Hijack in Abstract (A Cherry Tucker Mystery) Page 3

  “We’ll see. I’m good at hiding stuff,” he waved. “Bye now, girl. You go home and get some sleep. Long night for you, too. Thanks for your help.”

  With a goodbye wave to Tyrone, I continued my quest for hidden gems in the aisles of the SipNZip. Stopping before a mammoth size coffee machine, I grabbed a giant Styrofoam cup. As I sized up my choices, Luke found me and leaned back against the counter.

  “Look at this,” I said. “You can get a cappuccino, latte, cocoa, and a half dozen different shots of flavor for your espresso. All for a dollar ninety-eight. I love this place. They’ve also got a sausage biscuit you can heat up in their microwave. Now that’s convenient.”

  Luke grunted, his gaze swiveling around the room.

  “Did you see Tyrone?” I asked.

  “Yep,” Luke shook his head. “I hope he learned something from tonight. But probably not.”

  “Did any of the SipNZip folks recognize your hijacker?”

  “I didn’t say he was a hijacker,” he snagged a small cup from the dispenser. “Pour me one, too. Please.”

  “What flavor?”

  “Coffee.”

  “You can have a latte,” I pointed at the choices. “I know you like a little cream.”

  “Plain old coffee. Please.”

  “What’s bugging you?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t like this place.”

  “What’s not to like? They don’t even have Max Avtaikin’s poker machines in here. You don’t have to worry about busting them for illegal payouts.”

  He took his coffee, blew on it, and sipped. “Let’s go. I’ve got to talk to the state patrol before I can sleep.”

  “I didn’t know you were back on nights.”

  He glanced at me and jerked his eyes back to his coffee. “I’m not. I just got lucky covering a shift for a buddy who got sick. Look, I don’t want to chitchat.”

  “Fine,” I said, pretending not to be hurt. “I’ve got to pay for my donuts and coffee.”

  I left him standing at the coffee machine and strolled to the cashier stand. Surrounded by cigarette cartons, lottery tickets, and energy drinks, a young woman with light brown hair and a pale face manned the cash register. I handed her my bag of donuts.

  “And one small coffee and one large latte,” I said.

  She nodded and tapped the register keys.

  “This is some place. You must be doing good business.”

  She nodded. “Five dollars and twenty-six cents.”

  I set the coffee on the counter to ferret the money from my jeans’ pocket. “You look a little low on help. Y’all taking applications? I’ve got a friend who needs a job.”

  A shrug. This time with an eye cut to Deputy Harper standing by the coffee machine.

  “Looks like it’ll be another beautiful day.”

  Nothing.

  Either this girl was not a morning person or she didn’t harken from around these parts. Friendly chatting was the grease that kept our community from grinding one another’s gears. “How about the Dawgs this year?”

  “Five dollars and twenty-six cents.”

  “Hold on,” I said, pulling a wad of bills and some change from my front pocket.

  Behind me, a line had formed and took my speed as a reason to jostle me. I took a step backward, to give myself some space, and noodled a finger into the tiny, coin pocket of my jeans.

  “Luke, you got a penny?” I hollered over my shoulder.

  The clerk pushed the penny tray toward me.

  “Can you hurry it up?” said the Atlanta commuter with the Ohio accent. “I’ve got to get to work.”

  “Just one second,” I glanced at the clerk. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around Forks County. Are you new in town?”

  The clerk bobbed her head and scooped up the money. The cash register pinged as she smacked a button and tossed the cash inside.

  “Did that deputy show you a sketch of a man? Did you ever see him in here before?” I watched her face, curious if the employee recognized the perp. Luke wouldn’t tell me if they did.

  “What sketch?” asked Ohio, reaching around me to grab a newspaper. “Has there been a hold-up? I moved way out here to get away from all that.”

  The drawer to the register slammed shut, causing a jar of beef jerky to wobble and threaten to tip.

  “No hold-up here,” said the clerk.

  “Well then, move it along, lady.” Ohio said to me and slapped his coffee, paper, and muffin on the counter. He tossed the clerk his debit card. “We finally get a quick stop out here and it’s still slow.”

  “Come on, Cherry,” said Luke, grabbing the bag of donuts. “Let’s go.”

