Design on a Crime (29 page)

But I was going to give it a good try.

"Drink up, Haley. It's getting late. You must be in bed before
Papa gets home."

I swigged the rest of the foul mess in a couple of gulps,
hoping my stomach would rebel.

It didn't.

"That's my good girl," Gussie said with a smile. "Now take
your note, and let's go lie down in the lovely living room you
made for me."

In that fraction of a second when she glanced at the
wheelchair controls, I grabbed the silver Georgian epergne
and hefted it at her gun hand. The heavy piece clipped the
inflamed wrist. Gussie cried out in pain.

The weapon flew to the side. I dove after it. Gussie went
for it too, but the arthritis held her back. I reached the gun
first.

"Don't do it!" Gussie wailed.

I aimed, just to keep her from moving. I knew I'd never
use the gun. But then the morphine hit.

The meltdown began in my legs. Before I knew what had
happened, I lay on the Aubusson rug I'd ordered. "Hel ...
help!"

Men rushed in, their movements a weird blur. I heard them
talk of cops and ambulances, but nothing made sense. I heard
a pained keening, not a human sound, but I knew it came from
a human, one tortured beyond the point of sanity.

A woman spoke.

Another cried, argued, roared.

A man yelled, "No!"

Another came and gathered me up in his arms. Everything
spun. My stomach heaved; I retched. The last thing I saw was
a pair of bright green eyes.

How many women throw up at the sight of a green-eyed
white knight?

I know only one.

Me.

Poor Dutch-I couldn't believe I thought of him that way
now. But he'd only wanted to help. And Bella, bless her nutty
heart, after she watched me drive off, worried that I'd gone
alone. She could have called Lila and her Smurfs, but instead,
in true former-starlet form, she called the good-looking guy.

The cavalry drove up in a battered truck only to find me
sprawled on the floor, doped on morphine, Gussie with a
mohair throw in one hand and a gun in the other.

As Dutch and Bella burst in the door, Dad and Tom drove
up. The noise startled Gussie, Bella snatched the gun, and
Dutch picked me up. I threw up.

At least I didn't do it on him.

Gussie broke down, her wails haunting. When she saw
Tom, however, she opened a vial of morphine. Tom cried,
tried to wrestle it from her, but she'd worked herself up to a frenzy that gave her greater strength. She downed the whole
thing.

Detective Tsu showed up then, ready to arrest Gussie. The
initial test on the sculpture showed blood. By the time the ambulance arrived, there was nothing left to do. The morphine
had done its job.

Lucky for me, or as Dad and Tedd would say, by the grace
of God, my nervous stomach did its thing too. I only spent
one night in the hospital.

I recovered quickly. Swallowing my distaste, I met again
with Marge's lawyer-I refused to claim him in any way-and
made some decisions about my bequest. The first was to give
Steve a settlement and send the cheat on his way.

Then I did something that really felt right. I called Ozzie.

"I need your help," I told him.

"What kind?"

"Well, I seem to recall that Marge said you'd taught her
how to do that crazy auction talk. Wanna teach me?"

He was silent for a beat. Then, "Of course. Does that mean
you'll be taking over the business?"

"Only part of it."

He gasped. "What part ... what does that mean ... what's
on your mind?"

"I know next to nothing about the antiques and auctions
business, Ozzie. I think I'd better get a partner. Know any
good ones?"

This time, the silence lasted forever ... almost. "Come on,
Ozzie. Aren't you going to answer?"

"Miss ... er ... Haley? Are you saying what I think you're
saying?"

"Just so you know, Ozzie. I can't think of a better man to
work with, to learn from, or to have as my right hand. Do you
still want that share of the business? I figure your expertise
is worth at least half."

His voice shook with emotion. "You won't regret it. I promise.
You won't-"

"Thanks, Ozzie. I know I can trust you."

Dad walked into the kitchen as I wiped away the tears. I
still had the phone in my hand.

"Who was that?"

When I told him what I'd done, he smiled. "You're getting
there, Haley. I'm proud of you."

I shrugged. "It looks like you were right-you and Mom
and Tyler and Tedd. God's poked a great big hole in my
shell."

It was his turn for tears, quiet, deep-felt ones.

"I'm not there yet, Dad. But I think I'm on my way."

His gray eyes, so much like mine that I felt as though I'd
looked in a mirror, spoke of love. "Remember, Haley. God
will never let you down. 'He who began a good work in
,,
you-

"-will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ
Jesus." I smiled. "I'm counting on him."

Two wild months later, I had reason to remember that little
exchange with Dad. Oh, I'd done my part. I'd continued my
sessions with Tedd, and we were well on the way to becoming friends. More and more we turned to Scripture during
our sessions.

I was seeing my faith in a different light.

And I hadn't missed a chance to listen to my father present the Word of God in church. I'd even begun to enjoy the
missionary society meetings-heaven help me.

But it was at the rescheduled auction of the Gerrity mansion
that I really had to call on my new, baby-food faith.

Ozzie handled the whole thing with grace and his usual
skill. I wasn't ready to try out my new chatter yet, certainly
not on something as huge as the sale of a landmark.

So I sat in the audience and noticed Noreen at my side only
when her paddle was the last to flash after the price reached
Alpine heights.

