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 (4 page)
“Who knows with Virginia?” JB uttered a disgusted grunt. “Probably trying to figure out how to get some money out of this. You know she tried to sue me for child support after she abandoned her own kid?”
“She didn’t abandon Dustin,” Wanda said.
“I don’t know what else you call leaving a kid to run around like a cat in heat.” JB turned his back on the coffin.
“Not like you were a saint at the time,” Luke said. “I wonder if Daddy Branson hadn’t told you to straighten up or lose the family business, you might still be carousing with Virginia. Were you ever going to do the same with Dustin? Call him on the floor before delivering the empire?”
“Luke,” Wanda said, hurrying to JB’s side. “Don’t talk to JB like that.”
“It’s the truth, Mom.” He crossed his arms and stole a glance at Cooper. “Sorry, Cooper. Don’t mean to air the Branson dirty laundry in front of you.”
Cooper gave a noncommittal cough and shuffled to the casket, putting some space between him and the family.
“I’d say I’ve had enough time in here,” said JB. “Come on, Wanda.”
“We should go over the service if you’re ready,” said Cooper. He patted the casket and faced the Bransons. “We can go to the conference room or my office.”
“Let’s get it done,” said JB. “I want to get to the office and check a few things.”
“Can’t you get Ronny to do that for you?” Wanda tucked her arm inside JB’s, slowing his pace to exit the room. “We’re expecting more people today.”
Cooper trudged after them, looking like he barely survived World War III. Which for Cooper meant a couple extra lines furrowing his brow.
“Did you get all that?”
I looked up from the little dog I doodled in my notebook. Luke stood facing me, his stance wide and arms crossed. Scrambling up from the chair, I scooted around a flower arrangement.
“I was already in here and didn’t want to disturb you,” I said. “But yeah, I heard. We all got some skeletons in our closets. No big deal.”
Luke scowled. “Knowing I’m going to encounter Virginia always puts me in a bad mood. She’s a couple fries short of a Happy Meal. Dustin didn’t have much of a chance with that DNA combination.”
“Well, I know something about mothers who choose a love life over their kids.”
“Yeah,” Luke wandered over to my pile of supplies and picked up a portable easel, “me, too.”
There wasn’t much more to say unless someone started handing out shots of Jack with a Loretta Lynn song on the jukebox. I let Luke futz around with my easel while I took another tour of Dustin. There was no “angel viewing” angle with my height. Cooper had the coffin jacked up unnecessarily high. I held my sketchpad under one arm and stood on my toes peering over the coffin. Dustin looked pretty good. The police hadn’t revealed how he had been killed, but there was no obvious injury to his face, thank the Lord.
“I could lift you up so you can see more than the coffin handles,” said the soft baritone hovering above my head.
“That’s original. A joke about my height.” I resisted the urge to turn around. “You want to give me a little space? I don’t know Dustin well enough to get this friendly with him.”
Luke stepped back but shifted to my side instead of leaving. His hands dropped to rest on the coffin’s edge. “He would have liked to know you’re hanging all over him now. Harassing his parents to get a chance to spend time with him.”
“Wasn’t going to happen while he was alive, so I guess I can give him some attention now.”
Luke tried to crack a smile, but you could have bounced a penny off those tight shoulders.
“Do you know how he died?” I asked.
“Somebody smacked the back of his skull with something heavy.” Luke stared at his stepbrother. “Probably walked up to him and beamed him in one blow.”
“How could someone do that?”
“Easy. I could’ve knocked you a good one. Hidden something in my pocket or picked something up in the room. You knew I was in the room and didn’t turn around. I stood right…”
The hair rose on the back of my neck. “Yeah, I know where you were standing, and you’ve done it a few too many times today.” I looked at him askance. “I don’t like my personal space violated.”
“That’s not what I remember…”
“You can stop right there, Hugh Hefner. Let’s get something straight. I’m all grown up. I’m not, nor was I ever, some piece of trash you could get drunk on Boone’s Farm, have your way with in your truck, and leave at the Waffle House with an unpaid check.”
“Man, that was a long time ago. You really do hold a grudge.”
“You did it more than once!” I tossed my sketchbook to the floor. Placing my hands on my hips, I took a step closer and flung my chin up.
“Hell, you’re just mad because you wanted me so bad, you let me get away with it.”
“You want to try that again?”
“You know I’m right.”
“You are a…” I struggled for appropriate words to use in a funeral home. “Pig! I’ve news for you, Luke Harper.”
He edged closer. I resisted retreat and took another step forward until we stood inches away. I glowered and poked a finger into his chest.
“You start messing with me, you’re gonna end up with an ass full of buckshot. Not only do I still have that piece of crap yellow truck, I also have my daddy’s shotgun, and I know how to use it.”
Snatching my hand, he folded the offending finger to rest within his palm. “And if you don’t keep your fingers to yourself, you’re going to lose one.” He released my hand.
I stepped back and retrieved my sketchbook from the floor. “It’s time I got back to work. Now that I’m done with SCAD, I’ve crazy student loans to pay off, not to mention a few other bills. Make yourself useful. Ask Cooper how to lower this table so I can get a good view.”
He stared at me a beat, then left the room.
I scrambled through my tackle box looking for a good piece of charcoal. Quality art supplies were expensive, and I tried to balance the line between conservation and cheapskate. I opened a larger sketchpad of heavier bond, luxuriating in the feel of the soft, bumpy surface on my fingers. Flipping through the pages, I found a blank sheet, set the sketchpad on the easel with the charcoal, and waited for the return of Luke with Cooper.
No Luke or Cooper.
I eyed the oak-paneled casket. As usual, a discussion with Luke spun me away from reality. Had we just gone another round while a dead body lay before us like a pitcher of beer and plate of nachos? I needed to refocus on the reason I stood in a funeral home with a sketchbook and empty pockets. This time when I peered over the side of the oak paneling, I wanted to see Dustin as his mother would. Or stepmother, in this case.
Dustin usually had stringy blonde hair, worn long and unkempt, but Cooper had his beautician brush and trim it. Now the smooth, blonde locks fell gently, pillowing his head. Death softened his face, hiding the angry lines that held a scowl and a scornful set to the eyes. Dark eyebrows relaxed above blonde eyelashes tipped in brown, permanently closed. I sighed, trying to imagine Dustin singing with angels. Too hard. More than likely a giant pitchfork poked him right about now.
My eyes drifted over the blue suit to the clasped hands. The long fingers had beautiful shape and an undisclosed strength. I’d be willing to bet they would have been skilled at fine arts and crafts. Such a waste to have those beautiful hands and not the mind to match them. I wanted to capture the slight turns and creases of the knuckles, the long digits that portrayed an artistic suppleness. Even the nails appeared smoothly squared and buffed.
Of course, the nails looked nice. He just had the manicure to end all manicures. Literally.
I took a deep breath and gave myself a mental shaking. I had my focal point. No need to get all artsy-fartsy.
I turned away from Dustin and walked to the doorway in search of living beings. Glancing around the empty reception area, I took a right down the hallway. Voices murmured from the kitchen. I quick-stepped through the hall and stopped in the archway.
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.
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.