“Think of it more like a strong urge.”
She laughed. “I imagine you’ve had a lot of strong urges in your lifetime, haven’t you? And you’re the exact type of person who gives in to each one.”
“You think I have no self-control?”
“I think you’re used to people giving you what you want. Money has a way of opening doors and pandering to strong urges.” His eyes flashed a warning, but Poppy ignored it. “Am I wrong?”
“Nope—you’re completely right.” Asprey crossed his arms and nodded up at the house. “I’m a spoiled, selfish reprobate who doesn’t know how good he has it. I should be living it up in a palace like that instead of sleeping next to Graff in an airport hangar with no heating. It’s my birthright. I deserve it.”
Dammit. She’d hurt his feelings. Lifting a hand to his arm, she said, “Hey—I didn’t mean it like that.”
“You did, and it’s okay.”
“No, it’s not okay.” In the distance, a dog barked, and an elderly couple strolled by, nodding a friendly greeting toward Asprey as they went. She waited until they passed before speaking again, glad for the chance to gather her thoughts. It had been a mean thing to say, and if there was one thing Poppy strove for in all of her endeavors, it was to avoid cruelty. Maybe she didn’t always do the right thing in terms of society’s views, but she always did the right thing for her. “I’m sorry. If anyone knows how unfair it is to judge someone based on their situation, it’s me. It was a crappy thing to say, and I take it back.”
He studied her carefully before finally settling into a small smile. “Apology accepted and appreciated—you have no idea how much. So does that mean you’re willing to help me with my, ah, emergency situation?”
Poppy was so grateful to see the smile back on his face she didn’t hesitate. “Absolutely. What are we doing?”
“There is something I need inside that house, and you look like you could use a little fun. So I propose we go in there and get it.”
“Oh yeah? This is your idea of showing me a good time?”
“Yes, it is.” He looked supremely proud of himself. “I spent most of the day debating between this or letting you try to break my arm again. I’m not ashamed to admit I chose the former.”
She rolled her eyes and scanned the building’s exterior, looking for clues. Based on the size and location, she’d say they were looking at five million dollars in real estate, easy. Whoever these people were, they had money and weren’t afraid to announce it to the neighborhood.
Her pulse picked up and she felt the familiar mounting thrill that always accompanied this kind of activity. Damn him for knowing exactly what got her excited. “Why not a walk on the beach or dinner at the pier? You didn’t even bring me roses.”
“I have something better.” He pointed at the house. “In there.”
“Do you want to go grab some priceless art? Maybe the family’s most prized heirloom?”
Asprey shook his head. “An espresso maker.”
“Great idea.” She laughed, sure he was joking. “Breaking about twelve laws and endangering our lives is the only way to enjoy a good cup of coffee. Seattle’s Best has it all wrong.”
“What if I told you there are no consequences?”
That was absurd. How could there be no consequences? She shook her head. “Too dangerous, and the risk-to-reward ratio is ridiculously high—that is, unless we’re talking about taking the espresso machine prototype that spawned all other espresso machines in the world.”
“Nah. This one’s from Sharper Image.”
Poppy let out an inelegant snort. “So tempting, and yet…”
“What if we amped up the reward a little?” he persisted. “Con versus theft—winner takes all?”
Her heart picked up as she caught the heady inflection in his tone. Even though she’d sworn kissing him—twice—had been a reckless, glorious mistake, her body had a hard time following along. And there were too many ways Asprey could demand his winnings—too many ways she could triumph over him in return—to pretend a little friendly competition wasn’t incredibly alluring.
“What is your definition of all?” she asked. “And what are the rules?”
He shrugged, but it was a studied movement. He’d considered this before. He knew exactly what he wanted from her. She suppressed a delighted shiver.
“I propose that we both attempt to get inside the house and extract the espresso machine,” he said. “I’ll use stealth; you’ll use cunning.”
“Why are you narrating this in a Morgan Freeman voice?”
