Read Still Life in Brunswick Stew Online
Authors: Larissa Reinhart
Tags: #Mystery, #humor, #cozy, #Humour, #Romance, #cozy mystery, #southern mystery, #humorous mystery, #mystery series
Still Life in Brunswick Stew (33 page)
She tipped the gun away. “You gave my brownies to Mr. Max?”
“I didn’t know you were trying to kill me with them!”
“How could you? Mr. Max is a dear. I don’t believe in bingo. It’s a form of gambling. A horrible vice practiced by people like the Gables. But Mr. Max’s done much for the Ladies Auxiliary, which I support.”
“Good Lord. I can’t escape Max’s minions, even at my own shooting.”
“You are incorrigible.”
“So I’ve been told,” I said and held my breath, as she steadied the gun. I clutched the bat with my right hand and held my left hand before me. “You really don’t have to do this.”
She pushed the safety button with her thumb. On the patio table, my phone rang a shrill verse of “Do You Think My Tractor’s Sexy.” Marion glanced over her shoulder. I swung my bat. And she squeezed the trigger.
The gun’s fire cracked the air. I felt my hair stir, but I stayed with the swing. The bat struck her arm, and the gun flew. I dove at Marion’s knees. We fell into the dirt, and I held her legs while she kicked and shrieked. An arsenal of bullets rolled out of her pockets, scattering across the ground. I drew up to grab her arms, and she pulled her legs back and kicked me hard in the gut. I rolled over, clutching my stomach.
Marion scooted back, stopping just as her bottom touched air at the edge of the hole. Realizing her placement, she grabbed the crumbling ledge.
I slid forward and kicked her shins. As she swung her hands up to stop me, the ground beneath her gave away. Her arms windmilled and caught air. She toppled backward with her legs kicking. One of her shoes landed on the orange earth next to me. I hopped up and looked over the edge. Marion lay on her side, breathing hard.
I spun and ran for the patio.
Snatching my phone from the table, I dialed 911, reported our location, and the fact that Marion Maynard had just tried to kill me. Which the dispatcher did not want to believe.
And as I jabbered on the phone like a gibbon on crack, the blast of the gun’s remaining shot burst from the backyard pit.
I sat wrapped in a blanket on the Gables’ patio and watched the EMTs and policemen pull the stretcher out of the giant hole. Uncle Will knelt before me with a hand on my knee, which he occasionally squeezed.
“Did you get a hold of Max?” I said for the hundredth time. My brain seemed to be stuck in a holding pattern.
“He didn’t eat the brownies. Remember, he threw them away? Didn’t trust you as a cook,” Will forced a chuckle. “An officer’s on their way to pick them up. Max said he doesn’t want you to worry. Thought your concern was sweet.”
“And Hunter,” I repeated. “Is Hunter okay?”
“Sugar, I told you your Grandpa Ed is watching over him. We’ll figure out Hunter’s situation. It’s time you get to the hospital and have that arm looked at.”
“Did you find Janine?” I stopped, interrupted by a shouting match.
Will drew up and turned to check the argument by the gate. A deputy stood blocking the entrance while Luke hurled profanities at him. I shrank back in my chair. Leaving me with a pat on my shoulder, Will ambled toward the gate.
“Harper, we’re processing the scene. You know the rules.”
“Where is she?” Luke said, his voice grating against Will’s calm.
“Cherry’s in shock. And on her way to the hospital. You need to cool your jets, son.”
“I told her to stay out of Sidewinder,” he shouted.
“I told her the same thing,” said Will, “but you know Cherry. She wanted to help Hunter. And she believed him when he said he poisoned the stew. She didn’t think she’d be in danger.”
“She could have been murdered,” Luke’s voice lowered, but the bite remained. “She doesn’t think. And she doesn’t listen to me.”
“You are not helping, and I believe you are off duty,” said Will. “Go home.”
A tear dripped down my cheek. My arm hurt, so I let it continue its course rather than get rid of it.
“This was the last straw,” Luke exploded. “One of these days she’s going to get herself killed. That little fool-idiot.”
That jerked me out of my stupor.
