Faking It - Crusie Jennifer - Страница 13

“You going to stay for two months?” Nadine said, eyeing his duffel with suspicion.

“Probably not,” Davy said, grinning at her. “Basically, I’m on my way to Australia.”

“Support Your Local Sheriff,” Ethan said.

“I don’t know that one,” Nadine said, shoving her hand at Davy. “I’m Nadine and this is my grandmother, Gwennie.” She nodded over her shoulder. “That’s Burton and that’s Ethan, and that’s Steve, sniffing your foot.”

“Hey,” Ethan said, waving his muffin. Burton glowered. Steve sat down and scratched behind his ear.

“Can we go now?” Burton said.

“No,” Nadine said, and Burton shut up.

“Can you give me references?” Gwen said to Davy.

“Not from here,” Davy said. “I can give you several in Florida. Miami.”

Florida, Gwen thought. Sparkling blue water. Cool white beaches. Alcoholic drinks with little umbrellas. She’d kill to be in Florida, even if it was June.

“We gotta go now,” Burton said, slinging his arm around Nadine’s shoulders. Nadine looked annoyed while Ethan munched his muffin, ignoring Burton completely.

“The jacket,” Gwen said to Nadine. “It’s Louise’s. If you sweat in it, there’ll be hell to pay.”

“You’re right.” Nadine shrugged off the jacket and Burton ’s arm at the same time. “Take the hair, too,” she said, and pulled off the black wig, freeing the damp blonde curls matted around her face. “June is not a Goth month.”

Burton was disgusted, but then, he always was, Gwen thought. Clearly Nadine had inherited the Goodnight women’s legendary taste for impossible men. She looked back at Davy again. Perhaps Louise should not meet this one.

“See you later, Australia,” Nadine said, and went out the door, Burton ’s arm around her once again. Ethan ambled behind them both, finishing off his muffin.

Davy leaned on the counter and watched them go. “She does know she’s with the wrong guy?”

“I don’t know,” Gwen said. “Nadine is a very deep child.”

Back in the office, the jukebox started to play “Wishin’ and Hopin’.”

“Dusty,” Davy said, lifting his chin to listen. “Good omen. Am I renting?”

Sixteen hundred dollars. “Yes,” Gwen said.

He nodded. “Now, there’s just one problem.”

I knew it.

“I got my pocket picked in a bar last night,” he was saying. “Dumb of me. I’ve got money coming in later, but I had to cancel all my credit cards, so for right now all I have is a hundred bucks.”

He smiled at her again and her lips quirked automatically. A hundred bucks was a start, and it wasn’t as if there was anything in the apartment worth stealing.

She let her eyes slide sideways to Dorcas’s beautifully painted but depraved fishermen.

Or in the gallery.

“But I can have a friend wire me the rest by tomorrow. Is that all right with you?”

“Yes,” Gwen said, giving up.

He said, “You are a good person,” and handed her five twenties.

Gwen took them. “The room’s on the fourth floor. I’ll get the key and take you up.”

She backed into the office and fished in the desk for the key to 4B, across the hall from Dorcas in 4A. She could have put him in 2B, but that would have put him across from her apartment. Dorcas was always expecting the worst anyway. If he turned out to be an ax murderer, he could reinforce her theory of life. She took the keys out to him.

“Thank you,” he said, taking the key ring. “You won’t regret this.” Then he must have seen something in her eyes because he stopped and added, “Really. It’s okay,” and for a moment she felt that it was, that whatever he was, it would be fine.

Then she realized who he reminded her of. Tony. Right down to the “You won’t regret this,” when he’d proposed and she’d accepted, not knowing much about him except he appeared to be crazy about her and she was starting to appear to be pregnant with Eve.

“Hello?” he said, and she realized she’d been staring at him.

“Right this way,” she said, and steered him out of the gallery before he turned into Tony and sold her a Finster.

DAVY WASN’T SURE what he’d said to make Gwen Goodnight stare at him as if he were the Angel of Death, but she seemed to be dealing with it as she led him up the three flights of stairs to the apartment. The hall could have used some paint, but it was clean and well lit, which was more than Davy could have said for a lot of the places he’d lived in. His landlady didn’t have much money, he deduced, but she was hardworking. Or at least somebody was hardworking. Probably not Nadine.

He grinned a little to himself, thinking of Nadine’s curly hair and pale blue eyes; clearly she was somebody who swam in Betty’s gene pool. And Gwen, too. If you lined them up, all three of them with those weird eyes, they’d look like an outtake from Children of the Damned.

“So I’ve met your granddaughter,” Davy said to Gwen, as they reached the top of the second set of stairs. “When can I meet your daughter?”

“When you’ve had time to rest,” Gwen said without looking back. “My daughters can wear on a person.”

More than one, Davy thought, and almost ran into Gwen, who’d stopped on the stairs above him.

“How’d you know I have daughters?” she asked him.

“Well, Nadine had to come from somewhere.”

“Maybe I had a son.”

“Lucky guess,” Davy said.

Gwen did not look appeased, but she went up the next flight of stairs and gestured to the door on her left. “Four B.”

Davy put the key in the lock and turned it, but before he could go in, the door to 4A opened and a ghost stood in the doorway, arms akimbo.

“Dorcas,” Gwen said, smiling brightly. “This is Davy Dempsey, your new neighbor. Davy, this is Dorcas Finster.”

Dorcas was tall, thin, patrician-looking, and smelled of turpentine and linseed oil, but mostly she was white: short white hair, dead-white skin, huge white artist’s smock. An equally white cat twined around her ankles and then sat down on the landing.

“And Ariadne,” Gwen said, nodding to the cat.

“Nice to meet you, Dorcas,” Davy said, not sure it was.

Dorcas looked him up and down. She did not have pale blue eyes, Davy noticed, which was some relief. She shook her head. “Watch out for Louise,” she said, and shut her door. Ariadne sat on the landing, unperturbed about being stranded.

“Louise?” Davy said to Gwen. “Who’s Louise?”

“Dorcas likes to be colorful,” Gwen said, and Davy looked at her in disbelief. “So there’s your room.”

The apartment held a shabby blue couch, a table painted in blue stripes, two blue chairs, and through an archway, a bed covered in a blue-and-purple crazy quilt with a framed sampler over it. When he opened the door next to the bed, he found a small bathroom with a shower. The place was small, shabby, clean, close to Clea, and even closer to Betty. “Perfect,” Davy told Gwen, who looked around at the room to see what she’d missed.

“You’re easy to please,” Gwen said, heading for the door. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“I certainly will,” Davy said, as she shut the door, thinking, Send up your daughters, I think I met one of them last night. He dropped his bag on the floor and sat on the bed, expecting the rattle of ancient bed springs as he bounced on it and hitting a solid mattress instead. Bless you, Gwennie, he thought and then wondered again what he’d said to her to put her off. The bed quilt distracted him, and he tried to make sense of the pattern, a crazy quilt with lots of yellow lopsided diamonds lined with sharp white triangles that looked like teeth. Which meant that either he was deeply disturbed or the quilt maker was.

He got up to unpack his bag and glanced at the sampler. It was worked in blues and greens, neat rows of alphabets and numbers and a scene of a house flanked by two trees. Davy looked closer at the lettering: