Still Life in Brunswick Stew by Larissa Reinhart

put my boots back on. Eloise deserved one hundred percent feistiness. No more letting my friends down.
     

SIX

    We sat around a table at Red’s County Line Tap, sucking on beer and chatting about the festival. County Line was once a mangy tavern that sat a few feet over the town line. A couple years ago, the new proprietor, Red, had transformed the whiskey-infused roadhouse into a sports bar. He attired the narrow room with flat-screen TVs and softball trophies. The long, mirror backed wooden bar still remained near the entrance and a small stage now sat at the far end.
    Todd’s band, Sticks, did not play tonight. We were somber for a Saturday night, as the death of Eloise was still fresh in our minds. One of Eloise’s pots, black with a crackled white glaze, sat in the center of the scarred wooden table. Red providing beer and hot wings on the house in honor of Eloise had been a particular blessing in my penniless state.
    “I heard Cherry kicked a guy in the stomach,” said my sister Casey, joining us at the end of her shift. She whipped off her waitress apron, revealing massive exposure between her itty-bitty Red’s t-shirt and belly skimming jeans.
    My brother, Cody, looked on with irritation, more perturbed that I would get to tell the Hunter story again than by his sister’s man-bait attire.
    “You kicked a guy in the stomach?” asked Sid McKenzie, lead guitarist in Sticks. He eyed me warily across the table. New in town, Sid’s first impression of me had been at a Sticks’ performance. I had been hauled out kicking and screaming at Todd for writing unflattering lyrics about me. Sometimes I rub people the wrong way.
    And it doesn’t help to have these stories of me beating up eighteen-year-old boys.
    “I elbowed him, not kicked him,” I said. “But he called me a scarecrow and implied very improper things about my love life.”
    “Then shouldn’t have Todd kicked his can instead of you?” asked Cody. My brother raised his brows beneath his Braves cap and pointed his longneck at Todd. “That’s not very gentlemanly, Todd.”
    “I was gonna, but it’s more fun to watch Cherry do it.”
    “Besides, Todd’s not her boyfriend anymore,” said Casey. She ran a hand up Todd’s well-muscled arm and pinched his chin.
    Todd grinned at my eye roll.
    “Speaking of boyfriends, I’m surprised you detached yourself from the house just in case your cop should show up,” said Cody. His brown eyes mocked me. Cody was born ornery. Instead of outgrowing that particular trait, he embraced it.
    “Luke’s got odd hours as a crime fighter,” I said. “The superhero stuff makes him tired so he doesn’t want to go out.”
    “Good thing we aren’t all deputies or Red would go broke,” said Todd. “Although Cherry and I have done some pretty good investigating on our own. Haven’t we, baby?”
    “What have you and Cherry investigated other than a Vegas wedding chapel?” Cody said with a laugh. “Not that it worked out too well for you, Todd.”
    “My timing was off.”
    I quickly changed the subject. “We got a good bit of gossip from that kid at the festival today. I wonder how long that autopsy will take. I’d really like to know if their stew was bad.”
    Red’s door opened, and we swung our gazes to assess the newcomer. Luke nodded as a greeting and strode to the bar to grab a beer. His jeans and t-shirt melded with his lean body into lines that made me salivate more than the smell of frying chicken, but the man could wear a gorilla suit and still look hot.
    I pushed from the table and hopped up to give him a private greeting at the bar. “How’d it go tonight? Catch any bad guys?”
    He leaned in for a quick kiss. At the corners of his eyes, small lines scored his flesh. Shadows deepened the hallows beneath his cheekbones. I traced the cut of his cheek with a finger. What I wouldn’t give for a quick charcoal sketch of this somber face.
    “You look exhausted. Baby, go have a seat,” I said.