“She’s good, isn’t she?” Nadine said, making Davy jump.
“Yeah,” he said. “So are you.”
“Thank you,” Nadine said. “So now what?”
“You wait until she leaves,” Davy said. “And then you go pick up your print. He’ll offer you some ridiculously small amount of money for it. You say no, it’s worth more than that, your grandma told you it was worth a lot, although maybe if he has something to trade, does he have anything that would be nice and bright for your room because that’s what you’re here for. You let him talk you into trading it for the Scarlet, and then you meet us back at the car and we’re out of here.”
“Excellent,” Nadine said. “Now?” Davy looked back at the booth. Tilda was gone. “Give him a minute,” he said. “Let somebody else talk to him. Then go.”
Two browsers later, Nadine took off for the booth, and Tilda came back, eating a hot dog. “How’s it going?” she said, handing him one, too.
“Thanks. It’s going the way it always does.” Davy unwrapped the hot dog and bit into it. “Just the way I planned it.”
“It’s so odd seeing these paintings again,” Tilda said.
“You and Scarlet close, were you?” Davy said, not really caring. Across the way, Nadine came back for her print.
“Don’t know her at all,” Tilda said, following his eyes to Nadine. “Is this it?”
“Umhm,” Davy said, his mouth full.
They finished eating while Nadine toyed with Colby. She smiled and he leaned forward. She dug her toe in the dirt, he reasoned with her. She shrugged and he tried harder. Finally, Nadine lifted her shoulders and pointed to a blue bowl.
“What?” Davy said, feeling his heart clutch. “Not the bowl, you dummy.”
Colby evidently felt the same way because he shook his head. Nadine shifted her hip, clearly agitated, and pointed to the Scarlet. Colby leaned in and they began to negotiate.
“You give a woman a simple instruction,” Davy began.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Tilda said. “She knows what she’s doing. Give her some space.”
Colby was shaking his head, but he was also handing Nadine the blue bowl.
“Oh, that’s great,” Davy said. “Now we have a bowl and no—”
Then Nadine handed him the print, and he passed over the Scarlet.
“See?” Tilda said again. “I told you so.”
Nadine bounced happily down the fairway, and Colby looked with satisfaction at his ticket to riches.
“Now what?” Tilda said.
“Now we meet Nadine at the car and go home,” Davy said. “Although I would really like to do something else to Colby.”
“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” Tilda said.
He looked at her to see if she was laughing at him, but she gazed back at him, completely serious. “You think?”
“I think Colby’s dead meat,” Tilda said. “And I think I don’t ever want you coming after me.”
“Wouldn’t that depend on what I was after?” Davy said, grinning at her.
“You’re hopeless,” Tilda said and headed for the car.
“Got it,” Nadine said, when she climbed into the back seat a minute later. “And look at this cool bowl.”
“The next time I send you out to get something,” Davy said sternly, as he pulled out of the parking lot, “do not improvise.”
“Let me see,” Tilda said, reaching over the seat to hand Nadine her hot dog. Nadine traded her for the bowl.
“I think it’s pretty,” Nadine said, unwrapping lunch. “It sat there in the middle of all that junk and glowed at me.”
“You have to keep focused,” Davy said. “Not that we’re going to do this again, but—”
Tilda turned it over and looked at the bottom. “It’s Rookwood. Way to go, Nadine.”
“Oooh,” Nadine said around her sandwich. “What’s Rookwood?”
“Something good, I gather,” Davy said, still disgruntled.
“Cincinnati art pottery,” Tilda said, handing it back across the seat to Nadine. “Very collectible. The dumbass never even looked at the bottom to see the potter’s mark. He knows zip about art.”
“That I could have told you,” Davy said. “He put a lot of emphasis on frames.”
“Some frames can be worth a lot of money,” Tilda said. “Especially if it’s the original frame to a good piece of art.”
“Which he doesn’t have,” Davy said.
“So how much is this Rookwood worth?” Nadine said, sticking to basics.
