Confidence Tricks

by Tamara Morgan

  But it wasn’t close enough.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “We need to shift the timetables.” Graff strode into the hangar apartment with his chest out and his frown on. “Can you get Poppy to postpone the poker game with Todd and work on Cindy this afternoon instead?”

  Asprey looked up from his bowl of Frosted Flakes and jabbed his spoon at Graff. Great. Graff was on his high horse, Poppy had pretty much slammed the door behind him yesterday, and no one seemed to notice or care that Asprey still existed. It was going to be a hell of a day. “Good morning to you too. I see the sun has risen up your ass this fine June morning.”

  “Save it, Asprey. You were right about the VanHuett job.”

  Asprey almost dropped his spoon into his milk. Had his brother just told him he was right about something? He cupped his ear with one hand. “I’m sorry—can you repeat that last bit? My brain must be playing a trick on me.”

  “Very funny.” Graff fell into the chair on the other side of the massage table, a hand to the bridge of his nose. “That guy you saw coming in and out of Cindy’s apartment a few weeks ago? I had Tiffany do a check, and it turns out he works for Winston.”

  “Winston’s on to us?”

  “Not us.” Graff shook his head forcefully. “But he obviously knows the painting is our last target, and he posted the guard to prevent us from getting in before the policy expires. We’re going to have to get Poppy in there as soon as we can—we’re running out of time, and increased security is only going to make it harder to get in.”

  Asprey let out a low whistle. “I guess that means it was a good thing I took the time to watch Cindy’s apartment, huh? I told you it’s dangerous to rely on data alone. Why—you’d almost think I know what I’m doing, sitting outside all day pretending to watch birds.”

  “Are you done?”

  “I will be once you tell me I’m right again.”

  Graff grunted. “Don’t push your luck.”

  “You should go lie down.”

  Graff’s eyelid twitched.

  “I mean it.” Asprey resumed his breakfast with a cheerful aplomb he was far from feeling. “If you don’t take it easy, you’re going to get one of your migraines—and it’s not going to do us any good if you’re throwing up in bed, pretending to be fine.”

  “I’m glad it’s that easy for you to sleep at night,” Graff responded through dangerously thin lips. “But forgive me if I can’t fall into the dreams of a baby each time my head hits the pillow like you can. Between trying to find a way inside Cindy’s apartment building and the extra plans I have for Todd…”

  That was new. Asprey nudged his brother’s leg under the table. “What are you talking about? I thought we had things all settled for the Todd situation. It’s just supposed to be one more poker game. We cheat and take him for the full hundred-thousand buy-in, recouping Poppy’s money and ours in one fell swoop. And then the world is right again.”

  “See? That’s what I mean,” Graff said. “You think everything is that simple—that a few dollars thrown at the right problem will guarantee happiness. When will you learn that things are more complicated than they look on the surface?”

  “I don’t think that,” Asprey said, his voice low. He pushed his bowl away, no longer hungry. “And if you want Poppy to put her job aside, you talk to her. I’m tired of doing everything you demand just because you demand it.”

  Graff looked up sharply. “What’s your problem today?”

  “Nothing,” he lied. “But if you’re going to barge in and change the game plan with Todd, I think it’s something we all need to sit down and discuss.”

  “It’s not important.” Graff got up from the table and pointed a warning finger at Asprey. “But since you’re being so stubborn, I’ll get Poppy to switch her appointments. I’ll pick up the slack, like I always do.”

  “Oh yeah,” Asprey muttered. “You’re the one doing the heavy lifting around here.”

  Graff ignored him. “Don’t quit on me now, Asprey. We’re almost done. We’re so close.”

  Close to what? he wanted to ask. But he kept his mouth shut. When it came to important issues, that was all he was good at anyway.

  “I suppose it’s too much to ask to know why we’re suddenly shifting things around?” Poppy crossed her arms and looked up at Graff. He was probably an inch shorter than Asprey, but something about the way he glowered made him seem taller. “The last time I checked, this wasn’t an autocracy.”