“Are you going to ask questions, or are you going to accept the challenge?”
Poppy scanned the street, getting into the spirit of it. Since it was early evening, there were a few people milling about, a car pulling up across the street and a pair of teenage girls tumbling out. “You’re sure this is what you want to do?”
Asprey made the motion of an X over his chest and held up his hand. “Absolutely.”
“Why do I get the feeling this is a trick? This is probably the mayor’s house or something, and you guys golf together on Sundays.”
“You either accept or you don’t.” Asprey waggled his eyebrows. “But to make it fair, I won’t talk to any people—it’ll be a straight heist, in and out undetected. You, on the other hand, can do whatever you want.”
“As in, I can knock on the front door and offer to buy it?”
“Well, yes. If you want to suck all the fun out of it.”
She laughed. This was, at once, the strangest and most exhilarating date she’d ever been on. “And what is the outcome of this challenge?”
“That’s easy.” He crossed his arms and looked smug. “If I get the machine first, I get to ask you any question I want. If you win, you can ask me anything about what Graff and Tiffany and I are doing.”
That was almost too good. “And you’ll tell me the truth no matter what?”
“Unless you’d rather do something else,” he offered. “Drink a nice Pinot and discuss French cheeses.”
“Oh, I’m in.” There was no use pretending this wasn’t exactly how she wanted to spend the evening. Her, Asprey, a good challenge, better stakes. “But if I find out you cheated, I get two questions.”
“Done.”
She checked her watch. “Let’s give it three hours. We’ll meet two streets down at that martini bar at eight.”
Asprey cast a look up at the house, his eyes riveted on a second-story window. “Better make it seven.”
“You’re not telling me something.”
“Of course I’m not,” Asprey said with a smile. “That would make it too easy. On your mark?”
“I’m ready when you are.”
“Hit it.” With those words, Asprey gave her a cheerful wave and trotted around the block, to where the house turned the corner and continued its impressive takeover of the whole neighborhood. He obviously knew where he was going and had his plan all mapped out, but she wouldn’t let that faze her. Thinking on her feet was part of being a con woman. She could still win.
She made a quick scan of the street, searching for something that could get her through the front door. She wasn’t dressed for a delivery or door-to-door solicitation or even a respectable emergency use of their phone, and chances were good that they were the kind of people who had a housekeeper or butler who could efficiently turn her away.
She knew firsthand that the best way to be successful with a con was to offer the person something they wanted with a limited window of opportunity. It was the same motivation that drove people to take advantage of Act Now gimmicks on infomercials and door-buster sales that required you to get up at four o’clock in the morning. If marks thought this moment would be their only chance to take advantage of a good deal, they had a much better likelihood of taking it without first weighing all the options.
Unfortunately, she had no idea who these residents were or what sort of weaknesses they had. The bland exterior, devoid of an
y plants or decorations or open windows that would allow her a glimpse inside, didn’t provide any clues. It wasn’t at all like the house next door, which, even though it rose just as impressively into the partly cloudy sky, had a toy castle with a slide in the yard and a wagon with a one-eyed teddy bear slumped over the side—items that said something about the family living inside. Kids, not enough time to always clean up after them, enough money to live in a place like this…that’s it.
She had her in.
Poppy wore a loose tunic-like top over ripped leggings, which suited her purposes just fine. She adjusted her shirt so that the neckline swooped all the way over one shoulder and pulled her hair up into a ponytail high on her head, securing it with a rubber band from around her wrist. She trotted up the steps to the Asprey House of Wonders and, without allowing herself to overthink the issue, knocked on the bright blue door.
It was answered by an older woman who, though not exactly decked out in a crisp maid’s apron, still bore the appearance of hired help in elastic-waist pants, sensible shoes and an industrial fabric on her scrub-style shirt.
“Can I help you?” she asked, somewhat taken aback.
