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uine.
But what was Haggerty doing with it? Vermeer was a
painstakingly slow painter in part because, unlike his con-
temporaries, he worked without the assistance of appren-
tices. One of the reasons Rembrandt was easy to forge was
because his apprentices did so much of the actual work that
many signed Rembrandts should more rightly have been
attributed to them. But because Vermeer insisted on work-
ing solo he created far fewer paintings, and as far as I knew
they were all accounted for in museums and well-known
private collections.
228 Hailey Lind
Unless some of those Vermeers were fakes, and wealthy
collectors such as Nathan Haggerty had been buying the
real ones on the black market.
It is amazing, is it not? Nathan asked.
Amazing.
Would you say this one is fake or genuine?
Oh, genuine, I said without thinking. I met his eyes.
Why do you ask?
He smiled his rodent smile. I think, my dear, that you
know rather a great deal about art. And the one in the li-
brary is a fake, but I imagine you know that already.
Did Haggerty know about my grandfather? Why hadn t
Michael warned me? Okay, another item for the To Do list.
First kill Grandfather, then kill Michael.
And here is my newest acquisition, Nathan said, lead-
ing me to a canvas laid out on a walnut side table. I
haven t had her framed yet, and she doesn t quite go with
the rest of the collection, but I absolutely fell in love with
her.
She was a Picasso. And not just any Picasso, the Pi-
casso the one I had restored for Frank.
Nathan opened a mirrored liquor cabinet and poured
two snifters of an amber wine from a crystal decanter. He
handed me one, and I took a sip of a very fine Armagnac,
my favorite brandy.
I forgot about my host for a moment while gazing in
awe at the exquisite Vermeer.
You are speechless, Nathan said with evident satisfac-
tion. I myself become this way around great art.
Great art might silence Nathan s organs of speech but it
had no effect on his other organs. Rabbity Haggerty kept
sneaking lascivious peeks at my cleavage.
Thank you for showing me your collection. We should
rejoin the party.
SHOOTING GALLERY 229
Why, Anna, what s the hurry? he asked, coming up
behind me and brushing his hips against my rear. Why
don t we relax and enjoy ourselves?
My temper flared. Bad move, pal. I had ridden public
transit. In Rome.
I slumped a little and leaned back, then lifted my foot
and stomped down hard, my pointy high heel drilling into
the vulnerable bones at the top of his foot. Nathan let out a
screech, and as he bent forward in pain I shot up to my full
height, ramming the top of my head into his chin s soft un-
derbelly. His teeth made a satisfying clacking sound. I
spun around and tossed my Armagnac on his snowy white
shirt.
Ooo, Nathan! I m so sorry! I didn t see you standing
there! Are you all right?
My not-so-genial host was hopping about on one foot,
reeking of brandy, his eyes brimming with tears. He must
have taken one hell of a bite out of his tongue, I thought,
suppressing a grin. The crown of my head smarted, but the
pain was well worth it. I ll just go call someone, I said
and hurried out of the room.
At the bottom of the stairs I paused to hitch up my hal-
ter top and take a deep breath. I was about to march into
the library and demand Michael take me home when I had
a better idea. Tiptoeing down the hall, I retrieved my jacket
from the closet and slipped out the front door.
The valets were lounging against a maroon Jaguar,
smoking and chatting. When they saw me they came to at-
tention and tossed their cigarettes on the crushed granite
driveway.
The champagne Lexus, please, I said in a throaty
voice. The babysitter called. Poor little Timmy has a tooth
coming in and is crying for his mommy. You know how it
is.
230 Hailey Lind
A pimply faced valet, who looked to be all of seventeen,
did not know how it was and did not really care. He ran off
to get the car. I rummaged in my evening bag for a couple
of crumpled bills, traded them for the car keys, and hopped
into the driver s seat. The dashboard looked like a jet-
liner s, but I managed to adjust the seat, shift the car into
drive, and release the brake. As I reached the wrought-iron
gates at the end of the driveway I glanced in the rearview
mirror in time to see the front door fling open and Michael
run out.
I floored it.
Chapter 14
I have noticed that while the great majority of art
forgers are ladies and gentlemen of the highest
caliber, the necessary evils with whom we are
forced to conduct business are not the sort whom
one would wish to invite to dinner.
Georges LeFleur, Art for Arms Deals:
The Secret World of the International Arms Market,
ABC News Nightline
Revenge is sweet, I chortled. I still didn t know what
Michael s plan was, but I was sure it somehow involved
me. True, abandoning Michael at the Haggertys nixed my
chances of having sex tonight, but I was so pissed at him
for using me I wouldn t have gone for it anyway.
Unless he did that neck rubbing thing again.
My problem now was finding the freeway. The area was
densely wooded, with the twisty roads and lack of street
signs common to snooty neighborhoods, and my initial
surge of confidence waned. I was supposed to turn right
out of the Haggertys driveway, wasn t I? If not, I was
headed further into the hills.
I pulled over at a wide spot on the road, fumbled around
until I found the car s interior light, and rummaged through
232 Hailey Lind
the glove box and door pockets for a map. Nothing. No
map, not a scrap of paper, not even a tire pressure gauge or
a stick of gum. Michael had probably rented the Lexus, the
big fake.
Frustrated, I sat up and glared at the instrument panel.
Aha! A little box glowed with the letters LOLA, a global
positioning system that my friend, Miranda, swore by. Mi-
randa was a realtor who could sell an igloo to the pope, but
got lost in an empty room. Now all I had to do was figure
out how LOLA worked. I pressed the button marked power
and tried to read the small print on the screen.
I was hunched over, singing, Whatever Lola wants,
Lola gets, and poking buttons with abandon, when flash-
ing blue lights filled the car s interior. I squinted out the
rear window and saw a police car pull up behind me. For
once I was glad to see a cop. The nice officer would know
how to get to the freeway. Best of all, I was well dressed
and nowhere near a crime scene.
The cop tapped on the window with his flashlight. I
searched for the button to lower the window but succeeded
only in locking and unlocking the doors. I hated power
controls. Finally I just opened the door.
He jumped back, his hand going to his gun.
I held my hands up, an ingratiating smile on my face.
Good evening, Officer. I m afraid I m a little lost. Could
you tell me how to get to the freeway?
Step out of the car, please, ma am.
Officer Strong Jaw seemed less than friendly. Didn t he
realize I was driving a Lexus?
Is there a problem, Officer? I asked as I climbed out.
Not anymore, growled a deep voice I knew only too
well. I d heard it in my dreams, after all.
How did you ?
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