Read Still Life in Brunswick Stew Online
Authors: Larissa Reinhart
Tags: #Mystery, #humor, #cozy, #Humour, #Romance, #cozy mystery, #southern mystery, #humorous mystery, #mystery series
“Oh, they just forgot we’re seeing each other?”
“Well, sugar, I do work long hours. And although I’m temporarily living in their house, it doesn’t mean they keep tabs on me.”
“So what is it we’re doing here, Luke? Whatever it is, it doesn’t seem to be public. Unless you call Sunday dinners at the farm public. Which oddly enough involves your boss.” I gave him my best what-do-you-say-to-that look.
He raised my arms to wrap around his neck and skimmed his hands down my sides to rest at my hips. “Let’s not ruin the day by fussing,” he whispered. “We can talk about this another time.”
“I’ll give up my fussing if you give up yours.” Considering the mess I got myself into the night before, I didn’t need any pot and kettle accusations.
Besides, between the distraction of his stroking hands and sultry lips, I was having trouble concentrating on much else. When Luke turned on the heat, I melted faster than a Daytona Beach soft serve. And dangit, he knew it.
“Agreed,” he said, tipping my chin up with one finger. “You owe me a better kiss than the one I got in the truck.”
His lips descended, crushing mine. I snuggled into his body, eager to redeem myself. However, as willing as I was, my lips refused to perform.
Like the dexterity of a two year old, my lips pursed and opened, sliding willy-nilly around Luke’s tender skin.
“Did you have a shot of Novocain or something when I wasn’t looking?” Luke gave me a strange look, wiping his face on his arm.
“I keep telling you something is wrong with me.”
“The only thing wrong with you is your imagination. You need something to occupy your mind. You better figure out a new project. One that doesn’t involve painting me naked, by the way. That Greek body paint whatever is not going to happen.”
I wiped the drool off on the back of my hand.
“I’m going to clean myself up.” Shoving open the bathroom door, he shot a look at me over his shoulder. “Get those lips working. I’m becoming a very frustrated man.”
I slumped against the wall as the bathroom door swung shut. Maybe he was right. I just needed a new project. I wanted to start the classical paintings, but it looked like Luke would need more convincing. And I found it difficult to concentrate on drawing with this funk hanging over me. I wished I could do more to help Eloise’s family. Uncle Will didn’t confirm he was ordering an autopsy.
But he didn’t deny it either.
I wondered if anyone else from the festival had died. I made a mental note to check the Halo Herald when it came out the following week. Or better yet, I could visit the newspaper office tomorrow and ask.
And while I was at it, I might as well inquire about this new bingo meeting. It couldn’t hurt to check on the Bear’s newest service. Maybe he had turned a new leaf and enjoyed providing cookies and coffee to the Ladies Auxiliary. Judging by his popularity at church, he was benefitting in baked goods. Strange he would allow himself to be mobbed. Unless he was encouraging these women for some other nefarious purpose.
A smile uncurled my tight lips. It felt good to have a plan.
The Halo Herald newspaper office needed a coat of paint following a massive attack against clutter, debris, and dirt. Grime on the plate glass window kept the inside mess hidden from passersby. But those who entered the office soon realized the twenty-four seven world of newspaper work didn’t include much cleaning. Dust mites crawled in my nose, drawing out a giant sneeze that sprayed the piled folders, fliers, and newspapers on the yellowing Formica counter.
“Goodness me,” replied a voice behind a stack of binders. “Bless you.”
A woman popped up from a desk and approached the counter. Her short, russet hair, khaki pants, and fawn top gave her the appearance of a bright-eyed wren. Which I guess would make me a parrot in my chartreuse and violet tank with royal blue shorts.
“Can I help you?” Her voice had a pleasant lilt, like she’d been in Georgia some but had lived north of the sweet tea line as well.
“Yes, ma’am. I’m Cherry Tucker,” I began.
“You’re the artist who painted Dustin Branson’s coffin portrait?” She hopped closer to where I stood.
“Yes, ma’am. I guess that probably caught the paper’s attention.”