I hopped up and hollered back. “You take that back, Luke Harper. That’s just plain ugly. And the next time I’m asked to give last words, they are certainly not going to be about you!”
Sunlight poured through my picture window and danced across my sketchbook waiting for brilliance. Normally, I’d be inspired by the good light. But my creativity had as much vigor as a wounded snail. I ducked out of Sunday dinner at the farm to avoid my family’s remarks about my encounter with crazy Marion and my guilt over Hunter’s mom. It’s a peculiar feeling hating someone who was murdered. I excused myself with my one day deadline to create a masterpiece for the classical exhibition.
Three canvases leaned against the wall behind me. Stretched, gessoed, and disappointingly blank. I seemed to be out of luck. I would disappoint Eloise. Her professor wouldn’t respect me, and I wouldn’t be able to convince him to give her a final show. That I really needed to place some art in that gallery call in order to pay my bills didn’t bother me nearly as much as my failure in Eloise’s final request.
I rubbed my arm below the bandage and thought about my meager remains from my last commission. I sold no paintings at the festival and wasted a lot of money the past week on sympathy donuts and bribery barbecue. Flipping a page on my sketchpad, I grabbed a B pencil and doodled a plate of waffles with a side of bacon. I wondered if they made Waffle House uniforms in my size.
A knock on my door brought me out of my absorption. I hopped from my stool, padded across my living room, and tugged open the front door. Todd stood on my porch.
“Hey,” he said, studying the big bandage on my forearm. “Are you okay?”
“I’m okay. I didn’t really get shot,” I said. “And I’m taking ibuprofen by the bushel.”
“I feel bad.” He followed me into the house. “I got mad at you and left you alone. I should have stuck around.”
“You know me.” I shrugged. “I don’t listen to anyone. I tick everyone off. And I made you lose your job at Mr. Max’s.”
“Aw, Cherry. I’m not chafing anymore. I’ll get another job.”
Todd’s hug made my arm hurt, but I enjoyed his forgiveness. He kissed the top of my head and pulled away.
“I heard you need a model,” he said.
My eyes widened. “Really? You’d do that for me?”
“You know I would.”
“I won’t body paint you right away. But you’ll need to strip. The Greeks liked their men nude.”
“No problem, baby.”
“I’ll get you a towel,” I said and scampered to the bathroom. On the way back, I popped into my bedroom to grab my copy of Gardner’s
Art Through the Ages
and flipped to the
Dying Gaul
. I could do a quick series of sketches and leave the Greek letters for later. Then I’d draw Todd as the
Discobolos
and the
Seated Boxer
. A triptych covering the Classical and Hellenistic periods. I would pull an all-nighter. Do an acrylic of each, using an oil stick for the letters, photograph them, and send the results to Eloise’s professor in the morning.
My mind full of poses, color, and logistics, I stopped in the archway to my living room and gawked. Todd had kicked off his carpenter shorts and t-shirt and stood in all his lean, muscled glory.
“Gah,” I said and dropped the book.
“Baby, you okay? Can you draw with your arm busted up?”
“Maybe you should step away from the window.” I bent over to pick up the book. My lips throbbed, but they had learned their lesson. They had played with fire and been burned. I was now most definitely single. No question about it. Stupid lips.
I showed Todd the picture of the
Dying Gaul
statue, then turned my back while I readied my sketchbook and charcoal. I glanced over my shoulder and winced at Todd’s elegant pose on the floor. He leaned on one arm with his head dipped in anguish, one leg bent, the other extended.
A perfect obtuse triangle. And, thankfully, with a strategically draped towel.
“So I heard Hunter is staying at the farm,” said Todd with the nonchalance of a person accustomed to immodesty.
“Just temporarily,” I said, doing my best not to look at the towel. “Poor kid. He spit tobacco in the stew and thought he poisoned everyone. He’s grieving his mother and is in shock over Miss Marion. The Gables might take him in, though. They’re working through their own pain.”
“You did right to help him.”
I nodded my thanks while the charcoal zipped over the bumpy surface of the paper. Composition filled my thoughts. I tried a front-view arrangement, flipped the page, and drew Todd from another angle.
“You still got that wallop on your chin,” said Todd, after a few minutes. “Why did Shawna sock you in the jaw?”
