A Composition in Murder (A Cherry Tucker Mystery Book 6)

by Larissa Reinhart

  “Good to know. Who the hell are you not going to Red’s with?”

  Taking a deep breath, he delivered the name like it was a firing squad’s last shot.

  “Shawna Branson.”

  Three

  The County Line Tap—owned by my friend Red and locally called Red’s because it’s a much nicer establishment than the old County Line Tap, making a differentiation necessary—was our local joint and only a few blocks from Great Gam’s house. I left the Datsun at 211 Loblolly to hoof it to Red’s. It was a chilly walk to the squat corrugated-metal building that appeared more roadhouse than it actually was. But I needed to ice off the fire in my gut.

  Todd was family. More than family, because I liked him better than some of my family. Enough so that I married him for five minutes and lived with him now. He was my best friend. Also my incarcerated brother Cody’s best friend. The person who stood between Cody and freedom was Shawna Branson. And here was Todd. Sleeping with the enemy.

  I shook off that thought. I didn’t want to go there.

  Inside Red’s, I stomped past the tables of families eating hushpuppies and burgers. At the old wooden bar, I plopped on a stool and held up a finger.

  The finger caught in Red’s peripheral vision. He turned from a chat with another customer and spotted the body joined to the finger. The smile stretching between freckles dimmed. He shot toward my end of the bar, a hand up in defense.

  “I hope you’re not here to make trouble, Cherry,” he began. “I couldn’t do anything about it. You know what was happening to my business. It wasn’t personal—”

  “I am not here to make trouble. I’m here to drown my sorrows like every other barfly.” I snagged the rag from his hand, wiped my spot, and reached for a napkin. “I’m in desperate need of a beverage. Preferably a cold one that starts with a b and ends with an r.”

  “I’m talking about me dismissing Casey and you showing here to chew out my ass.”

  “To be honest, it was on my mind, but I’ve got bigger fish to fry now.”

  Red waved a hand around the bar. “This is the most customers I’ve had in three months. That included the holidays. Restaurants can’t stay afloat in those circumstances. It was either Casey or everyone would be out of a job.”

  Nodding, I reached over the counter to fish a mug off the drying rack, and set it before Red.

  “There’s a shitload of Bransons in this town. Or those who work for Bransons. That’s like ninety percent of my customer base. What was I going to do?”

  I sighed, hoisted myself on the bar, and stuck my mug under the tapper.

  “I can’t support the staff and pay my bills with what you and Todd eat and drink.”

  Tipping the mug, I pushed the tap forward and waited for it to fill. I let the suds run over the side, shut the tapper, and leveled off. Scooting backward, I hoisted off the bar and reached for the beer.

  Red wiped off my sudsy mess and set a new napkin before me. “I had anonymous calls, Cherry, telling me that although they loved eating here, my wait staff gave me a bad reputation. Or flat out, if I didn’t fire Casey, they’d never come back.”

  At first, the beer cooled what burned in my chest. I drew in the nectar, refreshing the parched wasteland that had been my mouth, but the aridity bloomed into a verdant pasture of weeds. Sharp words. Nasty retorts. Ugly comebacks. I focused on coaxing the icy sweet amber into numbing my building anger instead of spawning a thicket of hate.

  “One kind soul finally told me the Bransons had made it known that businesses who hired Ballard kin should be banned in light of what Cody did to Shawna.”

  “Allegedly did to Shawna,” I reminded him.

  “I was blackballed right alongside all y’all.”

  “Until now.” I fished a five-dollar bill out of my pocket and set it on the bar next to my empty glass. “I guess I won’t tar up your establishment with my presence. I’ll be taking my company elsewhere.”

  Red’s freckles disappeared as his skin deepened in color. “I didn’t mean—”

  “I know exactly what you meant, Red. Business before friendship.”

  “Cherry,” he pleaded.

  “I’m not in the mood, Red. One knife in the back was enough for tonight. Two knives make for a hard night’s sleep.”

