The Scotland Yard Exchange Series

by Stephanie Queen

  “Aren’t you going to ask me?”

  “I suppose I should. What are you doing here? Not that I mind for a millisecond. But I am expecting…”

  “A decorator?”

  “Why yes, how did you guess?”

  “You rhymed! That was so clever of you.”

  “Indeed.” He hadn’t the heart to tell her he’d done it purposely to tease her, but provoking her delight turned out to be infinitely better.

  “I’m your decorator.” She smiled and then curtsied as if presenting herself to the queen.

  “Pardon?” What did she mean? She couldn’t mean that…

  “I work for Beacon Hill Decorators. I’m a principal, in fact. That’s why I gave you the card.” Her eyes twinkled and she walked toward him to stand directly in front of him so that they were breathing the same air.

  The only problem was that David was having trouble breathing any air—yet again. He was faced with the prospect of either working with this fluffy temptation of a woman or rejecting her out-of-hand as both a woman and a decorator. Normally this was where he’d come up with some brilliant plan on how to let her down gently, but his mind refused to cooperate. He couldn’t seem to concentrate with her so close.

  He was…floundering. And to think he was once one of the most gallant big shots of the free world. Now he couldn’t think what to say. He’d once been renowned for his cool sophistication and urbanely impeccable manners and poise. At this moment, however, he was utterly flummoxed. Grace, the exact opposite of the fussy gay male decorator he’d expected, was instead the most feminine and sexy woman he’d met in a long time, perhaps ever. She was not simply a charmingly clueless knockout, but she also possessed a disarming genuineness and was naturally and unselfconsciously sensual. In short, she was the most dangerous human being in the world for him. She had to be a good twenty or so years his junior—and not the sort of woman he would enjoy a nice comfortable, tidy, uneventful semi-retirement with, calmly relaxing and gliding through his golden years.

  No. She would give him a heart attack—after torturing him with her energy and his enthusiasm to try to keep up with her. She wouldn’t understand a thing about him, and he would know nothing of the youthful generation she came from.

  They had nothing in common.

  Except mutual excitement.

  And decorating his town home, if he were to let her.

  That would spell doom for his self-reform. But he stood there smiling and could not for the life of him bring himself to tell her no. Not now. She posed before him, waiting for him to respond.

  “What?” he said. Brilliant repartee. He hadn’t been prepared for this.

  She laughed her enthusiastic laugh. “I don’t blame you for being shocked. I wanted to surprise you. Fate has thrown us together yet again! I’m a big believer in fate.”

  He was a believer in chemistry and felt it in spades. He watched her and felt the pull. If he were twenty years younger he could imagine her approaching him. She would stand toe-to-toe with him and tilt her chin up so that her beautiful, beaming, fresh and dewy young face was inches from his.

  “And I believe we have lots of chemistry,” she would say. She would no longer be smiling, but she would vibrate with excitement and energy, and it would be catchy. He would clamp his hands on her arms and be captivated by her eyes.

  He would say, “Shall we test your theory?” He would not ignore a hint. He would take his time lowering his mouth to hers, watching her eyelids lower by minuscule increments as their lips touched. Her mouth would feel as soft and luscious as it looked. She would drift against him, and that would have been his undoing if he were a less-disciplined man.

  Instead he tugged back on the undertow of desire and reined himself in. His lifetime of self-discipline kicked in. All the years he spent cultivating his expertise at anticipating the chess moves of life, dozens of turns in advance and how they all would play out, came to him. He ended the imagined kiss and mentally stepped back.

  “Your space is wonderful. I can make this into a beautiful home for you.” She sighed and looked around lovingly, as if she were seeing an infant child she imagined would grow into a great beauty.

  How could he possibly work with her, resist temptation and stay sane? Then he reminded himself of who he was and his famous iron will. He was tough. He’d overcome worse distractions. He sighed. “Okay.”

  She gave him that look that said, “You are my hero.”

