Faking It - Crusie Jennifer - Страница 74

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“Just checking,” Ford said and hung up.

Clea hung up the phone and sat, thinking fast. She didn’t have the know-how to embezzle the money out of Davy’s accounts, Ronald had done that, so maybe-

She straightened. How had Davy had the know-how? How had Davy gotten the numbers, the password? How-

She picked up the phone and dialed again, and when the phone clicked, she said, “Ronald, we had an appointment. Get your ass over here. You have some explaining to do.”

WHEN TILDA and Eve got back, Nadine was bagging trash in the gallery.

“Have you seen Davy?” Tilda asked.

“He left,” Nadine said. “He went to Temptation to see his sister.”

Tilda took a deep breath. “Did he say anything? About me?”

Nadine shook her head. “Michael and Dorcas left, and Davy took off after them.”

“Did he leave a note?” Tilda said.

“No,” Nadine said. “He was in a hurry. What time are we opening the gallery?”

“I don’t know,” Tilda said and turned to see Eve, standing behind her, radiating sympathy and suppressing “I told you so.”

“He’s coming back,” she told Eve.

“Of course he is,” Eve said.

“I have to go work,” Tilda said and headed for the attic.

He was coming back. She was not going to be an idiot and panic because he went to see his sister and didn’t leave a note, for heaven’s sake. He’d come back to sell the fakes. They still hadn’t played Grandma and Mussolini. He’d promised her that. He always kept his promises.

He was a con man.

He’s coming back, you dummy, Tilda told herself.

He had to. He had her van.

RONALD DID NOT look guilty when he showed up, and that made Clea even madder. She dragged him into the bedroom and shut the door, even though it was pointless since Mason wanted Gwen Goodnight, the bastard.

“You gave Davy Dempsey my account numbers,” she said, practically spitting her rage. “You betrayed me.”

“He beat me up,” Ronald said, looking untouched. “And who are you to talk about betrayal? You’re living with another man. You-”

“Davy took my money, Ronald,” Clea said, stepping closer. “He took all of it. Every man I’ve ever trusted has left me penniless and now I’m penniless again, and you helped the man who did it.”

“You’re not penniless,” Ronald said. “You can sell your art collection.”

“He took that, too,” Clea said, remembering the Scarlet with increased rage. “He wiped me out.”

“Well, there’s that,” Ronald said, pointing to the starry-night chair Mason had insisted on lugging home from the gallery for her.

“Ronald, pay attention, that’s junk,” Clea said. “I lost a fortune here, and you want me to be a junk dealer?”

“That’s not junk,” Ronald said. “That’s a Scarlet Hodge.”

“No it isn’t,” Clea said. “That’s…” She looked at the chair again. It did look a little like the Scarlet. “It’s not the same artist,” she finished, not snapping anymore.

“Yes it is,” Ronald said. “It was obvious when I looked at the show at the gallery last night after you ditched me by the catering table.” He sounded put out. “But I couldn’t tell you because you had to talk to the important people. Like Mason.”

Clea tuned him out to look at the chair again. It could be a Scarlet.

“Look at the motifs,” Ronald was saying. “The color choices. Look at the brushwork. It’s the same painter. Now about Mason.”

Clea waved him off and sat down, thinking fast. Maybe Ronald was right. Suppose Tilda Goodnight was Scarlet Hodge. Was that illegal?

“Clea, you’re not listening to me.”

“Ronald, if somebody painted under somebody else’s name, would that be illegal?”

“Yes,” Ronald said. “It’s forgery. And I don’t care. Clea, Mason isn’t what you think he is. He’s-”

“Going after Gwen Goodnight, I know,” Clea said. “Give me a minute here.”

Why would Matilda Goodnight forge Scarlet Hodges? There had to be money in it somewhere, but for right now, the important thing was that she had something on Tilda Goodnight, and Davy was sleeping with Tilda Goodnight. And nobody knew better than Clea how Davy was about the women he slept with.

“Clea-”

“Quiet. I’m thinking.”

So all she had to do was threaten to expose Tilda, and Davy would have to give the money back. Clea frowned. No he wouldn’t, not if she couldn’t prove it, and she couldn’t prove it without the painting. So first she had to get the painting back.

And Davy would have given Tilda Goodnight the painting, she was sure of it.

“How do you prove something’s a forgery?” she asked Ronald.

He frowned at her. “Lots of ways. Clea, we have to talk about us.”

“Give me one of the ways,” Clea said.

“Show it to the artist who is supposed to have painted it,” Ronald said, exasperated. “I’ve been very patient, Clea, but it’s time-”

“What else?” Clea said.

“Show it to somebody who worked with her, who saw her paint it,” Ronald said. “Now, about us…”

Homer Hodge, Clea thought. Mason hadn’t found Homer yet, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t. She was excellent at finding men. And if she couldn’t find him, well, Tilda wouldn’t know that, would she?

“Clea, are you listening to me?” Ronald said.

Clea focused on him. “Ronald, you betrayed me.”

Ronald flushed. “He forced me.”

“But I will forgive you,” Clea said, “if you can keep Davy Dempsey away from me for the next couple of days.”

“He’s gone,” Ronald said. “I called him this morning and he was gone.”

Got my money and took off, Clea thought. Poor Tilda Goodnight. “All right, then,” she said. “Ronald, I have to get my money back.”

“I don’t know what his account numbers are,” Ronald said, backing up. “He changed them all. He doesn’t trust me anymore.”

“I will get it back,” Clea said. “But I need time to work. So go away.”

“Clea, you can’t keep shoving me away like this,” Ronald said, taking a stand. “I know things you need to know.”

“Ronald, because of you I just lost three million dollars,” Clea said. “Be grateful I’m not having Ford drop you off a building.”

Ronald swallowed.

“Now be a good boy and go away,” Clea said. “I have to think.”

He tried to protest and she ignored him. First, she’d get the painting back, as many paintings as Tilda had. There’d been six, Mason said. If Davy was on the job, Tilda would have all six. So she’d get six Scarlet Hodges to give Mason; let Gwen Goodnight try to top that.

Then she’d call Davy and tell him Tilda was going to jail unless he gave her the money back. Even if he’d left Tilda, he wouldn’t let her go to jail. Not Davy. Davy took care of his women. The thought gave her a pang, a brief moment when she wondered if maybe she’d made a mistake cutting him loose all those years ago, and then she remembered that he’d been broke and that Zane had had money, that the only reason Davy had money later was that he’d stolen hers, and that the only person she could really count on to take care of her was herself.

So first she’d get the paintings from Tilda.

Then she’d get the money from Davy.

Then she’d take the paintings to Mason and seduce him until he forgot about Gwen entirely.

And if he didn’t, she had Ford to take care of Gwen.

“All right,” she said out loud and looked around.

Ronald was gone.

“All right,” she said again, and dressed to go see Tilda.

“HE’S INSIDE,” Phin said when Davy met him on the front porch of the farmhouse. “He likes Temptation. He’s thinking of retiring here. And he brought this albino woman with him.”

“She’s not albino,” Davy said. “She just doesn’t get much sun. Has he asked for money?”

“Not unless he’s doing it now,” Phin said. “I’ve been there the whole time. God, he’s exhausting. I’d be willing to pay him off just to make him go away.”

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