  “I swear I don’t know what’s happened to the art of conversation,” I grumbled.

  We strode out the shiny glass doors and past the gas pumps toward Casey’s Firebird. Luke waited while I unlocked the door, then handed me the bag of donuts.

  “Thanks for the coffee.” He watched as I slid into the driver’s seat. “Are you okay to get home or do I really need to follow you? I have a mess of work to do before I can go home and get some sleep.”

  “I’ve got my giant coffee to keep me company. Go do your business.”

  “I do appreciate you coming out in the middle of the night to sketch the composite. It sounds like you’re doing well.”

  I forced a smile. “Someone bought my so-called ‘naked’ paintings, so I actually have money in my checking account for once. The gallery wouldn’t say who bought them, but I have my suspicions it may be Max Avtaikin.”

  “You have suspected Avtaikin of everything under the sun and now you suspect him of buying your paintings?”

  “He’s an art collector and appreciator of talent such as mine.”

  “That’s ironic. I’d think he’d just find you a pain in the ass.”

  “I believe he does that, too,” I muttered.

  “I’m glad someone bought your paintings,” Luke toed my open door, “though it seems strange someone like Max Avtaikin would want naked Todd McIntosh hanging on his walls.”

  “The collector sees a triptych of classical subjects. Not naked Todd. Max uses the art as an investment. It’s not like he’s going to hang them in his bedroom.” I took a big gulp of coffee as I ruminated on that idea. “Naw, he sees it as an investment.”

  “Didn’t make you feel weird,” Luke continued, “painting Todd naked?”

  “He was merely a subject and a muse,” I said loftily and buried my mouth in my coffee cup.

  “What about seeing Todd naked now? That bother you?” Luke’s gray eyes narrowed.

  I choked on my coffee.

  “See you around.” He grabbed his Styrofoam cup off the roof of the car.

  “Todd lost his job and needed a place to stay,” I said. “I can’t turn my back on a friend.”

  “I know that all too well,” said Luke. “I think the exact words were, ‘I’d break the law to help a friend.’”

  “Those were your words and I just agreed. Haven’t you ever watched Les Miserables?”

  “I’m the law.”

  “You used to be my friend.”

  “I don’t date my friends.”

  Ouch. “That’s too bad, because Todd and I remained friends after we broke up,” I said, seeking the chink in Luke’s armor. “I can rely on him and he can rely on me. Which is a nice feeling and probably why I married him for that millisecond.” And Todd’s kisses could sear a side of beef in one second flat. But I wasn’t going to admit that tidbit to Luke.

  My door swung shut on that comment. I prepared to turn the ignition and gun Casey’s motor, but was stopped, key in hand, by the knock on my window. I rolled down the window.

  “If you go to the Gearjammer don’t mention the hijack,” said Luke. “I can just see you getting into a load of trouble at a place like a trucker bar.”

  “I told you, I’m not interested in the hijack,” I said. “I’ve got no dog in the hunt. Other than curiosity.�
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  “Maybe I should go with you to the Gearjammer,” he said. “To make sure.”

  “You are not invited to my girls’ night out. Do you hear me, Luke Harper? I’m not partying with truckers and you. You’ll stand out like a sore cop thumb and ruin my fun.”

  “See you there.” He smiled with his teeth. “And I’d recommend you wear a bra.”

  I slammed my arms over my chest, making him chuckle as he strolled to his cruiser.

  Dangit. I might have to look into this hijack. Just to tick him off.

  Three

  As I stepped through the kitchen door of my ninety-year-old bungalow, my brother leapt into view and snatched the bag of donuts from my hand, nearly giving me a heart attack. Like a retriever with his prize dead duck, Cody carried the donut bag to the kitchen table looking very pleased. I set my empty coffee cup on the Formica counter and leaned against the door, eyeing him. My twenty-one-year-old brother wore loose sweat pants, a wife beater, and bare feet. If that wasn’t enough of a hint he’d slept in my house, his shaggy, dishwater blond hair still bore a similar bed-head cowlick to mine. I reached behind my head to tug mine down.

  “Don’t tell me you’re moving in, too,” I said. “This house cannot take another occupant.”

