“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 see 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.