Portrait of a Dead Guy by Larissa Reinhart

dinner.”
    “Fierce dinner?” I repeated and licked my lips. Casey and Grandpa ignored me.
    “I don’t need watching by rude children. What I want is some peace.” Grandpa tapped his hand on the paper and eyed me. “Sister, fix her a plate. I only see Cherry when she’s hungry, but that’s often enough.”
    I slid onto the chair next to him and smiled. “You want to know what I’ve been doing?”
    Casey plopped onto a chair opposite and leaned her elbows on the table.
    “Wha’ch you been doing?” She tossed her long brown hair over a shoulder, her brown eyes sparking with interest. Casey lived for gossip and excitement. Gossip was easy to find, but excitement a bit harder in Halo. That meant Casey made her own excitement, which often resulted in more gossip.
    “I’ve got a chance for a new commission,” I said. Casey delivered me a blank look. “A new customer to paint. It’s Dustin Branson.”
    “Uh-uh. He’s dead.”
    “I know. The Bransons hired me to paint him dead. Can you believe it?” I turned to Grandpa. “Saw Uncle Will at Cooper’s. The Sheriff’s Office is investigating. What do you know about it?”
    “Well,” he pulled on the word while arranging himself for a lengthy answer. Half the information would be factual and the rest supposition, but I might learn something. I hopped up to pour a glass of sweet tea while Casey picked at her nails.
    “Dustin was found in the auto bay of Mather’s tire shop. That’s where he worked, when he bothered showing up.” He shook his head, discontented with Dustin’s work habits. “It was after closing so the front door was locked. Curtis Mather found Dustin face down under the lift with drained oil dripping on him and his head smashed in. Probably used one of the tools in the garage, maybe a tire iron? That’s my guess, now. Will wouldn’t tell me the murder weapon.”
    “What was he doing there after hours?”
    “Dustin was working on his own car.” Grandpa tapped his chin. “An old Malibu. He worked on rebuilding it after work sometimes.”
    “How’d you know that?”
    “Got my sources. I wonder if JB’s going to sell that Malibu. Cody’s mighty interested. Been busting to ask Branson next time he’s in the dealership garage. I told Cody to wait and see. The man just lost his son. That boy’s got no sense of decorum. Anyway, that’s all I need is another vehicle on blocks in my barn.”
    “Knowing my brother and cars, he’ll wrangle that Malibu somehow. It’ll be sitting in the barn within the month guaranteed,” I said.
    “He better sell some of his other junk first. There ain’t room. What’s the point of spending all his money on cars if he can’t afford the parts to fix them?”
    I set down the tea and walked over to the fridge. A plate of cold chicken sat wrapped in plastic on the shelf. A roar from my stomach accompanied some drool.
    “That chicken’s for supper,” Casey called without looking up.
    I ignored Casey and grabbed a leg of chicken before sitting at the worn table again.
    Grandpa glowered. “Don’t be eating my supper now, Cherry.”
    “It would’ve been my supper, too. So I’m just eating my share since I’m going back to Cooper’s tonight.” I bit into the succulent chicken and sighed. “Casey, you could put Chicken D’Lite out of business if you’d open your own place.”
    “You keep saying that. And I keep telling you waiting tables at Red’s is more than enough for me.”
    “Why would I want her to open a restaurant?” asked Grandpa. “Then somebody else will be eating her chicken and not me.”
    “Don’t you want to be successful?” I studied Casey as she leaned over to peer at her toenails. Casey couldn’t find ambition if it drew her a map and hired a sherpa.
    “Not if it means slaving away for a bunch of people who don’t give a rat’s ass about me.”
    I skipped over her implication at my constant scramble for commissions. “I care about you. So, you have anything to go