  He didn’t feel deserving at the moment.

  “I love the place already. Can you imagine how heavenly and inviting it will be once it’s designed for you to live in?”

  “I’m imagining right now,” David told her, but he was wise not to tell her exactly what he was imagining, because it had nothing to do with designing or decorating his townhouse. “Shall we talk terms?”

  “No.”

  “No?” He looked at her, expecting an explanation, and she smiled back. “Why not?” He tried to maintain his professional demeanor.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll put together a proposal package tomorrow back at the office and bring it over.” Her dimple showed. “So how’s your murder investigation going? It was all over the papers this morning.” She stood there, still looking at him with that adoring look that would unnerve a lesser man.

  “Yes. I only had a chance to skim the headlines this morning.”

  “Poor Nick. It’s a shame too.”

  “Oh, did you know him?” That would be unlikely, but he figured he’d ask since she spoke as if she did. It would also complicate matters, since she didn’t know he wasn’t dead.

  “Yes. He was very generous and had great taste in artwork. His wedding gift to Rick and Theresa was fabulous.”

  “You can’t be serious.” How could this be?

  “Oh yes—over the top really.”

  “No, I meant how do you know him?”

  “I only met him once, but I remember that vase…”

  David sighed. He resigned himself that he’d have to wait to get the story from her, or possibly never find out. For the moment he’d indulge her about the vase. “Why was it so memorable?”

  “It’s a huge art glass vase he bought from a pricey New York City gallery by a well-known artist—Aquinas. I can’t imagine what he paid. Those New York cops must do pretty well for themselves.”

  “I see.”

  “What’s that?”

  “What’s what?”

  “What do you see?” Grace asked.

  He couldn’t hold back the burst of laughter. She was so adorable and she had no idea. She smiled back in a puzzled, yet pleased way. He reached out, took her hand, and kissed it. “You are a delight. What are you doing for dinner?”

  “I have no plans.”

  “Would you like to join me?” He shut the door on the alarm bells in his mind until they were only a muffled nuisance. He refused to pay attention and spoil the moment. He was too full of real zest. And it had been a while, too long a while that he’d been going through the motions of life.

  “Oh, yes. That would be perfect. I can get a better idea of your tastes,” she said in a voice vibrating with excitement.

  “Yes. Of course. We’ll have a working dinner.”

  She smiled and stepped back. “That would be lovely.”

  He was contemplating how the evening might go, how she might taste, when the alarm bells in his head reminded him he already had dinner plans.

  This was a pickle.

  “Is everything okay?” She looked concerned.

  That meant that he was not his usual inscrutable self, yet again. “Fine, I was just thinking—about Nick.” Sure, now he was actually going to have to think of something about Nick. “Maybe New York City cops really don’t make enough money to buy expensive vases. I might have to make some calls to a friend I have in New York City.”

  “Capital idea,” she said.

  Was she mocking him? Maybe it was actually a good idea. He would have to make some calls.


  “We could visit the local branch of that gallery on Newbury Street. I know the manager, Lester Lump. He’ll know what the vase retails for. Maybe he can tell us how much Nick paid for it,” Grace bubbled.

  “Lester Lump?” He looked at her. No need for phone calls after all. Maybe she was some kind of detective savant. He took her by the shoulders, pulled her in and kissed her. He kissed her quickly but hard. Still holding her warm shoulders, he noted with satisfaction the flushed and dreamy look on her face. Maybe they could have a late dinner after his dinner…

  “About dinner,” he started. He was stopped by three quick raps on the door, which was then flung open. He knew who it was before he turned and struggled not to groan out loud. Perfect.

  “Grace, you remember Dick Tracy,” he said.

  “You’re so funny. Why of course. The Chief of Boston Police—how could I forget?” Grace said in a rush and smiled.

  Dan walked in and, judging from the amused and annoyed look on his face, he summed up the scene with lightning speed. Dan nodded at Grace. “I hate to interrupt you, but it’s time to go,” he said.

