

  “Just spit it out, Uncle Will,” I said. “I’m not walking clear around this house looking like you’re ready to shove me into a police car. Obviously, you got something to tell me.”

  “You doing all right?”

  “I’m okay. What’s going on?” I crossed my arms and met his look. Will didn’t usually worry about me. My siblings, Casey and Cody, were a whole different kettle of fish, though. Some days it felt like their good decisions were the exception to a lifetime of dumb moments.

  “I mean for money.” Will shoved his hands into his pockets. “Why are you taking a crazy gig like this? Miss Wanda is a nice woman, but she has some different ideas about decorating. Did you hear about her having all those bushes cut like animals?”

  “That’s topiary. What’s the big deal about that?”

  “She had clothes made for them, too. What kind of woman dresses up hollies?”

  “Don’t worry about me.” I relaxed off my previous attitude. “But every dollar helps. Art school wasn’t cheap. Although I’m glad to not live at the farm, Great-Gam’s house is a money pit. Today I found something oozing through the plaster in the living room wall. And you know about my truck. Besides, this portrait means doing what I really love, painting pictures of people. Even if the guy’s not breathing.”

  “I’d help you if you’d let me.”

  “Thank you, but I’m plenty old enough to take care of myself.” And if Casey and Cody heard I borrowed money from Will, they would forever be knocking at his door looking for handouts. “Grandpa didn’t raise me to take charity.”

  Will grunted in affirmation.

  “Now tell me about the murder.” I spied an electric kettle and a box of tea bags on the countertop. “You want some tea? It’ll take Cooper a minute to bring up Dustin.”

  “No thanks, hon.” Will ran a hand over his thick salty-brown buzz. “I’m leading the investigation, of course. Still don’t have a number on what happened to him. That’s between you and me, now.”

  “You got some suspects? Murder weapon?”

  He stared at me stone-faced.

  “Come on, Uncle Will. Give me something.”

  “Girl, you know better than to mix our personal relations with my job.”

  “That’s no fun.” I twisted around to lean over the counter, hunting for a mug in the cupboards. “For once, I’d love to be the first one to report some exciting news to Grandpa.”

  “By news you mean gossip.” He reached over my head, snatched the mug on a shelf just out of my reach, and slid it onto the counter. “You kids are getting a little old to compete for Ed’s attention like that.”

  I shrugged and dropped a tea bag into the mug. “Speaking of gossip, what’s the deal with Dustin’s stepbrother coming back in town?”

  “Who, Luke Harper? You sound like it’s unreasonable for him to come to a family funeral.” He eyed my fake nonchalance. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Me?” I turned my back to Will and checked the kettle. “I’m just asking. He hasn’t been home in seven years. I’m just wondering what you heard about his plans now that he’s out of the Army.”

  “Luke Harper’s plans?” Will chewed on that idea for a moment. “I know what this is about. It’s his looks, isn’t it?”

  “Good Lord, I’m not a boy crazy teenager anymore.” I spun around, color rising in my cheeks. “Give me some credit. I used to know him. I just wondered is all.”

  “You lost your credit with that fiasco in Vegas.” Will winked, referring to my dumbest moment in twenty-six years.

  “Todd cannot keep his mouth shut,” I muttered. “We did not get married. I don’t care what he says. And why would anyone believe him over me? I’ve had more intelligent conversations with Snug the Coonhound than Todd McIntosh.”

  “Thereby proving my point. All I’m saying is know your weaknesses and avoid them.”

  “Man. You can’t get away with anything in this town.”

  “Remember that. It’ll keep you in line.” Will squeezed my shoulder as the steam blew. “There’s your kettle. You best get your skinny behind to work. If something’s oozing through your walls, that’d be a plumbing issue. You want to get rich, marry a plumber.”

  “I’ll work on that.”

  “I’d rather you work on marrying a plumber than doing crazy jobs like painting Dustin Branson’s picture.” He faked a shudder to accompany his wink. “Just thinking about painting a guy in a funeral home is enough to give me the willies.”

