Faking It Read online

  “Where is she now?” Michael said. “Still married to that anchor guy she dumped you for?”

  “No,” Davy said. “She killed him. Then she married somebody else and killed him, too.”

  “I’m not surprised,” Michael said. “So where is she now?”

  “Here,” Davy said. “Stalking her third.”

  “I knew it.” Michael sat back. “You’re still chasing her.”

  “No,” Davy said. “I’m chasing my money. She has it.”

  “That was careless of you,” Michael said. “Leave her alone. Make some more.”

  “I’d rather get my old stake back, thanks,” Davy said. “It’s—”

  “You know, this place is not bad.” Michael looked around the room. “That gallery, it’s a sweet setup. You could do some damage here.”

  “No,” Davy said, trying to forget that he’d thought the same thing. “This is legit. And the Goodnights are another family you will not be ruining.”

  “So what are you doing here?” Michael said.

  “They’re my way to Clea,” Davy said. “She needs them, and I can use them to get to her.”

  “That’s my boy,” Michael said. “So which one are you spending nights with? The kid’s too young, and Gwennie’s keeping company with a steady guy. That leaves the brunette with the glasses.” He nodded. “Not bad. My guess is, she’s not stupid and she won’t fold in a pinch. Nice ass, too.”

  “I’ve never liked you,” Davy said.

  Michael’s shoulders shook, which for him was roaring laughter. “I missed you, boy.”

  “I didn’t miss you.” Davy walked over to the door and opened it. “And now you’re leaving.”

  “I don’t think so,” Michael said, looking around. “This is a nice room.”

  “It’s Simon’s,” Davy said. “And he makes full use of it.”

  “So where are you sleeping?” Michael got up, and then nodded. “Right. With the glasses. And Gwennie has a stable guy.”

  “Which means there’s no room in the inn.” Davy pointed to the hall. “Out.”

  Michael ambled toward the door. “I think we should go next weekend,” he said as he passed Davy. “I think—”

  Across the hall, Dorcas opened her door. “I’m painting over here,” she said, fixing Davy with her glare.

  “An artist,” Michael said, shaking his head at her in admiration. “And we broke your concentration. A thousand apologies.”

  “One’s enough,” Dorcas said. “That and shutting up.”

  “The artistic temperament,” Michael said. “Fascinating. Could I see your work?”

  Dorcas blinked at him.

  “Dorcas, this is my father,” Davy said. “He’s a liar, a cheat, and a seducer of women, and he’s looking for a place to stay. Avoid him at all costs.”

  “Michael Dempsey,” Michael said, taking her hand. “Dorcas. Lovely name. It means ‘lily’ in Gaelic.”

  “It means ‘gazelle’ in Greek,” Dorcas said, but she didn’t take her hand back, and Davy thought there might actually be color in her cheeks. She nodded toward Davy. “Is he telling the truth about you?”

  “Sadly, yes,” Michael said, smiling at her. “I am completely without redeeming value.”

  Dorcas smiled back at him.

  “But I really would like to see your work,” Michael went on. “I rarely meet artists and never artists at work. May I?”

  And while Davy watched with a sinking heart, Dorcas said, “Yes.”

  “Don’t do it, Dorcas,” he said.

  “Oh, please,” Dorcas said. “Like you’re a prize.” Then she stepped back and let Michael in.

  “Jesus,” Davy said and went downstairs to warn the Goodnights about his father.

  DAVY SPENT the rest of the week painting and hauling furniture and watching Michael with an eagle eye while Nadine and Ethan followed his every order. Gwen planned the details of the opening with skill if not pleasure, and made sure that the advertising was in place and that there would be a reporter to cover the preview. Simon worked on the security, still missing Louise, and on Tuesday, part of his wardrobe. “Your dad borrowed a shirt from me,” he said. “Evidently neither one of you knows how to pack.”

  And Tilda came in after work on her mural and painted with Davy, saying, “You know, I never get enough of painting walls.”

  “You don’t have to do this,” Davy said. “You worked all day.”

  “It’s the least I can do for you,” Tilda said. “You’re working your butt off for us.”

  “Actually, the least you could do for me,” Davy began, and then stopped when Tilda looked at him over her glasses. He did not want to hear about her damn vibrator again. “Never mind.”

  Tilda nodded and went back to painting. “I can’t believe your dad moved in with Dorcas an hour after he got here.”

  “Yes. I know. He is without morals.”

  “But he’s efficient,” Tilda said. “It took you a good twenty-four hours to get into my bed.”

  “Hey,” Davy said. “If I’d wanted in earlier—”

  Tilda looked at him over the tops of her glasses again.

  “Right,” he said and kept painting.

  Eve and Jeff and Andrew ran errands and did odd jobs and generally oiled the wheels, while Ford pitched in whenever they needed a repair that required actual skill, especially if it meant sharing space with Gwen. Even Mason showed up to monitor the action, so happy about the opening that he cheered everybody else up, with the possible exception of Ford. They were a team, albeit a strange one.

  Michael was another matter. When Davy caught him playing monte outside a local high school, he dragged him off, threatened him with death, and gave him a job of his own to do.

  “Where’s Michael?” Tilda said when she got home from mural painting on Wednesday.

  “Don’t go looking for trouble,” Davy said.

  “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 m