1 Portrait of a Dead Guy

by Larissa Reinhart

  “Now that’s interesting,” Luke said. “I saw Mr. Avtaikin at the visitation today. I wonder how JB knows him?”

  I gnawed on a wing tip and licked my fingers. “Sold him a car? Sounds like he gets his vehicles serviced through the dealership.”

  “Maybe. JB was involved in some shady stuff back when he was married to Virginia.”

  “But you said JB straightened up when his daddy offered him a spot in the family business. Would he risk his little empire now?”

  “I don’t know.”

  I chewed on chicken for a minute when the smack of a hand against the counter made me jump.

  “Damn. I know there’s got to be some connection there.”

  “Are you trying to pin Dustin’s murder on family?” The accusation slipped off my tongue and I held my breath.

  He remained silent for a moment. “I can’t prove it was a Branson.”

  I let the air escape my lungs. My relief led to babbling. “Some of the Bransons are suspicious, especially Virginia. Creepy Pete is edgy and jealous of Dustin. Dustin had something on Shawna. Then there’s this Mr. Max. We know he’s involved in illegal activities and Dustin worked for him.”

  “Really, you’ve got nothing there, too. You need more than relationships. You need real motives.”

  I threw in a sigh. The earlier mood had popped along with my beer buzz. The thought of the murder brought about the realization of tomorrow’s funeral and deadline for the painting. I also had another problem. I squinted at the warm body standing next to me. Luke heated my kitchen better than an oven cooking turkey on Thanksgiving Day. My swollen lips had nothing to do with hot sauce.

  I reached for another wing. My fingers clamped onto it just as Luke’s fingers began pulling the drumstick away.

  “Hey, that one’s mine.” I gripped the meaty end of the leg and yanked.

  “How many have you had? I only had two. That’s the last one.” He tugged. The drumstick slid out of my fingers.

  “Give me that wing. I’m the one that’s starving!”

  He ate that sucker in two quick bites.

  “Now I’m not hungry for chicken anymore.” He grabbed my waist. Sticky fingers slid behind my neck.

  “But I am.”

  I watched his lids lower to half-mast and lips relax as the hand behind my neck guided my face forward. Oh boy, we were going for round two. My toes curled inside my boots. I scooted forward on the counter.

  Wait a minute. My Grandma Jo’s voice echoed something about kicking him out before I did something I’d regret.

  “Now Luke,” I moved my hands to his chest and forced some distance between us. “As much as I am enjoying this, I am not the girl you once knew.

  “Funny, you look like the girl I once knew.” His hands slipped down my back. “You feel like the girl I once knew.” He leaned forward to suckle my neck. An electric current rippled from his lips down my torso.

  “You taste like that girl, too. Just dipped in hot sauce.”

  I tore my head back, dislodging my neck from his lips. “But now I’m a businesswoman.”

  “Businesswomen still get it on.” Luke’s lips grazed my throat. He moved my hands to his shoulders and pulled me closer. “Remember how I used to drive to Savannah, back when I was still at Statesboro.”

  Savannah could be one of the most romantic cities in the country. All that moss dripping from trees and cobblestone streets with interlocking squares. Cemeteries with centuries old gravestones set amongst beautifully carved statues. Plus, there are more bars than you can shake a stick at, swimming in beer and oysters, in case you needed more aphrodisiacs.

  His hand dropped from my neck and my top inched up my back. I pushed the heel of one boot against the other, trying to shake off the boots without uncurling my legs. My tank stopped underneath my armpits as Luke struggled with the clasp of my bra.

  Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy.

  My mantra halted with a crash from the carport. Luke’s mouth pulled away. I thought about the crash for half a second and decided to surge on. I gave my boot another push, and my foot caught in the folds of the ankle. Giving up on the boots, I decided to focus on Luke’s jeans.

  “What was that?” he breathed.

  “Nothing. Can you help me with this?” My fingers fumbled at his waistband. His hands dropped from my bra and fell to my thighs. “Do you need some help back there?”