  “I have a proposal. How about if we split up and cover twice the ground. You go talk to the restaurant manager and I’ll pursue another line of investigation.” David exchanged glances with Grace.

  “What line of investigation is that?”

  “David and I are going to an art gallery. You see, I’m working on Rick and Theresa’s loft and—” Grace began.

  “I can’t believe you expect me to buy this. I can’t believe you’re abandoning me in the middle of an important murder investigation to…to…”

  David noticed Grace’s eyes getting big at the insinuation and decided to jump in.

  “I’ve hired Grace to be my decorator. In the course of our discussion, I learned that Nick may have purchased an expensive vase and I’m going to verify a few facts—like the purchase price and any other useful information about it,” David said. “Be good to have before we question Nick tomorrow.”

  “What?” Dan was more amused than annoyed now. “Okay. Have it your way.” Dan shrugged.

  “I’ll let you know what I find out.” David tried not to push his friend out the door, but he didn’t like his insinuation about Grace. This was strictly a professional relationship. He’d have to convince Dan of that later. Right after he convinced himself. After tonight.

  “You can tell me all about it later at dinner. Seven sharp. Take a taxi,” Dan said as he left, giving David and Grace a last, wondering look over his shoulder as he closed the door behind him.

  David still needed to explain to Grace about that dinner. He hoped the inward cringe didn’t show on his face. Ordinarily his expressions were inscrutable, but lately he hadn’t been himself. The last thing he was interested in right now was meeting the fix-up—a middle-aged companionship prospect. The earlier resignation he’d felt had evaporated.

  He looked at Grace. She was staring at him with admiration, or maybe it was the enthusiasm he was beginning to realize was typical for her. He’d better watch out he didn’t do anything foolish. He was already regretting the impetuous kiss of gratitude. He’d have to work ridiculously hard to keep this a professional relationship.

  “You didn’t tell me we were going to dinner at Dick Tracy’s house. This will be so much fun. What is he cooking?” she asked.

  “You mean besides my goose?”

  “I’ve never had goose. It should be interesting.”

  He did a double take. This time she was putting him on and she laughed.

  “You are right about that. It should be very interesting.” He should have been telling her that she couldn’t go to dinner with him at Dick Tracy’s tonight. Or ever. Anywhere. But then again, he couldn’t get the devilish notion out of his head that it would be very interesting.

  She took his arm and walked him to the door. “I’ll drive. Let’s go do some investigating.”

  He forgot all about resistance for a flicker of a second. Then he decided he could afford to indulge himself this afternoon, since tonight at dinner would spell his doom—at least with the Graces of the world. He’d call Esther and warn her that he was bringing an extra guest, let her know Grace was his decorator. He could finesse it. He could make Esther and her single middle-aged friend think that Grace was nothing more than his decorator and there for professional reasons. It would be fine. It had to be. She was so young in every sense of the word, and he was so old in all the ways possible.

  At least he could handle dinner. He mentally cracked his knuckles.

  “Capital idea,” he said. “But only because I don’t own a car.”

  She looked horrified. “But why not? I don’t think I ever met a grown man who didn’t own a car.”

  “I’ve gotten rather used to being chauffeured around, I’m afraid.” He buttoned the top button of his shirt again, decided to forget about the cuff links, and grabbed the jacket he’d discarded earlier.

  “Well in that case, you’re excused. A chauffeur is better than a car.”

  He didn’t have the heart to mention to her that Dick Tracy was his current “chauffeur.”

  “I’m really looking forward to tonight’s dinner. It should be really special.”

  “You have no idea,” he thought. He closed the door behind them.

  Chapter 4

  AT 102 Newbury Street, David held one of the heavy etched-glass doors of the art gallery open for Grace. They walked into a room that was a few degrees cooler than was comfortable, in more ways than one. It was one of those places gauged to immediately make a normal person feel culturally ignorant. They were definitely in the right place.