  I threaded my way through the back maze of Cooper’s to the front lobby, intent on grabbing my sketching supplies from my truck bed. Now that I competed for the commission with Shawna, I realized the craziness of the situation. Wanda and JB compartmentalized their feelings like crime scene veterans. Of course, I wasn’t privy to the private goings-on of the Bransons. There was probably some perfectly good psychological explanation for wanting a coffin portrait of a son you didn’t seem to like very much.

  I had bigger things to worry about. Like spending some quality time with a dead guy.

  And avoiding Luke, I thought, as Wanda flagged me down. Luke hovered next to her. The portfolio case I had snagged from the conference room bumped against my back, keeping time with my steps. As I threw him an eye roll, my toe hit a seam in the carpet and I stumbled. The long case strap twisted beneath my arm and the oversized bag flipped forward. A hard corner smacked me in the gut. With a mostly silent grunt, I fixed the strap, flipped the case back, and looked up.

  A dimple glimmered in Luke’s cheek and went out.

  “Cherry, where did you get to?” asked Wanda. She pointed to a large red shopping bag at her feet. “I’ve got Dustin’s mementos here for you. I had them in my car in case I got a chance to pass by Crafty Corner.”

  “Great.” I slung the portfolio bag onto my back, picked up the bag, and supported the sagging weight under one hand. Luke’s dimple, hovering somewhere beneath his hardened jaw, threatened to emerge as he watched my struggle.

  “I’d get the door for you,” he said, “but I’m sure you’ll be fine seeing as how you’re a businesswoman and all. You probably got used to getting your own doors in the last seven years. I was raised a gentleman, but I’m not going to tread on your independence.”

  Wanda nudged him. “Honey, you help Cherry. Stop teasing her. She might not know what a joker you are.”

  “Don’t worry, ma’am,” I said. “I find it hard to take him seriously.”

  “Give me the bag,” he said.

  I eyed Miss Wanda and heaved a big sigh. Considering my overburdened arms and my rush to get started, my protests would seem ridiculous.

  “Fine.” I set the bag on the floor and yanked off my portfolio case. “Take this to the viewing room. I’ll be back in a minute with my sketching stuff.” I didn’t want to chance getting stuck in my truck with him. Memories of Luke and my truck were starting to trickle back. Although they weren’t as bad as memories of Luke and his truck. His truck had been much more comfortable than mine.

  I jettisoned to the Datsun and back to find Dustin ready and waiting in the viewing room. JB’s minions had cleared out. Wanda and JB had also disappeared, although their Lincoln MKT still sat in the parking lot. So did a black Ford Raptor pickup. Someone with a stepdad in the auto industry had recently received a shiny new truck. The man with the penchant for black pickups had dropped the portfolio case on a chair in the vi
ewing room and disappeared. I blew a sigh of relief and used the solitude to get accustomed to my first literal still life.

  “Hey Dustin,” I whispered. “I’m sorry about your passing. At least the way you went. No one deserves to have their life taken from them like that.”

  Footsteps approached the doorway, and I realized the family probably hadn’t spent time with Dustin yet. I grabbed my sketchbook and slid to a back corner chair, where a grouping of floral arrangements kept my presence unobtrusive. Luke, Wanda, and JB strolled in with Cooper.

  “Oh my,” said Wanda, walking directly to the coffin. She closed her eyes in prayer for a moment. “You did a good job, Cooper.”

  “I got a new girl,” said Cooper, “she’s pretty good. Keeps forgetting her keys, though, and leaving them in the kitchen.”

  “Hard to train new staff,” said JB gruffly. He and Luke hung back and stood at right angles to the casket. “The coffin turned out real nice. I didn’t think we needed top of the line, but a lot of people are going to see it, I suspect.”

  From behind a palm frond, I watched Cooper nod. “You should have a good turnout for the visitation and the funeral. I’ve been taking calls all day.”

