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 (14 page)
Pete stole a few steps closer. His breath, smelling of beer and menthol cigarettes, fanned over my face.
I sucked on my beer, hiding my disgust and building courage.
Pete leaned into the wall next to me. “Dustin had a stepbrother. They hated each other.”
“Yeah, I know. Luke Harper. So what?”
“He got out of the Army a couple weeks ago. Shows up here, gets in a big fight with Dustin, and then disappears. Comes back after the murder.”
“That doesn’t mean Luke killed him.”
“Dustin told me lots of stuff about that Luke. Said he was psycho. Liked to fight him for no reason.”
“He’s not psycho. You never met Luke before today?”
“What do you mean before today? I’ve never met him period. He’d been in the Army the whole time I knew Dustin.”
“Just as well if he’s psycho,” said a voice behind me. A hand slipped around my waist. “Cherry means you must have met him at the visitation today.”
I pivoted to my left. Luke gave his head a half-shake and tightened the grip around my waist, pulling me into his side. “Hey, hon. Thanks for waiting on me. What’re you guys talking about?”
Pete slammed his beer on the bar in obvious irritation. “I didn’t go to the visitation. I don’t like funerals. Cherry didn’t say she was waiting on anyone.” His swung his accusation back to me. “I thought you said you were here to drop your sister off.”
“I must’ve forgot about him.” I elbowed Luke in the ribs. He was scaring away my fish right when I had him on my line. And it took a lot of disgusting work to get him this far.
“What’d you say your name is?”
“I’d rather not say.”
Pete’s eyes narrowed.
“Wouldn’t want Todd to hear about this.” My cheeks grew hot. That had to be one of the dumber things I’d ever said. I rubbed my face, wondering when the beer had caught up with my brain. Or maybe it wasn’t the beer. Maybe it was Luke.
“You screwing around on Todd?” Pete’s face lightened in excitement at the gossip and dropped to a glower. “Wait a minute, he dumped you. What’re you saying?”
What was I saying? This is why I don’t lie. I suck at it. “I was not dumped at any altar and quit spreading gossip like an old lady at a church bazaar.” I chugged the rest of my beer and shoved the mug into Pete’s chest. “I’m done explaining myself to you.”
Luke followed me as I marched out of the bar. Guess he didn’t want to explain himself to Pete either. Three seconds later we stood in Red’s foyer between a rack of real estate ads and a gumball machine.
“I was doing just fine until you showed up.”
“Really? Didn’t look like it.”
“Yes, really. Creepy Pete was telling me all sorts of stuff about Dustin.”
“Like what?”
Luke took a step closer with his eyes steady on mine. His hand brushed against me and a shock of electricity ran down my arms. Without breaking eye contact, his fingers captured one of my wayward hands.
“What did you hear?” he repeated.
I took a deep breath, concentrating on playing hard ball. “None of your business.”
“Not going to share?” Luke’s long fingers stroked the back of my hand. “Maybe we should work together. We used to be good together.”
“That was a long time ago,” I said, but allowed Luke to swing our hands up to his chest. Speaking of a long time ago, it had been a long time since a man held my hand to his chest.
I stifled a sigh. “I need to get my wings. Drunk or not, I’m still starving.”
“Let me. I owe you dinner. We’ll take them back to your place and eat there.”
“You owe me a hell of a lot more than a platter full of hot wings. I’ll just walk home. Leave Casey my keys and get my dinner.”
I pulled my hand from his and fished my keys from my pocket, triumphant in winning the battle of logic over loins. Without missing a beat, Luke leaned over and caught me full on the lips.
He tasted warm and sweet and delicious. My hands found their way around his shoulders. One hand dangled keys. The other hand snuck fingers through the dark locks curling across the back of his neck. My feet pushed up onto my toes, stretching to meet his stoop. I almost swooned with the flashbacks to our nights of fogging up the windows of his black four-by-four.