  “I remember Grandma Jo saying five kids were raised in this house. One more visitor ain’t gonna shake the foundation.” Cody yanked a sour cream donut from the bag and tore off a hunk with his teeth. “Pearl said either me or the vehicles had to leave the farm. I can’t sell those cars until I fix them up proper.”

  “I guess Grandpa’s letting Pearl do his dirty work. He’s been wanting you to clear out those vehicles for years.” I could hear the shower running in the back of the house, which blew my next plan of action. “When did you get here?”

  “In time to see you tearing out of the drive in Casey’s Firebird. I thought it was Casey until I poked my head into the guest room and found her. Where have you been? Booty call?”

  I rolled my eyes, threw my satchel on the table, and plopped into a chair. “Sheriff’s office. They needed someone to draw a description for a Forks County Most Wanted poster.”

  “At two in the morning?”

  “Luke Harper picked up a witness to a truck hijacking. They wanted the composite sketch while it was still fresh in his mind.”

  “Deputy Harper,” Cody snickered. “Sure it wasn’t a booty call?”

  “Booty call?” Todd’s country baritone drawled from the hallway.

  I surreptitiously eyed Todd’s stroll into the kitchen. He wore a towel slung low across his lean hips, and his longish blond hair was slick from the shower. The rising sun streaming through my kitchen window caressed his dewy post-shower skin. Skin stretched over a body riddled with taut muscles and sweet dimples.

  I needed to remind Todd that roommates wore robes. Which was hard to do, seeing as how I no longer spoke to my sort-of-ex-husband.

  “Dude,” said Cody, “put some britches on. You walk around my sister’s house like that?”

  Todd grinned and hitched his towel higher, making me slap a hand across my eyes. Todd didn’t care a stitch about modesty. Literally.

  “I’m taking a shower,” I said, hopping out of my chair. “By the way, Cody. Tell Todd I just visited the new SipNZip gas station. They only had one girl running the cash register. He should see if they need some help.”

  “He’s standing right here,” Cody snagged another donut from the bag. “You don’t get my help in the silent game.”

  “All right, baby,” said Todd. “I was fixing to fill out applications today anyway.”

  “Tell Todd that’s a good idea.” This was why I tolerated Todd as a roommate. He listened and followed orders even when I wasn’t speaking to him. That and he was awfully pretty to look at first thing in the morning.

  “By the way, sister,” said Cody, “word has gotten out about your nekkid paintings. Better expect some Come-To-Jesus-Meetings.”

  “What’s so bad about painting an Ancient Greek styled figure?” I pushed past Todd and tromped down the hall to the single bathroom. “Someone needs to teach the folks in this town about classical art.”

  “Someone is. Shawna Branson. And she’s the one showing Red’s customers snapshots of your nekkid Todd pictures.”

  “What?” I stopped and spun around. “How does she have photos of those paintings? They went to a gallery in Athens. I don’t even know who bought them.”

  “Dunno,” Cody licked powdered sugar from his fingers and grabbed another donut. “Maybe she checked out that gallery when she was up in Athens for a Bulldogs game. She is an artist, you know. Told me so herself.”

  “Calling Shawna Branson an artist is like calling Ronald McDonald the King of Steaks.” Shawna Branson and I’ve hated each other since the days when we all hung out at the Tasty Dip. When I found out she was sharing her sprinkles with my boyfriend, I wrote her number on the men’s room wall. Accompanied by an explicit drawing of Shawna’s talents. Pretty good rendering for a cement block wall and a Sharpie. Instead of throwing a hissy, she should have thanked me for making her so popular.

  “Shawna’s got a gallery in Line Creek now,” Todd said. “She fancied up her art shop.”

  “What new gallery?” I said, forgetting my silence rule.

  “Something about art,” said Todd.

  “Who cares?” said Cody. Powdered sugar dotted his beard. “I tell you what you should care about. Todd, ain’t you embarrassed for people to see you in those paintings?”

  Todd shrugged, slipped onto a kitchen chair, and reached for the donut bag.

  “Why should he feel ashamed?” I said. “The good Lord’s seen fit to give him the perfect body structure for a work of the High Renaissance. Anyone who thinks differently needs to get their mind out of the gutter.”

