False Premises (2 page)

“What makes you say that? I
love
the staff at Paprika’s.”

She gave me a warm smile as she opened the door for me. “That’s only because
you
love everyone, Erin.”

The man followed us inside the upscale kitchen store. Annoyed and slightly disconcerted, I whispered to Laura, “I’m going to confront him and ask why he’s following us.”

She touched my arm. “Let’s just ignore him, okay?”

In the center of the first floor of the store, merchandise displays had been removed or shoved aside, and in their place, folding chairs had been set up to face the table where the illustrious Audrey Munroe was about to hold court. Only three chairs were empty, in the far corner of the two front rows. Audrey really had her fan club. As an interior designer, I too had been featured at a couple of these special “evening presentations,” but hadn’t drawn one quarter of this crowd.

We rounded the seats toward the two available chairs in the front row. From the back of the makeshift auditorium, Audrey was currently entertaining a large percentage of the customers, who were craning their necks to listen in as she joked with an elderly couple. She was wearing a chic two-piece black dress, perfectly tailored to flatter her trim, petite frame. She gave me a little wave. Beside her was Hannah Garrison, the manager of Paprika’s. I could tell by Hannah’s plastered-on smile that she’d been trying in vain to urge Audrey forward to begin her talk.

Hannah spotted me, grinned, and started to head over to say hello. But her smile faded midstep and mutated into a glare when she saw my companion. Puzzled, I glanced over my shoulder at Laura and caught her eyeing Hannah with a haughty smirk. Her expression seemed odd; I’d never seen Laura act the least bit haughty. Apparently Laura’s dislike for the “personnel” included the store manager—and was mutual.

Hannah hesitated for a moment but soon joined us. She, like Laura and I, was in her late twenties. Tonight Hannah wore an ill-fitting skirt suit that wasn’t flattering to her stubby, buxom frame. “Thank you so much for coming, Erin. It’s always so great to see you.” Her body English hinted that she was trying hard to ignore Laura’s presence on the other side of me.

The implication that it was
never
great for Hannah to see Laura hung in the air. I replied, “Likewise, Hannah. I love to come here.”

“How are you, Hannah?” Laura asked pleasantly.

Although Hannah’s smile was clearly forced, she replied, “Fine, Laura. And you?”

“Things couldn’t be better. Thanks for asking.”

As if it were a facial tic, Hannah’s lip curled for just a split second, then she shifted her gaze to me. Hannah’s arms were folded tightly across her chest, and Laura still wore the Cheshire cat grin. The tension was so palpable that I babbled, “You’ve got quite the crowd here tonight.”

“Yes, we do,” Hannah replied in hushed tones, “which is really good timing, because we’ve had a bit of trouble lately.”

“Oh?”

“Paprika’s has managed to become the target of a . . .” Her voice faded as she caught sight of the new patron in the second row, directly behind us. The bearded, scruffy man who’d followed us from the bar was apparently having some trouble getting comfortable. The front leg of his folding chair was missing its inch-tall base.

Hannah grimaced and said under her breath to us, “Speak of the devil.” While Laura and I took our front-row seats, Hannah rounded our row and I heard her say quietly, “Please, sir. Not tonight. It isn’t fair to Ms. Munroe, and there’s no way she’s going to mention you or your cause on her television show, no matter
how
big a scene you throw.”

“Huh?” he muttered.

“Tell you what,” Hannah said. Her tone had become patronizing. “Why don’t you come to my office first thing tomorrow morning? You can air all of your grievances regarding Paprika’s merchandise to me personally at that time.”

Dreadlocks harrumphed and, again, seemed to deliberately turn his face when he felt Laura’s gaze on him. “You don’t
sell
these crappy chairs here, do you? ’Cuz someone’s likely to fall off of one and break their neck.”

“I’d be happy to get you a better chair, sir, in exchange for your promise that you’ll listen quietly to the presentation. Please, just for tonight, keep your personal opinions about how we Americans should spend our money to yourself. Okay? Would that be too much to ask?”

I cleared my throat, hoping that I could catch Hannah’s eye. She might want to let this all slide. The attention of the sixty or so people had shifted from Audrey to Hannah and Dreadlocks’ conversation, which, to my mind, was defeating her purpose.