“It depends on the piece and the age,” Tilda said. “There’s a code on the bottom that tells what year it was made. The size and the shape affect value, too. And condition, but that one looks good.”
“The older it is, the better?” Nadine said, squinting at the bottom.
“First condition,” Tilda said. “Then age. Then the rest. When you’re collecting something, condition is everything. It’s like location in real estate.”
“So how much?” Nadine said.
Tilda shrugged. “The mark’s from 1914. Probably somewhere between five hundred and a couple thousand.”
Davy almost drove off the road. “For a bowl?”
“Cool,” Nadine said.
“For art,” Tilda said. “For a thing of beauty that is a joy forever.”
“The possibilities for graft in this business must be huge,” Davy said, trying not to think about it. It was like discovering a great new sport and not being able to play. When he realized Tilda hadn’t said anything, he added, “Because that would be terrible.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Tilda said, turning to look out the window.
“That was a very good plan, Davy,” Nadine said, clutching her bowl to the Britney on her T-shirt. “How did you know how to do that?”
“Good question” Tilda said, turning to squint at Davy through her glasses. “How did you know how to do that?”
“Read about it in a book,” Davy said. “So now we have five, right? One to go?”
“Clea’s.” Tilda stripped off her wig and rubbed her forehead. “The final frontier.”
“A week from tonight then,” Davy said.
“We could do it earlier if we could get rid of the help,” Tilda said. “Mason really wants to get into Gwennie’s files.”
“That’s not all Mason wants to get into,” Davy said. “Let’s hope Gwennie moves fast and Clea hasn’t noticed.”
“Mason wants Grandma?” Nadine said from the back seat.
“Grandma is hot, kid,” Davy said. “Which is good news for you because it means you will be, too, when you hit fifty plus.”
“That’s eons from now,” Nadine said, going back to her bowl.
“It comes faster than you think,” Tilda said.
“It’s good news for you, too, Celeste,” Davy said.
“Not me,” Tilda said. “I’m my dad’s daughter. The Goodnight women are fierce but troll-like.”
“Nope,” Davy said, looking at her loopy curls and icy eyes. “You’re Gwennie all over again.”
“No I’m not,” Tilda said, making it sound final.
“Right,” Davy said. “So about next week. We go in and get your painting and my money, and then we go home and celebrate by making a killing at the preview. That’s going to be pretty much a perfect day.” He patted her knee. “I’m going to hate to leave.”
“What preview?” Nadine said.
“Leave?” Tilda said, the lilt going out of her voice.
“I have to go to see my sister next weekend,” Davy said, talking faster to get past the “and I’m not coming back” part. “She’s mad as hell at me already, I can’t put her off anymore.”
“Right,” Tilda said, nodding a little too fast.
“What preview?” Nadine said.
“We’re going to sell the furniture in the basement,” Tilda said to her.
“Cool,” Nadine said. “Can I help?”
“Yes,” Davy said. “I se
e you as essential.”
“That’s the way I’ve always seen me, too,” Nadine said.
“So,” Tilda said to Davy, “any instructions for next Thursday? Want me to be anybody in particular?”
“Yeah,” Davy said. “Be Vilma and wear that slippery Chinese thing again. I have good memories of that.”
“And they’re going to stay memories,” Tilda said, looking out the window.
“Slippery Chinese thing?” Nadine said.
“Your aunt is a woman of many faces,” Davy said, watching Tilda oat of the corner of his eye.
“So you’re leaving after that?” Nadine said. “Australia, I suppose.”
“Yep,” Davy said, looking away from Tilda. “Australia.”
❖ ❖ ❖
TILDA PUT the painting down in the basement and didn’t say anything else about the con, so Davy began to plan the show, enlisting everyone to scrape paint and wash windows, even Simon, who had plenty of energy to work off since Louise hadn’t shown up again. “Did you hear anything else about the Bureau looking around up here?” Davy asked him on Friday.
Simon shook his head. “But they definitely have somebody here.”