  I spun away and stomped through the crowded tables. The walk home was chilly but did little to cool off my anger. Instead, I had worked myself into a good lather. Todd’s Civic had disappeared to wherever one took Shawna Branson on dates. My bungalow looked too small for the giant-sized feelings swelling within me. I needed company. Something to take my mind off the Benedict Arnolds in my life. I contemplated the few establishments where I could have a beer and gab in peace to blow off this steam. Other than Red’s, most Halo enterprises were closed at night and on Sundays. They also didn’t serve what wasn’t allowed in the blue laws. There were plenty of places in Line Creek, but I didn’t want to drive that far.

  And then I remembered Halo House had a bar. The Last Call.

  Where nobody remembered my name.

  Perfect.

  The Last Call looked like a typical hotel bar. Adjoined to Halo House’s fine dining space, the bar and restaurant were open to the public, although neither were advertised in the local phone directory under “Eating Establishments.” Halo House also had a twenty-hour deli (open three a.m. to eleven p.m.), a pool bar, and room service.

  “I am telling you,” I said, hopping onto a leather barstool, “Halo House is something else. Always someone to talk to. Lots going on. Buses that take you anywhere you want to go. I just love it to death.”

  “Don’t say that five-letter word too loudly around here.” The bartender, a retirement-aged woman with frosted tips in her burgundy hair, had a surprisingly edgy north-of-the-sweet-tea-line accent. She flashed a look around the walker and cane set, playing cards and chatting at the cocktail tables. “Or at least don’t shout it.” She extended her hand. “I’m Rosie. You look familiar. Whose granddaughter are you?”

  “I’m Cherry.” I shook her hand. “I’m Grandma Jo’s girl, but she isn’t here. Actually, she passed ten years ago. Cancer.”

  “So sorry. Had it myself and kicked its can in my fifties. I’m one of the lucky ones. What brings you to the Last Call?”

  “Beer and company mostly. I teach art here.”

  “Right, you’re the painting lady. Heard that’s a popular class, although some are anxious to get to the good stuff.”

  “Good stuff?” I considered the fundamentals I had covered. “We’ve done linear, one-point and two-point perspective. We’re working our way to line and plane variations using still life objects, but I thought they should master drapery to understand depth and shadow first. They’re probably anxious to get to the still lifes. Drawing cones and cubes can get tedious.”

  “Sounds boring as hell, but I don’t do art.” Rosie pushed a beer toward me. “No, I’m talking about models.”

  “Models? This is a fundamentals class, not a life-drawing class.”

  “Sweetheart, these ain’t the kind of folks who sign up for ‘Learn to Draw Tippy the Turtle’ in the back of a magazine. They like you well enough, but you’ve got to keep them interested.”

  “They’re learning more than Tippy the Turtle in my class. But I will take your advice and push us faster into two-D representation.”

  “Better make it three-D if you know what’s good for you. I saw the poster you made. It’s bait and switch otherwise.”

  “An Ingres-styled odalisque is a classical subject. I thought the class name, ‘Art with Miss Cherry,’ needed clarification. I painted the odalisque to show my serious intentions for teaching all the fundamentals.” Straightening my shoulders, I gave her a nod. “Miss Krenzer said Halo House never had such interest in a class before.”

 
“That’s because you’ve got a naked chick lying on pillows.”

  “Only semi-nude. Pretty normal for an odalisque.” I forced a smile, using Grandma Jo’s advice about politeness to strangers. “I appreciate your opinion, but I have a degree in painting. If you don’t have the basics, you can’t jump into life drawing. The human figure is challenging. It’s not just rendering what you observe, it’s also capturing emotion and personality.”

  “Degree-schmegee.” Rosie rolled her eyes. “There’s too much going on at Halo House. There’s a hot yoga class starting. Those art students will drop you like a bad penny. They’ve got short attention spans when it comes to activities. Time’s precious here.”

  My eyes widened. “I’ll lose my job. I can’t lose my job to something called hot yoga.”

