Faking It - Crusie Jennifer (электронные книги без регистрации .TXT) 📗

“Hey,” Tilda said, “I can deliver.”

“Yes, you can, but not to Rabbit,” Davy said, and the door opened.

“What the hell is this?” Mason said.

“Hi, Mason,” Davy said. “I’ve been meaning to tell you, you have good closets.”

BY THE TIME they were all out of the closet, Mason was speechless, and Davy felt for him. It must have been like watching a clown car at the circus.

“What the hell is going on here?” Mason said.

“I think you had to be here,” Davy said.

“I can explain,” Clea said, and then looked at the three of them standing in front of her closet. “No, I can’t. I have no idea what’s going on.”

“Tilda,” Mason said. “Honey, what are you doing here?”

“Delivering paintings,” Tilda said. “Clea bought paintings for you, and she wanted it to be a surprise so… I hid.” She pointed to the case of paintings leaning against the bed. “See?”

“Paintings?” Mason said, cheering up.

Clea slipped her arm through his. “All six Scarlets, darling. They’re my wedding present to you.”

“That’s very generous of you, Clea,” Mason said, patting her hand but still looking at the paintings. “I know Gwennie will appreciate it, too.”

“Not your wedding to her,” Clea snarled. “Your wedding to me.”

“I’m not marrying you,” Mason said. “What’s Davy Dempsey doing in your closet?”

“He came with me,” Tilda said. “He’s very protective.”

“What are you doing?” Davy said to Tilda. “Stop trying to save her. Let her rot.”

“And who is he?” Mason said, pointing to Ronald.

“I’m Clea’s lover,” Ronald said, looking betrayed. “But that’s all over. She’s only interested in money.”

“You have a lover?” Mason said to Clea.

“Not exactly,” Clea said, but then somebody banged on the door, and she brightened. “I’ll just get that.”

When she opened the door, Gwen was there, looking mad as hell. “Did you know your front door is standing open?” she said to Clea. “That’s dangerous. Anybody could get in here. Like a hit man.” Clea stepped back, and Gwen caught sight of Davy and pushed past her.

“Thank God, you’re alive,” she said to him.

“Gwennie!” Mason said, but she ignored him to concentrate on Davy.

“Listen, you have to get out of here,” she told him. “Clea sent Ford to kill you.”

“No I didn’t,” Clea said.

“He’s on his way,” Gwen said. “I delayed him for a little while, but then I fell asleep. He’s probably here already. You have to get out.”

“Thank you,” Davy said, disentangling her fingers from his shirt. “But that won’t be necessary.”

“You fell asleep?” Tilda said to Gwen. “Ford was coming to kill him and you fell asleep! What are you, narcoleptic?”

“It was probably the sex,” Davy said.

“Sex?” Mason said.

“He’s just being funny,” Tilda said to Mason.

“Ford’s going to kill you,” Gwen said to Davy, ignoring them both. “He has a gun. Clea has paid him to kill you and he’s not going to retire until he’s finished.”

“I did not pay him,” Clea said.

“Usually she just kills her husbands,” Davy said, “so I don’t-”

Clea stood up, incandescent with rage. “For the last time, I did not kill my husband. Either one of them. They both died of heart attacks.”

“Not according to the FBI, they didn’t,” Mason said. “At least Cyril didn’t. He was poisoned.”

Clea blinked at him. “Somebody poisoned Cyril?”

“That would be you,” Davy said to her and looked at Mason. “When did you talk to the FBI?”

“They exhumed the body a couple of weeks ago, according to Thomas.” Mason shook his head. “He told me at the gallery opening Friday night. He said the FBI had evidence that Clea had killed Cyril and had stolen his collection. He seemed serious, but I just can’t stop thinking of him as the caterer.”

“Why would anybody poison Cyril?” Clea said, outraged past the point of caring. “He was eighty-nine, for Christ’s sake.”

“Well, there was all the money you inherited,” Davy said, watching her. “Patience has never been your strong suit.”

“I did not kill-”

“I believe you,” Tilda said to her. “Just ignore him.”

“Hey,” Davy said.

“Well, pay attention,” Tilda said. “Why would she kill him if he was eighty-nine and rich?”

“He wasn‘t rich,” Clea said, evidently goaded beyond endurance. “He died broke, okay?”

“Really?” Davy said. “What a disappointment for you. You suppose the warehouse fire you set had anything to do with that?”

Clea glared at him. “Do I look like somebody who would set a warehouse fire?”

“No,” Tilda said. “You don’t look like somebody who could light her own cigarette.”

“It was just my lousy luck,” Clea said miserably. “He was supposed to have all this money and then it turned out he’d spent it on his art collection and then most of that burned-”

Davy turned back to Mason with renewed interest. “So you talked to Thomas Friday.”

Mason nodded. “He came to warn me about Clea.”

“About me?” Clea sat down, almost in tears. “What did I do?”

“You know, the list is so long,” Davy said to her.

“He told me you kill your husbands,” Mason said to Clea. “And that the Homer Hodge you gave me was from the warehouse fire. How did that end up at the gallery? Did you take it there?”

“What Homer Hodge?” Clea said. “I don’t kill people!”

“Look,” Mason said. “I have no interest in seeing you in jail, Clea. I’m about to marry the woman I love, and I don’t want to make anybody suffer. If you leave now, I won’t turn you in. The police don’t know what Thomas knew.”

“Clea, when did he get home on Friday night?” Davy said.

“After midnight,” Clea said, glaring viciously at Gwen. “Because of her.”

“She doesn’t know,” Mason said to Davy, dismissing her. “She wasn’t here. She’s just trying to use me as an alibi for Thomas.”

“What?” Tilda said. “How did you know-” And then Davy stepped on her foot. “Ouch?”

Mason stayed focused on Gwen. “Look, I can understand why this is confusing, honey, but it’s okay. I’ll take care of everything, even the gallery. We’ll run it together. I’ll be just like Tony.”

“I don’t want the gallery,” Gwen said. “I hate the damn gallery. I want to get away from the gallery, not be buried there for the rest of my life. I’m sorry, Mason, I’m grateful you paid off the mortgage, but-”

“What?” Davy said.

“Mason paid off the mortgage,” Tilda told him. “Don’t interrupt, she’s dumping him.”

“He didn’t pay off the mortgage,” Davy said. “I did.”

“You didn’t pay off the mortgage?” Gwen said to Mason.

“I can explain that,” Mason said to Gwen.

“You paid off my mortgage?” Tilda said to Davy.

“No,” Davy said. “That would be presumptuous of me. I paid for the bed and applied the payment to the mortgage.”

“This should be good,” Gwen said to Mason, crossing her arms. “Explain.”

“You paid six hundred thousand for a bed?” Tilda said to Davy.

“Considering what happened on that bed, it was a bargain,” Davy said.

“I thought it was a mistake at the bank,” Mason said to Gwen. “I was going to go over there and pay it off. I thought-”

“With what?” Ronald said bitterly. “You’re broke.”

“What?” Clea said, going beyond outrage now.

“I was trying to tell you,” Ronald said, looking at her with distaste. “I investigated him when I investigated the Goodnights.”

“Hello?” Tilda said.

“I don’t know who you are,” Mason said to Ronald, “but you have no idea of my resources.”

“Actually,” Davy said to Mason, “he probably has a better idea of your resources than you do. It’s pretty much his thing.”

“Gwennie.” Mason reached for her hand. “Let’s get out of here, go someplace where we can talk.”

“No,” Gwen said. “I wasn’t faking about the other guy. I slept with him. I loved it. I plan on doing it again. In Aruba. And I’m going to learn to scuba dive.”