Faking It d-2

by Jennifer Crusie

  “Good question” Tilda said, turning to squint at Davy through her glasses. “How did you know how to do that?”

  “Read about it in a book,” Davy said. “So now we have five, right? One to go?”

  “Clea’s.” Tilda stripped off her wig and rubbed her forehead. “The final frontier.”

  “A week from tonight then,” Davy said.

  “We could do it earlier if we could get rid of the help,” Tilda said. “Mason really wants to get into Gwennie’s files.”

  “That’s not all Mason wants to get into,” Davy said. “Let’s hope Gwennie moves fast and Clea hasn’t noticed.”

  “Mason wants Grandma?” Nadine said from the back seat.

  “Grandma is hot, kid,” Davy said. “Which is good news for you because it means you will be, too, when you hit fifty plus.”

  “That’s eons from now,” Nadine said, going back to her bowl.

  “It comes faster than you think,” Tilda said.

  “It’s good news for you, too, Celeste,” Davy said.

  “Not me,” Tilda said. “I’m my dad’s daughter. The Goodnight women are fierce but troll-like.”

  “Nope,” Davy said, looking at her loopy curls and icy eyes. “You’re Gwennie all over again.”

  “No I’m not,” Tilda said, making it sound final.

  “Right,” Davy said. “So about next week. We go in and get your painting and my money, and then we go home and celebrate by making a killing at the preview. That’s going to be pretty much a perfect day.” He patted her knee. “I’m going to hate to leave.”

  “What preview?” Nadine said.

  “Leave?” Tilda said, the lilt going out of her voice.

  “I have to go to see my sister next weekend,” Davy said, talking faster to get past the “and I’m not coming back” part. “She’s mad as hell at me already, I can’t put her off anymore.”

  “Right,” Tilda said, nodding a little too fast.

  “What preview?” Nadine said.

  “We’re going to sell the furniture in the basement,” Tilda said to her.

  “Cool,” Nadine said. “Can I help?”

  “Yes,” Davy said. “I see you as essential.”

  “That’s the way I’ve always seen me, too,” Nadine said.

  “So,” Tilda said to Davy, “any instructions for next Thursday? Want me to be anybody in particular?”

  “Yeah,” Davy said. “Be Vilma and wear that slippery Chinese thing again. I have good memories of that.”

  “And they’re going to stay memories,” Tilda said, looking out the window.

  “Slippery Chinese thing?” Nadine said.

  “Your aunt is a woman of many faces,” Davy said, watching Tilda oat of the corner of his eye.

  “So you’re leaving after that?” Nadine said. “ Australia, I suppose.”

  “Yep,” Davy said, looking away from Tilda. “ Australia.”

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  TILDA PUT the painting down in the basement and didn’t say anything else about the con, so Davy began to plan the show, enlisting everyone to scrape paint and wash windows, even Simon, who had plenty of energy to work off since Louise hadn’t shown up again. “Did you hear anything else about the Bureau looking around up here?” Davy asked him on Friday.

  Simon shook his head. “But they definitely have somebody here.”

  This family needs a keeper, Davy thought and went upstairs to shower. He came out of the bathroom, having washed off a lot of paint chips, and met Tilda.

  “We’re watching The Lady Eve tonight for the hundredth time,” she said as she walked past him to the bathroom. “It’s Louise’s favorite movie. If you want to watch, too, you’d better call your sister now.”

  “Right.” Davy watched the bathroom door close behind her, the FBI receding from his mind. A minute later the shower came on, and Davy thought about joining her. Then he thought about how much pain she could inflict on him and picked up the phone instead.

  “Hey,” he said when Sophie answered. “What’s ne-”

  “Where are you?” she exploded. “I can’t believe you talked to Dillie and didn’t-”

  “ Columbus,” Davy said, moving the phone a little farther from his ear.

  “-leave your num- Columbus? That’s two hours from here.”

  “I know,” Davy said. “Stop shrieking at me, woman. What’s wrong with you?”

  “I’m having the week from hell,” Sophie snapped, “and the one person whom I would actually welcome seeing is two hours away and hasn’t even bothered to stop by. How long have you been there?”

