Strange enough, he thought, when the woman had simply been a figure in a painting. How much more complicated and impossible was it now that he knew she was real?

He thought about it while he put some of his house in order. He continued to think about it later when he and Flynn climbed up to sit on the wall surrounding Warrior's Peak.

They each opened a beer and studied the exotic silhouette etched against a gloomy sky.

Lights glowed against the windows here and there, but as they drank their beers in silence, they saw no figure pass behind the glass.

"They probably know we're out here," Flynn said after a time.

"If we take your girlfriend's theory to heart, and label them Celtic gods with a few thousand years under their belts, yeah, pretty safe bet they know we're out here."

"You used to be more open-minded," Flynn noted.

"Ah, no. Not really. Jordan would be the one inclined to bite on this kind of a story line and run with it."

"You see him lately?"

"A couple months ago. He's been doing a lot of traveling, so we don't manage to get together as often as we used to. Fuck it, Flynn." Brad flung an arm around

Flynn's shoulder. "I've missed you assholes."

"Same goes. You going to tell me what you thought of Malory?"

"Classy, intellectual, and very, very hot—despite her dubious taste in men."

Flynn tapped the heels of his ancient tennis shoes against the stone of the wall. "I'm about half crazy about her."

"Serious crazy, or let's mambo crazy?" "I don't know. Haven't figured it yet." He studied the house, and the quarter slice of moon that drifted over it. "I'm hoping it's door number two, because I'd just as soon not get serious crazy at

this point."

"Lily was a social-climbing opportunist with a great rack."

"Jesus, Vane." He wasn't sure whether to laugh or give his friend a hard shove off the seven-foot wall. So he did neither and only brooded instead. "I was in love with her. I was going to marry her."

"Now you're not and you didn't. Lucky break for you. She wasn't worthy, Flynn."

Flynn shifted. He couldn't see Brad's eyes clearly. Their color blended into the night. "Worthy of what?"

"Of you."

"That's a hell of a thing to say."

"You'll feel better about the whole thing once you admit I'm right. Now back to current affairs. I liked her—your Malory—if you're keeping score."

"Even though you think she's whacked."

Boggy ground, Brad mused, even when you were walking it with a friend. "I think she's found herself in extraordinary circumstances and she's caught up in the mystique. Why wouldn't she be?"

Flynn had to smile. "That's just a diplomatic, bullshit way of saying she's whacked."

"You once punched me in the face for saying Joley

Ridenbecker had beaver teeth. I'm not heading meetings on Monday with a black eye."

"See, you are a suit. If I admit that Joley did indeed have teeth like a beaver, will you believe me if I tell you I've never known anyone with less of a whack quotient than Malory Price?"

"Okay, I'll take your word. And I'll admit the whole thing about the paintings is intriguing." Brad gestured with the beer, then drank again. "I'd like to get a look at the one in there myself."

"We can go up, knock on the door."

"In the daylight," Brad decided. "When we haven't been drinking."

"Probably better." "Meanwhile, why don't you tell me more about this Zoe?"

"Haven't known her long, but I did some background checking. On her and Mal. Just in case Dana was getting sucked into some weird-ass scam. She moved to the Valley three years ago, with her kid."

"Husband?"

"Nope. Single parent. Looks like a good one to me. I met the kid. He's bright, normal, appealing. She worked at Hair Today, girly hair place on Market. Word is she's good at her profession, personable with customers, reliable. Got canned the same time Malory did, and around the same time they cut Dana's hours at the library to the bone. Another weird coincidence. She bought this little cardboard box of a house when she moved here. Apparently she's done most of the fixingup work herself."

"Boyfriend?"

"Not that I know of. She… wait a minute. You ask two questions. Husband, boyfriend. My razor-sharp reporter's instinct leads me to the conclusion that you're thinking of the mambo."

"Or something. I should get back. I've got a hell of a lot to do in the next couple of days. But there's this one thing." Brad took another pull on the bottle. "How the hell are we going to get off this wall?"

"Good question." Flynn pursed his lips, studied the ground. "We could just sit here and keep drinking until we fall off."

Brad sighed, drained the bottle. "There's a plan."

Chapter Ten

Malory was barely out of the shower when she heard the knock on her front door. She belted her robe, snagged a towel, and wound it around her hair as she hurried to answer.

