Faking It d-2 Read online

  “Not according to the FBI, they didn’t,” Mason said. “At least Cyril didn’t. He was poisoned.”

  Clea blinked at him. “Somebody poisoned Cyril?”

  “That would be you,” Davy said to her and looked at Mason. “When did you talk to the FBI?”

  “They exhumed the body a couple of weeks ago, according to Thomas.” Mason shook his head. “He told me at the gallery opening Friday night. He said the FBI had evidence that Clea had killed Cyril and had stolen his collection. He seemed serious, but I just can’t stop thinking of him as the caterer.”

  “Why would anybody poison Cyril?” Clea said, outraged past the point of caring. “He was eighty-nine, for Christ’s sake.”

  “Well, there was all the money you inherited,” Davy said, watching her. “Patience has never been your strong suit.”

  “I did not kill-”

  “I believe you,” Tilda said to her. “Just ignore him.”

  “Hey,” Davy said.

  “Well, pay attention,” Tilda said. “Why would she kill him if he was eighty-nine and rich?”

  “He wasn‘t rich,” Clea said, evidently goaded beyond endurance. “He died broke, okay?”

  “Really?” Davy said. “What a disappointment for you. You suppose the warehouse fire you set had anything to do with that?”

  Clea glared at him. “Do I look like somebody who would set a warehouse fire?”

  “No,” Tilda said. “You don’t look like somebody who could light her own cigarette.”

  “It was just my lousy luck,” Clea said miserably. “He was supposed to have all this money and then it turned out he’d spent it on his art collection and then most of that burned-”

  Davy turned back to Mason with renewed interest. “So you talked to Thomas Friday.”

  Mason nodded. “He came to warn me about Clea.”

  “About me?” Clea sat down, almost in tears. “What did I do?”

  “You know, the list is so long,” Davy said to her.

  “He told me you kill your husbands,” Mason said to Clea. “And that the Homer Hodge you gave me was from the warehouse fire. How did that end up at the gallery? Did you take it there?”

  “What Homer Hodge?” Clea said. “I don’t kill people!”

  “Look,” Mason said. “I have no interest in seeing you in jail, Clea. I’m about to marry the woman I love, and I don’t want to make anybody suffer. If you leave now, I won’t turn you in. The police don’t know what Thomas knew.”

  “Clea, when did he get home on Friday night?” Davy said.

  “After midnight,” Clea said, glaring viciously at Gwen. “Because of her.”

  “She doesn’t know,” Mason said to Davy, dismissing her. “She wasn’t here. She’s just trying to use me as an alibi for Thomas.”

  “What?” Tilda said. “How did you know-” And then Davy stepped on her foot. “Ouch?”

  Mason stayed focused on Gwen. “Look, I can understand why this is confusing, honey, but it’s okay. I’ll take care of everything, even the gallery. We’ll run it together. I’ll be just like Tony.”

  “I don’t want the gallery,” Gwen said. “I hate the damn gallery. I want to get away from the gallery, not be buried there for the rest of my life. I’m sorry, Mason, I’m grateful you paid off the mortgage, but-”

  “What?” Davy said.

  “Mason paid off the mortgage,” Tilda told him. “Don’t interrupt, she’s dumping him.”

  “He didn’t pay off the mortgage,” Davy said. “I did.”

  “You didn’t pay off the mortgage?” Gwen said to Mason.

  “I can explain that,” Mason said to Gwen.

  “You paid off my mortgage?” Tilda said to Davy.

  “No,” Davy said. “That would be presumptuous of me. I paid for the bed and applied the payment to the mortgage.”

  “This should be good,” Gwen said to Mason, crossing her arms. “Explain.”

  “You paid six hundred thousand for a bed?” Tilda said to Davy.

  “Considering what happened on that bed, it was a bargain,” Davy said.

  “I thought it was a mistake at the bank,” Mason said to Gwen. “I was going to go over there and pay it off. I thought-”

  “With what?” Ronald said bitterly. “You’re broke.”

  “What?” Clea said, going beyond outrage now.

  “I was trying to tell you,” Ronald said, looking at her with distaste. “I investigated him when I investigated the Goodnights.”

  “Hello?” Tilda said.

  “I don’t know who you are,” Mason said to Ronald, “but you have no idea of my resources.”

  “Actually,” Davy said to Mason, “he probably has a better idea of your resources than you do. It’s pretty much his thing.”

  “Gwennie.” Mason reached for her hand. “Let’s get out of here, go someplace where we can talk.”

  “No,” Gwen said. “I wasn’t faking about the other guy. I slept with him. I loved it. I plan on doing it again. In Aruba. And I’m going to learn to scuba dive.”

  “Go, Gwennie,” Davy said. “So, Mason-”

  “All right,” Mason said, scowling at them all, clearly going for the Stern Patriarch look. “You people don’t realize the position you’re in, but that’s all right, I do. You could all go to jail for perpetrating a fraud. Gwennie might be willing to go, but she’ll never let Tilda be arrested. And Tilda might go, but she won’t let Gwennie be hurt.” Mason smiled at Gwennie. “And neither will I. We’re getting married, Gwennie, and I’m running the gallery, just like old times.”

  “She cheated on you,” Clea said to him, virtue making her voice shrill. “With a hired killer. Mason, darling-”

  “Pre-wedding jitters,” Mason said, and turned to Tilda. “It’ll be all right, Tilda. I’ll protect you like a father.”

  “The hell you will,” Tilda said to Mason. “I’ve had enough of that.”

  “Of course, Davy’s a different story,” Mason went on. “With his record, they’ll throw away the key and board up his cell.”

  “I don’t know why everybody assumes I have a record,” Davy said to Tilda. “I was actually pretty careful about that.”

  “I think he’s completely out of touch with reality in general,” Tilda said to Davy.

  “I’m serious,” Mason said.

  “Chasing money’ll do that to you,” Davy told Tilda. “Did somebody say he was Cyril’s money manager? Because you can’t trust those guys.”

  “There were extenuating circumstances in my case,” Ronald said.

  “Getting your brains fucked out by a greedy blonde is not an extenuating circumstance,” Davy said to him.

  “Enough,” Mason said. “I’ve made plans and we’re going to follow them.” He nodded at Tilda. “You’re a very good painter, Scarlet. I caught on to that at the gallery opening. You’re going to do a lot more paintings for the gallery.” He turned to Gwen. “It’ll be like old times, Gwennie. You had Tony, and now you have me.”

  “Mason,” Gwen said. “It’s not happening.”

  “Yes it is,” Mason said, leaning back and folding his arms.

  “Oh, look, he thinks he has something,” Davy said to Tilda. “He never does, but he’s always optimistic. Terrible poker player.”

  “I have something,” Mason said. “I’ve found Homer Hodge.”

  “Who?” Tilda said.

  “And he’s not happy about your daughter pretending to be Scarlet,” Mason went on to Gwen.

  “What?” Gwen said.

  “So I’ve talked him out of having you arrested-”

  “You miserable little rat,” Gwen said, glaring at him. “You did not talk to Homer. The only one who talks to Homer is me. And he thinks you’re a jerk. And a liar. And boring in bed.”

  Mason took a step back.

  “And a murderer, I bet,” Tilda said. “Although if you hit Thomas, you’re not a very good one.”

  “You’re all bluffing,” Mason said, recouping. “Wel