“Anything related to a murder case catches my attention,” she replied. “I’m Dorothy Cooper. August Cooper’s daughter,” she added as part of a small town member’s automatic clarification system. August Cooper owned Cooper’s Funeral Home. “You can call me Dot.”
“Thanks, Dot. I’m inquiring about two things.” Before she started a spiel about ad or editorial pieces, I continued. “Both are concerning investigations you might be looking into.”
“Investigations?”
I guessed that word wasn’t used much at the Halo Herald.
“One is the Sidewinder Brunswick Stew Cook-Off,” I said.
“Sure. The food poisoning scare?”
“Yes, ma’am. My friend from Sidewinder, Eloise Parker, died after eating Brunswick Stew at the festival.”
“What?” Dot’s brown eyes gleamed. “The stew killed her?”
“I’m not sure. That might need investigating.”
“Sidewinder doesn’t have a police department. Is the sheriff’s office checking into it?”
“Her father wants an autopsy.” I drew a circle in the dust on the counter. “She had Crohn’s disease, but I was with her all day and she didn’t appear sick until she ate about six cups of stew.”
Dot grabbed a notebook from her desk and began scribbling. “I’ll check to see if anyone else got that sick.”
“Check into one of the teams, Cotton Pickin’ Good. The cook, Lewis Maynard, and his wife, Marion, also fell sick pretty bad. According to Lewis’s girlfriend’s son. And that’s where Eloise got all her stew.”
“Really? According to Lewis’s girlfriend’s son?” Dot’s eyebrows drew together, and she cocked her head. “It’s likely a coincidence, but I’ll check into it. Lewis Maynard should be easy to track down.”
“One more thing. Eloise had a boyfriend, Griffin Ward, who hassled her some. I don’t know if it’s related to the food poisoning, but it can’t hurt to add him into the mix. He was selling his health food smoothie, Genuine Juice, at the festival.”
“Okay.” Her voice sounded doubtful, but she added his name to the list.
“Thanks. If you need any help, I’d be willing to go along.” Reaching over the counter, I jotted my cell phone number on her legal pad.
“I’ll think about it,” she said. “What’s your other investigation?”
I could feel my eyes sparking with excitement. “What do you know about the Ladies Auxiliary bingo meetings at Mr. Avtaikin’s house?”
“Mr. Max’s house?”
“You know him?”
“He’s getting well known in the community.”
“Is he now? I thought he was doing community service.”
“I know about the gambling allegations, but they were never proven. Is there more to the story?”
“Well,” I hedged, caught between suspicion and guilt. “I just wondered about this bingo deal. With the Ladies Auxiliary.”
“As far as I know it’s just bingo.” Dot gave me a look that spoke crackpot. “I’ll look into the Sidewinder food poisoning. And you know Max has been donating a lot of money to various causes. He wants to clear his name from any scandal.”
“Why? Is he going to run for office?”
“Ooh, that would be interesting,” Dot giggled. “We could use some fresh blood on the town council. At least he’d give me something nice to look at instead of the usual crowd.”
Max nice to look at? The Bear looked like his name. A brute with cyan blue eyes. He used his size and namesake for intimidation, not for impressing the ladies. At least I didn’t think so.
“He was one of the cook-off judges, you know. Mr. Max didn’t get sick, none of the judges did, but I saw someone from the cook-off following him at church. Actually he was followed by a lot of women, come to think of it.” I tapped my chin. “Don’t you find that odd?”
“Were you also following Mr. Max, too?” asked Dot.
I gave her my best I’m-dead-serious stare. “As a citizen of Halo, I’m interested in making sure he cleans up his act. This town could use some revitalizing, particularly by folks who are interested in the arts. However, I don’t take kindly to gangsters moving in.”
Dot smirked. “It’d be helpful to have rich art patrons in Halo, though. From what I understand, Shawna Branson has been thinking the same as you.”
“I also don’t take kindly to Amazons,” I sniffed. “Good day, Dot Cooper. Let me know if you hear anything and I’ll do the same.”