  “We don’t live in High Renaissance,” said Cody. “We live in Halo, Georgia, and if you see a picture of a naked dude, your mind’s going to be in the gutter.”

  “You are an idiot.”

  “That may be, but for Todd’s sake and yours, I’d do something to stop Shawna from showing the town pictures of his pecker. Everybody thinks y’all are perverts.”

  “I don’t paint nudes all the time. It was for a show with a classical theme. I do portraits of real people. With clothes on.” I waved my hand in the direction of my living room-studio with the wall full of clothed portraits. “And thanks to the friggin’ Bransons, I haven’t even done a portrait in ages. You know what she’s trying to do? Force me to stop painting or move. Run me out of my own hometown.”

  The bedroom door to my left swung open. My sister Casey yawned, stretched, and rubbed her eyes. “What’s all the hollering? I don’t want to be up this early.” Her eyes took in our scene and fixed on Todd. “Well, good morning sunshine. I can get used to this roommate thing.”

  “Hey Casey,” said Todd. “The town thinks Cherry and I are perverts because of those paintings Cherry did of me.”

  Casey pushed her long, brown hair over a shoulder and leaned into the bedroom doorway, her eyes roving over Todd’s fine musculature. “Told you those paintings were a bad idea.”

  “That bad idea paid the taxes on this house for the year,” I said. “I don’t know the patron, but they bought the collection for a good price.”

  She straightened from her languorous pose. “If I were you, I’d find the buyer. See if they want any more. I’ll pose naked for a cut.”

  “That’s disgusting,” I said. “You’re making my art sound as warped as the rest of the town.”

  She shrugged and stepped out of the doorway. “Don’t see what the difference is between me and Todd.”

  “Todd is my muse,” I said.

  She and Cody exchanged a look before they began laughing hysterically.

  “What? What’s so funny?”

  “Muse,” she gasped. “Todd’s your muse.”

  “Yes,” I turned my back on Cody and Todd to give Casey a full-on stink eye.
“Many great artists had a muse. Manet. Picasso. Andrew Wyeth. Stieglitz with Georgia O’Keefe, no less. Vermeer. The list goes on.” I ticked them off on my fingers.

  “I bet them painters were all guys and they were doing the chicks they were painting,” said Cody.

  I whirled around. “That is so sexist.”

  “Am I wrong?” asked Cody.

  I screwed my mouth and tightened the grip on my crossed arms.

  “Thought so,” said Cody. “Todd, you better hope Cherry gets famous. You can go down in history as the first dude muse for a chick painter. And then turn in your man card.”

  Todd grinned. “I think it’s kind of sexy.”

  I dropped my arms and kicked the shoe molding on the wall. A fine sprinkling of plaster dusted my boot. “Dammit. This means I’ve got to go to Line Creek and deal with Shawna.”

  “Hey, maybe she’ll know who bought your paintings,” said Casey, turning her back on me. She walked into the bathroom and closed the door. A moment later I heard the shower running.

  I gave an exasperated sigh and glanced over my shoulder at Cody and Todd. The donut bag had been crumpled and tossed onto the middle of the table. Powdered sugar and frosting coated the wooden tabletop.

  “Got any coffee?” said Cody.

  “There are entirely too many people living in this house,” I said. “If Shawna doesn’t run me out of town, y’all will.”

  Four

  Later that morning, I parked my little, yellow Datsun pickup in front of the old courthouse square. I gave the girl a pat on the steering wheel for making it the fifteen miles to Line Creek from Halo. When your vehicle is almost thirty years old, she needs that kind of encouragement. Lucky for me, my brother teethed on a crescent wrench. He lacked skills in most other areas, but if you have an engine, Cody is your man.

  One of the benefits of Forks County was the loyalty of small town patrons to their mom and pop shops. Line Creek’s town square still carried boutiques that allowed women one-of-a-kind dress options and children’s clothes featuring smocking and embroidery. The square also had a fancified Southern restaurant for posh people who still liked to eat macaroni and cheese. And a Chinese restaurant run by a family who had lived in Line Creek for fifty years and learned to serve sides of mac and cheese with their lo mein.