Sleight Of Hand (4 page)

Cindy's voice pulled him from the annoying
thought.

"Tea. That's right. Chance said you lived in
England. You're a photographer." She aimed her pencil at Sarah's
camera.

"Yes." Sarah pulled her camera from around
her neck and placed it on the table in front of her. "Sometime when
you're not so busy, I'd love to photograph you."

"Me?" Cindy's eyes widened. "You gotta be
kidding."

Chance watched a cool, assessing look creep
into Sarah's eyes. He looked at Cindy and wondered what Sarah saw.
Yesterday, he hadn't quite decided what look the scrawny, heavily
made-up waitress was going for. She sort of looked like a Phyllis
Diller who baked homemade cookies and crocheted. Man. He ran a hand
over his face. That kiss really had knocked him out of the
game.

"I'm serious." Sarah continued to study
Cindy. "In the morning, I think. Over by the front window." She
nodded at the large window that filled most of the wall beside the
door.

"Well." Cindy followed Sarah's gaze to the
window, then looked back at her. "You famous or something?"

"No. But I'm collecting portraits for a book.
Here, I have an example in my wallet of the kind of picture I
take." Sarah pulled a small leather wallet out of the back pocket
of her jeans.

When she flipped it open to a head shot of
her father, Chance bit the inside of his mouth to stop from
smiling. Cunning little devil, wasn't she? He'd have to keep that
in mind, he decided as he watched for a flicker of recognition on
the waitress's face.

Cindy took the offered wallet and studied the
picture. "He's got an interesting face." She held the wallet
further away from her, her forehead wrinkling with concentration.
"Is he someone famous? He looks kind of familiar."

Chance saw a cornered look flash in Sarah's
eyes. Great. She didn't know enough to have a back-up story. He
tugged the wallet out of Cindy's hand to look at O'Sullivan's
picture.

She'd used shadow to catch her father's
charm, and light to emphasize the multiple lines of experience that
creased his face. It was an excellent picture, portraying the older
man exactly as he was: a charmer who knew more than he'd ever
tell.

Deciding part of the truth might help them
out of the sticky position Sarah had put them in, he laid the
wallet open on the table. "He's Sarah's father." He tapped his
finger on the photo to direct Cindy's attention away from the
surprised expression on Sarah's face.

"He's missing," he continued. "We think he
might have Alzheimer's. Years ago, he used to come up here to hunt.
I thought...." He spread his hands open in front of him in a
helpless gesture. "The doctor said the illness hasn't reached the
advanced stage yet, so he probably still remembers some things.
Unfortunately, we don't know what places or people he
remembers."

He made sure his half smile held the right
amount of uncertainty. If they convinced Cindy of the story,
chances were they'd convince the whole town.

Cindy studied the picture, then turned her
thoughtful gaze on them.

"Looking for my father must seem like an odd
thing to combine with a honeymoon, but Chance knows I can't be
completely happy until I find him."

He controlled his surprise at Sarah's
perception. His admiration increased when she looked at Cindy as if
she were sharing a secret.

Cindy's expression softened as she patted
Sarah's shoulder. "You poor thing. You're going to have your hands
full handling this rogue.

"And you." She turned on him. "You're a piece
of work, you are."

Without taking a breath, she swung back to
Sarah. "You take your time deciding what to eat, honey. I'll be
back in a few minutes." She started to walk away, stopped and spun
around. "I'll keep my eyes open for your father. Don't you worry."
With another glare in his direction, she flounced toward the
kitchen.

"Do you have the faintest idea what that was
all about?" Sarah looked dazed, as if she had stumbled into a
parallel universe.

"Kind of." Damned if he would explain it to
her, though.

He studied her baffled face, intrigued she
didn't have a clue that Cindy assumed him guilty of some
unforgivable transgression. Why else would any normal hot-blooded
man spend his honeymoon looking for his father-in-law if not to
atone for his supposed sins?

He shifted uneasily on the plastic covered
bench seat, remembering more than a few sins he'd committed over
the years.

"You're not going to tell me, are you?" Sarah
leaned back into the corner of the booth.

