Portrait of a Dead Guy Read Online Free PDF Page B

with SCAD, I’ve crazy student loans to pay off, not to mention a few other bills. Make yourself useful. Ask Cooper how to lower this table so I can get a good view.”
    He stared at me a beat, then left the room.
    I scrambled through my tackle box looking for a good piece of charcoal. Quality art supplies were expensive, and I tried to balance the line between conservation and cheapskate. I opened a larger sketchpad of heavier bond, luxuriating in the feel of the soft, bumpy surface on my fingers. Flipping through the pages, I found a blank sheet, set the sketchpad on the easel with the charcoal, and waited for the return of Luke with Cooper.
    No Luke or Cooper.
    I eyed the oak-paneled casket. As usual, a discussion with Luke spun me away from reality. Had we just gone another round while a dead body lay before us like a pitcher of beer and plate of nachos? I needed to refocus on the reason I stood in a funeral home with a sketchbook and empty pockets. This time when I peered over the side of the oak paneling, I wanted to see Dustin as his mother would. Or stepmother, in this case.
    Dustin usually had stringy blonde hair, worn long and unkempt, but Cooper had his beautician brush and trim it. Now the smooth, blonde locks fell gently, pillowing his head. Death softened his face, hiding the angry lines that held a scowl and a scornful set to the eyes. Dark eyebrows relaxed above blonde eyelashes tipped in brown, permanently closed. I sighed, trying to imagine Dustin singing with angels. Too hard. More than likely a giant pitchfork poked him right about now.
    My eyes drifted over the blue suit to the clasped hands. The long fingers had beautiful shape and an undisclosed strength. I’d be willing to bet they would have been skilled at fine arts and crafts. Such a waste to have those beautiful hands and not the mind to match them. I wanted to capture the slight turns and creases of the knuckles, the long digits that portrayed an artistic suppleness. Even the nails appeared smoothly squared and buffed.
    Of course, the nails looked nice. He just had the manicure to end all manicures. Literally.
    I took a deep breath and gave myself a mental shaking. I had my focal point. No need to get all artsy-fartsy.
    I turned away from Dustin and walked to the doorway in search of living beings. Glancing around the empty reception area, I took a right down the hallway. Voices murmured from the kitchen. I quick-stepped through the hall and stopped in the archway.
    Intent on their heated discussion, Luke and Uncle Will didn’t notice me. Their voices remained low and tense. Will used his bulk to tower over Luke. He gestured with one hand, the other rested on his holster. Luke stood ramrod straight with arms crossed and chin high.
    I didn’t guess they were arguing about baseball since the Braves only had a few games under their belt. The Bulldogs still had about four months until their first game. NASCAR wasn’t that controversial. That left me out of ideas. I backed out of the doorway and got my nose out of their business.
     

THREE

     
    Minutes later Cooper and I cranked the portable table to lower Dustin. I stood over the coffin pleased with my lofty angelic view. Cooper watched while I lugged the easel closer to the casket. Pinching the sooty stick between my thumb and pointer finger, I let the charcoal glide over the paper. I glanced back at Dustin, noting the sharp jut of his chin, the shadow in the corner of his eye, and the slight depression under his cheekbone. I refocused on the paper and the charcoal flew over the rough surface. I skimmed a look back to Dustin’s hands. The knuckles appeared too large in my drawing, the thumbs too short. I rubbed a gummy eraser over the problem lines and tried again. I stepped back, cocked my head, and compared the real body with the picture.
    “Dang, Cherry. That’s a God-given talent you got there. I never seen anyone draw that fast. Looks pretty much like him.” Cooper hovered behind my