  “Then you better get cracking.” Rosie leaned an arm on the bar. “You must have a mostly female class. Don’t bore them with a constant parade of boobs. They’ve all seen that before. However, the ladies are taking the class because the boobs will attract the men.”

  “But I was hired to teach art, not pornography.” My chin rose with my dignity. “That is a distinction this town has difficulty understanding. And I feel it’s my job to elucidate the people of Halo on the difference between fine art and tacky titillation.”

  “You’re going to elucidate yourself out of a job,” said Rosie. “Don’t get all uppity with your art crap. I may be new to the area, but I’m a quick study. Just because these folks have money and a long history in the county don’t mean they don’t want tacky titillation. They’ve lived a long time and they’re tired of minding their manners. They want a good time in their final years.”

  “Making quality art is a good time.”

  She poured a shot of bourbon in a wineglass and filled it with Diet Coke. “Let me show you something about quality in Halo House. People ’round here act snobbish at times, but money don’t buy good taste. Nor does it buy good sense.”

  I leaned forward. I may draw the line between good and bad art, but I never drew a line when it came to hot gossip.

  Rosie sipped on her cocktail and nodded toward a woman sitting in a corner by herself. She smiled and waved as people walked by. “That’s Eleanor.”

  “She looks lonely.” I turned on my stool. “I should sit with her a bit.”

  “She’s not lonely, she’s stoned out of her mind.”

  “The poor thing. Is it her medication?”

  Rosie chuckled. “Eleanor calls it medication. When I was growing up, we called it reefer.”

  I swiveled back and almost knocked my beer over. “She’s high?”

  “Not only does she roll her own, she grows her own.”

  “What?”

  “The community garden.”

  A waiter strolled through the bar from the restaurant and deposited a basket of chips and a side of guacamole in front of Eleanor. She high-fived the waiter and dug into the chips.

  “I wasn’t expecting that,” I admitted. “Grandma Jo was a strict Southern Baptist. She wouldn’t even try her sister’s homemade muscadine wine. Grandpa Ed has been known to dip from time to time and will drink a beer at a ballgame, but that’s as far as he got on the controlled substance list.”

  “Poor kid.” Rosie snorted. “Do you think your generation was the first to shock their parents? Just because you’re old doesn’t mean you’re as straight-laced as your Granny. Hell, there’s plenty of baby boomers in Halo House. That should tell you something.”

  I wasn’t sure what that was supposed to tell me, but I would give Rosie the benefit.

  “What else is going on at Halo House?” I swung around on my stool to observe the crowd.

  A couple had put money in a brightly lit jukebox and was dancing to Tom Jones. Next to the jukebox a line of women had formed, some pointing out songs to their friends, others tapping their toes while they waited.

  “That’s Two-Dollar Frank,” said Rosie. “He’s one of our bachelors.”

  “Two-Dollar Frank?”

  “Two bucks a dance. For his mad money. And exercise to boot. He charges more for horizontal dancing, if you get my picture.”

  “Good Lord. Halo House is like a college dorm. Where’s the keg hidden?”

  Rosie smiled. “Now you’re getting it.”

  “I get your point.” I hopped from my stool. “Excuse me a minute. I need to use the ladies’.”

  I cut through the tables of card players and chatter. At Eleanor’s, I slowed to give her a hello. She peered at me through her thick glasses and offered me a chip.

  “Looking for anything else?” Eleanor winked. “You cool? We could party in my room if you’re cool.”

  I’d gone to art school. I was not naive. But for Halo, this was a bit disconcerting.

  Grabbing the wheelchair bar, I slipped around the corner and into a side hall toward the bathrooms. Near the end of the hall, a young man chatted with an elderly woman, one I recognized from class.

  “Hey, Miss Hazel,” I called out, then remembering to raise my voice, I called out again. Miss Hazel didn’t always wear her hearing aid.

  The young man extended a hand toward Miss Hazel. At my holler, he dropped his hand and shoved it in his pocket. With a scowl, he backed away from her and bumped through the men’s room door. Miss Hazel turned slowly, panic striking her features.