  “Just a minute. I hear something.”

  “It’s nothing. Probably just a cat or Todd. Don’t worry about it. They’ll go away.”

  “Speaking of Todd.”

  “It’s annulled! I fell victim to a stupid moment of weakness.” I stopped at the sound of a sharp pop. The room dropped into full darkness.

  “Where’s your gun?” he whispered. Luke slid out from my legs and dropped to a squat against the metal cabinets.

  “You’re not going to shoot Todd, are you?” I remained on the counter, straining to hear in the dark.

  “Cherry,” Luke’s voice sounded strangled. “Would Todd break your security light?”

  “On purpose or accident?”

  “We’re dealing with someone who was desperate enough to murder Dustin.” The faint words floated below me. “Someone who keeps breaking and entering around town.”

  Luke’s dark form slipped toward the kitchen door. He remained flattened against the wall while he peered through the muntin bars on the window.

  “My gun is underneath my bed. I’ll get it,” I said. My socks zipped across the linoleum. I grabbed a chair to regain my balance.

  Luke’s voice glided through the dark from the kitchen door. “Slow down. I’m going to slip out the front door and try to see who’s in your driveway.” He grabbed my elbow. “Stay in the bedroom.”

  “It’s my house,” I whispered. “If someone breaks in, I’m going to greet them with my Remington.”

  “Don’t be stupid. Just do what you’re told for once!” The words wafted past me. Luke crept around me toward the archway for the living room.

  I ran for the bedroom. The friction and speed of socks on linoleum worked against me. My run became a skid. I threw a hand toward my bedroom doorframe to slow my progress. My arms windmilled. I shot past the door and smacked into the linen closet.

  The thud and my resonating “umph” received a long “shhhhhh” from the living room. I rubbed my nose and scowled. Setting my claws into the wooden doorframe, I swung back to the bedroom.

  I yanked my socks off and jumped on the bed. Crawling across the quilt, I dropped my right hand to the floor and felt for the shotgun. My fingers closed around a metal box and swung it onto the bed. I fumbled over the combinations, but the lock popped. A moment later I held the gun on my lap, waiting for my heart to stop pounding and my eyes to adjust to the dim streetlight shining through the window.

  Three buckshot shells lay in my bedside table drawer. Flipping the gun over, I fed the shells into the tube and racked the pump. Gun in hand, I slid off the bed and stalked to the hallway to listen. A faint snick sounded from the living room.

  Just stay calm, I thought. Think of what is in your hands. Keep your head and proceed slowly. You’ve had plenty of experience with Uncle Will and the boys. Just pretend you’re in the woods.

  And the deer were possibly armed and dangerous.

  My heart leapt from my stomach to my mouth. I crept down the hallway toward the kitchen. Goosebumps prickled my skin. I never had a problem with intruders before, other than relatives, friends, and ex-boyfriends looking for an after-party. I tightened my grip on the walnut stock and on my resolve.

  I felt my way through the dark to the kitchen door. Peering through the glass, I tried to pick out movement in the cramped carport from the faint shine of the streetlight. A metallic creak and click broke the silence. A ve
hicle door had opened and shut.

  I hesitated a moment, gripping the deadbolt with my left hand, but then flipped the lock and yanked open the door. My bare feet touched the cold concrete and my thoughts ran clear by instinct. I swung the old Wingmaster in an easy arc. The shotgun fitted snugly into my shoulder, the wood stock like velvet against my cheek. Lights flashed on, flooding the darkness. I blinked into their blaring glare.

  “Cherry, it’s me. Drop your weapon.” The sharp edge of hostility rang from Luke’s voice.

  “Luke?”

  “Dammit, I told you to stay in the bedroom. What in the hell are you doing?”

  I glared into the lights of Luke’s Ford Raptor. “I told you, this is my house. I’ve got every right to defend myself. I know what I’m doing. I’ve been hunting since I was nine.”