  “About a week,” Davy said, shaving some time off.

  “A week?”

  “Okay, you stop yelling now, or I’m hanging up. How’s life?”

  Sophie groaned. “Don’t ask.”

  “Okay, how’s Dempsey?”

  “He’s teething,” Sophie said. “What are you doing in Columbus?”

  “Nothing you want to know about. So what’s new with you?”

  “I thought you were going straight,” Sophie said, caution making her voice soft again.

  “I am,” Davy said. “For me, I’m practically a Boy Scout. So what’s making you nuts? Tell me everything.”

  “Well,” Sophie said, mercifully distracted by her own problems. She talked on and Davy listened to the water running and thought about how round Tilda was, and how much fun she’d be covered in soap. Uncovered in soap.

  “Are you listening?” Sophie said.

  “Yes,” Davy lied.

  Sophie went on and Davy went back to listening to Tilda and the water. Someday I’m going to be in there with her, he thought, and then realized he wasn’t. By the time someday got there, he’d be gone.

  “Wait a minute,” Sophie said, and the water stopped, so Davy brought his mind back to the conversation. “Dillie says hi and she loves you.” Sophie dropped her voice. “She brought home this boy after school last week so he could help her with her softball swing-”

  “Really?” Davy said, trying to sound innocent.

  “-and the kid has been over here every night after school, so-”

  Sophie talked on as Tilda came out of the bathroom, swathed in a bulky white robe, and pulled the towel from her hair, and Davy watched the little ringlets spring up around her face, shining damply in the lamplight.

  “-and I can’t remember if Amy and I started doing boy-girl things at twelve. Did we?”

  “I don’t think that matters,” Davy said. “The question is, do they do that now? Hold on a second.” He covered the receiver. “When did Nadine start bringing home boys?”

  “Birth.” Tilda crawled up beside him on the bed. “She’s Gwennie’s granddaughter.”

  “Right. You’re no help at all.” He uncovered the receiver. “Look, they’re playing softball. Let them alone.”

  “Who’s there with you?” Sophie said. “Is it a woman? It’s a woman, isn’t it?”

  “Is that your sister?” Tilda said.

  “There’s a woman there,” Sophie said. “I can hear her.”

  “My landlady.” Davy looked down the front of Tilda’s robe. “She’s asking for my rent. I have to go give it to her.”

  “You wish,” Tilda said.

  “Wait, don’t hang up, when are you coming down here?” Sophie said.

  “Next Sunday,” Davy said, watching the curve of Tilda’s terry-cloth-covered rear as she rolled off the bed away from him. “I have some things to finish here first. But I will be there next Sunday. I swear. I have a present for you.”

  “Forget the present, bring your landlady,” Sophie said.

  “I don’t think so,” Davy said, as Tilda disappeared into the bathroom again. “She’s not a biddable female.”

  “I like that in a woman,” Sophie said.

  “So do I,” Davy said. “So do I.”

  Chapter 14

  T ILDA WENT downstairs the next morning to find Davy standing across the street from the gallery. He lo
oked wonderful in the sunlight, big and dependable and… leaving. Why should I care? Tilda thought, and cared.

  “Now what?” she said when he motioned her across the street.

  “Gwennie’s been a little frosty to me lately,” he said. “What’s up with that?”

  “She doesn’t want to attach in case Ford kills you,” Tilda said. “What are you doing out here?”

  “She doesn’t want this show, does she?” Davy said.

  Tilda sighed. “Not particularly.”

  “Why? She hates the place, you’d think she’d be happy about-”

  “She doesn’t hate the place,” Tilda said, surprised.

  “-anything that would get her closer to freedom.”

  “Hey, this is her home,” Tilda said.

  “I think she wants to leave the nest,” Davy said.

  “Is this the boat thing?”

  “Boat thing?”

  “Never mind. Gwennie will get over it. What are you doing out here?”

  Davy squinted at the storefront. “Do you remember what colors the gallery used to be? The kids did a good job of scraping, but they didn’t uncover much original paint.”

  “Blue,” Tilda said, squinting at the gallery front, too. “Sort of a midnight-blue trimmed with a red oxide. And the letters were gold, I think they were actually fake gold leaf.”

