Intent on their heated discussion, Luke and Uncle Will didn’t notice me. Their voices remained low and tense. Will used his bulk to tower over Luke. He gestured with one hand, the other rested on his holster. Luke stood ramrod straight with arms crossed and chin high.
I didn’t guess they were arguing about baseball since the Braves only had a few games under their belt. The Bulldogs still had about four months until their first game. NASCAR wasn’t that controversial. That left me out of ideas. I backed out of the doorway and got my nose out of their business.
THREE
Minutes later Cooper and I cranked the portable table to lower Dustin. I stood over the coffin pleased with my lofty angelic view. Cooper watched while I lugged the easel closer to the casket. Pinching the sooty stick between my thumb and pointer finger, I let the charcoal glide over the paper. I glanced back at Dustin, noting the sharp jut of his chin, the shadow in the corner of his eye, and the slight depression under his cheekbone. I refocused on the paper and the charcoal flew over the rough surface. I skimmed a look back to Dustin’s hands. The knuckles appeared too large in my drawing, the thumbs too short. I rubbed a gummy eraser over the problem lines and tried again. I stepped back, cocked my head, and compared the real body with the picture.
“Dang, Cherry. That’s a God-given talent you got there. I never seen anyone draw that fast. Looks pretty much like him.” Cooper hovered behind my shoulder. The scent of lemon sours and formaldehyde enveloped me.
“Guess we can’t all be brain surgeons, so I’ll take the gift I got.”
Together we stared at the drawing. Two art critics at a gallery show wouldn’t have examined the sketch so solemnly. Cooper continued to gaze while I squirmed. After a long moment, I flipped the page.
I picked up the charcoal and winced. A toxic lemon cloud drifted up my nostrils. I pivoted and almost bumped into Cooper’s chest.
“Hey there, Mr. Cooper. Didn’t realize you were right behind me.”
“I think his nose was too wide in the last picture. And the eyes weren’t quite right.”
“Alrighty. Thanks so much.”
“Glad to be of help. I know bodies pretty well, you know.”
“I’m sure you do.” I refused to think about the context of that statement.
Cooper nodded and let his eyes drift back to Dustin. I tapped my foot, rolling the charcoal between my fingers. Cooper rocked back on his heels. I folded my arms and bounced on my toes while Cooper remained in position in front of the easel. I cleared my throat.
“Uh, sir. I kind of need to get back to work.”
“Go right ahead, hon.”
I fought my eyeballs from circling their sockets and my urge to tell this patient, soft-spoken man as-old-as-the-hills to back it up. I took a deep breath and swallowed a mouthful of pickled lemon. I fought my urge to gag. And then I was tired of fighting with myself.
Patience isn’t a virtue when you’re in a hurry. But I had to be sweet.
“Mr. Cooper. Sir. I know you want to watch me, but I really need to work alone. I can concentrate better, and I kind of need to get a move on. So if you don’t mind…” I flapped my hand.
He grunted, gave me the old undertaker nod, and began to shuffle toward the doorway.
“Don’t forget the nose!” he called with a final glance over his shoulder.
Everyone’s a critic.
Turning back to Dustin, I reexamined the nose and eyes of my failing. The florescent lights overhead brightened his pallid face to a shine. He looked a little too dead. I skipped over to the light switch, cut off the florescent, and turned the dimmer knob. The harsh lighting vanished, leaving the room murky. Frustrated, I walked back and peered into the coffin. Dustin looked less antiseptic, but the raised coffin lid shaded half of his face.
“Looking for a more romantic ambiance?”
I jumped and banged my hip against a metal handle on the coffin. “Would you quit doing that?”
Luke hung over my shoulder, squinting at Dustin. “You have him on the kid’s table now. Just your size.”
“Funny. You need to get out of my way. I’m still working.”
“So you keep reminding me.” Luke retreated to an unlit corner, grousing about the darkness under his breath.