"So," the socialite said once Ozzie accepted her final bid,
"are you still going to do my new house? I mean, now that
you're so busy with the business and don't need the money
... are you still interested?"

"Yes, Haley." That certain contractor who knew more about
my weaknesses than I cared to share butted in. "Are you going
to make my life a nightmare with your ideas for furniture
placement, froufrous, and paint?"

I looked at Dutch, then at Noreen. Could I work with
them?

When I'd suspected anyone and everyone of killing
Marge, and especially after I'd learned of Noreen's affair
with Steve, I'd doubted I could go through with the project.
But since then, I'd changed. I wasn't the same woman Marge
had recommended.

Dutch shifted in his chair. I glanced at him, and his green
gaze met mine. I blushed, the memory of the night Gussie
tried to kill me too vivid to forget.

He'd driven me crazy, and we'd argued like cats. He was cocky and arrogant, and he had a lousy reputation, but he'd
saved my life.

I sighed, disgusted, but not sure at what.

Maybe God would grant me an extra measure of grace.
He'd helped me with Gussie, and maybe now, with a different kind of help, he'd help me work with Dutch.

"Yeah." I smiled. "When do we start?"

Coming in March 2006

Excerpt from

Decorating Schemes

Stripping is not the best way for a woman to earn her living.
I mean, really. To start out with, the clothes you have to wear
are nothing to write home about, and then look at what it does
to your skin. All those caustic chemicals ruin your hands, you
know? At least I'm the kind who wouldn't be caught dead
at a nail salon; the cost of manicure upkeep would rival the
federal deficit.

As an interior designer-not to mention the new owner,
thanks to an inheritance-of a major auction house, I come in
contact with more than my share of old pieces that need nips
and tweaks, if not complete face-lifts. For that, I have to rely
on those nasty stripping compounds. And don't even think
about the all-natural or organic kind. They just don't do the
job as well or as fast.

That leads me to the other problem. No matter what kind
of gloves I use, they always wind up melted before I complete
the fix to the furniture's finish. That's what my newest pair
had started to do when the phone rang in the workshop at
the warehouse.

"Norwalk Auctions, Haley Farrell speaking."

"Hi, Haley." The fudgy voice was more than familiar. Before I could respond to my latest-and first to live through
the experience-design client, Noreen Daventry continued.
"I hope I didn't catch you at a bad time."

For my gooey gloves, and the phone, no time would be
good. The gloves were done for, and I'd have to douse the receiver with stripper to rid it of the rubbery mess, then
hope and pray that kind of plastic wouldn't succumb to the
chemical too. But I couldn't tell one of the richest women on
the West Coast that I was too busy to talk to her.

"It's never a bad time for a chat with you, Noreen."

"That's very kind, Haley." A hint of humor underscored
Noreen's voice, a clear reminder that we both knew more
about each other than either of us would like.

"Since," she went on, "you're in such a benevolent mood,
this should be a good time to ask you for a favor."

Groan. "Sure. What do you need?"

"I don't need anything. But I do have friends whose home
is in dire need of your talents."

Now she was playing my kind of tune. "Really? What's
their problem?"

"Oh, no problem. Just a house that hasn't been touched in
the last ... oh, I guess it must be fifteen years now. They're
newlyweds, and Dr. Marshall would like to offer his darling
new bride the chance to make the house hers."

"Dr. Marshall ... do you mean Stewart Marshall, the plastic
surgeon?"

"You know Stew, then."

"No, but I do read newspapers."

Noreen chuckled. "Then you already know this job would
be very lucrative for you. And I've raved about your work
to Deedee-the new Mrs. Marshall. They'd like you to come
over as soon as possible-this evening, even-to take a good
look at their place and give them your expert opinion. They
like what you did with my new home."

Noreen bought a white-elephant money pit almost a year ago at the first auction I ran after my inheritance cleared probate. I worked like a horse to finish the redesign in time for
her to move in this spring. She's been in the home a mere
eight weeks now and has already hosted six social-columnworthy bashes.

"I'm glad." I checked every surface for paper and pen or
pencil but found none. Besides, my hands were in no condition
to touch anything. "Tell you what. I ... ah ... have a minor
mess to clear up here, and then I'll call you back."

A throaty laugh flowed over the connection. "Hope you're
not in trouble with the law again."

The nerve of the woman! I haven't been in trouble with
the law.

Never.

Not really.

They just jumped to judgment a few months back and
thought I'd committed a crime that anyone with a shred of
brain matter would know I never could have committed. But
I had to hold my tongue if I wanted to land the job-not a
piece of cake for me.

"Umm ... er ... no. Nothing like that. I just need to take care
of some ah ... paperwork-" paper towels might do the job
... maybe "-to give the Marshalls my complete attention."

Another chuckle tested my patience, so I sent a quick prayer
heavenward.

"I'll be waiting for your call, then," Noreen said. "Oh, and
by the way. You might as well know ahead of time. The Marshalls decided to hire Dutch too."

This time I couldn't keep the groan to myself.

Noreen laughed harder. "That's what I thought. I suppose I should warn Deedee that fireworks will be a daily thing
when her general contractor and interior designer come faceto-face."

What could I say? Dutch Merrill and I don't see eye to eye
on much. Actually, we don't see eye to eye on anything, as
we discovered during the months we were forced to work
together on Noreen's remodel.