  “Sounds expensive,” Davy said.

  “It is,” Tilda said. “Although not like real gold leaf. It’s hard to put on, too.”

  “Too bad,” Davy said. “Because we’re going to have to do it.”

  “Can’t we do something new?” Tilda said. “I thought maybe black and white-”

  “No,” Davy said. “Your dad had a reputation in this town and we’re building on it. We’re restoring, babe. Not to mention there’s already enough white in your life.”

  “Funny,” Tilda said. “Listen, I really-” but he’d already started across the street.

  He dragged her to a paint store and they bought gallons, a soft white for the interior -“It’s a gallery, Davy, it’s supposed to be white”- and a light blue and green Tilda talked him into -“We’re not selling what Dad would have, so we should be us”- and gold leaf for the letters, along with brushes and scrapers and another ladder. “Who’s paying for this?” Tilda said, and Davy said, “Simon, on loan. You can pay him back out of the till on opening night. Or you could have Louise stop by. That would cheer him up enormously.” When they got back to the gallery, Nadine was inside with Gwen, Ethan, and a new boy, this one dressed in a button-down shirt and immaculate khakis.

  “This is Kyle,” Nadine said. “We met him working at his father’s furniture store in Easton.”

  “Nice to meet you, Kyle,” Tilda said, a little taken aback when he shook her hand. Behind him, Gwen rolled her eyes and went back to her Double-Crostic.

  “My pleasure,” Kyle said, every inch the gentleman. He turned back to Nadine. “I have to go to work, but I’ll call you later.” He kissed her on the cheek and nodded politely to Tilda and Davy. Ethan, he ignored.

  “That kid is up to no good,” Davy said when he was gone.

  “Oh, please,” Nadine said. “He was a perfect gentleman.”

  “What were you doing in a furniture store?” Tilda said.

  “Davy sent us out to look at prices on handpainted stuff. And Kyle’s father’s store was the biggest.” Nadine smiled at the memory.

  “He’s Eddie Haskell,” Davy said. “Carry Mace.”

  Ethan nodded. “Don’t get me wrong when I tell you that Kyle, while being a very nice guy, is the devil.”

  “What?” Tilda said.

  “Broadcast News,” Davy said. “Try to keep up.”

  “Cut me a break.” Nadine picked up a scraper. “You guys are worse than my dad.” She went out the door and sat down in front of the gallery to finish scraping the front, the top of her curly blonde head just visible through the gallery window.

  “And yet, we’re right,” Ethan said, picking up a scraper, too.

  “Do the two of you have any particular knowledge of this kid you want to share?” Tilda said, as exasperated as Nadine. “Because he looked pretty boring to me.”

  “It’s a facade,” Davy said.

  “He’s evil,” Ethan said.

  “And the two of you are insane,” Tilda said and went out front to help Nadine.

  “Do you believe them?” Nadine said when Tilda was scraping beside her.

  “I know,” Tilda said. “The thing is, they’re usually right.”

  “I know,” Nadine said. “But his dad runs this huge furniture store, and Kyle really knows what he’s doing. He’s not fooling around.”

  “You’re dating him for his furniture store?” Tilda said.

  “He could teach me a lot,” Nadine said. “I’m thinking about retail as a career.”

  “Nadine, it’s not a good idea to date as a career move.”

  Nadine raised her eyebrows. “And you’re not dating Davy to get your paintings back?”

  “I’m not dating Davy at all.”

  “You’re just sleeping with him.”

  “Only in the literal sense,” Tilda said. “We’re not lovers.”

  Nadine looked through the window at Davy. “Why not?”

  Tilda followed her eyes to where Davy was looking at something in a newspaper Ethan was showing him. He looked sure and strong and hot.

  And very Federal.

  “I have my reasons,” Tilda said.

  Davy shook his head at Ethan, and they came out to the street to hand her a sheet of newspaper.

  “I was spreading them out so we could paint inside,” Ethan said to Tilda. “And that name jumped out.”