“Oh, hi!” Poppy extended the syllable in a high-pitched, breathless tone commonly adopted by girls with fewer years and a lot less drama in their lives. “I’m so sorry, but could you grab a ball from your backyard for me?”
The woman’s eyes, a kindly hazel, flew open. “Excuse me?”
Poppy thumbed over her shoulder. “I’m the nanny next door. We were playing soccer earlier, and we kicked a ball into your backyard. I was just about to get off shift, so I thought I’d swing by to grab it.”
“Oh, you’re with the Parsons!” The woman opened the door wider and gestured for Poppy to come into the house. “I’m sorry I haven’t met you before, but I’m only here Tuesdays and Thursdays. I’m Rose.”
“Poppy,” she replied. No need to lie on this one.
Before she got much farther than the foyer, Rose held up a hand to stop her. “Oh, just a moment. I need to grab the alarm if we’re going to be coming in and out the back door.”
She reached toward a small white box on the wall. With a total disregard for common sense, she punched in the numbers so that Poppy could clearly see each one. Poppy had just enough decency to feel guilty about taking a kitchen appliance on this kindly, if misguided woman’s watch, when her eyes ran from the alarm panel along the wall, which extended into a slightly recessed living room done up in a familiar pattern of glass and metal.
What was it with people and that design aesthetic? She could almost understand it at a place like Charles Appraisals and Insurance, but at someone’s home? It was hardly inviting. She’d rather live in an airport hangar.
Wait a minute…
“Do you know, I’ve worked next door a whole month now, and I still haven’t met the family that lives here?” Poppy said, doing her best to sound like a twenty-year-old nanny. “Are they nice?”
“Oh, it’s no family.” The woman motioned for Poppy to follow her through the impressive living room into an elongated hallway that had been half-tiled in iridescent gray, which moved in waves as if to propel them straight through. “It’s just Mr. Charles these days.”
“Asprey Charles?” she ventured. That sneaky bastard. If this was seriously his house, she was taking a heck of a lot more than the espresso machine, that was for sure. She’d spied a really nice television on the way in.
The woman laughed. “You young girls are always zeroing in on him first, aren’t you? No, it’s the oldest one, Winston. Used to be the whole family lived here, but it’s grown quiet of late. The rest of the kids don’t come around much anymore. Now, where did you say the ball went?”
They’d reached the kitchen, an oversized vault of a room that looked more like a morgue than a place to prepare meals. At the far end, a sliding glass door looked out over the patio. To her left, Poppy caught a glimpse of another large window, this one above a set of black barstools and a long wet bar. Neither one of these would have been terribly exciting except for a French blue flash of color and the telltale click of the latch moving at the side window.
Asprey was planning on coming in that way.
“Why don’t I go get it?” Poppy asked. The second Rose left the kitchen, Asprey would be in and out while she was still struggling to come up with a plan that didn’t involve grabbing the oversized espresso machine that sat against the metallic backsplash and making a break for it. “I’ll be just a sec.”
“Sure thing. Would you like something to drink?”
“A cup of coffee would be lovely,” she said, not losing a beat.
Despite the grandeur of the house, the backyard wasn’t all that big, the perimeter taken up primarily with overdone landscaping. She trotted down the steps of the cedar patio to make a convincing show of looking for the nonexistent ball when a hand reached out from one of the bushes and pulled her into the shrubbery.
“Thanks for getting the alarm turned off for me.” Asprey’s arms moved around her waist, his words a low whisper in her ear. She shivered, his nearness and the damp foliage working double time on her nervous system.
“I can’t believe you’re breaking into your brother’s house to steal his coffeemaker. Your family is so weird.”
“Every time I take one of his espresso machines, he steps up the security. It’s getting really difficult,” Asprey explained. The vibration of his voice against her earlobe did strange things to her sense of equilibrium. “I needed the help of an outside professional like yourself.”
She pressed her hands against his chest, curling her fingers a little as she forced space between them. “Geez, Asprey. How many times have you taken it?”
