Faking It Read online

  “She’s good, isn’t she?” Nadine said, making Davy jump.

  “Yeah,” he said. “So are you.”

  “Thank you,” Nadine said. “So now what?”

  “You wait until she leaves,” Davy said. “And then you go pick up your print. He’ll offer you some ridiculously small amount of money for it. You say no, it’s worth more than that, your grandma told you it was worth a lot, although maybe if he has something to trade, does he have anything that would be nice and bright for your room because that’s what you’re here for. You let him talk you into trading it for the Scarlet, and then you meet us back at the car and we’re out of here.”

  “Excellent,” Nadine said. “Now?” Davy looked back at the booth. Tilda was gone. “Give him a minute,” he said. “Let somebody else talk to him. Then go.”

  Two browsers later, Nadine took off for the booth, and Tilda came back, eating a hot dog. “How’s it going?” she said, handing him one, too.

  “Thanks. It’s going the way it always does.” Davy unwrapped the hot dog and bit into it. “Just the way I planned it.”

  “It’s so odd seeing these paintings again,” Tilda said.

  “You and Scarlet close, were you?” Davy said, not really caring. Across the way, Nadine came back for her print.

  “Don’t know her at all,” Tilda said, following his eyes to Nadine. “Is this it?”

  “Umhm,” Davy said, his mouth full.

  They finished eating while Nadine toyed with Colby. She smiled and he leaned forward. She dug her toe in the dirt, he reasoned with her. She shrugged and he tried harder. Finally, Nadine lifted her shoulders and pointed to a blue bowl.

  “What?” Davy said, feeling his heart clutch. “Not the bowl, you dummy.”

  Colby evidently felt the same way because he shook his head. Nadine shifted her hip, clearly agitated, and pointed to the Scarlet. Colby leaned in and they began to negotiate.

  “You give a woman a simple instruction,” Davy began.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Tilda said. “She knows what she’s doing. Give her some space.”

  Colby was shaking his head, but he was also handing Nadine the blue bowl.

  “Oh, that’s great,” Davy said. “Now we have a bowl and no—”

  Then Nadine handed him the print, and he passed over the Scarlet.

  “See?” Tilda said again. “I told you so.”

  Nadine bounced happily down the fairway, and Colby looked with satisfaction at his ticket to riches.

  “Now what?” Tilda said.

  “Now we meet Nadine at the car and go home,” Davy said. “Although I would really like to do something else to Colby.”

  “I’m sure you’ll think of something,” Tilda said.

  He looked at her to see if she was laughing at him, but she gazed back at him, completely serious. “You think?”

  “I think Colby’s dead meat,” Tilda said. “And I think I don’t ever want you coming after me.”

  “Wouldn’t that depend on what I was after?” Davy said, grinning at her.

  “You’re hopeless,” Tilda said and headed for the car.

  “Got it,” Nadine said, when she climbed into the back seat a minute later. “And look at this cool bowl.”

  “The next time I send you out to get something,” Davy said sternly, as he pulled out of the parking lot, “do not improvise.”

  “Let me see,” Tilda said, reaching over the seat to hand Nadine her hot dog. Nadine traded her for the bowl.

  “I think it’s pretty,” Nadine said, unwrapping lunch. “It sat there in the middle of all that junk and glowed at me.”

  “You have to keep focused,” Davy said. “Not that we’re going to do this again, but—”

  Tilda turned it over and looked at the bottom. “It’s Rookwood. Way to go, Nadine.”

  “Oooh,” Nadine said around her sandwich. “What’s Rookwood?”

  “Something good, I gather,” Davy said, still disgruntled.

  “Cincinnati art pottery,” Tilda said, handing it back across the seat to Nadine. “Very collectible. The dumbass never even looked at the bottom to see the potter’s mark. He knows zip about art.”

  “That I could have told you,” Davy said. “He put a lot of emphasis on frames.”

  “Some frames can be worth a lot of money,” Tilda said. “Especially if it’s the original frame to a good piece of art.”

  “Which he doesn’t have,” Davy said.

  “So how much is this Rookwood worth?” Nadine said, sticking to basics.

  “It depends on the piece and the age,” Tilda said. “There’s a code on the bottom that tells what year it was made. The size and the shape affect value, too. And condition, but that one looks good.”

  “The older it is, the better?” Nadine said, squinting at the bottom.

  “First condition,” Tilda said. “Then age. Then the rest. When you’re collecting something, condition is everything. It’s like location in real estate.”

  “So how much?” Nadine said.

  Tilda shrugged. “The mark’s from 1914. Probably somewhere between five hundred and a couple thousand.”

  Davy almost drove off the road. “For a bowl?”

  “Cool,” Nadine said.

  “For art,” Tilda said. “For a thing of beauty that is a joy forever.”

  “The possibilities for graft in this business must be huge,” Davy said, trying not to think about it. It was like discovering a great new sport and not being able to play. When he realized Tilda hadn’t said anything, he added, “Because that would be terrible.”

  “I wouldn’t know,” Tilda said, turning to look out the window.

  “That was a very good plan, Davy,” Nadine said, clutching her bowl to the Britney on her T-shirt. “How did you know how to do that?”

  “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 se