  He pointed to a want ad that said “Scarlet Hodge” in inch-high letters, and Tilda clutched it to look closer. “Wanted: any paintings by Scarlet Hodge,” the copy underneath read and gave a phone number. Tilda looked up at Davy. “Mason?” The word came out on a wheeze.

  “Or Clea.” Davy pulled the top of the paper up so he could read the date. “It’s Wednesday’s paper. Thank God Colby doesn’t read the want ads.”

  “I hope none of them do,” Tilda said. “Or they’re going to be really mad.” She tried to pull air into her lungs but they were too tight, and when she felt in her pocket for her inhaler, it wasn’t there. She drew in another shallow breath.

  Davy took the paper from her, folded it up, and handed it back to Ethan. “That’s all right. Somebody’s always mad at me.” He hauled her to her feet and turned her toward the door. “Go get your inhaler before you pass out. We’re going to be fine.”

  “But-” Tilda began and then stopped. He’d said “we’re.” We’re going to be fine.

  “Miracle man,” Davy said, pointing to himself. “Go breathe. We have work to do.”

  “Right,” Tilda said and went to get her inhaler, feeling comforted.

  BY THE NEXT DAY, the outside of the gallery was scraped and ready to paint, the inside had a first coat on and no longer looked like a flophouse, and Davy was feeling not only a sense of accomplishment, but real anticipation. The place would be a gold mine for a gifted grifter; the possibilities were endless. And from what Gwen had told him about the art field, the possibilities weren’t even illegal. It wasn’t even a game of chance. It was like playing poker with the Goodnights.

  “So there’s a poker game tonight,” Simon said, coming into the gallery and interrupting his thoughts.

  “Yes,” Davy said. “Every Sunday. And except for Tilda, they’re all terrible players. Try not to take their money.”

  “Why, so you can?” Simon said. “Doesn’t matter. I’m just in it for Louise.”

  “It’s Sunday night,” Davy said. “Louise is gone on Sundays.”

  “No, she’s staying over,” Simon said, smiling.

  “She showed up last night, huh?” Davy said. “Congratulations. I’ve never seen you wait around for a woman before. This must be the one.”

  “Not
even close,” Simon said. “She’s skilled, but-”

  “Not somebody you’d want to marry?” Davy said. “Imagine my surprise.”

  “I’m never getting married,” Simon said. “I’m a cad, remember?”

  “As are we all,” Davy said, watching the gallery door open.

  It was Kyle, looking very natty in a shirt and jacket, come to pick up Nadine.

  “Kyle,” Davy said genially, thinking, This kid is definitely up to no good. “Date tonight?”

  Kyle nodded. “Nadine wants to see the store after business hours,” he said, smiling a little. “She wants to see everything.”

  “She’s very career oriented,” Davy said, disliking Kyle even more. He’d seen that smile before. In his mirror.

  A few moments later, Andrew and Jeff came in from the street, carrying grocery bags.

  “Sunday-night-poker food,” Jeff said cheerfully. “It’s the only reason I play the game.”

  Andrew slowed as he saw Kyle. “You’re here to pick up Nadine?”

  “Yes, sir.” Kyle stuck out his hand like a gentleman. “I’m Kyle Winstock. Of Winstock Furniture.”

  Andrew shook it, looking deeply suspicious. “I’ll tell Nadine you’re here.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Kyle said, his smile fading. He looked around at the four of them and added, “I’ll wait outside.”

  When he was gone, the four men looked at each other.

  “Doughnut,” Davy said.

  “Absolute doughnut,” Jeff said.

  “My daughter has an affinity for doughnuts,” Andrew said.

  “What?” Simon said.

  “Two kinds of men in the world,” Davy told him. “Good guys and the guys who are only after one thing. Good guys are muffins and-”

  “He’s a doughnut,” Simon said.

  “Is Mace illegal?” Andrew said. “I know Gwennie keeps some behind the counter.”

  “Why don’t we just talk to Nadine?” Jeff said, once again the voice of reason.

  “You go,” Davy said. “We’ll wait here.”

  When they were gone, Simon said, “Nadine is not the person I’d converse with on this.”

  “Shall we?” Davy gestured to the street where Kyle waited.

  “After you,” Simon said and followed him out.