The Artful Goddaughter (7 page)

Toker the standard poodle was sitting patiently outside the gallery entrance. Good thing it wasn't a cold day for the poor beastie. That meant Stoner was already inside. Check and check.

My heart started to pound. This could work, I told myself. It had freaking well better work, or I was out a small fortune. And, possibly, my freedom.

I dashed up the stairs to the great hall. The circus had already started.

Lainy was decked out in her western best. Red blouse straining at the buttons, suede skirt, cowboy boots and a million-dollar smile.

The art-gallery manager was standing beside all six feet of her. He looked like he had won the lottery.

Time to get this show rolling. I cried, “Oh. My. God. It's Lainy McSwain!”

Right on cue, Tiff and a dozen of her friends rushed up, squealing and giggling. They joined the crowd of at least twenty already around Lainy. She was happily signing autographs.

A good-looking young reporter managed to part the crowd to get through. A cameraman followed him, filming all the while.

The reporter stuck a mic in front of her. Lainy gave him a big smile.

“Thank y'all so much for this unexpected welcome!” She just beamed at the gallery manager. “How did you know I was gonna be here? You sure are one smart fella. Handsome too. Ain't he handsome, gals?”

A cheer went up from the crowd.

“What brings you to Hamilton, Miss McSwain?”

Lainy turned to the camera. “I'm in town to help my gal-pal Gina hunt down a wedding dress. She already bagged the man. Now she's gotta git the duds. Ain't that a happy story?”

Laughter trilled through the crowd.

“Also, I'm here to get some inspiration for a new album I'm puttin' together. I like to come home every once in a while, Kyle. Grounds me.”

I saw Nico sneak up behind me. He was carrying a large sack. Stoner was right behind him. He was also carrying a bag. Jimmy trailed them both, pushing a walker. It had a large sack balancing on the basket, and something else.

The first two shuffled up behind me. Jimmy carried right on through to the art gallery.

Usually, you are not supposed to carry big bags of things into the art gallery. They don't like it, for some reason.

But this didn't seem to matter right now, as all eyes were glued on Lainy across the room. The young security guard was transfixed, watching her every move. The ticket lady had come out of her kiosk.

The good-looking reporter said something funny. Lainy gave the gallery manager a big lipstick smack on the cheek.

Cell-phone cameras flashed. Lots of people giggled.

Pete snuck up beside me. He gestured to the cameraman and the reporter. “I called in a few favors at the paper. Pleased?”

I smiled. “Delirious.”

I had my distraction. Now, just let the other stuff go according to plan…

People emptied out of the gallery rooms into the foyer, following the noise. At least, it was partly the noise. I had a backup plan going on, of course. And a backup to the backup plan sitting outside, if needed. Hopefully, Jimmy would keep everything straight at his end.

“Hey, Gina.”

What the hell? My head swerved at the voice.

“Joey! What are you doing here?” Jeesh, that's just what I needed.

“Tiff called La Paloma. Said you needed people to show. I happened to be there, so Vera sent me.”

I looked around. No Carmine or Bertoni that I could see.

“Where are the others?” I said.

Joey shrugged. “AWOL.”

“Everyone says you're a shoo-in for a Country Music Award this year,” said Kyle, the reporter.

“Why, aren't you sweet!” said Lainy. Her hips swung in time with her hair.

“What's your favorite song?” one girl called from the audience.

Lainy grabbed the hand mic. With a big smile, she addressed the girl.

“I'm partial to ‘You Done Me Wrong, So I Done You In.” But others seem to like my new one, ‘You're Roadkill on My Highway of Life.'” She turned to Kyle. “What do you think, darlin'? Should I sing a few bars for these good people?”

“Sing ‘Roadkill'!” yelled Joey. He started to clap and whoop.

The crowd went wild. Even the gallery manager clapped his hands. No kidding. Paintings by dead people never got this kind of press.

Lainy's big country voice swelled through the hall, clear and gorgeous.

“
You ran me aroun'
So I'm runnin' ya down
You're roadkill
Stinkin' roadkill
On my highway of life
…”

Someone whooped. The crowd went wild with clapping.