  “Yeah, and I know you can’t stay still long enough to mark anything. You just like to hang out in the deer stand and drink beer.”

  “You’ve never been hunting with me. How would you know?”

  “I know you well enough. They should revoke your permit for being crazy.”

  “I am not crazy!”

  “This from the woman who comes charging out her house with a gun! Stop arguing with me. The guy’s gone. Must’ve parked on another street.”

  I stepped out of the headlights to circle toward his door. Luke hung out the open window, his flexed arm hugging the door. “You don’t use the sense God gave you. Don’t you know vigilantes usually get themselves killed?”

  I straightened into my fullest five foot and a half inch. “I wasn’t planning on getting myself killed. That’s why I’m carrying a loaded gun, dummy.”

  “I’ll let that pass.” He stared into the rearview mirror, ignoring my look that would kill lesser mortals. After a long moment, he jerked his head back to fix me with a chilly expression. “Go back in the house. Turn on all the lights. Lock the door.”

  “And what are you planning on doing?”

  “Listen, we had some fun, but this isn’t a good idea. You’re sticking in Halo and I’m not.”

  “Not a good idea? This was your idea. You seduced me with chicken in my kitchen and now you’re blowing me off in the carport ten minutes later? Whatever.” I tossed my head so dramatically, my hair whipped my shoulders. “Hey, I’ve got a life. And I don’t need you in it.”

  “You don’t need to be like that.” He turned to the windshield and smacked the door with his hand. His eyes flew to the rear view mirror and narrowed in a disgusted squint. “And here’s your boyfriend. He knew Dustin. Did you ask where he was the night you got your head knocked in?”

  A red hatchback with ground effects and die-cast alloy wheels pulled up to the curb.

  “He’s not my—”

  The eight-cylinder truck engine revved, drowning my protest. The gleaming black beast reversed down the drive, bumped into the street, and tore off into the night.

  “By the way, you never told me where you were that night either. Jerk.”

  I waited in the dark carport, grasping the shotgun with one hand. Todd unfolded himself from the car and loped up the driveway. The perfect symmetry in his face fell out of balance as he squinted at me.

  “Hey, baby. What’s going on?”

  “Nothing.” Paranoia made me spit the word. Todd’s timing was a little too impeccable. Where was he ten minutes earlier?

  “What’s with the gun? You’ve been in a fight? Who was that?” Todd studied my appearance with growing concern. I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Are you bleeding? Babe!”

  My eyes dropped to my clothes. My tank top remained rolled halfway up, revealing the pale skin of my stomach streaked with wing sauce. Saucy fingerprints danced across my jeans and felt sticky on my back. I patted my face and static zinged hair.

  “It’s just hot sauce. I’m fine. It’s probably all over my kitchen, too.” I moaned, thinking of the mess, and collapsed against a sawhorse workbench stacked with cans of paint and stain. A light breeze blew through the carport, adding goosebumps to my dirty skin.

  “You’re eating wings in the dark? With Luke Harper? Looks like you kept missing your mouth.”

  “Something like that,” I bit my words off. “What are you doing here?”

  “I ran into the guys at Red’s. They said you were there tonight.”

  “The guys? Jackson. Creepy Pete?”

  “Jackson. And Red, of course. Didn’t see Pete. Let me think of who else.” His fingers strummed his chin.

  “I’m not asking for a rundown of Red’s patrons,” I narrowed my eyes. “Not Pete, huh?”

  “No.”

  “Speaking of Pete, what did you tell him about us?”

  He shot another glance at the shotgun. “What do you mean?”

  “What did you tell him about Vegas?”

  His fingers played across the drumsticks poking out of his back pocket. “I didn’t tell him we got married.”

  “We didn’t get married, Todd. Not hardly. And his story includes a little more information.”

  “I told him when we got to Vegas, getting married seemed like a good idea. He called me a few names I wouldn’t want to say in front of you.” Todd’s hands whipped the drumsticks out of his pocket and beat a cadence against his hips. “And then I might have explained how we weren’t married.”

