Portrait of a Dead Guy by Larissa Reinhart Page A

to rob Dustin.”
    I clenched the painting before me. “I didn’t try to rob Dustin, sir. I did trespass. I admit to that. But only to get a jump start on painting. Cooper’s not pressing charges, though.”
    “Cooper’s not pressing charges, yet,” said JB.
    Wanda wandered to the window and feigned interest in the parking lot. “There’s talk in town you pulled that crazy stunt to drum up your art business. Playing on folks’ sympathy. Get yourself in the newspaper.”
    “What? Who’s saying that? It’s a lie. I have the bump on my head to prove it.”
    “If your story about getting attacked by a burglar is true, why was nothing stolen?”
    “But,” I stumbled through my words, “how could I hit myself in the head?”
    “Shawna said your studio is going under,” Wanda spoke to the window, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. “JB, maybe you’re being too hard on Cherry. Poverty can make you desperate.”
    “Shawna said my studio is failing?” I gasped and felt my blood pressure skyrocket. I set the painting aside before I inadvertently snapped it in half. Shawna worked fast. I sailed under her radar too long, and the vixen was making up for lost time.
    “I’ve known you practically your whole life, Cherry.” Wanda turned her back on the window. “‘I’m sure you didn’t mean to hurt us.”
    “You really believe I would tear up a funeral home and desecrate a body for advertisement?” I sucked in my breath. “How could you think such a thing? I went without sleep to work on this painting.”
    “Unless someone else steps forward, I don’t know what to think,” said JB. “To be honest, I’m pretty tired of thinking about the whole rigamarole.”
    He rubbed his temples with his fists and dropped forward in the chair. I felt a pang of pity for his haggard features and Wanda’s puffy eyes. Even if Dustin had fallen to the sins of drugs, their son was dead. Some prank-playing lunatic wasn’t allowing them a proper bereavement.
    “I will prove to you that I’m not trying to scam you, sir. And I’m going to finish this painting. Signed, sealed and delivered by the funeral. You think it’s impressive now? Wait until you see it finished.”
    “Honey,” Wanda said. “That’s not necessary.”
    “Oh, it’s necessary all right.” I jerked my shoulders back and pulled up my chin. “Someone’s out to ruin my reputation and I’m not about to let them. I don’t know if the same person broke into your house and into Dustin’s apartment, but I assure you, it was not me.”
    “I’ve got a meeting.” JB rose behind his desk. “This painting was your idea, Wanda. You know my feelings.” He stalked out of the office.
    With a sickened heart, I carefully rewrapped Dustin.
    “It would be a beautiful painting,” Wanda said with a teary sigh.
    “It will be a beautiful painting. I guarantee it.” I swiped the unsigned contract off the desk and stuck the folder in my armpit. “I’m counting on you buying this painting, Miss Wanda. For our agreed price. I won’t let you down.” With my fingers splayed away from the front, I grasped the sides of the painting.
    “We’ll see, hon. I want to help you. But if it’s true what people are saying about you, JB won’t let me pay for that painting.”
    “Don’t you worry about that. I’ll figure out what’s going on. I can’t have folks thinking I’m a grave robber.”
    Wanda opened the door to the waiting room, and I sidled through.
    Barb looked up from her computer. Her hand toyed with a cat balanced on top the monitor. “Bye now, Cherry. Please tell your granddaddy I said hello.” Barb twirled a finger around a fat brown curl with a disturbing amount of coyness.
    I stopped for a double take. “Ma’am?”
    “Ed. Please tell him I said hello.”
    “Will do.”
    “He doesn’t play cards, does he?”
    “Ma’am?”
    “Cards. My last, uh, male friend, played cards every weekend.” She pushed a cat to the far end of the monitor. “I