  “Heard from Virginia yet, JB?” Luke asked.

  “Surprisingly, no,” said JB. “Any normal woman would have scooted up here as soon as she heard her son was dead.” He ran a hand through his thinning hair. “As if I could take any more embarrassment over this fiasco. Now I’ll have my crazy ex-wife up here stirring up trouble. She’s probably postponing the visit on purpose.”

  “What purpose?” Switching his stance to face JB, Luke placed himself in line with me. I hunkered over the sketchbook, pretending to draw, and prayed the Bransons would be too preoccupied to notice me. I didn’t want to lose the commission over something as dumb as being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Shawna would love that.

  “Who knows with Virginia?” JB uttered a disgusted grunt. “Probably trying to figure out how to get some money out of this. You know she tried to sue me for child support after she abandoned her own kid?”

  “She didn’t abandon Dustin,” Wanda said.

  “I don’t know what else you call leaving a kid to run around like a cat in heat.” JB turned his back on the coffin.

  “Not like you were a saint at the time,” Luke said. “I wonder if Daddy Branson hadn’t told you to straighten up or lose the family business, you might still be carousing with Virginia. Were you ever going to do the same with Dustin? Call him on the floor before delivering the empire?”

  “Luke,” Wanda said, hurrying to JB’s side. “Don’t talk to JB like that.”

  “It’s the truth, Mom.” He crossed his arms and stole a glance at Cooper. “Sorry, Cooper. Don’t mean to air the Branson dirty laundry in front of you.”

  Cooper gave a noncommittal cough and shuffled to the casket, putting some space between him and the family.

  “I’d say I’ve had enough time in here,” said JB. “Come on, Wanda.”

  “We should go over the service if you’re ready,” said Cooper. He patted the casket and faced the Bransons. “We can go to the conference room or my office.”

  “Let’s get it done,” said JB. “I want to get to the office and check a few things.”

  “Can’t you get Ronny to do that for you?” Wanda tucked her arm inside JB’s, slowing his pace to exit the room. “We’re expecting more people today.”

  Cooper trudged after them, looking like he barely survived World War III. Which for Cooper meant a couple extra lines furrowing his brow.

  “Did you get all that?”

  I looked up from the little dog I doodled in my notebook. Luke stood facing me, his stance wide and arms crossed. Scrambling up from the chair, I scooted around a flower arrangement.

  “I was already in here and didn’t want to disturb you,” I said. “But yeah, I heard. We all got some skeletons in our closets. No big deal.”

  Luke scowled. “Knowing I’m going to encounter Virginia always puts me in a bad mood. She’s a couple fries short of a Happy Meal. Dustin didn’t have much of a chance with that DNA combination.”

  “Well, I know something about mothers who choose a love life over their kids.”

  “Yeah,” Luke wandered over to my pile of supplies and picked up a portable easel, “me, too.”

  There wasn’t much more to say unless someone started handing out shots of Jack with a Loretta Lynn song on the jukebox. I let Luke futz around with my easel while I took another tour of Dustin. There was no “angel viewing” angle with my height. Cooper had the coffin jacked up unnecessarily high. I held my sketchpad under one arm and stood on my toes peering over the coffin. Dustin looked pretty good. The police hadn’t revealed how he had been killed, but there was no obvious injury to his face, thank the Lord.

  “I could lift you up so you can see more than the coffin handles,” said the soft baritone hovering above my head.

  “That’s original. A joke about my height.” I resisted the urge to turn around. “You want to give me a little space? I don’t know Dustin well enough to get this friendly with him.”

  Luke stepped back but shifted to my side instead of leaving. His hands dropped to rest on the coffin’s edge. “He would have liked to know you’re hanging all over him now. Harassing his parents to get a chance to spend time with him.”

  “Wasn’t going to happen while he was alive, so I guess I can give him some attention now.”

  Luke tried to crack a smile, but you could have bounced a penny off those tight shoulders.

  “Do you know how he died?” I asked.