  I rushed forward and took her arm. “Miss Hazel, are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” Her wispy voice drew in breaths between words. “Just fine, Cherry.”

  “You don’t look fine. Can I help you to your room? You look like you could use a lie-down.”

  The hand patting my arm trembled. “No, hon. Leave me here. I’ll catch my breath in a minute. You go on with wherever you were going.”

  “Just the ladies’. Are you sure, Miss Hazel? What if we walked into the Last Call and got you a seat?”

  She took a deep, quivering breath. “No, baby. You get. I’m fine right here.”

  “Miss Hazel, who was the man talking to you? Your grandson? Has he upset you?”

  She shook her head and gave me a push. “No, not my grandson. We were passing a few pleasantries. Don’t worry about it. You get.”

  Reluctantly, I left her clinging to the wheelchair bar.

  Pushing through the ladies’ room door, I stopped, turned, and left it open a crack. No doubt about it, she looked frightened and eager for me to leave. I didn’t trust the young man. He appeared a few years younger than me, around his early twenties. His ball cap had been pulled low and I couldn’t see his face other than a scowl. His t-shirt had exposed several tattoos and one in particular caught my eye. A stylized revolver. On his neck.

  I hoped it meant he was just a gun buff.

  A moment later, the young man slipped from the bathroom and found Miss Hazel. I tensed, ready to spring if Hazel needed me.

  “She gone?” he asked.

  Hazel placed a hand on her chest and nodded.

  “Give it to me now before someone else comes,” he said.

  She slowly pulled her purse off her shoulder and tried to grasp the zipper with her trembling fingers.

  He snatched her purse, unzipped it, and snatched something from inside. “This’ll do for now. Later, Miss Hazel.”

  He tossed her the purse and she pulled it to her chest. “When will you come again?”

  “I’ll let you know.” He flashed a grin and touched the brim of his cap, exposing tattooed fingers. “Pleasure.”

  As the guy moseyed toward the ladies’, I pulled the door back in place, then swung it wide. It slammed into his shoulder. I bounded from the bathroom.

  “Sorry about that,” I said. “Didn’t see you. I’m Cherry. And you are?”

  “None of your business.” Glowering at me, he ru
bbed his shoulder blade. With one last sharp glance at Hazel, he strode down the hall.

  I turned toward Hazel, but she had made it to the other end of the hall and turned a corner. I resisted going after her. I’d embarrassed her enough. Instead, I followed him. At the entrance to the bar, I waited.

  He continued toward the lobby, strolling past the big fountain. I waited for a beat, then hurried to peer around the fountain. He had disappeared. I circled the fountain, then approached the front desk.

  Miss Krenzer looked up from her book. “What are you doing here this time of night?”

  “Thought I’d rustle up some company at the Last Call. I saw a man pass through here. Kind of wiry looking, twenty or so. Tatted up with a beard and hat, like every other guy that age. Who was he?”

  “I didn’t see anyone.” Miss Krenzer glared at me over her readers. “If you want a date, try another bar. It’s not professional.”

  “Lord, no, I don’t want to date him. I’m worried he’s bothering Miss Hazel.”

  “Why?”

  “I saw them standing together in the hallway and she gave him her purse. He took something from it. Hazel looked scared.”

  “Did you ask her about it?”

  “She said she was fine and wanted me to leave her alone.”

  “Did he steal her purse? I’ll call security.”

  “He didn’t actually steal it. She was getting something for him and he got grabby when she took too long.”

  Miss Krenzer tapped her book with a finger. “Miss Hazel has her wits about her. If she said she was fine and wanted you to leave, she probably meant it. Some of our residents have issues with giving away their things and money to strangers, but not Miss Hazel.”

  “You should call security anyway.”

  “I’ll send someone to Miss Hazel’s room to check on her.” She looked from me to the door.

  I followed her look to the door, then swiveled to glance up the grand staircase. “I wonder where he went.”