Flynn had to smile. “That’s just a diplomatic, bullshit way of saying she’s whacked.”

“You once punched me in the face for saying Joley Ridenbecker had beaver teeth. I’m not heading meetings on Monday with a black eye.”

“See, you are a suit. If I admit that Joley did indeed have teeth like a beaver, will you believe me if I tell you I’ve never known anyone with less of a whack quotient than Malory Price?”

“Okay, I’ll take your word. And I’ll admit the whole thing about the paintings is intriguing.” Brad gestured with the beer, then drank again. “I’d like to get a look at the one in there myself.”

“We can go up, knock on the door.”

“In the daylight,” Brad decided. “When we haven’t been drinking.”

“Probably better.”

“Meanwhile, why don’t you tell me more about this Zoe?”

“Haven’t known her long, but I did some background checking. On her and Mal. Just in case Dana was getting sucked into some weird-ass scam. She moved to the Valley three years ago, with her kid.”

“Husband?”

“Nope. Single parent. Looks like a good one to me. I met the kid. He’s bright, normal, appealing. She worked at Hair Today, girly hair place on Market. Word is she’s good at her profession, personable with customers, reliable. Got canned the same time Malory did, and around the same time they cut Dana’s hours at the library to the bone. Another weird coincidence. She bought this little cardboard box of a house when she moved here. Apparently she’s done most of the fixing-up work herself.”

“Boyfriend?”

“Not that I know of. She . . . wait a minute. You ask two questions. Husband, boyfriend. My razor-sharp reporter’s instinct leads me to the conclusion that you’re thinking of the mambo.”

“Or something. I should get back. I’ve got a hell of a lot to do in the next couple of days. But there’s this one thing.” Brad took another pull on the bottle. “How the hell are we going to get off this wall?”

“Good question.” Flynn pursed his lips, studied the ground. “We could just sit here and keep drinking until we fall off.”

Brad sighed, drained the bottle. “There’s a plan.”

Chapter Ten

MALORY was barely out of the shower when she heard the knock on her front door. She belted her robe, snagged a towel, and wound it around her hair as she hurried to answer.

“Tod. You’re up and about early.”

“On my way to the coffee shop to ogle the nine-to-fivers before heading to work.” He peered over her right shoulder, her left, then gave her a leer. “Got company?”

Malory swung the door wider in invitation. “No. All alone.”

“Ah, too bad.”

“You’re telling me.” She tucked up the ends of the towel more securely. “Want coffee here? I’ve already put the pot on.”

“Not unless you can offer me a skinny mocha latte and a hazelnut muffin.”

“Sorry, fresh out.”

“Well, maybe I should just give you the good news, then be on my way.” Still, he flopped into a chair.

“Oh! New boots?”

“Fabulous, aren’t they?” He stretched out his legs, turned his feet right and left to admire them. “They’re killing me, of course, but I couldn’t resist them. I made a quick run through Nordstrom’s on Saturday. Darling, you’ve got to go.” He sat up, grabbed her hand as she curled on the end of the sofa. “The cashmere! There’s a cowl neck in periwinkle that’s calling your name.”

“Periwinkle?” She sighed, long and deep, like a woman under the hands of a skilled lover. “Don’t say periwinkle cashmere when I’m in the middle of a shopping moratorium.”

“Mal, if you don’t treat yourself, who will?”

“That’s true. That’s so true.” She bit her lip. “Nordstrom’s?”

“And there’s a twinset in a strong peachy pink that was made for you.”

“You know I have no defense against twinsets, Tod. You’re killing me.”

“I’ll stop, I’ll stop.” He held up his hands. “But on to our morning bulletin. The Pamela has stepped in deep and stinky doo-doo.”

“Oh, boy.” Malory wiggled into the cushions. “Tell me everything. Don’t spare the details.”

“As if. Okay. We got in a Deco bronze—female figure wearing a flapper-style dress, feathered headband, pearls, gorgeous open-toed shoes, trailing a long scarf. She’s absolutely charming. Witty, terrific details, with this sly ‘let’s you and me Charleston, big boy’ smirk on her face. I fell in love.”

“Did you call Mrs. Karterfield in Pittsburgh?”

“Ah, see!” He shot a finger in the air, as if proving a point. “Naturally you would assume that, or would have done so personally had you still been in charge. Which you should be.”

“Goes without saying.”

“I did, of course, call Mrs. Karterfield, who, as expected, asked us to hold it for her until she could come down personally to see it. Next week. And what happens when our darling Mrs. Karterfield from Pittsburgh comes into The Gallery to see a Deco figure?”

“She buys it. And often at least one other piece. If she comes in with a friend, which is usually the case, she harangues her companion until she buys something too. It’s a good day when Mrs. Karterfield comes to town.”

“Pamela sold it out from under her.”

It took Malory ten seconds to find her voice. “What? What? How? Why? Mrs. K’s one of our best customers. She always gets first look at Deco bronzes.”

His lips folded into a thin, derisive smile. “A bird in the hand. That’s what the twit told me when I found out. And how did I find out? I’ll tell you,” he said with a triumphant ring in his voice. “I found out when Mrs. K came in unexpectedly yesterday afternoon to see it. Just couldn’t wait, she told me. And she brought two friends. Two, Mal. I could cry.”

“What happened? What did she say?”

“I took her over to see it, and there’s a Sold sign tucked under the base. I assumed it was a mistake, but I went to check. Pamela sold it that morning, apparently while I was in the back on the phone trying to soothe Alfred because Pamela the Putrid had accused him of overcharging for the crating for the marble nudes.”