“No idea.” I turned to my tackle box for a bigger piece of charcoal. With an X-Acto knife, I sliced one round end into a point. “She’s accused me of messing up her festival, and she wants to keep me from talking, of all things. I know I have a big mouth, but I guess she fears me talking about something specific. Maybe my thoughts on her becoming the pillar of the arts community.”
I thought a minute about Shawna’s manic behavior toward me of late and tapped my forehead with the charcoal. “I believe she’s just plain crazy. And maybe jealous. Although she’s got no reason for that now.”
“What do you mean she’s got no reason to be jealous?”
Leave it to Todd to take an entire pontification and ask about the one off-hand remark I didn’t want to talk about. I screwed my lips tight.
“You have a funny habit of eating your lips when you don’t want to tell me something.” He stood to stretch. The towel dropped to the floor.
“Gah,” I said.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m not ready for the discus pose.” My cheeks flared. I looked at the broken charcoal I had squeezed into pieces and quickly changed the subject. “Good Lord, Todd. What’s with the twenty questions?”
“I want to know why Casey said you couldn’t kiss Luke anymore.”
“And I want to know if you were playing poker in Mr. Max’s pool house the other day.”
I caught a flicker in his eye. Todd’s eyes normally didn’t flicker.
“Are you playing as a ringer?” I circled around the easel to face him. “You’re duping Max’s rich friends into thinking you’re lucky at cards. And I bet you’re splitting the winnings with the Bear. Lowdown, double-crossing, dirty-dealing...”
“Aww, Cherry.” Todd strode forward, his hands held out in supplication. “You think I would do something like that?”
“Yes, I do. And Mr. Max would, too.” I fixed my eyes on his face and not on other parts. “Don’t give me that ol’ shucks routine. You snooker people into thinking you’re dumb, don’t you? It’s how you win. Is that what you’re doing with me?”
At the creak of the screen door, we turned toward the sound.
“Cherry?” Luke called. He stepped over the threshold, cellophane-wrapped grocery store roses in his hand. His sharp gray eyes lighted on our scene.
Me in my wife-beater paint shirt that hid my cutoffs.
And Todd in his birthday suit, his arms open and hands stretching toward me.
I glanced at the towel on the ground and then up at the grin on Todd’s face.
I really needed to consider switching to landscapes.
Reader’s Discussion Guide
- Does Cherry have good reasons to get involved in the investigation? What about Luke’s feelings about her interference?
- Red called Cherry a “relationship self-sabotager” and said that her inability to commit “attracts men like sugar ants to peanut butter.” Do you agree with his assessment? Why or why not?
- Cherry chooses different friends or family to help with various missions. How does she match the person to the event?
- In what ways has Cherry’s mother still played a role in the lives of the siblings? What do you think they need to do to find closure?
- What do you think of Uncle Will’s role in the siblings’ lives? What do you think he knows about Cherry’s mother?
- Do you think Cherry has a personal vendetta against Max Avtaikin? If not, what are her real feelings for him?
- What role do you see Pearl playing in the Tuckers’ future?
- Have you ever known a Shawna? Can you suggest some reasons on why she hates Cherry?
- Do you think Cherry is a vigilante? What kind of people does she seek to help and why?
- What do you think will happen to Cherry’s relationship with Luke? With Todd?
- What predications can you make about Cherry’s next adventure?
About Larissa Reinhart
Growing up in a small town, Larissa Reinhart couldn’t wait to move to an exotic city far from corn fields. After moving around the US and Japan, now she loves to write about rough hewn characters that live near corn fields, particularly sassy women with a penchant for trouble.
Hijack in Abstract
is the third in the Cherry Tucker Mystery Series from Henery Press, following
Still Life in Brunswick Stew
(#2) and
Portrait of a Dead Guy
(#1), a 2012 Daphne du Maurier finalist.
Quick Sketch
, a Cherry Tucker prequel to
Portrait
, is in the mystery anthology
The Heartache Motel
(December 2013).
She lives near Atlanta with her minions and Cairn Terrier, Biscuit. Visit her website www.larissareinhart.com or find her chatting with the Little Read Hens on Facebook.