“I’m recalling that I don’t like people bothering me when I’m busy.”
And his face was turning red. Probably not a good sign. “But this is how people get to know each other,” I encouraged. “They talk. Usually to each other. And if they hit it off, they become friends.”
“I don’t want to be your friend. I don’t want to be
“You should talk to my grandmother. She’s probably seen TV shows that stress the importance of having at least one friend. She likes to surf, so she sees a little bit of everything. How’s your cable service in Maine?”
“I’ve lived my whole live without friends.” His voice swelled with anger. “Why the hell do I need one now?”
I countered with a smile. “Is that rhetorical, or do you actually want an answer?”
“Do I look like a complete goober to you? Do you think I don’t know what you’re doing? You’re sniffing around, trying to blame me for that accident because of my run-in with that prissy malcontent. Well, it’s not me you should be after. Pester the folks who’re the real pros at covering up the truth. Ask ’em about the skeletons they’ve kept locked in their closets all these years. They knew exactly what they were doing back then, and they know exactly what they’re doing now. But don’t expect any straight answers. They’ll tell you lies and throw buckets of sand in your face. You know why? Because they’ve done it for so long, that’s all they know
Why did I get the feeling we weren’t talking about Charlotte anymore?
“Good-for-nothing buggers,” he spat. “They don’t know I’ve got secrets of my own. That’d surprise the hell out of them, wouldn’t it? I could ruin them all with what I know, and if folks like you don’t stop aggravating me, I swear I’ll make every last one of you pay.” He stabbed a spindly finger at me, forcing me backward. “Stay out of my face, you hear me? I don’t like you. I don’t trust you. And here’s the kicker—that’s never going to change. Get it?”
He didn’t want to talk to me. He didn’t want to be my friend. He absolutely despised me. Okay, I got it. But other than that, I thought the conversation went pretty well!
He stalked across the floor, nearly plowing into Sheila and Gary Bouchard who stood in the middle of the doorway, trying not to look uncomfortable. I didn’t know how long they’d been standing there, but if their pinched expressions were any indication, they’d certainly gotten an earful.
“Are you all right?” Gary asked as I joined them.
“I’m fine.”
“What’s got Pete so riled up?”
“I disturbed him while he was studying the Rembrandt. Apparently, that’s a no-no. Hey, you two cleaned up pretty well from the dinner cruise.”
Sheila’s lips quivered with ill-concealed rage. “Don’t ever mention last night again. I’ve even ripped the page out of my journal to remind myself to forget.”
I suppressed a smile. “I hear the situation got pretty ugly in the Red Light District.”
“That was jealousy talking,” Gary accused. “Pure jealousy.”
Sheila elevated her chin to a haughty angle. “Since the outies can’t destroy the life Gary and I have built for ourselves, their only recourse is to bring us down by attacking our talent, our intelligence, and our extraordinary good looks. Last night’s performance was a classic case of little people mouthing off, and newsflash! Their insults rolled off our backs like water off very expensive nonstick cookware.”
“Actually, I was talking about the confrontation between Pete and Paula,” I corrected. “Did you happen to see where Paula went after the big to-do? Because I don’t know if you’re aware or not, but she never made it back to the hotel.”
Sheila stared at her husband with wide-eyed innocence. “I’m sure we didn’t run into her again. That’s right, isn’t it, hon?”
“Exactly right. She just took off. Ask anyone.”
“Did the two of you walk back to the hotel by yourselves?”
They froze up from knees to eye sockets, giving me the same deer in the headlights look that had paralyzed Mary Lou. Easy to guess what was coming next.
“Do you remember seeing the girls’ room anywhere around here?” Sheila blurted, seizing my forearm in a show of urgency. “I’m on a diuretic for my blood pressure and it kicks in at
“Ground floor,” I said. “By the entrance.”
“You’re a life saver,” she said in a gasp of breath. “Thanks.” Locking hands, they charged toward the hallway so fast, they left a trail of dust motes behind them.
“Expect gridlock!” I added for good measure.
Nope. I wasn’t buying it. Three people? Three quick getaways to the restroom? One person might be normal. Two could be a coincidence. But three?
Something fishy was definitely going on. The question was what?
Making my way to the adjoining room, I noticed the Hen-
nessys loitering near the doorway, as isolated from the main group as they could be and still be within earshot of Harold. Marching up to them, I cut to the chase.
“For future reference, the restrooms are located on the ground floor.”
Ricky blinked his confusion. “What?”
“Did either of you run into Paula on your way back to the
hotel last night?”
Mindy stood transfixed, but only for a heartbeat. “Did you say ground floor?” She seized Ricky’s arm. “Is that this floor or the one below us? Oh, never mind.” She pulled him away from me and hauled him toward the exit. “We’ll figure it out ourselves.”
That clinched it. There was officially something weird going on, which meant I needed to find Wally so I could do the most responsible thing I could think of.
Dump it all in his lap.
Leaving the group in Harold’s hands, I breezed across the floor, stopping short when I noticed Nana and the gang crowded onto the viewing bench at the far end of the next room. Built like an oversized ottoman, the bench provided seating on all four sides—a design that encouraged patrons to study the room’s masterpieces at length, which was exactly what my guys were doing.
Kinda.
“Were the faces in the painting clearer with pair number one, or pair number two?” Grace asked Osmond. She stood in front of him, a pair of eyeglasses clutched in each hand.
“Pair number one,” he said definitively.
“I think he means pair number two,” corrected Helen, standing beside an exceptionally large painting as if she were Vanna White poised before Wheel of Fortune’s letter board. “He mistook the milkmaid for Newt Gingrich with the first pair.” She swept her hand toward the milkmaid in question.
Osmond gave his head a scratch. “Can’t rightly remember what I saw now. Can I try ’em on again?”
“No retesting!” snapped Bernice. “One chance, that’s it, or the rest of us won’t get a turn.”
“Shouldn’t we be sterilizing the equipment after each use?” asked Margi. She yanked a pint bottle out of her handbag and smiled breathlessly. “I have sanitizer.”
Oh, good God. They were using a Rembrandt masterpiece as an eye chart.
I regarded the operation with a critical eye and shrugged.
Okay. That could work.
I shot through the remaining exhibit rooms, hit the stairwell, and bounded down the stairs two at a time. To my great relief, I found Wally seated on a bench in the entrance lobby, pocketing his cellphone.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” I gasped out, sitting down beside him to catch my breath, “but—”
“Your Dicks haven’t shown up yet.”
My shoulders sagged with the news. “Oh, no.”
“Oh, yes. I just got off the phone with the police.”