And that's when Stoner let the cat out of the bag.

TWELVE

N
o, really. He let a cat out of a bag.

At about the same time, Nico opened his sack.

SCREECH!

“What the hell was THAT?” Pete yelled beside me.

For one second, the room was eerily silent.

Then something flapped. It flapped again, big-time.

SQUAWK!

“Is that a pigeon?” said one of the girls.

“That was no pigeon,” muttered Pete.

“It's a pterodactyl!” cried another girl.

“Don't be silly, Ang,” said another. “This is an art gallery, not a zoo.”

The black cat went to full alert. His back arched and his fur stood on end. Then he pounced.

“Fuck!” screamed Joey, who ducked just in time.

Pauly shot up to the ceiling. But there was nowhere for him to land, so he just hovered there, screeching and screeching.

“Who's a horny bird! Who's a horny bird! Squawk!”

“That bird just talked!” said the reporter. He was really excited. “Get the bird on tape, Randy!”

“Did that parrot just say what I think it did?” Pete asked.

It was the perfect distraction. More people raced from the back rooms to see what the commotion was about. But my plan had a slight fault. I had failed to anticipate something.

“Back in a sec. Keep the cat away from that bird!” I pleaded to Pete. It wasn't my intention for Pauly to become cat food.

Pete whipped his gaze to me. “Was this part of your plan?”

I put a finger to my lips, signaling ssshhhhh. Then I sashayed back to the shadows.

The cat hissed. It began stalking the outer circle of the floor like a small feral leopard. Then it leaped.

Tiff screamed. That set the tone for the rest of the girls, who joined in.

“Hoser, hoser, hoser! SQUAWK!”
screeched Pauly, in response.

Now the bird was going mental. This was not a good thing. Little known fact (at least, I didn't know it): parrots, when frightened, poop a lot.

“CRAP,” yelled the gallery manager, unable to avoid a direct hit.

“Crap! Crap! SQUAWK!”

Everyone scrambled. More girls screamed as Pauly flapped madly just above their heads. Iridescent green feathers floated to the ground.

I looked at my watch. Countdown
now
.

In ten seconds, I was through the double doors. Another twenty, and I was in the west gallery.

It kind of…didn't smell good in there. Evidence of the backup plan.

Jimmy had just taken the real Kugel off the wall. The one he had put there by mistake the last time we tried this.

“Hand me the one in the sack,” he said.

I pulled the genuine “three boobies” painting out of the bag and passed it to him.

He got busy hanging it. “Now take that one down to Mad Magda.”

“What?” I said.

“Mrs. Bari,” explained Jimmy. “She's my accomplice.”

I gasped. “Mrs. Bari is Mad Magda?
Our
Mrs. Bari?”

“Get goin', toots. She's waiting.”

I picked up the other painting and ran.

No one was in the hallway. As I passed through it, I could hear yelling and screaming and, okay, cackling coming from the great hall.

Two turns and I was in the room where the twentieth-century paintings were displayed. Mad Magda—Mrs. Bari to me—had the other painting down when I got there.

“Hand me that,” she said gruffly. Honestly, I don't think I've ever seen an elderly woman move so fast.

Mad Magda. Who'da thunk it? I used to hear tales of her pulling heists when I was a kid. Mad Magda was a legend in The Hammer. Watching her work, I could see why.

“Mrs. Bari, I've got to ask. Are you and Jimmy an item?”

She snorted. “We've been lovers for five decades.”

Okay. Didn't really need to know that.

But I couldn't help thinking…was there a Mr. Bari?

She read my mind. “Mr. Bari died cleaning his rifle.”

I nodded sympathetically.

“Take this back up to Jimmy.” She gestured to the painting on the floor. “I'm going out the other way.”

“Huh?” I said intelligently.

She gathered up her tools and sighed. “As part of the cleaning crew.”

Ah! Clever.

“Nobody notices little old ladies,” she said patiently. “People don't see past the gray hair and wrinkles. See you at the wedding.”

I nodded my thanks. Then I picked up the fake Kugel and ran.

Jimmy was waiting for me in the “three boobies” room, holding open a green garbage bag. “Put it in here. I'll meet you on the other side.”