Dot watched me from the window as I stepped out the door of the crumbling newspaper office and crossed the street. I hoped the death of Eloise Parker would now receive the attention it deserved. I supposed I was the only one serious about buffing the rough out of Max Avtaikin. Shawna would encourage his unlawful activities as long as they brought in dollars for her causes.
A visit to the Bear’s lair seemed appropriate.
I had visited Max’s Antebellum-style mansion once before, and I will admit to feeling considerably intimidated by the lavish architecture and furnishings. The guy could give Graceland a run for its money. My last visit included Todd, but I figured it best to keep myself and my traitorous lips away from him for the moment. Luckily, he worked his delivery route on Mondays, so I felt no guilt in avoiding him.
The Datsun and I chugged east of town, where the hills and Loblolly pines drew heaven and earth closer. The tall timber crowding the road cooled my hot truck. I hung my arm out the window, enjoying the breeze snapping against my fingers and the damp scent of the forest. The road dipped into a slight hollow, and I sucked in my breath. The monstrous, white mansion gleamed against the azure sky. Columned and porticoed with a big-ass canon in the front flower bed, the house was a Southern gentleman’s wet dream. And, it seemed, also an Eastern European miscreant’s.
I parked in front of the veranda aware of the dripping mess of oil and rust I’d leave on his immaculate blacktop. Hopefully Max wouldn’t care. He wasn’t snobbish, and he didn’t suffer snobbery in others. He came from humble roots, something he was proud to claim. However, he had the amazing ability to conjure cash from thin air. Much of which I suspect came from other people’s pockets.
I rang the bell and tapped my flip-flops on the varnished wood floor of the veranda. A moment later, the great door swung open and Max ushered me into the multi-storied foyer. Despite the high ceilings, the house felt stuffy and warm.
“Artist,” Max bowed and gave me the quick double-cheek kiss of his native land, “to what do I owe this pleasure?”
“Hey there, Bear,” I said, attempting nonchalance amid the fluster of his European greeting. “What’s with the internal temperature? You one of those guys who has something against a/c? Or did you forget to pay the electric?”
He gave me a puzzled look, one I had seen before.
“Why is it so hot in your house?”
“Ah. There is mechanical problem. Let us speak on the back deck where we can escape this insufferable heat. I am partaking of the lemonade if you would care to join me.”
“Sounds good.”
We trooped through the stuffy foyer into a formal living room decorated in gilt and deep reds. I stopped before a grouping of small, beautiful oils crafted in the Romantic style of the early nineteenth century. One tiny masterpiece featured a woman wearing a peasant dress standing in the midst of a modern, ruined building.
Despite her tragic contemporary setting, she maintained the fierce expression and proud bearing of the heroic Romantic subjects, much like one of my favorite Delacroix works. I squinted at the signature, but couldn’t make out the scribble. Although I questioned his velvet and gold decorating style, Max had fine taste in art. I turned to compliment him, but he had disappeared through another doorway.
I hustled through a small hallway into a large kitchen. Max lifted a tray with a cut crystal pitcher of lemonade and glasses from the island’s granite countertop. He paused before a set of French doors, and I hurried to open the door for him.
“You’ve got a nice art collection,” I said.
“Another time perhaps we can explore the works. When it is not so warm. Today you have other business, I am guessing.” The hint of a smirk made a brief appearance. “It seems your visits always coincide with business. I hope this one ends more pleasantly than the last.”
I waved away his insinuation with attempted nonchalance.
I pushed Todd out of my thoughts and followed Max outside. The shaded deck overlooked a kidney shaped pool and a beautiful pool house, surrounded by palm trees and other tropical plants. The scene was so blissful, I almost hated to put the screws to Max. He handed me a goblet of lemonade and a thin lemon slice bobbed in the golden liquid. I almost cried at the beauty.
He eyed me and took a draw from his crystal glass. I smiled demurely, smoothed my parroty tank, and sipped from the glass.
“Holy crap, this is amazing lemonade.” I gulped the rest of the drink and wiped my mouth with a dainty napkin. My Grandma Jo would have smacked my behind for my lack of manners. “I have never tasted lemonade like this before. What did you put in it? Fairy wings? Diamond dust?”