Read Portrait of a Dead Guy Online
Authors: Larissa Reinhart
Tags: #Mystery, #humor, #cozy, #Humour, #amateur sleuth, #Contemporary, #Romance, #cozy mystery, #murder mystery, #humorous mystery, #female sleuth, #mystery series
Portrait of a Dead Guy (13 page)
“I think fishing saved Grandpa from a heart attack. What is this, Pebbles meets punk?” I gathered up the rest of the shopping bag memorabilia. “We’re going to be late. Let’s hope the effect keeps you from getting fired. At least you’ll count on good tips.”
“That’s the idea,” Casey sang, banging the screen door open with her hip as she slipped on her shoes.
“Avoid bending over if you can help it.” I caught the screen door and froze at my sister’s piercing shriek.
“Tater’s in your truck bed,” Casey screamed. “Help me haul him out. I’m late.”
“I hate that goat.” I pounded down the porch stairs to my truck, leaving the bag behind. “I swear I’m using him for gyros one of these days.”
Red tapped on his watch, shaking his head at Casey as we traipsed into the County Line Tap.
“Not my fault.” Casey scooted toward the kitchen before Red could argue.
His frown deepened within his rusty beard. The sharp eyes watched Casey’s hip action as she bumped through the swinging door. I slid onto a barstool before him. He turned his freckled face toward me with a moan.
“Your sister drives me crazy,” he said. “Good thing the customers like her.”
“I feel your pain.” I studied the bright green eyes, concerned that he’d fire my sister. “But she’s harmless. Like you said, the customers like her.”
Red and I shared a sigh born of ten years acquaintance. I started sneaking into County Line Tap when it was just an old dive bar positioned two feet off the old town line. But young Red kicked my skinny under-aged butt right out of the bar. I had an obsession with karaoke then and didn’t feel the law applied when you weren’t going to drink (at least not openly). He admired my persistence. I admired his patience. I had a grand twenty-first birthday with Red tending bar.
Red ran a hand through his thick ginger hair and scratched his beard. “Anyway,” the hand smacked the wooden bar. “What’ll you have?”
“Since I’m here, the usual.”
I turned on my stool to survey the dim room. Flat screen TVs and local sports memorabilia, including a narrow shelf of trophies for the County Line’s baseball team, covered the long beige walls. In my opinion, Red’s cried out for interior resuscitation. Hopper’s Nighthawks diner portrayed better decor. When he bought the tavern and revamped it into a sports bar, Red cashed out his interest in interior design other than adding a new trophy to his shelf each fall.
At the far end of the room, Red had erected a short black platform. On this simple stage rested amplifiers, microphone stands, and a drum kit with STICKS painted in florescent orange across the face of the sparkling bass drum. I had almost forgotten I promised Todd I would watch Sticks’ debut performance the following night. He hinted at a song or two written for me. After participating in the “what rhymes with” conversation with Todd in the past, I didn’t have high expectations for his new repertoire of songs.
Red’s attention fixated on Casey, as did the two-top she currently graced. She turned from taking the table’s order and waggled back to the kitchen with the men’s eyes glued to her shorts. I could feel Grandma Jo rolling in her grave.
“What in the hell is she wearing?” Red grabbed a glass and thrust it under a tap, tilting the mug as the golden liquid began to froth. He slid the beer across the bar toward me.
“Oh, you know Casey.” My finger traced a snowflake design in the cold mug’s frost. “Anyway, what’s going on with you? Looks like you’re going to have Sticks in here regularly?”
Red sighed and cupped a hand under his chin to lean on the bar. He watched me take a tentative sip of beer and then a larger gulp. “We’ll see. They sound pretty good, but I told Todd it depended on the customers.”
“He’d better hope for women customers then.”
“I saw his new tattoo,” Red snorted. “Nice cherries.”
“Don’t start with me.”
“I didn’t think you could do it.”
“Do what?”
“Settle down.”
“With Todd?” Beer threatened to foam out my nose.
“You don’t fool me.” Red dropped his arm and touched my hand. “Todd’s a nice guy and thinks the world of you. He’s a lot smarter than he lets on. You could do a lot worse.”
“It is nice to be appreciated.”
“He adores you. I don’t believe what everyone is saying. I think you pushed him away.”
“What’s everybody saying about me?”