This family needs a keeper, Davy thought and went upstairs to shower. He came out of the bathroom, having washed off a lot of paint chips, and met Tilda.
“We’re watching The Lady Eve tonight for the hundredth time,” she said as she walked past him to the bathroom. “It’s Louise’s favorite movie. If you want to watch, too, you’d better call your sister now.”
“Right.” Davy watched the bathroom door close behind her, the FBI receding from his mind. A minute later the shower came on, and Davy thought about joining her. Then he thought about how much pain she could inflict on him and picked up the phone instead.
“Hey,” he said when Sophie answered. “What’s ne—”
“Where are you?” she exploded. “I can’t believe you talked to Dillie and didn’t—”
“Columbus,” Davy said, moving the phone a little farther from his ear.
“—leave your num—Columbus? That’s two hours from here.”
“I know,” Davy said. “Stop shrieking at me, woman. What’s wrong with you?”
“I’m having the week from hell,” Sophie snapped, “and the one person whom I would actually welcome seeing is two hours away and hasn’t even bothered to stop by. How long have you been there?”
“About a week,” Davy said, shaving some time off.
“A week?”
“Okay, you stop yelling now, or I’m hanging up. How’s life?”
Sophie groaned. “Don’t ask.”
“Okay, how’s Dempsey?”
“He’s teething,” Sophie said. “What are you doing in Columbus?”
“Nothing you want to know about. So what’s new with you?”
“I thought you were going straight,” Sophie said, caution making her voice soft again.
“I am,” Davy said. “For me, I’m practically a Boy Scout. So what’s making you nuts? Tell me everything.”
“Well,” Sophie said, mercifully distracted by her own problems. She talked on and Davy listened to the water running and thought about how round Tilda was, and how much fun she’d be covered in soap. Uncovered in soap.
“Are you listening?” Sophie said.
“Yes,” Davy lied.
Sophie went on and Davy went back to listening to Tilda and the water. Someday I’m going to be in there with her, he thought, and then realized he wasn’t. By the time someday got there, he’d be gone.
“Wait a minute,” Sophie said, and the water stopped, so Davy brought his mind back to the conversation. “Dillie says hi and she loves you.” Sophie dropped her voice. “She brought home this boy after school last week so he could help her with her softball swing—”
“Really?” Davy said, trying to sound innocent.
“—and the kid has been over here every night after school, so—”
Sophie talked on as Tilda came out of the bathroom, swathed in a bulky white robe, and pulled the towel from her hair, and Davy watched the little ringlets spring up around her face, shining damply in the lamplight.
“—and I can’t remember if Amy and I started doing boy-girl things at twelve. Did we?”
“I don’t think that matters,” Davy said. “The question is, do they do that now? Hold on a second.” He covered the receiver. “When did Nadine start bringing home boys?”
“Birth.” Tilda crawled up beside him on the bed. “She’s Gwennie’s granddaughter.”
“Right. You’re no help at all.” He uncovered the receiver. “Look, they’re playing softball. Let them alone.”
“Who’s there with you?” Sophie said. “Is it a woman? It’s a woman, isn’t it?”
“Is that your sister?” Tilda said.
“There’s a woman there,” Sophie said. “I can hear her.”
“My landlady.” Davy looked down the front of Tilda’s robe. “She’s asking for my rent. I have to go give it to her.”
“You wish,” Tilda said.
“Wait, don’t hang up, when are you coming down here?” Sophie said.
“Next Sunday,” Davy said, watching the curve of Tilda’s terry-cloth-covered rear as she rolled off the bed away from him. “I have some things to finish here first. But I will be there next Sunday. I swear. I have a present for you.”
“Forget the present, bring your landlady,” Sophie said.
“I don’t think so,” Davy said, as Tilda disappeared into the bathroom again. “She’s not a biddable female.”
“I like that in a woman,” Sophie said.
“So do I,” Davy said. “So do I.”