  Grace preceded him into the middle of the room, which was filled with art displays of every kind without being cluttered. She seemed unaffected by the intimidating nature of the place—apparently in her element as a decorator. It was funny that he never thought of her as an artsy type—neither the sophisticated kind nor the eccentric kind.

  She strode between the displays, and he followed her to a corner where, behind a sleek desk, a sprightly thirty-five-ish man rose from his chair with a smile. Of course, he was looking at Grace.

  “Hello, Lester. Thanks for talking to us. This is David Young. He’s a special consultant to the Boston Police Department,” she said with particular reverence, or so it sounded to David.

  Lester shook David’s hand and invited them into his back room to chat, but not before hitting a button behind his desk that caused the pronounced clicking sound of the lock on the gallery doors.

  “Lester, I didn’t get your last name,” David said. It couldn’t really be Lump.

  Lester made a face. “If you must know. Lester Lump. I don’t go around advertising it. I’m known throughout the art world merely as Lester L.” He gave a knowing nod to Grace.

  “I see,” David said and meant it.

  “What can I do for you, my lovely? Something to do with an Aquinas vase, you said?” Lester spoke to Grace, but David decided not to let that deter him from asking his questions.

  “Yes. I’m investigating the recent murder of Nick Racer, a New York City detective who recently purchased this vase at the New York branch of your gallery. We’d like to know the details of his purchase: cost, date, who sold it to him.”

  “All business, I see. Anything for a friend of Gracie’s. Let me log onto the computer.” Lester sat on a curved piece of leather that passed for a stool in front of his computer. “I know we didn’t sell it to him from here because we only have one and it’s still on the floor.” He clicked away at the keys. David couldn’t help admire his keyboard skills, which were completely missing from his own otherwise impressive repertoire of talents.

  Grace stepped closer and said for his ears only, “I like how you thought of all those questions and took charge.” She was serious—he thought. He was momentarily stunned into a loss for words.

  Then Lester Lump grunted and frowned. That got their attention back.

  “Hmmm.
This is very strange.”

  “What?” David and Grace both said at the same time.

  “The record shows that one of the vases was sold, but no price, no invoice. I think this is the one you described to me Gracie. Take a look.”

  Grace peeked at the screen and nodded.

  “No record of who sold it—or rather, gave it away—or to whom?” David asked.

  “Only the date of transfer. Eight days ago. The retail price is ten thousand dollars, but who knows what the actual sales price was—if you know what I mean. Let me call the manager there.” Lester sounded a lot more businesslike himself now, as he tapped out a number on the cell phone he’d retrieved from his jacket pocket—the same pocket that held a spiffy turquoise pocket hanky.

  David mused about that while Lester spun around and spoke quietly enough not to be overheard. Grace glanced at David with raised brows. Even she thought this behavior odd.

  Then Lester slipped his phone back into his hankied pocket and turned to them with spread hands. “I don’t know what to tell you. The manager there hasn’t a clue what it’s about, but he’ll look into it and get back to us on the price and billing. He said he didn’t sell the vase so he’ll check with his associates. He’s sure it’s just an administrative snafu.” Lester stood and smiled.

  “Thanks for trying, Lester,” Grace said and then they all headed back out through the gallery to the main door.

  “You mentioned you had another Aquinas vase—forgive my artistic ignorance, but can you tell me which it is?” David asked.

  “Why, yes, here it is.” Lester quickly moved toward a strikingly lit display case along the wall with all manner of glass sculptures, vases and dishes. He pointed to a very large red vase with a particularly wide base.

  “You have excellent taste. Are you interested in a purchase?” Lester smiled.

  “Strictly business. I’ll keep you in mind, though.” David looked at Grace. “I am in the midst of redecorating. But in the meantime, can you do me a favor and let me know if anyone else should want to purchase this vase? Here’s my card. And of course call me when your man in New York gets back to you with those details.” David handed Lester the card and the man nodded.