Reapplying the charcoal to the paper, I cast heavier shadows this time. I softened the tip of Dustin’s ear peeking behind his hair and the recess below his Adam’s apple. His lips came out fuller. By whisking small lines for the creases of the bent fingers, strong, agile hands emerged. I stepped away from the easel.
“Pretty good. His hair is too dark, though.” Luke’s voice glided over my left shoulder.
“It’s charcoal. I’m going to paint with color,” I snapped.
“His eyebrows aren’t thick enough.” I spun toward the open door. Uncle Will strode to the easel. “You should put some decorations on his tie, too. Liven it up a bit.”
Decorations on his tie? “Now just a minute…”
A beep interrupted my protest. A scratchy voice lost in a cloud of hisses and pops followed. Will drew his radio and answered the call. Luke tensed as the radio crackled a string of numbers and letters followed by an address. Will murmured, concurring his response to the dispatcher. His eyes swept across Dustin, then back to Luke and me. Luke watched Will replace the radio in its holder. Even in his stillness, I felt nervous energy rippling through Luke.
“That’s Dustin’s apartment isn’t it? Someone broke in?” Luke asked.
“Gotta go. Have fun with your doodling, honey.” Will placed his large paw on my shoulder and squeezed. He pointed his other hand at Luke. “And you. I know better, son. I’m going to be checking into you. Better hope all your skeletons have been cleaned out.”
I turned to face Luke. “What’s he talking about? What skeletons?”
Shrugging, he shifted his stance. He ran a finger along the edge of the drawing. “How long you going to stay here?”
“’Til I’m done.” I wondered why his sudden appearance after seven years warranted a background investigation. “Why would someone break into Dustin’s apartment?”
“Probably looking for something.”
“You know anything about that?”
“Now why would I know anything about that?” Luke lifted his finger and examined the smudged tip. “How late?”
He took a step closer. Luke’s proximity always created a visceral reaction that didn’t please me. Didn’t please the thinking parts of me, anyway. His subtle smile toyed with me. It always had. It was a great smile. I recalled that smile spreading across his face like warm butter on hot toast whenever I climbed into his truck. Even showed a little dimple. I salivated over those dimples.
However, hindsight taught me the devil lay in little dimples, and it was best to stay clear.
Luke studied my distracted expression and flashed the dimple again. Catching myself, I jerked my conscious back to the top quarter of my body. He was playing me.
Again.
“I’ll be very late if you keep this up.” I grabbed the sketchpad and flipped the page.
“Remember what they say about all work and no play.” Luke broadened the grin.
“Sorry to disappoint but when I’m ready to play, it’s not going to be with you.” I stepped around him and picked up the charcoal. My hand raced over the paper. Dissatisfied, I flipped the page and tried again.
“Is that a threat or a dare?”
“Luke, are you in here, honey?” Wanda tapped on the open door. Luke and I jerked like two fish on a line.
“Yes, ma’am.” Luke slipped his hands behind his back, squeezing his shoulders into rigidity.
“Cherry, how’s it going? Is Luke bothering you?”
I hesitated and she didn’t wait for me to answer.
�
�Come in here, Shawna. It’s okay, you don’t have to look.” Wanda stepped into the windowless room and shivered. “It’s so dark.” She leaned toward the wall and flicked on the florescent lights.
A few unpleasant words drifted through my mind, preparing for battle, and I laid the charcoal on the edge of the easel. But Wanda and Shawna stayed in the doorway. Maybe the formaldehyde allergy continued to work in my favor. I leaned over, fishing a wet wipe from the tackle box on the floor. Luke dropped to a crouch next to me.
“Don’t say anything about Sheriff Thompson to my mom,” he whispered.
I cocked an eyebrow.
“I don’t want her upset any more than she already is.”
We stood as Wanda coaxed Shawna into the viewing room. Massive waves of auburn hair spilled down her back. Slender by no means, she held her weight well and in the right places on her tall frame. I instinctively compared her bounty to my inadequacies and winced. I sensed Luke preparing his dimple and smoking up his gray eyes. Not one to let Amazons throw me off my stride, I strutted across the beige carpet and extended my hand.
