Page 22 of Dead Ringer

There weren’t a lot of cars in the parking lot, which made sense since it was a Wednesday afternoon. I didn’t know a whole lot about the art scene, but it felt a little like the Hollywood parties I was used to, and those were a strictly evening kind of thing. I figured the place was probably jumping at night and on the weekends, people drinking wine and looking at paintings.

Come to think of it, I didn’t really know what people did in galleries.

It didn’t occur to me until I was halfway across the parking lot that the place might not even be open. Lucky for me, though, the door opened easily under my hand when I tugged on it.

Maybe I was a dizzy dame, but I was glad I’d stopped in at Cain’s house to change after Magda’s wake. Showing up atNouveauxin all black would have felt a bit like sacrilege. The dress I was wearing now was one of my favorites: buttercup yellow, and it hung just past my knees. Normally, I probably would have wanted something red, or maybe purple, but I loved the way the dress swung around me like a dance partner.

The inside of the gallery wasn’t dark, not by any stretch. With all those windows letting the light pour in, sliding like honey across the polished wood floors, and the lamps and pot lights set up to showcase every piece like it was the star of the whole joint, there was no way the building could ever be dim.

But somehow, and don’t ask me how they did it, the place felt shadowy. Private. Like walking into a grotto, where everything is cool and green, and the trees spread their branches and block out the sky, letting only bits of dappled sun through.

The big open space of the building had been broken up with false walls, making more space to hang pictures on. The whole place was open, right up to the ceiling, with the industrial walkway having been set up for some bigger pieces, sculptures, and something that looked like a jukebox cut in half.

Maybe I just didn’t understand art.

I’d only got a couple steps into the joint before a gorgeous dame with a mass of glossy dark curls tumbling down her back, appeared out of nowhere. She was wearing a diaphanous and light blue dress that seemed to move around her like the wind.

“Oh, my,” she said, her eyes shining. “Look at you two. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything quite like you.”

“Two?” I repeated, frowning as I looked around myself.

She did a little spin around me and then lifted my hand to examine Cain’s class ring. She smiled then, flashing perfect pearly whites. “Gorgeous.”

And of all the things, that made me blush.

“Oh, forgive me,” the lady said. “I am Calliope.”

I took her hand, and for an awkward moment, I wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. Kiss it? Bow over it? Finally, I just gave it a firm shake. “Darla Rowe, pleased to meet’cha.”

“Marvelous.” She flashed her million dollar smile again. “And who is your companion, Darla?”

Chapter Eight

My brain screeched like someone dragging the needle across a record.

Most people weren’t aware of Cain when he wasn’t wandering around. Once he was all bottled up inside my body, my own spirit and power shielded him from notice. The fact that Calliope had pegged us the second we came through her door was a bit worrying.

I figured lying wasn’t going to go over well, and it wasn’t exactly a secret. Taliyah hadn’t asked usnotto tell anyone, at least. So, I took a breath, and said, “Cain. Cain Morgan. Former Chief of Police of Haven Hollow.”

Alright, I probably hadn’t needed to spill all of the beans, and Cain was definitely judging me. But Calliope just hummed and nodded like it all made sense to her.

“You’ll have to let me paint you sometime.”

“Uh, yeah, sure, we can do that.” I cleared my throat, trying to stop stammering. “I was kind of hoping that we, er thatI,could ask you a few questions, if that’s okay?”

Calliope’s eyes, the same color of tropical water, sharpened. “Questions? Well, I can’t promise answers, but let’s see what you want to ask.”

Well, there didn’t seem to be much reason to beat around the bush. And if Calliope couldn’t help us, I’d rather know sooner than later, so I could try and track down another lead.

So, with a kind of mental shrug, I just blurted out: “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about the art trade in this area? Specifically, the less than legal kind? We’re trying to track down some property for our client that was stolen.”

“Oh, my.” Calliope’s eyes just about sparkled with interest as a smile took hold of her face. “Well, I don’t deal with that sort of business, myself. But I do hear things, of course.”

“You do?”

She nodded. “Sure. People like to talk to me, to tell me things. I suppose I just have one of those faces.”

She smiled and tossed some of her hair off her shoulders.

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