  “Pete’s telling everybody that you left me at the altar. That you broke up with me.” My voice sizzled. “And I ran around Vegas in a wedding dress to BEG you to marry me.”

  Todd picked the wrong night to wander up my drive. And how could he sit motionless through an entire poker game but couldn’t go three seconds without drumming around me?

  “He said I said what?” Todd’s forehead crinkled in confusion. The sticks rattled a drum roll against his thighs.

  “Are you telling people that you jilted me?”

  “You said you didn’t want anybody to know you pulled a Britney.” His eyes dropped to the Remington in my arms. “Can you put your gun down?”

  “I didn’t mean for you to say that I got dumped!”

  “You didn’t tell me that.”

  “Why would I want you to say that?”

  Todd eyed the gun. The tempo against his thighs grew. “I couldn’t think of anything else to say. Stop yelling at me.”

  “Stop the drumming!”

  Todd jumped and the drumsticks flew through the air. “Sorry. Baby. Can you put the gun down? Please?” Todd backed down the driveway with his hands held before him.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake.” I waved a hand at him. “I’m not going to shoot you.”

  “Why do you have a gun? What’s going on? You’re freaking me out.”

  “Somebody was sneaking around here. And it may or may not have something to do with Dustin getting killed.”

  “Does it have to do with your break-in at Cooper’s?”

  “I wasn’t involved in the break-in. I was in Cooper’s when somebody broke in and wacked me a good one.”

  “Because you’re hanging out with this Luke and asking questions?”

  “That’s a good point.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Thanks for giving me some food for thought. And now I’ve got to work.” I turned to drag myself into the house. “You better stop these rumors about Vegas. I’m about up to here with it.” My hand flicked the top of my head.

  “You scare me, baby.”

  I looked over my shoulder at Todd. The wide, blue eyes gazed back at me.

  “I worry about you living alone,” he said. “Now you got people hitting you on the head and sneaking around your house.”

  “You’re sweet, but you know I can take care of myself.” I paused before turning back to the house. “Wait, is that why you’re here all the time?”


  “I know you’re tough. Sometimes too tough. And a little mean. But, I admire you.” A blush heated Todd’s cheeks, making him more endearing. “You’re tough and smart and you make cool stuff. And you’re pretty sexy even though you’re kind of, you know, puny. Cherry—”

  “Don’t, Todd. I’m in no mood for this.”

  “Let’s go back to Vegas.” His grin broke wide across his cheeks, framed by two pairs of long, flawless dimples. He beat a happy rhythm against the sides of his pants.

  I gazed at the beautiful dimples with fear and trepidation. I needed to have my hormones removed before I got into any more of these messes. Was this what happened to my mother? Did she get sidetracked from raising kids by dimples?

  “You have the worst timing. Do you know that?”

  “Naw.” He strode forward and slipped an arm over my shoulder. “I have great timing. That’s what makes me a kick-ass drummer and an awesome poker player.”

  “Don’t start making intelligent statements like that. You deserve someone much nicer than me. Keep up the sweet talk and I’ll be all over you like white on rice. And that won’t do either of us any good. Vegas was a huge mistake. I need to be grounded.”

  “Come on. Let me in the house. I can tell you’re feeling lonely.”

  “I have to get a painting finished tonight.” I shook my head. “And my kitchen’s a mess, and I’m a mess.”

  “How about I come in and just sit while you paint.” The cerulean blue eyes lifted in appeal. He threw a long, commanding arm against the kitchen door, reminding me of the Roman’s regal Caesar Augustus statue. “Like we used to when I modeled for you. We’ll order us some pizza and play some music. It’ll make you feel better.”

  He had a point. I could use some cheering. I thought about using Todd as a model. He and Dustin shared similar coloring. Other than random perverts, Todd was the only person in Halo who would pose nude for my life drawings. I had some beautiful images of Todd. Of course, I also sketched some imbecilic drawings from Todd’s self-created poses that showed off his “abs of steel” and “power guns.”