“How’s it going, Shawna?”
Shawna’s line of sight skipped over me and bounced right onto Luke. The pupils of her blue-green eyes enlarged, and her hands ran down the sides of her dress, smoothing the material over her curves.
“Luke, Shawna had volunteered to paint Dustin’s picture even though she has an allergy that doesn’t allow her around the deceased,” said Wanda. “That’s why we’re letting Cherry try, too. Wasn’t that nice of Shawna, though?”
“Very nice,” remarked Luke. “Haven’t seen you in a while. Didn’t you go to Georgia Southern?”
“I did indeed. Go Eagles.” Shawna beamed at Luke while I stood like the village idiot with my outstretched hand still floating in mid-air.
“Good to see you again, Shawna.” I shoved my hand into hers and pumped. “Glad to know you’re going to be a sport about this.” I said this without a hint of sarcasm. Sometimes I amaze myself.
Shawna popped her eyes off Luke to incline her head toward me. “Sorry. Didn’t see you down there, Cherry. I was surprised to hear you’re still painting. I thought for sure your little studio would have gone under by now. It’s so hard to make a living doing outdated forms of art.” She pulled out a pink card and handed it to me. “On the other hand, I’m so busy I can barely see straight. Did you see my website?”
“I have not,” I said, glancing at the business card covered in curlicue letters and polka dots.
“I’m so sorry.” Shawna laid a hand on her bountiful chest. “You probably can’t afford anything but a dial-up connection. My site’s all in flash. Maybe try the library to look at it. You do know how to use the internet, don’t you?”
“I’ve got a pretty good idea what your website looks like. I doubt your repertoire has diversified that much. Still a big fan of glitter glue and chocolate pudding finger paint?”
“You can joke, but you’re about to face some serious competition in the art world. I’ve got an idea about using a snapshot and making it look like a painting. I’m going to sell Paintographs hand over fist in Forks County.” She waved a jeweled hand before me. “Check out my new bling.”
I admit to salivating a bit over the baseball size rock on her finger. Even that sized Cubic Zirconia would cost a mint.
“Paintographs.” The word dumped off my tongue. “Sounds like color by number. Or an infomercial product.”
“Much better,” she simpered, “but enough shop talk. You’ll see a Paintograph at Dustin’s funeral. I’m going ahead with my plans, Aunt Wanda. The way JB explained it, I doubt Cherry can finish Dustin’s portrait the old fashioned way. It’s so quaint she’s trying so hard. However, I’d hate for you to be disappointed. I know how much you want a beautiful tribute to Dustin. You just need to rustle me up a photo.”
“Old fashioned? I’m using acrylics. That’s a modern technique. I can’t see how you can make a beautiful tribute by coloring in a photo. What do you use? Magic Markers?”
“Acrylics. You’re so cute,” she cooed. “Just like your name. It’s so cute you were named after a fruit. Isn’t she cute, Luke? So cute I can barely stand it.”
Only Shawna or my siblings knew how much I hated the word cute. It fell in with perky and spunky. Not a short girl’s friend when you want to be taken seriously.
“Don’t you worry about me getting the painting done on time.” My eyelids narrowed until I could barely see anything but lashes. “We’ll see who’s cute. My Flemish Renaissance inspired acrylic or your Paint-by-Number dealio. By the way, if you use smelly markers, you can add a scratch and sniff element.”
“I didn’t know you were an artist, Shawna.” Luke eased between us, nudging me to the side.
“She’s not,” I muttered.
“Were you named after a fruit? I thought Cherry was short for something else.” Wanda ping-ponged between us, trying to keep up with our conversation.
“Not exactly, ma’am. My sister, Casey, couldn’t say Cherrilynn when she was little and it stuck.” I didn’t know which name was worst. Cherry suited me, but you can imagine the liberties taken with a name liked Cherry. Fourteen-year-old boys seemed particularly creative. And hateful girls like Shawna.
A spiteful grin unfurled from Shawna’s glossy lips. She returned her long-lashed gaze to Luke. “I swear that story makes Cherry even more adorable.”