“Tod. You're up and about early."

"On my way to the coffee shop to ogle the nine-to-fivers before heading to work." He peered over her right shoulder, her left, then gave her a leer. "Got company?"

Malory swung the door wider in invitation. "No. All alone."

"Ah, too bad."

"You're telling me." She tucked up the ends of the towel more securely. "Want coffee here? I've already put the pot on."

"Not unless you can offer me a skinny mocha latte and a hazelnut muffin."

"Sorry, fresh out."

"Well, maybe I should just give you the good news, then be on my way." Still, he flopped into a chair.

"Oh! New boots?"

"Fabulous, aren't they?" He stretched out his legs, turned his feet right and left to admire them. "They're killing me, of course, but I couldn't resist them. I made a quick run through Nordstrom's on Saturday. Darling, you've got to go." He sat up, grabbed her hand as she curled on the end of the sofa. "The cashmere! There's a cowl neck in periwinkle that's calling your name."

"Periwinkle?" She sighed, long and deep, like a woman under the hands of a skilled lover. "Don't say periwinkle cashmere when I'm in the middle of a shopping moratorium."

"Mal, if you don't treat yourself, who will?"

"That's true. That's so true." She bit her lip. "Nordstrom's?"

"And there's a twinset in a strong peachy pink that was made for you."

"You know I have no defense against twinsets, Tod. You're killing me."

"I'll stop, I'll stop." He held up his hands. "But on to our morning bulletin. The Pamela has stepped in deep and stinky doo-doo."

"Oh, boy." Malory wiggled into the cushions. “Tell me everything. Don't spare the details."

"As if. Okay. We got in a Deco bronze—female figure wearing a flapper-style dress, feathered headband, pearls, gorgeous open-toed shoes, trailing a long scarf. She's absolutely charming. Witty, terrific details, with this sly 'let's you and me Charleston, big boy' smirk on her face. I fell in love."

"Did you call Mrs. Karterfield in Pittsburgh?"

"Ah, see!" He shot a finger in the air, as if proving a point. "Naturally you would assume that, or would have done so personally had you still been in charge. Which you should be."

"Goes without saying."

"I did, of course, call Mrs. Karterfield, who, as expected, asked us to hold it for her until she could come down personally to see it. Next week. And what happens when our darling Mrs. Karterfield from Pittsburgh comes into The Gallery to see a Deco figure?"

"She buys it. And often at least one other piece. If she comes in with a friend, which is usually the case, she harangues her companion until she buys something too. It's a good day when Mrs. Karterfield comes to town."

"Pamela sold it out from under her."

It took Malory ten seconds to find her voice. "What? What? How? Why? Mrs. K's one of our best customers. She always gets first look at Deco bronzes."

His lips folded into a thin, derisive smile. "A bird in the hand. That's what the twit told me when I found out. And how did I find out? I'll tell you," he said with a triumphant ring in his voice. "I found out when Mrs. K came in unexpectedly yesterday afternoon to see it. Just couldn't wait, she told me. And she brought two friends. Two, Mal. I could cry."

"What happened? What did she say?"

"I took her over to see it, and there's a Sold sign tucked under the base. I assumed it was a mistake, but I went to check. Pamela sold it that morning, apparently while I was in the back on the phone trying to soothe Alfred because Pamela the Putrid had accused him of overcharging for the crating for the marble nudes."

"Alfred? Overcharging?" Malory pressed her hands to her temples. "I can't keep up."

"It was horrible, just horrible. It took me twenty minutes to talk him down, and even then I wasn't sure he wouldn't stomp in and beat her with his hammer. Maybe I should've let him," Tod considered, then waved the thought away with both hands. "Anyway, while I was busy with Alfred, Pamela sold Mrs. K's Deco to a stranger . To some fly-by-night, some wanderer in off the street!"

He flopped back, splaying a hand over his chest. "I still can't believe it. Mrs. K was, naturally, very upset, and demanded to see you. Then I had to tell her you weren't with us any longer. And the doo-doo hit the fan. Big time."

"She asked for me? That's so sweet."

"It gets sweeter. Pamela came down. And they got into it. Boy, did they. Mrs. K asking how an item on hold for her could be sold. Pamela getting snippy and says how it's not gallery policy to hold a piece without a cash deposit. Can you imagine ?"