"I'll tell you this much," he said, glad to
vent his anger. "If you ever do something stupid like flash your
father's picture around without telling me first, I'll put you on a
plane so fast, you'll think you dreamed being here."

Sarah studied her neatly trimmed fingernails,
then curled her hand into a fist and rapped it gently on the table
as she looked around the restaurant. "Looks like a lot of people
come here. Cindy must have the scoop on just about everyone who
passes through town."

She hesitated, an innocent look on her face.
"I thought she liked me better than you. What do you think?"

He clenched his teeth, more against the
pleasure of her comeback, than the truth of what she said. He knew
damned well he could charm anything he needed out of Cindy.

Sarah, now--he looked at her tight fist and
covered her hand with his before he could censor his actions. Her
fingers started to uncurl, then as if realizing what she was doing,
snatched her hand from under his.

Pleased she wasn't as immune to him as she
pretended to be, he smiled at the slender man who approached their
booth.

"Melvin, my man. Have a seat and meet the
little woman." He pulled Sarah close to his side, his grip firm on
her shoulder to stop her from pulling away. "Isn't she something?
Melvin's the local historian, honey. He works at the museum." He
grinned at Sarah, amused by her brittle smile.

"Hi." The stick-like man bobbed his head
toward Sarah and sat across from them. "Chance says you're a
photographer?"

"Yes, I am." She shifted sideways and angled
her elbow into Chance's side. As he bit back his gasp of pain, he
shot her a sideways admiring glance. This particular rich, spoiled
lady was not acting true to form. She should be pouting or sulking
right about now, not holding her own.

"I thought you might be interested in this."
Melvin slid a newspaper across the table toward her. "We managed to
talk the curators of the Ansel Adams exhibition into bringing part
of their show to Ashley Cove for a week. It opens tomorrow."

Chance tensed, instantly picking up on
Sarah's uneasiness as she scanned the article in the paper. Geez.
Was he hard-wired to her panic buttons or what?

She looked up from the papers. "An Ansel
Adams' exhibition is coming here?"

Hearing the surprised wariness in her voice,
Chance turned to study her. How had he known what she felt before
she said a word? He hadn't even been looking at her. Whatever it
was, it better not work in the reverse; Sarah picking up on what he
was feeling. He dropped his hand from her shoulder and pulled his
arm away.

Stick with the program. Something more
important than his tuning into Sarah's feelings was going down
here. He pulled the newspaper over in front of him. "Ansel Adams,
the California photographer?"

"Yes." Melvin leaned forward
enthusiastically. "It took our little gallery quite a while to
convince the curators of that Canadian tour to make a detour. Of
course, we're not getting the full exhibition here, but twenty
prints is nothing to shake your head at."

Sarah ran a finger over the top of her
camera. "A town this size--"

"I know." Melvin nodded in agreement. "We
don't look like much, but you'd be surprised at the number of
retired people who live in the outlying area. We have a
considerable amount of support."

"How much is an Ansel Adams' original worth?"
Chance directed his question more to Sarah than Melvin.

"I saw one priced at six thousand dollars."
Her shoulders lifted in a shrug. "It would all depend on the
bidding, I suppose."

"That's six thousand American." Melvin
pointed out.

"I'm definitely looking forward to the
exhibition, Melvin. It was very thoughtful of you to mention it to
me." Sarah beamed at him as she leaned forward in a confidential
way. "This just shows how little I understand about small towns. To
find an Adams exhibit here is unbelievable."

Melvin's face turned deep red, and his eyes
bulged with admiration as he gazed soulfully at Sarah.

A dark, tight feeling shot through Chance,
followed by the urge to slap the silly grin off the librarian's
face. His breath slowly escaped between his teeth when Cindy
appeared at their booth with their coffee and tea.

"I bet these folks haven't had time to look
at the menu with you blathering at them," she scolded Melvin.

Chance almost felt sorry for the young man as
Melvin stared at Cindy with a stunned look in his eyes. As though
realizing he'd been ogling Chance's bride, he shot an apologetic
look to him.

Chance crossed his arms over his chest and
glared back, making sure Melvin understood his silent bugger-off
message.

The scrawny historian shot to his feet,
almost knocking Cindy over in his haste to get away. "Sorry." He
spoke directly to Chance. "I, ah...sorry."

He slid out of the booth. "You're welcome to
come to our reception tomorrow night. The address is in the paper."
He kept his eyes on Chance as if he didn't dare look away. With a
half-hearted smile, he turned and fled from the restaurant.

"There may be hope for you yet." Cindy spoke
loud enough for only him to hear as she set their coffee and tea on
the table. "We've got fresh scallops in today." She picked up her
order book from the tray.

"Sounds good to me. Sarah?"

Interesting how the angry sparks in her eyes
turned them almost luminous. Chance studied Sarah's narrowed gaze.
She definitely didn't look as though she were enamored with him. It
would be interesting to see her look at him like she was supposed
to, like she was in love with him. His throat suddenly dry and
tight, he grabbed his cup of coffee and drank the hot, black
liquid.

"I love fresh seafood." Sarah passed the menu
to Cindy. "Can I have a salad with that instead of the other
vegetables?"

"Not a problem, honey. This won't take long."
Cindy winked at them. "I know you two are anxious to get back to
your love nest."

After the explosive kiss they'd shared, he
didn't know if he could trust himself back at the old love nest. He
took another gulp from his mug, but the steaming coffee added to
his rising temperature.

Sarah leaned toward him, her voice low, but
not low enough for him to miss her annoyance. "Why did you do
that?"

"What, order scallops?"

"You know exactly what I mean. Why were you
rude to Melvin? I thought you wanted people to open up to us."

"You don't know much about men, do you?" He
drained his coffee cup.

"I suppose you're going to enlighten me."

"A hint, that's all you get." He smiled,
enjoying her exasperation. "It's like this. It doesn't matter who
or what we are, men don't think with their brains. At least, not
when we're around a beautiful woman like you."

Her eyes widened, and her face flushed pink
as his meaning sunk in. She pulled the newspaper in front of her
and stared down at it. "You are incorrigible, Chance Spencer."

"No, I'm a man, and for once, I'm trying to
be honest."

Before he could stop himself, he reached out
and ran his hand down her braid. "I wish you hadn't done this to
your hair."

"You're the one who said I'd stick out too
much around here." She kept her gaze trained on the paper.

"Here we go. Told you it wouldn't take long."
Cindy plunked two plates down on the table and scooped up the
newspaper. "Melvin showed me a book of Ansel Adams' photographs the
other day." She tossed the newspaper on her empty tray. "Don't get
me wrong, I thought those pictures were real good, but they just
don't compare to the Group of Seven."

Chance's hand halted halfway to his mouth,
the fat, juicy scallop speared on the end of his fork forgotten. He
placed the fork back on his plate. "That's an unusual comparison,
Cindy," he said, carefully.

"That's what I told Melvin. Who's going to
look at photographs, when all of us grew up staring at Tom Thomson
and Lauren Harris prints on the walls of our school?" Cindy hoisted
her tray on to one hip. "People like the familiar, I told him.
Nobody's going to care about some guy from California when we've
got the originals of our very own Canadian artists to look at."

"You mean there's an exhibition of the Group
of Seven as well as Ansel Adams?" Sarah's voice was high with
disbelief.

"Crazy, isn't it?" Cindy crowed. "A little
town like Ashley Cove having an exhibition worth millions of
dollars. Well, a couple of million, anyway," she added.

Knowing the cost of security for shows
similar to this one, Chance couldn't believe what he was
hearing.

"Where does the money come from for all this?
Security alone can run you thousands of dollars." He picked up his
fork and ate as though he wasn't really interested.

Cindy snorted. "What security? You mean the
extra lock they put on the door? Whadda you think? That guy in the
papers all the time...that thief...what's his name? Simple Simon.
Yeah. You think he's going to show up here? This isn't New York,
Chance."

Chance choked on his scallop, a mix of fear
and glee threading through him. He couldn't wait to catch
O'Sullivan in action.

On the other hand, he'd half promised FBI
Agent Gage he wouldn't leave the States.
If I ever crawl out of
my buddy Steve's bar and move on, I'll let you know.
Gage had
smirked and raised an eyebrow, but he hadn't said anything.