“Cherry, adorable?” Luke shoved his hands in his back pockets. “That’s not the word that comes to mind.”
“I can be adorable. When I feel like it. Which is not now.”
“I’ll leave y’all to get reacquainted,” said Wanda. “I forgot to ask Cooper something. After this we’ll head back to the house. More Bransons coming this afternoon. The house is filling to the rafters with people and food.”
“Do you need help?” Luke asked.
Shawna took the opportunity to sidle toward my easel. I hopped forward and closed the sketch book.
“No, JB is in the lobby with Ronny Price. I don’t know why Ronny insisted on coming with us. JB would be happier if he stayed at the dealership and watched over things.”
“He’s worked for JB a long time, Mom. Maybe Ronny thought he could offer y’all some help. People don’t always know what to do in these situations.”
“I guess you’re right,” said Wanda. “Shawna, why don’t you stay in here with Luke and Cherry? They’re getting ready for another viewing in the other room, so it’d be best if you stay out of the lobby.”
Just what I needed. Shawna watching me draw. I wondered if she’ll find my sketches of Dustin’s dead body cute. Or adorable.
“What about your allergy, Shawna?” I asked. “Don’t want you foaming at the mouth.”
She shot me a look that would have killed a weaker woman. Lucky for me, my family is well versed in the evil eye. Grandpa’s house might as well have been a dojo for casting slitty-eyed looks.
“Hon? You coming?” JB strode into the room, circling his gaze and snapping it back before resting on Dustin. Ronny Price followed. Ronny’s shiny forehead matched the sheen of his eggplant silk shirt and striped purple tie. He mopped a white handkerchief across his face, shoved it in his pocket, and ran both hands methodically over his gleaming brown pompadour.
Shawna’s brow creased and she slunk closer to Luke. Feeling more out of place, I edged closer to my easel unsure what good manners dictated in this situation. One thing was for sure, I wasn’t getting much sketching done.
“JB, do you have the little sack I want to bury with Dustin?” said Wanda.
All eyes fixed on Wanda as we collectively wondered what items could necessitate burying with Dustin. A childhood toy that somehow survived Dustin’s abuse? You know the pyromaniac kid who lops off the heads of his action figures and burns them in effigy
on the backyard grill? That was Dustin.
And I now had a shopping bag of these treasures in my truck. The memory box project promised to be interesting work. Hopefully Miss Wanda didn’t choose anything too freakish for display. My stomach did an unsettling flop at that idea.
JB handed her a small cloth pouch. “Just shove them in his pocket or something.” Glowering, he pivoted on his heel and left the room. Wanda grasped the gray flannel bag in her hand, a wrinkle of unease forming between her eyes.
“I’ll take that for you, Mom.” Luke reached for the bag, but Wanda whisked it into her purse.
“No, no. I’ll have Cooper do it.” She trailed after JB.
Ronny considered the group left in the room. Smoothing his coiffure, he studied Shawna who returned his appreciative glance with an unbecoming lift to her lip. He turned his attention to Luke and me. “Good to see you, Luke. Been a long time. What’re you doing here, Cherry?”
I glanced toward the coffin. “Miss Wanda wants Dustin’s final portrait painted.”
“I’m doing it, too,” piped in Shawna. “Except I’m making a Paintograph. It’s cutting edge.”
“Say what?”
I smirked, hoping I’d hear that response a lot in the next few days. Ronny moved to a safer subject. “Still got that Datsun? Is that thing still running? Ready to trade it in?”
“Still running. Not quite ready to give her up.”
Luke sniggered and I glared back. We couldn’t all have a stepdad who provided gleaming black pickups to keep the family peace. Unfortunately, JB couldn’t do the same for his biological son. Dustin sold the vehicles and pocketed the cash.
Ronny nodded. “You come see me when you’re ready. I’m surprised that truck’s still holding together. The Japanese really know how to build them, don’t they?”
1 Portrait of a Dead Guy Page 4