He thought for a second. “This will make six. He had the security system added a few weeks ago, and I haven’t been able to find a way around it.”
“Couldn’t you just walk in the front door and say hello?”
He released her and pushed farther back into the bushes. “You’re missing the point.”
“And what, exactly, is the point?” she asked, growing exasperated. He was like a twelve-year-old, playing spies with his brothers and sister for a lack of anything better to do.
He let out a soft tsking noise. “I don’t think so. You only get to ask that question if you get to the espresso machine first.”
She let out a grunt of irritation and amusement—two emotions that often sprang to the forefront whenever Asprey was around—and trotted back up to the house. She could hear Asprey rustling along the outer edge of the yard, making his way back to the kitchen window with virtually no stealth at all.
“Did you find it?” Rose asked. “You look like you had to tackle the tree back there.”
Poppy pulled a few twigs from her hair. “It was in that row of bushes near the back—I had to dig a little deeper than I expected. I tossed the ball back over the fence. I hope that’s okay.”
“Of course. Did you still want that cup of coffee?”
She hated to play into Asprey’s neurotic games any more than she absolutely had to, but she really wanted to ask him a question. Besides, the second Rose showed her the door, Asprey would swoop in and take the machine. She needed to take advantage of the situation while she had it.
“That sounds great, thanks. If you’re not too busy,” she hastily amended.
“Oh, it’s no trouble. I was just finishing up for the day. I could use a few minutes to unwind.”
Poppy slid onto one of the barstools so that she blocked the window. “You’re sure I’m not in the way? The owner won’t mind?”
Rose began pushing buttons on the espresso machine, which was big enough to be in a coffee shop and really did look like it came from Sharper Image. “Mr. Charles never gets home until a little before eight o’clock.”
Of course. That would explain Asprey’s time constraints. She put her feet up on the opposite stool and leaned back, hoping to peek out the window. Asprey was there, sittin
g on the outer windowsill. He waved.
He was waiting her out, was he? She’d see about that.
“So have you always worked here?” Poppy asked as soon as a tiny white ceramic cup was placed in her hand. She took a sip but wasn’t all that impressed. Coffee was coffee.
“Oh, fifteen years or so,” Rose replied. “I bet that seems long to a girl your age.”
Poppy accepted the compliment with a wave of her hand and tried not to appear too interested. “So you were employed when the rest of the family lived here. I mean…like you said before, when it was more than just the one owner?”
“I was.” Rose peered at her over the cup of coffee. “Why?”
Poppy shrugged. “Just curious. I haven’t lived in Seattle very long, but I’ve heard the Charles name mentioned a few times. They’re kind of a big deal, aren’t they?”
If Rose thought it was odd to be suddenly grilled by a nanny about her employers, she hid it under her obvious love of company and chatter. “Oh, you know these old families. We all like to pretend that things like money and lineage don’t matter in this day and age, but when you start talking about the people who founded our city, it’s hard not to pay respect where it’s due.”
“They’re that big of a deal?” Poppy asked, settling into her seat.
“They used to be.” Rose set her cup down and gestured around the kitchen. “When I was hired here, it was a different place. Dinner parties every weekend, all the kids living at home—it was like one of those movies where the women always wore heels and perfume, the men in tuxedos. So glamorous. Mrs. Charles died when the children were very young, but Mr. Charles—their father—was a huge patron of the arts and the house was filled with people who shared that love. Did you know there’s a wing at the art museum dedicated to him?”
Poppy shook her head. A whole wing? Like the kinds of people who had hospitals named after them?
“I told you.” Rose smiled. “They were a big deal, but it hasn’t been like that in a long time. When Mr. Charles died, the parties stopped. So did the donations and the people coming over. They’re still rich as you please, don’t get me wrong, and Asprey—he’s the one you girls are all sweet on—still does the parties and glamour. But it’s not the same, and I don’t think Winston has any intention of trying to get things back the way they were.”
Confidence Tricks Page 10