Faking It - Crusie Jennifer (читать книги бесплатно полностью .txt) 📗

“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.

“I know,” Tilda said. “The thing is, they’re usually right.”

“I know,” Nadine said. “But his dad runs this huge furniture store, and Kyle really knows what he’s doing. He’s not fooling around.”

“You’re dating him for his furniture store?” Tilda said.

“He could teach me a lot,” Nadine said. “I’m thinking about retail as a career.”

“Nadine, it’s not a good idea to date as a career move.”

Nadine raised her eyebrows. “And you’re not dating Davy to get your paintings back?”

“I’m not dating Davy at all.”

“You’re just sleeping with him.”

“Only in the literal sense,” Tilda said. “We’re not lovers.”

Nadine looked through the window at Davy. “Why not?”

Tilda followed her eyes to where Davy was looking at something in a newspaper Ethan was showing him. He looked sure and strong and hot.

And very Federal.

“I have my reasons,” Tilda said.

Davy shook his head at Ethan, and they came out to the street to hand her a sheet of newspaper.

“I was spreading them out so we could paint inside,” Ethan said to Tilda. “And that name jumped out.”

He pointed to a want ad that said “Scarlet Hodge” in inch-high letters, and Tilda clutched it to look closer. “Wanted: any paintings by Scarlet Hodge,” the copy underneath read and gave a phone number. Tilda looked up at Davy. “Mason?” The word came out on a wheeze.

“Or Clea.” Davy pulled the top of the paper up so he could read the date. “It’s Wednesday’s paper. Thank God Colby doesn’t read the want ads.”

“I hope none of them do,” Tilda said. “Or they’re going to be really mad.” She tried to pull air into her lungs but they were too tight, and when she felt in her pocket for her inhaler, it wasn’t there. She drew in another shallow breath.

Davy took the paper from her, folded it up, and handed it back to Ethan. “That’s all right. Somebody’s always mad at me.” He hauled her to her feet and turned her toward the door. “Go get your inhaler before you pass out. We’re going to be fine.”

“But-” Tilda began and then stopped. He’d said “we’re.” We’re going to be fine.

“Miracle man,” Davy said, pointing to himself. “Go breathe. We have work to do.”

“Right,” Tilda said and went to get her inhaler, feeling comforted.

BY THE NEXT DAY, the outside of the gallery was scraped and ready to paint, the inside had a first coat on and no longer looked like a flophouse, and Davy was feeling not only a sense of accomplishment, but real anticipation. The place would be a gold mine for a gifted grifter; the possibilities were endless. And from what Gwen had told him about the art field, the possibilities weren’t even illegal. It wasn’t even a game of chance. It was like playing poker with the Goodnights.

“So there’s a poker game tonight,” Simon said, coming into the gallery and interrupting his thoughts.

“Yes,” Davy said. “Every Sunday. And except for Tilda, they’re all terrible players. Try not to take their money.”

“Why, so you can?” Simon said. “Doesn’t matter. I’m just in it for Louise.”

“It’s Sunday night,” Davy said. “Louise is gone on Sundays.”

“No, she’s staying over,” Simon said, smiling.

“She showed up last night, huh?” Davy said. “Congratulations. I’ve never seen you wait around for a woman before. This must be the one.”

“Not even close,” Simon said. “She’s skilled, but-”

“Not somebody you’d want to marry?” Davy said. “Imagine my surprise.”

“I’m never getting married,” Simon said. “I’m a cad, remember?”

“As are we all,” Davy said, watching the gallery door open.

It was Kyle, looking very natty in a shirt and jacket, come to pick up Nadine.

“Kyle,” Davy said genially, thinking, This kid is definitely up to no good. “Date tonight?”

Kyle nodded. “Nadine wants to see the store after business hours,” he said, smiling a little. “She wants to see everything.”

“She’s very career oriented,” Davy said, disliking Kyle even more. He’d seen that smile before. In his mirror.

A few moments later, Andrew and Jeff came in from the street, carrying grocery bags.

“Sunday-night-poker food,” Jeff said cheerfully. “It’s the only reason I play the game.”

Andrew slowed as he saw Kyle. “You’re here to pick up Nadine?”

“Yes, sir.” Kyle stuck out his hand like a gentleman. “I’m Kyle Winstock. Of Winstock Furniture.”

Andrew shook it, looking deeply suspicious. “I’ll tell Nadine you’re here.”

“Thank you, sir,” Kyle said, his smile fading. He looked around at the four of them and added, “I’ll wait outside.”

When he was gone, the four men looked at each other.

“Doughnut,” Davy said.

“Absolute doughnut,” Jeff said.

“My daughter has an affinity for doughnuts,” Andrew said.

“What?” Simon said.

“Two kinds of men in the world,” Davy told him. “Good guys and the guys who are only after one thing. Good guys are muffins and-”

“He’s a doughnut,” Simon said.

“Is Mace illegal?” Andrew said. “I know Gwennie keeps some behind the counter.”

“Why don’t we just talk to Nadine?” Jeff said, once again the voice of reason.

“You go,” Davy said. “We’ll wait here.”

When they were gone, Simon said, “Nadine is not the person I’d converse with on this.”

“Shall we?” Davy gestured to the street where Kyle waited.

“After you,” Simon said and followed him out.

“Kyle, old boy,” Simon said when they were outside, and Kyle turned around, his face a polite mask. “A word with you.”

“Yes, sir?” Kyle smiled at them, citizen of the year.

“About Nadine,” Davy said. “Make a move and we’ll break all your fingers.”

Kyle’s smile froze in place.

“You see, Kyle,” Simon said, still affable, “we know you.”

“Hell, Kyle,” Davy said, “we are you.”

“And we care deeply for Nadine’s health and happiness,” Simon went on. “We are, if you will, honorary uncles.”

“With police records,” Davy added helpfully.

“Uh,” Kyle said.

“So we wanted your assurances,” Simon said, “that Nadine will have a pleasant evening.”

“That won’t involve her Macing you,” Davy said.

“Because we would take it amiss.” Simon smiled at him.

“Which is where the broken lingers would come in.” Davy smiled, too.

“Uh,” Kyle said again, and Nadine came out of the gallery.

“I’m ready,” she said brightly, looking like a present waiting to be unwrapped.

“Touch her and die,” Davy said to Kyle softly.

“Great,” Kyle said, looking from Davy to Simon and back.

Nadine looked at them, too, suspicion dawning in her eyes. She took Kyle’s arm and said, “I forgot to tell you, do not talk to these guys.”