  “I don’t answer to you.”

  She was so not in the mood for this. “Well, I don’t answer to you either. Whoop-dee-freaking-do. That doesn’t mean I get to make overbearing demands and expect them to be carried out—especially since I’m the one who’s going to have to keep stringing Todd along until you deem us ready. He’s gross, Graff. And I don’t like working at a gym.”

  This was the first time she’d ever been alone with Graff, the pair of them toe-to-toe in the center of the hangar. If she had anything to say about it, it would also be the last time they’d be alone together. He was too secretive, too controlling, too much aware of the role he played in the lives of others. That was probably what kings were like in the days of old—the asshole stamp a necessary evil to get things done.

  Which was why Graff’s next question caught her so off guard. “What are your plans when we’re finished with the job?”

  She mirrored his stance, feet shoulder’s width apart, arms crossed. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

  He laughed then, and Poppy saw a flash of Asprey in his face, the same laugh lines making their presence known, though it was obvious Graff didn’t wear them quite as often. Asprey hadn’t worn them quite as much yesterday, either, but however much her stomach might knot at the thought of how he’d looked when he left the apartment, her more sensible parts congratulated her at every turn. Better to sever the ties now. Better to move on while she could still hold her head up.

  “You’re a smart woman, Poppy,” Graff said carefully. “And we both know you’re in a pretty enviable position right now.”

  “I have a criminal record and you for a partner,” she countered. “Find me one person willing to change places.”

  “Touché.” He flashed his teeth and gave a slight bow, which should have been ridiculous, considering their current situation, but seemed to fit him. “You get bonus points for lowering yourself to work with me. But I’m talking about tomorrow and the next week and the week after. You’ll be sitting pretty comfortably, don’t you think?”

  “Oh yeah,” she said, not even bothering to hide her sarcasm. “I plan to take my eighty thousand dollars and enjoy a grand lifestyle for the rest of my years. I’ll practically be a Hilton. I might even buy a hotel.”

  “I don’t mean the money.”

  She knew that. “Just say it, Graff. What is it you’re so afraid of?”

  “Asprey trusts people too easily. He always has.”

  “Some people might consider that a virtue.”

  “Some people might,” he agreed. “But I’m not one of them.” For the first time, he relaxed, blowing out a long breath and weighing his next words. “Look, I’m not trying to accuse you of anything, and I don’t have any qualms about going after Todd on your behalf. But to Asprey, this whole thing is a game, a way to pass the time and irritate his brothers in the process. Sometimes I don’t even think he realizes what kind of trouble he could be in if we got caught.”

  In a way, that was the exact same thing she’d said to Asprey the day before. His world was one in which consequences were pesky flies to be swatted away, and he had the attitude to prove it. But hearing it from Graff’s lips only made her angry. If anyone was supposed to be on Asprey’s side, it should have been his big brother.

  “I’m not going to take advantage of him. Or you. Or Tiffany. Strange as it may seem, I like your family.”

  “So you’re going to walk away when it’s all done, just like that?”

  She
shrugged. To be honest, every day was a lesson in trying not to think about what came next. The original plan had been to take care of Grandma Jean’s ashes and set aside some money for Bea and Jenny and then to disappear. She didn’t know where she’d go, and she had no idea what she wanted to do when she got there, but at least it was something.

  “I can promise to stay out of your way. How’s that?”

  “Is that some sort of prison code?”

  “Seriously?” She cocked her head and blinked at Graff, waiting for the joke. It never came. “It was women’s detention, Graff, not San Quentin. Most of the time I sat in my room and read outdated magazines.”

  He paused for a long minute, watching her—though for what, she couldn’t say. Apparently she passed muster, because he finally nodded once. “I’m sorry for changing the timeline without telling you. But there are a few more complications than we originally planned for, and we need to get things going with Cindy. How about you visit her tomorrow and we’ll plan Todd for this weekend?”

  “Are you asking or telling?” It didn’t matter at this point, but the distinction seemed important.