Red patted my hand. “I understand your family problems. But you’re not the only one who has a no-show for a mother. Look at this Dustin that got himself killed. I’ve seen his momma in here, and she’s total trash. You Tucker kids do pretty well. Don’t let your mother issues ruin your chance at happiness.”
“What in the hell are you talking about?” I snatched my hand away. “What’s everybody saying about me?”
“All I’m saying is you should have given Todd a chance. I heard how he jilted you and that whole business of you tearing up Las Vegas in your wedding dress to find him, begging him to come back. But I know you. You must have pushed him away. I saw this show about self-sabotage…”
“WHAT?”
“Self-sabotage.” Red grabbed his bar rag and mopped up my spilled beer. “It’s when a person does something subconsciously to ruin their chance at—”
“I know what self-sabotage is,” I said through gritted teeth. “Did you say you heard I tore up Las Vegas in a wedding dress to beg Todd to marry me?”
Red shrugged. “That’s what’s going round.”
I pushed off the stool-rest with both feet and jumped to the ground. “I’m going to kill Todd.”
“Don’t blame Todd. Don’t be a victim to yourself.”
“Stick to watching the Braves. I don’t think those celebrity rehab shows are doing you any favors.” I aimed for the door and spun back, grabbing the bar to keep myself upright. “Wait a minute. Did you say Dustin’s mother was in here? Virginia?”
“Yeah,” said Red, shaking off my abrupt change with a slow eye blink. “She used to meet Dustin here occasionally. I thought they might be dealing in the parking lot, though, so I had to run them off.”
“Wow. I had no idea.”
“That’s good. I don’t want County Line to get a dangerous reputation. I count on families coming in for the hot wings as much as I do the drinkers.”
“Do you think Dustin got killed because of dealing drugs? Grandpa thinks so.”
“Wouldn’t put it past him.”
“Thanks for the beer.” I polished off the mug and slid it to Red. “I’ve got to go home and paint.” I turned toward the exit. Casey grabbed my arm.
“I’ve got those wings for you.” She guided me to a table. “Just wait here. If you stay long enough, you can give me a ride home.”
“Come on, Case. That means I’ll be here all night.”
She placed another mug before me. “This’ll keep you quiet for a little bit.”
“I can’t sit here and drink beer until closing. I’ve got to get home and finish a painting.”
“Whatever. I can hear your stomach pitching a fit. Just wait for the wings.”
I did want the wings. Leaning back in my chair, I kicked my feet up on the rungs of the chair opposite. My table in front of the swinging kitchen door offered a complete view of the narrow room. I watched the families eating dinner for a moment. Kids climbed over their chairs and chattered while their mothers picked at abandoned french fries. The fathers’ eyes zeroed in on the Braves game. Near the little stage, a party of seven women worked on margaritas and wine, ignoring their nachos and wings. They wore the pastel scrubs of nurses or assistants at local doctor offices.
I enjoyed watching their camaraderie for a moment and wondered what it would be like to go out for Thursday night drinks after work. I nursed the beer while a lonely feeling knocked at my door.
I recognized that feeling and told myself to cut it out. That was the feeling that almost got me married to Todd.
At the bar, Red resumed his friendly bartender persona, snapping his towel while he told a joke to a burly man in camouflage pants and a Bass Pro t-shirt. My eyes trailed past him to two guys at the far end of the bar huddled around a video game. Creepy Pete’s trucker cap had been removed, but the bushy goatee and long hair were easy to spot.
I recognized the other guy as Jackson, Todd and Pete’s other roommate. Jackson worked a regular nine-to-five for a local exterminator company. He had a nice personality and wasn’t bad looking—clean cut, medium build, wire glasses—but he faded into the background around the lusty likeability of Todd and disturbing nature of Pete. Maybe Jackson hung around them to soak in the weird limelight that accompanied guys like Todd and Pete.
Maybe Jackson couldn’t find other roommates.
Now why would Mr. Max hire guys like Dustin and Pete? It wasn’t like they were reliable or smart. Or even personable, for that matter.
But guys like Pete and Dustin sought respect and money the easiest way possible. Mr. Max probably found them easy recruits for his questionable business activities. My concern centered on Todd and the other good people in Halo that could get pulled into Mr. Max’s orbit. Men like him would chew up and spit out a sweet bonehead like Todd. Our little town had already been tainted by Dustin’s murder. I swigged my beer, feeling a surge of outrage at this foreign interloper.