Chapter 14
TILDA WENT downstairs the next morning to find Davy standing across the street from the gallery. He looked wonderful in the sunlight, big and dependable and ... leaving. Why should I care? Tilda thought, and cared.
“Now what?” she said when he motioned her across the street.
“Gwennie’s been a little frosty to me lately,” he said. “What’s up with that?”
“She doesn’t want to attach in case Ford kills you,” Tilda said. “What are you doing out here?”
“She doesn’t want this show, does she?” Davy said.
Tilda sighed. “Not particularly.”
“Why? She hates the place, you’d think she’d be happy about—”
“She doesn’t hate the place,” Tilda said, surprised.
“—anything that would get her closer to freedom.”
“Hey, this is her home,” Tilda said.
“I think she wants to leave the nest,” Davy said.
“Is this the boat thing?”
“Boat thing?”
“Never mind. Gwennie will get over it. What are you doing out here?”
Davy squinted at the storefront. “Do you remember what colors the gallery used to be? The kids did a good job of scraping, but they didn’t uncover much original paint.”
“Blue,” Tilda said, squinting at the gallery front, too. “Sort of a midnight-blue trimmed with a red oxide. And the letters were gold, I think they were actually fake gold leaf.”
“Sounds expensive,” Davy said.
“It is,” Tilda said. “Although not like real gold leaf. It’s hard to put on, too.”
“Too bad,” Davy said. “Because we’re going to have to do it.”
“Can’t we do something new?” Tilda said. “I thought maybe black and white—”
“No,” Davy said. “Your dad had a reputation in this town and we’re building on it. We’re restoring, babe. Not to mention there’s already enough white in your life.”
“Funny,” Tilda said. “Listen, I really—” but he’d already started across the street.
He dragged her to a paint store and they bought gallons, a soft white for the interior —“It’s a gallery, Davy, it’s supposed to be white”— and a light blue and green Tilda talked him into —“We’re not selling what
Dad would have, so we should be us”— and gold leaf for the letters, along with brushes and scrapers and another ladder. “Who’s paying for this?” Tilda said, and Davy said, “Simon, on loan. You can pay him back out of the till on opening night. Or you could have Louise stop by. That would cheer him up enormously.” When they got back to the gallery, Nadine was inside with Gwen, Ethan, and a new boy, this one dressed in a button-down shirt and immaculate khakis.
“This is Kyle,” Nadine said. “We met him working at his father’s furniture store in Easton.”
“Nice to meet you, Kyle,” Tilda said, a little taken aback when he shook her hand. Behind him, Gwen rolled her eyes and went back to her Double-Crostic.
“My pleasure,” Kyle said, every inch the gentleman. He turned back to Nadine. “I have to go to work, but I’ll call you later.” He kissed her on the cheek and nodded politely to Tilda and Davy. Ethan, he ignored.
“That kid is up to no good,” Davy said when he was gone.
“Oh, please,” Nadine said. “He was a perfect gentleman.”
“What were you doing in a furniture store?” Tilda said.
“Davy sent us out to look at prices on handpainted stuff. And Kyle’s father’s store was the biggest.” Nadine smiled at the memory.
“He’s Eddie Haskell,” Davy said. “Carry Mace.”
Ethan nodded. “Don’t get me wrong when I tell you that Kyle, while being a very nice guy, is the devil.”
“What?” Tilda said.
“Broadcast News,” Davy said. “Try to keep up.”
“Cut me a break.” Nadine picked up a scraper. “You guys are worse than my dad.” She went out the door and sat down in front of the gallery to finish scraping the front, the top of her curly blonde head just visible through the gallery window.
“And yet, we’re right,” Ethan said, picking up a scraper, too.
“Do the two of you have any particular knowledge of this kid you want to share?” Tilda said, as exasperated as Nadine. “Because he looked pretty boring to me.”
“It’s a facade,” Davy said.
“He’s evil,” Ethan said.
“And the two of you are insane,” Tilda said and went out front to help Nadine.
“Do you believe them?” Nadine said when Tilda was scraping beside her.
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