I nodded and deposited the fake painting. Then I peeked into the hallway. Still empty.

In less than a minute, I was back in the great hall.

Things were calming down now. I saw Pete struggling with Nico to get Pauly into the bag. Joey and the cameraman had cornered the cat.

Lainy was still yakking with fans. The security guard was getting her autograph.

The gallery manager was wiping sweat from his brow. But he looked pretty happy.

Stoner was sitting against a wall with a dreamy smile on his face. In other words, being Stoner.

My eyes searched the room. Jimmy shuffled out from behind the…not sure where he came from. But he made the signal.

I backed away from the group to the shadows again.

Jimmy limped by with his walker. He passed me the green garbage bag, then continued on his way to the elevator.

I checked for staff. The manager, security guard and ticket taker were all over with Lainy, getting their pictures taken as planned. The coast was clear.

I signaled to Tiff. She turned and said something to her gang.

A few moments later, I walked nonchalantly down the stairs and out the front door, in the middle of a crowd of chattering girls. As soon as we parted, Tiff and the others started singing.

“Who…who…who let the cat in?”

All along the lane, they sang at the top of their lungs.

I grinned. Good ol' Tiff. Another distraction.

I snuck around the side of the building and peeked in the bag.

Happily, it was the right bag. Meaning, not the bag of stinky dog poo we had collected earlier. That was my backup plan for ensuring Jimmy could do the switch with no audience. Open a bag of doggy poo, and wait until people got out of the place. Then he could do the switch. Nothing clears a room faster than a bad smell. Who cared if they thought it was caused by a little old man who couldn't make it to the bathroom in time?

I smiled, remembering the bad smell in the west gallery. It had done the trick!

This bag smelled fine. I wiggled the plastic down the sides of the frame so I could double-check that it was the right painting. The lady with the three boobies. Phew! What a relief.

I took a second to breathe deep. We'd done it! We'd just pulled off the coolest switch in the history of The Hammer. Even better, I had fulfilled the terms of Great-Uncle Seb's will.

I turned around to check for Nico and smucked into a human wall.

THIRTEEN

“I
'll take that, Gina,” Joey said. He easily wrenched the painting from my hands.

I stared at the big guy, in shock.

“What the hell are you doing?” I said, pushing hair out of my eyes.

“You get Seb's money. Seems only fair I get the picture.”

“It isn't real,” I said, shaking my head. “I already did the switch.”

“It's real enough to fool a buyer,” said Joey.

I stood for a moment with my mouth open. Then I shrugged. This could be good. Joey could keep the fake and I would be rid of the…evidence.

“Knock yourself out then. I don't want it.” I straightened. It was off my hands. Yay! He could do whatever he wanted with the thing.

“Do you want a parrot too?” A breathless Nico came up beside me. Lainy followed him, with Pete in her wake.

Nico was carrying a heavy cotton sack. It wiggled a lot. He had to fight with both hands to keep it closed.

“So help me God, if you bite me one more time, you are parrot stew!” Nico shrieked at the sack.

“Pauly want a quickie,”
the bag squawked.

“Gina, I can't take it anymore. I'm starting to channel John Cleese. OUCH!”

“We have to figure out how to reward that bird. It did a stellar job today,” I reminded him. That parrot had just helped me earn a huge inheritance. And Nico didn't know it yet, but some of the money would be his.

“The rest of you did a super job too,” I added. “I can't thank you enough.”

“You can thank me by taking this sadistic parrot off my hands.” Nico sounded frazzled.

“It's sad,” said Lainy. Her voice had a lilt. “Poor thing is probably just lonely.”

“Maybe he needs a lady bird,” said Joey.

“I'll take the bird if you don't want it, Nico,” Lainy offered. “I can use it in my road show.”

“Lainy McSwain and the Lonesome Parrot?” quipped Pete.

“No, wait. Lainy, I just got an idea,” said Nico. His face lit up with excitement. “We could run a contest to find a mate for the wretched thing. Think of the publicity. In fact, I've been thinking of this theme for my store, so if we shoot a promo there—”

While they were busy discussing parrot business, I walked a few steps away and called Sammy.