I shoved away from the table and wandered to the bar. Red washed glasses with his eyes on the Braves game.
“Hey,” I said and leaned on the bar between Mr. Bass Pro Shop and Todd’s roommates.
Mr. Bass Pro Shop glanced at me, extending a smile over his ruddy cheeks. His flat, brown eyes took a short trip over my fuchsia tank top and jeans and back to my face. “What’re you drinking, hon?”
I raised an eyebrow and considered the round belly perched against the counter for lack of room and the scuffed work boots that dripped dried mud under his stool. He’d probably keep someone happy in deer sausage, but I wasn’t interested. I shifted a quarter-turn to face the other side of the bar.
Red hopped forward in a protective quickstep. “What do you need, Cherry?”
“Cherry? I like that name. You enjoy muddin’?”
Mudding? I eyed the hairy man over my shoulder. “No thanks, but glad you like Cherry. My daddy named me after his favorite gun.” Bass Pro’s attention fell back to his beer. I turned back to Red and leaned closer, pointing my mug toward the far end of the bar.
“When’d you get that? Is it poker?”
Red glanced at the guys and back to me. He grabbed another wet glass to dry. “That video game? Got it about a week ago. Local guy sells them. It’s got poker, trivia, and some other games on it.”
“Does it pay out?”
“Are you crazy? I’d get busted for that. If they’re doing that on their own, I don’t know anything about it.”
“Some of them pay out.”
“Sure, I think the Quik Stop may, but I’m not that stupid. The laws are tricky about the amount, and I’m not losing my business over a game. What’s with all the questions?”
“It’s nothing. I’m just curious.”
“You know what they say about curiosity and the cat.”
I studied Pete and Jackson for a long moment and wrinkled my nose at the idea of talking to Creepy Pete. But I wanted to know more about Mr. Max, the Bear, or whatever he was called. If it meant putting up with Creepy Pete, so be it. Luke wasn’t the only one that could ask a few questions.
I carried my beer to the end of the bar. Slipping past Jackson, I placed myself before the video game. “Now what’s going on here?”
“You’re blocking our view,” Pete groused.
“Hey, Cherry,” Jackson said. “What’re you doing here?”
“I drove Casey to work. I’m just waiting on some food,” I said, studying the video monitor. Five playing cards blinked above a table of numbers. I puckered my mouth at the unimpressive screen. “This is what you guys are doing? How about a game where you can shoot something? At least there’s skill in that.”
Jackson chuckled. “Haven’t seen you in a while. Sorry to hear about you and Todd.”
“Don’t worry about me and Todd. We’re still friends.”
Jackson nodded with a nervous glance toward Pete. Tonight he wore a black concert t-shirt and faded jeans that engulfed his legs. A large rope of fake gold circled his neck and another hung off his right wrist.
“Move it, Cherry,” said Pete.
“What’s the rush? You were pretty chatty this morning. Run out of words?”
Pete licked his lips and flipped his hair behind his shoulders. “You didn’t seem so friendly then. My leg’s still sore where you kicked me.”
“I was having a private conversation when you walked up and started insulting me. Is that a nice way to start my day?”
“Where’s the guy you were with?” Pete’s scowl lifted into a sly smile. “You socked him a good one. Got him whipped pretty good, huh?”
“You kicked Pete and hit a guy?” said Jackson.
“Pete exaggerates.” I tipped a shoulder up. “I met your Mr. Max today. What’s his deal?”
“Why are you so interested?”
I stepped closer to Pete, skimming my back against the bar. “Had a little run-in with the Bear at JB’s dealership. He’s missing some manners.”
Pete shrugged.
“I heard he collects a lot of antique stuff. And runs games for big-wigs with a huge pot.” Pete glanced around and started nudging me toward the wall. “Dustin was his right hand man, not you?”
“Keep it down, woman.” Pete grasped my elbow and I whipped my arm away.
“Don’t call me that.”
We cornered ourselves in a niche between the end of the bar and front door, far enough from Jackson not to be heard. He watched us for a moment, thought better of joining, and turned back to the video game.
“You don’t like being called woman? You’re so picky. No wonder Todd gave you the boot. Probably likes his cherries sweeter.” His eyes skimmed over my body. “Hope my boy got some good mileage out of you before he turned you in.”
“Watch your mouth.”
“Why are you so interested in my boss?”