I might have moaned, but I heard Luke sigh before sliding our faces apart. We wobbled under the Coors Light sign for half a minute before Luke yanked the keys out of my hand.
“I’ll give these to Casey and take you home.”
And, somehow, I just couldn’t find the words to argue.
The kitchen door slammed against the wall, shaking the yellowing linoleum beneath our feet. The smell of hot wings wafted through the night air as a Styrofoam container flew onto the countertop and skidded to a stop. Wings and sauce splattered against the backsplash. Luke’s hand, freed from carrying takeout, returned to my body pinned between the open kitchen door and his lean physique. My right hand smacked the wall in search of the light switch. The left clung to Luke who was nibbling a trail of kisses down my neck. With my eyes closed the lights no longer mattered. My right hand forewent its search of the light switch and joined the left in the more enjoyable pursuit of reacquainting myself to Luke’s delectable body.
This was probably a bad idea. My inner voice — the one that sounded a lot like Grandma Jo — continued a litany of complaints starting with Luke’s old deeds and ending with the possibility of his involvement in Dustin’s death. But between the hormones and beer, there wasn’t room for Grandma Jo. In fact, Luke and I were so tightly squeezed together, you couldn’t slip a piece of paper between us.
“Hush Grandma,” I thought, running a hand over the washboard under Luke’s shirt.
“Did you say something?”
My eyelids fluttered open to a thick mop of ruffled, dark curls rising before my face. Luke’s lazy eyes peeked up at me. “Out loud? I don’t think so.” My hands found the bottom of his t-shirt and tugged. “Just trying to get rid of this.”
“Only if you get rid of this.” Luke yanked at the camouflage tank top.
His hand crawled under the top, inching its way up my belly, focused on a higher goal. I wriggled underneath his touch and bent forward, pulling air through my nose like a frightened rabbit.
“Still ticklish.” Luke kissed my shoulder. “Do you think we should shut this door or what?”
Before I could answer, he tipped his head up and found my mouth. I clung to his shoulders, not trusting my legs to stand on their own. My blood’s circulation had been diverted. My feet worked no better than a ragdoll’s.
We spent the better part of minute glued to each other with my right leg hiked around his left thigh, rattling the open door behind my back. I ignored the draft blowing around us, but my nostrils kept picking up the aroma of hot wings. My stomach protested with an audible roar.
Luke’s lips rested on my forehead. “I think we need to feed the beast.”
He unpeeled my body from his and the door swung shut. After a half second, I heard the lock turn.
“I’m taking no chances on someone showing up uninvited.”
“Then you better leave the lights off. The minute the lights come on, folks stumble over here from the County Line.”
“Even with your truck gone?”
“How many times a week do you think I lend it to one of my siblings or park it at Red’s to walk home? Besides, there are bets laid out to see when the Datsun finally heaves its last rattle. Ronny Price is probably rubbing his hands together just waiting for me to pony up for a gleaming F-150.”
“So lights off.” Two hands planted on my hips and dragged me a step closer. “Can you eat in the dark, too? Maybe quiet that noise come from your stomach while I’m kissing you.”
“You need to concentrate?”
“It’s not about concentrating. It’s disconcerting to hear your body sound like a wild boar in death throes.”
“It’s not that bad.” I slipped from his grasp and moved to the counter. Picking up a drummie, I licked off the sauce. “They just smelled so good.”
“Why don’t you tell me about your day while you eat?” Luke leaned into the counter and grabbed a wing.
“What? Like running a Tucker taxi service for people who have their own vehicles but don’t want to drive them?”
“I don’t mean your whole day. You know what I mean.” He nudged my leg with his. “What did Pete say?”
His curiosity niggled at my common sense, but I recounted my interview with Creepy Pete and meeting Mr. Max. My gut told me if Luke was involved in Dustin’s death, he was protecting someone else. And I doubted Luke was protecting Creepy Pete or Max Avtaikin.
“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 vehicle 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?”