“
Look
at this!” As if to demonstrate his concern about the chair, he wobbled from side to side, the chair legs clanging against the tile floor. “This chair’s totally
useless.
” He then hopped to his feet and bent down to examine the offending leg.

As he leaned over, the back of his shirt lifted a little, and I caught sight of an object tucked into his waistline. I stared in alarm as the man continued, “See? Here’s the problem,” he groused. “This one’s busted.”

Cupping my hand over my mouth so that only Laura could hear, I whispered, “Look! The guy’s got a gun!”

Laura sprang to her feet. The sudden motion caught Dreadlocks’ eye; he turned, and the two stared at each other. Laura gasped, then she yelled, “Get a grip on yourself! Stop hassling the poor woman! She made a perfectly reasonable request that you speak to her tomorrow!”

Why on earth was Laura so aggressive to an
armed
man? I shot a pleading look at Audrey, who cried, “Goodness! Look at the time!” and rushed forward. “Let’s all take our seats—” With a nod to the still-standing dreadlocked man, she added, “Such as they are, and we’ll begin talking about table settings.”

As much as I wanted to set the tone by facing forward in my seat, Laura maintained her attempt to stare down the armed man. I stood up beside her. She and I had to get out of here right now; Dreadlocks wouldn’t dare follow us with this many witnesses.

“Here,” I said, offering him my chair. “Why don’t you take this one, and—”

“You need to get out of here,” Laura snarled at him. Her eyes were blazing. “Now!”

“Take it easy, miss. I’m just minding my own business, trying to learn about table settings. If
someone
could just
get
me a
freakin’
chair with four legs the same length, you
won’t
hear another—”

He made a broad gesture and accidentally smacked Hannah in the chest. She gasped and stepped back.

Laura cried, “That does it!” She kicked her seat aside, grabbed the man’s arm, and, in one swift motion, flipped him onto the floor, nearly upsetting a display of cutlery in the process.

The store patrons gasped and shrieked, riveted. I couldn’t help but stare. The man’s hair had shifted. As if merely checking his skull for injuries, he grabbed his head with both hands to center his wig. He struggled to his feet, and the weapon fell from his belt. A middle-aged woman in the seat next to his shrilled, “Oh, my God! He’s got a gun!”

Everyone began to clamber to their feet. Already racing for the exit, Laura whipped out her cell phone and cried over her shoulder, “I’m calling the police! I’ll be right back with them!”

Audrey’s crowd also started to head for the exit. The man stuffed the gun into the back of his pants and shouted over the pandemonium, “Wait! It’s okay, everyone! I’m an undercover cop!”

His words had an eye-of-the-hurricane effect on the crowd. The frantic commotion gradually quieted a little, and the two women closest to the exit hesitated and looked back at him tentatively.

“Ladies. Please! As an officer of the law, I have no intention of firing my gun, I assure you, and I’m not even on duty tonight.” His voice was authoritative, even as he made placating gestures. “If everyone could please just take their seats . . .” He kept repeating this request, and eventually the edgy patrons began to shuffle back toward the chairs. The man glanced at Audrey. “Real sorry, ma’am. I’ll get out of everyone’s hair now.” He left in the same direction that Laura had gone.

Audrey cleared her throat briskly and rang a small brass bell. “I hope everyone enjoyed my preshow entertainment, provided to you courtesy of the Free-for-All Players of Piedmont, Colorado. Be sure to check your local papers for their next performance. I hear their
Instant Shakespeare
is especially enjoyable. But right now, it’s time to talk table settings.”

Everyone chuckled with relief and began to reclaim their seats in earnest. There was no way I could simply sit down and listen to Audrey’s presentation. Much as I wanted to believe that the wig-wearing man was truly a police officer, he hadn’t shown his badge, he’d called attention to himself despite claiming to be undercover, and he was following Laura again.

I started to make my way toward the exit, past Hannah. She grabbed my elbow. “Erin. Are you all right?”

“Fine. But I’d better go check on my friend. Even though she’s probably already on her way back here with a uniformed officer.”

Hannah clicked her tongue and grumbled, “You obviously don’t know Laura very well. There’s no way she’s coming back, let alone with a cop.” She turned on her heel and stepped beside Audrey to introduce her to the audience.

I mouthed “Sorry” to Audrey and left. I trotted in the same direction Laura had headed and circled the entire pedestrian mall twice. Laura had vanished, as had the “undercover cop.”