  “Somebody smacked the back of his skull with something heavy.” Luke stared at his stepbrother. “Probably walked up to him and beamed him in one blow.”

  “How could someone do that?”

  “Easy. I could’ve knocked you a good one. Hidden something in my pocket or picked something up in the room. You knew I was in the room and didn’t turn around. I stood right…”

  The hair rose on the back of my neck. “Yeah, I know where you were standing, and you’ve done it a few too many times today.” I looked at him askance. “I don’t like my personal space violated.”

  “That’s not what I remember…”

  “You can stop right there, Hugh Hefner. Let’s get something straight. I’m all grown up. I’m not, nor was I ever, some piece of trash you could get drunk on Boone’s Farm, have your way with in your truck, and leave at the Waffle House with an unpaid check.”

  “Man, that was a long time ago. You really do hold a grudge.”

  “You did it more than once!” I tossed my sketchbook to the floor. Placing my hands on my hips, I took a step closer and flung my chin up.

  “Hell, you’re just mad because you wanted me so bad, you let me get away with it.”

  “You want to try that again?”

  “You know I’m right.”

  “You are a…” I struggled for appropriate words to use in a funeral home. “Pig! I’ve news for you, Luke Harper.”

  He edged closer. I resisted retreat and took another step forward until we stood inches away. I glowered and poked a finger into his chest.

  “You start messing with me, you’re gonna end up with an ass full of buckshot. Not only do I still have that piece of crap yellow truck, I also have my daddy’s shotgun, and I know how to use it.”

  Snatching my hand, he folded the offending finger to rest within his palm. “And if you don’t keep your fingers to yourself, you’re going to lose one.” He released my hand.

  I stepped back and retrieved my sketchbook from the floor. “It’s time I got back to work. Now that I’m done with SCAD, I’ve crazy student loans to pay off, not to mention a few other bills. Make yourself useful. Ask Cooper how to lower this table so I can get a
good view.”

  He stared at me a beat, then left the room.

  I scrambled through my tackle box looking for a good piece of charcoal. Quality art supplies were expensive, and I tried to balance the line between conservation and cheapskate. I opened a larger sketchpad of heavier bond, luxuriating in the feel of the soft, bumpy surface on my fingers. Flipping through the pages, I found a blank sheet, set the sketchpad on the easel with the charcoal, and waited for the return of Luke with Cooper.

  No Luke or Cooper.

  I eyed the oak-paneled casket. As usual, a discussion with Luke spun me away from reality. Had we just gone another round while a dead body lay before us like a pitcher of beer and plate of nachos? I needed to refocus on the reason I stood in a funeral home with a sketchbook and empty pockets. This time when I peered over the side of the oak paneling, I wanted to see Dustin as his mother would. Or stepmother, in this case.

  Dustin usually had stringy blonde hair, worn long and unkempt, but Cooper had his beautician brush and trim it. Now the smooth, blonde locks fell gently, pillowing his head. Death softened his face, hiding the angry lines that held a scowl and a scornful set to the eyes. Dark eyebrows relaxed above blonde eyelashes tipped in brown, permanently closed. I sighed, trying to imagine Dustin singing with angels. Too hard. More than likely a giant pitchfork poked him right about now.

  My eyes drifted over the blue suit to the clasped hands. The long fingers had beautiful shape and an undisclosed strength. I’d be willing to bet they would have been skilled at fine arts and crafts. Such a waste to have those beautiful hands and not the mind to match them. I wanted to capture the slight turns and creases of the knuckles, the long digits that portrayed an artistic suppleness. Even the nails appeared smoothly squared and buffed.

  Of course, the nails looked nice. He just had the manicure to end all manicures. Literally.

  I took a deep breath and gave myself a mental shaking. I had my focal point. No need to get all artsy-fartsy.

  I turned away from Dustin and walked to the doorway in search of living beings. Glancing around the empty reception area, I took a right down the hallway. Voices murmured from the kitchen. I quick-stepped through the hall and stopped in the archway.