  “Please?” he managed.

  “Oh, look—I think Asprey and Tiffany are back with our lunch.” Poppy smiled brightly. “You’re just in time, guys. Graff said the word ‘please’.”

  “Oh, crap. That makes me out ten bucks.” Tiffany tossed the pizza onto one of the worktables and began digging into her purse. She fished out a bill and thrust it at Asprey. “I don’t know how you always call it, Asp. I was sure one of them would end up at the hospital.”

  Poppy avoided Asprey’s gaze and prepared herself to smile through the family lunch. But her hand froze when she saw what was inside the box—pineapple-and-green-pepper pizza. Thin crust. Her favorite.

  Poppy’s throat closed, and she slammed the box shut again, her appetite gone in the clench of her stomach and heart and every internal organ that pumped blood through her cold, hard system. It was going to be a lot more difficult than she thought to walk away when this job was done.

  Good thing she already knew how to fight.

  Good thing she already knew what it felt like to never get a chance to say good-bye.

  Chapter Twenty

  Poppy took in the apartment without blinking, but it required most of her self-control to keep her eyes from popping out of her head.

  She’d seen money before, of course. Todd had it. Asprey had it. It was one of those things that rich people could never completely separate themselves from, like a lifetime of luxury seeped into their pores and became a part of their DNA.

  It seemed like it would be nice to live that way—to never question whether or not they belonged somewhere. Upscale boutique? Watch them buy a jacket without even looking at the price tag. Sidewalk? Sure, as long as it was clear of litter and near a good parking spot. Grocery store? Yep. Even there, looking over the persimmons like they actually knew what those things were for.

  Poppy’s people slunk a little closer to the ground, always wary, never at home.

  She would definitely never be at home in a place like Cindy VanHuett’s apartment. No one could be.

  Even though it was technically an apartment building, the ceilings were high—loft high—almost like she lived in an upscale version of Asprey’s airport hangar. Floor-to-ceiling white hit her in the retinas, with lush carpets underfoot and sleek white leather upholstery everywhere else. Cindy seemed to be allergic to color, except for a few dramatic splashes in strategic locations, like the bowl of green apples on the dining room table and an orange goldfish swimming in a clear tank built into the living room wall.

  If anyone asked her, Poppy would fiercely claim loyalty to hand-knitted colorful afghans draped over every surface and a giant, worn picture of the Virgin Mary staring down at them from above the dining room table. Secretly, though, she kind of liked the stark elegance of all that white. It was like walking through a work of art.

  “Please make yourself at home,” Cindy said, wringing her hands as she nodded toward what was probably a couch but looked more like a long, puckered ottoman. “I feel so stupid for dropping my wallet in the park—I’ve already cancelled most of the cards in there, and I hate having to explain to everyone what happened and why a grown woman could be so careless.”

  “Don’t mention it,” Poppy said warmly. “It happens to the best of us.”

  “Say, do you want a drink? I know it’s early, but I can mix up a pitcher of gimlets. I usually have one before dinner. Cocktail hour, my mom always says, though sometimes I think the whole day is cocktail hour as far as she’s concerned.”

  Cindy was nervous. It didn’t take a psychologist to realize that the mile-a-minute talking was one of many signs that Cindy wasn’t exactly happy to have her new friend Lucy Higgenbottom drop by.

  Poppy lowered herself to the couch—surprisingly comfortable—and smiled. “A gimlet sounds wonderful.” And it did, even though she had no idea what it was.

  The skittering of tiny nails on expensive hardwoods filled the room. It made sense now that the dog was white. Any stray hairs would blend.

  “Hello, Jasmine, baby,” Cindy cooed. The only time she seemed comfortable was when talking to the dog.

  “Is she named after the tea or the Disney character?” Poppy asked casually, grabbing a women’s magazine from a carefully arranged arc on the coffee table. It promised to teach her how to Catch a Man between Your Legs, but that was silly. She already knew how to do that—it was called a flying scissor kick.