Worry niggled at me the next morning as I made the
drive west toward Laura’s sprawling mountain house, so I repeated to myself my personal mantra—confidence and optimism—which helped me to calm my nerves. Although I’d phoned Laura twice last night and left messages both times to “please call me back regardless of the hour,” she hadn’t returned my calls, and there’d been no answer when I tried again just an hour ago. If no one was home now, I decided, I could at least leave a note on the door.

I parked in the driveway of the two-story house, which, with its formidable white columns and arched windows, had a grand,
Gone with the Wind
aura despite its stucco exterior and mountain setting. I rang the doorbell and glanced around as I waited on the porch. The flowers were starting to bloom, after a late start. The climate in the mountains tends to delay Colorado’s lower-elevation growing season by a good month or so.

Laura’s boyfriend answered the door. Dave Holland had a case of bed head—the hair on the back of his head stuck straight up in the air like the flag on a mailbox—and he wasn’t wearing his thick glasses. He gave me a goofy grin and queried cautiously, “Erin?”

“Yes. Hi, Dave.”

“Well. Hello there. Long time no see.”

“How’ve you been, Dave?”

“Good. Just got back from a long business trip to Atlanta late last night.”

“Oh, dear. I hope I didn’t wake you. I came over to see Laura. Is she home?”

“Yeah. She’s in the john or something, but she’ll be right out. Come on in.”

“Thanks.” I closed the door behind me as I entered the foyer. To my frustration, Dave, who was at least six foot two, was standing so close to me that he was blocking my view into the house.

He rocked on his heels a little and crossed and then re-crossed his arms. “I’d offer you something to drink, but it’d take me forever. My glasses seem to have disappeared. My
eye
glasses, I mean, not the drinking glasses. Anyway, point is, I’m as blind as a bat without them.”

“Jeez. That’s got to be really unpleasant. Don’t you have any backup glasses, or contact lenses?”

“Yeah, but I seem to have misplaced
those,
as well. All I’ve got are my prescription sunglasses, but I feel like an idiot wearing those indoors. Anyway, I’ve been meaning to tell you, Laura’s still loving all these hoity-toity old antiques you pulled together for us. Hardly a day goes by when she doesn’t mention how much she likes this thing or the other.” He stepped back and leaned against the doorjamb.

“That’s great to hear. I’m always . . .” My voice drifted as my attention was captured by the Louis XV mirror in the foyer. Something was terribly wrong.

“You’re always
what
?” Dave prompted.

Stunned into silence, I walked over to the giltwood mirror and gently touched the frame. This was a cheap copy of the astonishing circa 1760 piece that I’d helped them purchase for twenty thousand dollars! And I’d had to dicker hard to get the antiques dealer to sell it at that price.

Dave squinted at me. “Is something the matter with the mirror? Or with your face?”

“The mirror was hanging a little crooked.” Inwardly, I was shaking. Because Laura was my friend but I barely knew Dave, I wanted to discuss this with her first.

Had my clients been swindled? Had someone managed to swap this mirror with the expensive one that I’d installed? But how would that be possible? Laura’s knowledge of antiques was comparable to my own. The inferiority of the scrollwork on the gold spray-painted frame was blatant.

I took a calming breath. Surely I was panicking over nothing. Dave or Laura must have simply decided that twenty grand for a mirror was too much, so they’d returned it.

“Grab a seat,” Dave suggested as he ushered me into their front room. “I’ll go see where she is.”

My knees nearly buckled, but I managed to sputter “Thank you” as he wandered away to look for Laura. Though horror-struck, I remained standing. This room had been my personal masterpiece—my chance to work with an unlimited budget and a sophisticated client whose tastes mirrored my own. The results had been glorious, a radiant ensemble of unparalleled beauty in these irreplaceable handcrafted pieces that brought such serenity and warmth to the space, a household that conjured images of less-harried times when one-of-a-kind quality was celebrated and attention to detail mattered. Now just the dressings remained. The subtle peach hues on the ethereal lofted walls were the same, as were the vibrant window treatments, the to-die-for accessories, and even the spectacular Oriental area rug with its rich classic royal reds and blues. All unchanged. But the antiques, the very heart and soul of the room and which I’d poured my
own
heart and soul into to find, had been replaced with fakes.