Faking It d-2 Read online

  “I like him,” Tilda said. “I wouldn’t give him money, but I like him. What did you do with him?”

  “Two birds with one stone,” Davy said. “I told him about Colby.”

  “And?”

  “And he took him for a quick five thousand this morning,” Davy said. “He’s dropping off half of it at Mrs. Brenner’s as we speak.”

  “Five thousand dollars?” Tilda said.

  “The old man is good,” Davy said, trying not to feel proud.

  “What is it he does again?” Tilda said.

  “Sales,” Davy said.

  “Right. You really think he’s going to give the money to Mrs. Brenner?”

  “Half of it,” Davy said. “He’ll do it. He has a strong sense of justice. Just no morals.”

  “How you managed to turn out so honest…” Tilda’s voice trailed off as she shook her head.

  “It’s a miracle,” Davy said and went to work on the outside of the gallery before God struck him dead.

  After that, since he had a stake, Michael stayed home with Dorcas and kept finding his way down to the gallery, and Davy kept an exasperated eye on him, as did Ford, every time Michael went near Gwen.

  “That Ford is no fool,” Davy told Gwen on the day of the preview showing. “I like him, even if he is going to kill me.”

  “Don’t joke,” Gwen said. “It’s too upsetting.”

  “I was kidding. He’s not going to kill me,” Davy said, patting her shoulder.

  “You don’t know that,” Gwen said.

  “Sure I do,” Davy said. “If he was going to do it, he’d have done it by now.”

  “Then why is he still here?” Gwen said, and Davy grinned at her. “Me? But he’s a hit man.”

  “I’ve heard they’re a hot date,” Davy said. “You know, guys who are bent go the extra mile.”

  “Speaking of which,” Gwen said, “your father borrowed a twenty from me.”

  “Oh, hell,” Davy said, and reached for his wallet.

  “And then he brought me back fifty,” Gwen said. “He said he’d been playing pool and it was my cut.”

  “Oh,” Davy said. “He didn’t stick it in your T-shirt, did he?”

  “Of course not,” Gwen said. “He’s a gentleman.”

  “Right,” Davy said, and went back to the office to plan the next night’s heist.

  Later that day, when Gwen had gone out to lunch with Mason, Davy saw Nadine out at the gallery counter, with three cards spread in front of her, laughing at Ethan.

  “What the hell?” he said and went out. “What are you doing, young lady?”

  “Your dad taught me this cool game,” Nadine said, flipping three cards down in front of him on the counter. “Here’s the queen-”

  “Nadine,” Davy said, “I told you to stay away from my father. The only way to win at three-card monte is to cheat. That’s bad.”

  “I wouldn’t play for money,” Nadine said, trying to sound shocked and half-succeeding.

  No wonder Dad taught her to play, Davy thought. She’s a natural. “Forget it.”

  “I love it,” Nadine said. “It’s a sure thing.”

  “There are no sure things.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Nadine said. “You can’t beat me.”

  Davy took a five out of his pocket and slapped it on the table. “Where’s yours?”

  Nadine held out her hand to Ethan, and he sighed and dug a five out of his pocket and handed it to her. “You’ll get it back, Ethan,” she said.

  “No you won’t, Ethan,” Davy said. “Deal ‘em.” He watched her shuffle the cards, show him the queen, and then palm it while she moved the rest around. For only having practiced a couple of hours, she was damn good.

  “Okay,” Nadine said, still moving cards. “Now, where’s the queen?”

  “Right here,” Davy said, putting his finger on the middle card.

  “Well, let’s look and see,” Nadine said, smug with her queen up her sleeve.

  “Let’s,” Davy said, keeping his finger on the middle card. He turned over the eight of clubs to the right and the four of spades to the left. “Will you look at that? Neither one is the queen, so it must be the middle one.” He took the two fives on the table.

  “That’s not fair,” Nadine said, looking outraged.

  Davy took his hand off the card and grabbed her wrist. “Neither is this,” he said, sliding the queen out of her sleeve and flipping it at her. “Don’t let me catch you pulling this on anybody ever again.”

  “Can I practice it on Ethan?” Nadine said.

  “You’re screwing Ethan over enough,” Davy said. “You don’t need to take him at cards, too. Put the last coat of paint on the door instead.”

  “I’m really tired of painting,” Nadine said dangerously.

  “ ‘We keep you alive to serve this ship,’” Davy said to her. “ ‘Row well and live.’”

  “Ben Hur” Ethan said, evidently not too perturbed about being screwed over.

  “Honestly,” Nadine said, and stuffed the cards in her pocket.

  Davy went back into the office and found Tilda watching through the door. “Your niece has a real knack for crime.”

  “And yet I feel certain that you also can play that game,” Tilda said.

  “Can,” Davy said. “I don’t.”

  “So law-abiding,” Tilda said. “Such an example to us all.”

  “Now about this burglary tomorrow night,” Davy said. “Definitely wear that Chinese thing. I like it.”

  Michael was nowhere to be found that evening, but the next night, on his way to meet Tilda for one last theft, Davy knocked on Dorcas’s door. When Michael answered, Davy said, “Do not teach Nadine con games.”

  “You’ve got to teach them when they’re young,” Michael said. “That’s another reason I have to go see Sophie. Dempsey’s a little underage yet, but doesn’t Sophie have a stepdaughter?”

  “Dillie,” Davy said. “You will not be teaching her to con.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because…” Davy stopped, remembering Dillie’s practice swing. “You just won’t.”

  “Already taught her, huh?” Michael clapped him on the shoulder. “That’s my boy.”

  “I really wish you weren’t here,” Davy said. “I’m going straight, damn it.”

  “Nice black shirt,” Michael said. “Robbing somebody?”

  Davy closed his eyes and went down the stairs.

  THE GALLERY looked beautiful and Gwen hated it.

  She looked at her watch to check the time. Ten minutes to the preview. Maybe if she threw up on the cash register, they’d let her go upstairs and do a Double-Crostic.

  Then she kicked herself. The entire family had worked their fingers to the bone for this place and it gleamed now, filled with the color and fun in Tilda’s furniture and a beautiful buffet that Thomas the Caterer had laid out, and they were going to make money, and she was whining because she wanted to be scuba diving. No, that wasn’t right. She wanted to go upstairs and pull the covers over her head.

  “Mrs. Goodnight?” Thomas said, and Gwen looked up startled.

  “Oh, Thomas, I’m sorry,” she said, trying not to stare at the two yellowing bruises on his forehead. “The buffet looks wonderful. You-”

  “Could I talk to you for a moment?” he said, putting his hand on her arm, and Gwen was so startled, she let him draw her into the office. He took out a leather case and showed her a badge. “Thomas Lewis, FBI.”

  Gwen squinted at it. “You’re FBI?”

  “Shhh.” Thomas looked around. “I’m here undercover, Mrs. Goodnight, no one can know. Can you keep a secret?”

  Oh, honey, Gwen thought.

  “I’m investigating Clea Lewis,” he told her, keeping one eye on the door. “We think she murdered her husband.”

  “Oh.” That actually sounded plausible.

  “And stole his art collection,” Thomas went on. “Cyril Lewis was a very wealthy man, but when he died, the estate w