Jayne Castle: Obsidian Prey

"I'll take care of it."

Cruz did not slow down. He kept going toward the door. Vincent was already there doing his happy dance and chortling a greeting. Lyra relaxed. Whoever was out in the hall was a friend.

Cruz opened the door. It took Lyra a few seconds to recognize the woman on the other side. Nancy's eyes were concealed behind oversized dark glasses. It promised to be another warm day, but she was wearing a heavy winter coat. The hood was pulled up around her face. She clutched a newspaper in one hand.

"About time," Nancy muttered. She glanced anxiously back down the stairs and rushed into the loft. "Close the door. Quick. I parked in the alley. I don't think anyone saw me on the street, but sooner or later they'll find this place."

"What's wrong?" Lyra asked. "Are you all right?"

"No, I'm not all right. I'm freaked out of my mind. You should be, too. We've got to get out of town. Throw some things into a suitcase, grab Vincent, and let's go. We can hide out at my parents' house on the lake."

"Take it easy," Cruz said. He closed the door with an air of great calm and went toward the kitchen. "How about some coffee first?"

"We don't have time for coffee," Nancy said. She jerked off her sunglasses and pushed back her hood. "Haven't you two seen the morning papers?"

"Not yet," Lyra said. "Why?"

"This is why." Nancy held up the copy of the Herald , displaying the front page.

Lyra stared with mounting horror at the photographs positioned just below the fold. The first was a picture of Vincent, clearly identifiable by his red beret. He was sitting on the kitchen counter, a cookie in one hand, a paintbrush in the other. The second photo was of one of the three paintings that had been auctioned off the night before.

The headline read, "Art Scam at Local Gallery?"

"Oh, my Lord," Lyra whispered. She yanked the newspaper out of Nancy's hands. "The plumber. I knew there was something off with that guy. The son of a bitch was a spy. That critic at the Frequency Herald must have hired him to watch your gallery. He probably saw me bringing Vincent's paintings in through the back door. Later he hired someone to pose as a plumber to get into my loft."

"I knew that critic was determined to find out the identity of Chimera," Nancy said, "but who would think that he would stoop to this? And how did he figure out that Vincent was the artist and not you?"

Lyra sighed. "Vincent was playing with his paints the day the plumber arrived. In fact, he was working on one of the paintings we sold last night."

"We're doomed," Nancy said darkly. "Get your things."

"I keep a pack ready," Lyra said. "Give me a few minutes to shower and get into some clothes."

"I strongly suggest coffee and breakfast before you two hightail it out of town," Cruz said from the kitchen. "You'll need the energy."

Nancy glared at him. "You don't understand. When Mr. Anonymous picks up the morning paper and finds out he bought six paintings that were done by a dust bunny, he's going to raise holy heck. We can't even refund all of his money. We spent what we got for the first three. Whatever happens, the reputation of the Halifax Gallery will be in ruins."

Lyra paused in the bedroom entrance. "And so will the reputation of Dore Tuning & Consulting. You know what people say about small-time tuners like me. A lot of folks think we're low level scam artists even on a good day. When it gets out that I was involved in this fiasco, I might as well close my doors for good."

Cruz set a large frying pan on the stove. "Wait until you taste my scrambled eggs. I don't do a lot of things in the kitchen, but I'm good with scrambled eggs."

Lyra narrowed her eyes. "You don't seem to grasp the gravity of the situation, Cruz."

"Probably because the situation is not grave." Cruz opened the refrigerator door. "Mr. Anonymous is satisfied with his paintings. He won't be suing the Halifax Gallery or anyone else."

"How do you know that?" Nancy demanded.

Understanding slammed through Lyra. She watched Cruz take a carton of eggs out of the refrigerator.

"Oh, geez," she whispered. "You're Mr. Anonymous, aren't you? You bought the first three paintings, too."

Cruz smiled. "They're all hanging in my office as we speak. I don't think the three I picked up last night will fit in that space, though. I'll probably put them up in my house, instead. The walls are pretty bare. The place could use some color."

"Wait a second," Lyra said. "You were at the auction last night. You stopped bidding early on. The winning bid came in by phone."

"It was placed by the same person who bought the first three paintings," Nancy said. "I recognized the voice."

"That would be because I used the same person to bid last night that I did to pick up the other paintings."

"Who?" Lyra demanded.

"A friend who owns a gallery in my section of the Quarter. He owed me a favor."

"Holy dust bunny," Nancy breathed. "Give me a minute here. I need time to wrap my brain around this thing."

"Good grief." Lyra stared at Cruz. "How did you find out that we were selling Vincent's paintings?"

"I knew Nancy was your best friend. I subscribed to the Halifax Gallery's e-mail newsletter. When the first pictures went up for sale, I recognized Vincent's work immediately. They were all from his blue period, remember? He was just getting started with that color when you kicked me out. I figured, hey, what are the odds?"

"So you bought all three paintings?" Nancy said, still looking stunned. "Even though you knew they were done by a dust bunny?"

He cracked an egg into a bowl. "Art either hits you on a personal level, or it doesn't. Vincent's pictures were like little slices of Lyra's life. Whenever I looked at them, I thought about being here with her in her loft. Talk about personal. The paintings gave me something to cling to while I waited for her to forgive me."

"That is so romantic," Nancy said in a breathy voice.

Cruz cracked another egg. "Sweetwaters are good at romantic."

Lyra gave him a warning look. "We are not going there."

"Okay, you two can deal with your personal issues some other time," Nancy interrupted briskly. "We've got a major crisis here. Evidently Mr. Anonymous, aka Cruz Sweetwater, will not be suing the Halifax Gallery for fraud. That is one thing we no longer have to worry about. But that still leaves Lyra and me with some problems. The critic at the Herald has smeared us all over the front page of the paper."

"To say nothing of Vincent," Lyra said indignantly. "The guy at the Herald was the first to applaud his pictures when you put them up in your gallery. He's pissed off now only because he discovered that they were painted by a dust bunny. We made him look stupid."

"So now you make him look sharp and insightful," Cruz said. He cracked another egg into the bowl.

Lyra and Nancy looked at him.

"How do we do that?" Lyra asked.

"You and Lyra will give an interview to the Herald critic congratulating him for spotting the little art joke that the Halifax Gallery perpetrated on the art world. Then you will invite him and everyone else in the art and antiquities field to the first public exhibition of rare amber artifacts from the vaults of Amber Inc. Said exhibition to be held at the Halifax Gallery."

"Good grief." Lyra could not believe her ears. "It's brilliant."

"Are you serious?" Nancy's eyes widened. "You'd really let me do an exhibition of objects from the Sweetwater family's personal collection?"

"Hell, I'll pay you to clean out that vault." Cruz opened a drawer and found a whisk. "It's about time we got rid of some of the junk and took a decent inventory."

Lyra laughed. "In the antiquities world, one man's junk is another man's priceless artifact."