“Because I’m painting your dead friend and it makes me wonder who split his skull, that’s why. Don’t you want justice?” I placed one hand on my hip and positioned my beer mug between us.
“I don’t know nothing about it. I already told the cops that.”
“But you know something about Mr. Max,” I persisted.
“Mr. Max has a lot of different businesses. Some of it’s import and export. Some gaming equipment like this one here in the bar.”
“Gaming equipment? What about drugs?”
“Drugs?”
“I thought I heard Dustin’s murder was related to drugs. Isn’t Dustin’s mom mixed in with that crowd?”
“She hustles. Maybe she sells a little smoke, but she mostly scams. But I don’t know nothing about that neither. I only know about poker.” He quickly looked away, realizing his mistake. “You’re nosier than a biddy tonight.”
“Like I said, I’m interested because of Dustin.” I crossed my fingers behind my back. “And I kind of have a thing for guys that play poker.”
He appraised me with a long, disturbing look. “Well now, Miss Cherry. Guess we finally found something to talk about. Maybe you’re looking for an invitation to see some real action, not like the bitty games Todd plays?” He chuckled. “And I ain’t talking about poker.”
“Let’s stick with Mr. Max’s games. It must be pretty big if he needs you.”
“Now I’m not saying he has a card room, but if he did it’s nice and fancy. Not like the usual back porch stuff in Halo.”
“So he’s got a nice house. What’s he need with you?”
“Mr. Max is a smart man,” Pete lifted his chin. “He didn’t want just anyone getting into his kind of place. He has a guest list.”
“Then you were bouncers. Why couldn’t he put a lock on the door like normal people?”
“We were more than that. And he has a fancy alarm system. He just doesn’t like turning it on so people could look at his old junk.”
“You were guard dogs?”
“Not me. Dustin was more of the guard dog,” he said with a sniff. “Kept hoping somebody would try something so he could intimidate them, you know. He was my boy, but he could be meaner than shit. I’m good enough to play with the gentlemen, but Dustin must’ve convinced Mr. Max to keep me bartending.”
He shook his head. “Dustin was always trying to impress Max like that. Like when Max needed us to collect on a fish that had to borrow from the house, Dustin always took those jobs. Such a show off.”
“Thought he was special because he was a Branson?” I thought of Shawna.
“He hated the Bransons. Could have had an easy job at one of his dad’s places and wouldn’t do it.”
“What do you mean he’d collect on a fish?”
Pete’s eyes shifted to the side. “There’s a lot of money at Mr. Max’s. Like you said, the pot was big and it ain’t a cap game. Ten grand to get in the door, he keeps ten percent. Most of the guests were good for it. It’s supposed to be classy. But every once in a while, you’d get a goober in there who’d put up the front money, but would lose his shirt and couldn’t pay out. So Mr. Max would loan him money to play and send Dustin out later to collect.”
I whistled low. “Was Dustin collecting on someone when he was murdered?”
Pete squinted one eye and scratched the grizzled beard. “I thought he was changing his oil. But now that I think of it, Dustin said he was hunting for Mr. Max a day or two before he was killed.”
“Hunting people, animals, what?”
Pete shrugged. “Dunno.”
“Did you tell that to the police?”
“What for?”
I sighed. “Do you think Mr. Max could have killed Dustin?”
“What for? Dustin worked for him.”
“Maybe Dustin saw or heard something he shouldn’t have. Maybe Dustin was hustling him. Use your imagination. Don’t you watch TV?”
“You sure are interested in Dustin. Did you have a thing for him, too?”
“That’d be a big no.” I finished my beer in one gulp and gained some confidence from the amber liquid.
“You know what I think?” Pete pushed a greasy lock behind his ear before dropping his hand to the wall behind my head. “I think it was the stepbrother.”
I sputtered a fine spray of foam back into the mug and wiped my mouth on my arm. “What?”
“Just a minute.” Creepy Pete broke off, grabbed the empty mug from my hand, and returned with two beers.
I studied the mug, shocked at Pete’s generosity.
“You owe me three bucks,” he said as I took a generous nip. “Unless you’d like to pay me back another way.” A disturbing smile played across his face, and the dull olive eyes warmed. “You know, I’ve been telling you a lot of stuff I shouldn’t. Why don’t you make it worth my while? I’m not particular.”
My stomach turned a somersault. I fished three dollars from my pocket and smacked the money in his palm. “Just go on with your story about Dustin’s family.”