  “Oh. Um. No.” Cindy was having a hard time deciding on a syllable.

  “She’s such a sweetie,” Poppy cooed, her voice raising several octaves. She reached down to pet the dog, its fluffy white fur like cotton balls underneath her fingers. Jasmine bore it patiently but was clearly tolerating her out of form rather than kindness. At least Gunner’s emotions—full of bite—were real. Bea and Jenny had immediately taken to the little dog, and he’d taken to them right back, thank goodness. Asprey might be willing to shove the poor thing back in a cage at the pound, but that just showed how skewed his version of the world was. All it took was a good home and some consideration to show Gunner’s good side. Just like every other scrappy mongrel roaming the streets.

  “Do you give her free rein over the apartment while you’re gone, or do you kennel her?” Poppy asked, forcing herself to focus on the task standing literally in front of her. The sooner it’s over, the sooner I can move on. “I can’t leave Gunner alone for a second or he gets into my shoes. I don’t know what it is about him and Jimmy Choo, but I suspect the two of them have a love affair going on behind my back.”

  “Oh, I let Jasmine have the run of the place.” Cindy moved in the direction of the kitchen, throwing open a set of french doors—all in white, of course. “She’s a surprisingly good guard dog. She might not look like much, but if she suspects anyone is here without my invitation, she’ll bark long and loud. Once, my cleaning woman came in when I wasn’t home. Jasmine cornered her in the bathroom until my next door neighbor, Mrs. Partridge, heard the commotion and thought someone was dying. She’s really sensitive to loud noises.”

  “The dog or the neighbor?”

  Cindy gave a nervous laugh, thawing a little. “Mrs. Partridge. I had to give her a key to the apartment so she can come over and calm Jasmine if she gets too worked up.”

  Good to know. Poppy absorbed the information like a sponge. Guard dog, guard neighbor, and so far, no painting in sight.

  “Where is your dog, by the way?” Cindy asked, looking around as if she’d somehow missed his entry.

  “Oh, I remembered how he didn’t get along with Jasmine and decided to leave him with my boyfriend today.”

  Where had that come from? Technically, Bea had to work, so Gunner was with Asprey, but that was taking the whole half-truth-is-better-than-a-straight-lie thing too far. She needed to get a grip on herself. And soon.

  “Aww, that’s so sweet. I love a man who’s go
od with animals. Does your boyfriend like dogs?”

  “Not really. But I think Gunner is growing on him.”

  “I wish I had that,” Cindy said.

  “A boyfriend who’s willing to dog-sit?” Poppy crossed her legs and tried to look unconcerned, even though her whole body flushed with heat. “I’m sure you’ll find one someday.”

  “No…just one who makes me light up like you do.”

  The fire blazed higher. She needed a distraction before she blew her whole cover.

  “Do you mind if I…” She let the words trail off and looked toward the hall.

  “Of course. Bathroom is the second door on the right.”

  Poppy waited until Cindy got swallowed by the massive french doors leading to the kitchen, thankfully followed by Jasmine, before she got up. Moving swiftly, she headed in the direction of the hall, her legs only wobbling with every other step.

  The hallway spread out long and wide, with rooms leading off every few feet. Most of the doors were closed, which probably meant that they were bedrooms or offices—hardly big enough to showcase a piece of art like the kind Asprey had described.

  “Giant. Splotchy. Unless she’s got an entire museum in there, it shouldn’t be hard to find.”

  She’d assumed the painting would be in the living room, based on the size of the thing, but so far it was nowhere to be seen. Where else did one hang an enormous piece of colorful art if not the living room? Was it even here?

  She pushed open the bathroom door for form’s sake, taking in the blank walls, metal accents and white plush bathmat at a glance. The light in there had to be amazing for doing make-up—and for obsessing over pores. She thought of the bathroom she and Bea shared, with their tweezers out on the counter and little notes they wrote to each other on the mirror in lipstick and eyeliner, and shuddered. No way could she live under a microscope like this.