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I opened the door.
Now, that is a fabulous dress, Mary said. Mary sel-
dom offered compliments she claimed it was a Norwe-
gian thing, but I think it was more a Midwestern
thing which made it all the more meaningful when she
did.
Oh, honey, Sam added. You look incredible.
I evaluated myself in a three-way mirror, twisting and
turning to get the full effect. I did look good, though my
back was mostly bare and my modest cleavage was on dis-
play. You re sure I don t look like a stuffed sausage?
You look good enough to eat, Mary agreed. What?
Edible s good, right?
If you want to keep this guy s hands off you tonight,
this might be the wrong dress. Sam commented. Try this
on.
She handed me a short, stretchy black jacket covered in
tiny black jet beads. It appeared to be made from some
NASA miracle fabric, probably one of those things that
helped the Apollo 13 astronauts get home. The jacket
hugged my shoulders and breasts, and fell away becom-
ingly, hinting at my now-famous butt.
I believe our work here is done, Sam announced.
I nodded. Now for the moment of truth.
I looked at the price tags and winced. The dress and
jacket together cost half a month s rent. Oh well, I thought
as I waited for the shock wave to subside. It was Michael s
206 Hailey Lind
money, after all. No doubt he was accustomed to spending
exorbitant amounts on women s clothing.
The loudspeaker, which had been emitting only inter-
mittent bings and boops, suddenly squawked. Security,
report to Personal Shopping. Security to Personal Shop-
ping. Code four.
Sam and I exchanged a look. Best get a move on,
love.
We hailed Teri, who rang up my purchases as Mary
stomped past accompanied by two highly pumped security
guards. An unpleasant aroma followed in her wake.
What will they do with her? I asked Teri. Before I
spent a fortune on evening clothes I wanted to be sure I
wouldn t need the money for Mary s bail.
They ll just escort her outside. Kids these days, she
said, shaking her head. Teri must have been all of twenty-
five years old herself.
I swallowed hard at the total I d forgotten to include
the astronomical local sales tax in my mental calcula-
tions and handed over a fistful of hundred-dollar bills.
Teri looked surprised and a bit disapproving, and I imag-
ined the cash transaction added to my reputation as a call
girl.
As Teri hung the dress and jacket on hangars and swad-
dled them in plastic it occurred to me that unless I really
was going into the escort business I wouldn t have much
use for the outfit after tonight. I wondered if it would be
ethical to return the clothes in the morning. If I were care-
ful not to spill anything on them, no one would be the
wiser.
After all, what could possibly happen at a Hillsborough
cocktail party?
Chapter 13
For the working forger, the only good art is
saleable art.
Unnamed deep background source, Fabulous
Fakes: An Epidemic of Forgery Rocks the Art
World, New York Times
Was that totally random, or what? Mary grinned as we
joined her on the sidewalk. She glared at the gawking
tourists, one of whom snapped her photograph to share
with the folks back home. You guys so totally freaked
when I walked past with those Wide World of Wrestling re-
jects. I nearly lost it.
So did we. Sam grimaced.
We trooped back to the truck and jammed ourselves in.
Mary s signature fragrance filled the small cab despite the
open windows, and by the time we reached the DeBenton
Building even Mary was looking a bit green. Gravel
spurted as I roared into a spot, yanked up the parking
brake, and threw open the door. The three of us tumbled
out.
Whooo-eeee! Mary yelled at the top of her lungs and
stomped around the parking lot, shaking her head and flap-
ping her arms. Sam and I stood hunched over like a couple
208 Hailey Lind
of winos, hands on our knees, gasping for breath. Frank
emerged from his office, sipping a bottle of sparkling
water and eyeing us with a curious expression on his face.
I straightened up and wondered if it was possible for me to
look more foolish around the man.
There was a little accident at the perfume counter, I
explained. Mary snorted.
How are you, Frank? Sam asked, showing a great deal
more poise. Frank smiled at her while Mary and I slunk up
the stairs. I disarmed the alarm, hung my purchases in the
oak armoire, and hit Play on the answering machine.
Stop asking questions, a sinister voice hissed. Or
suffer the consequences.
What the hell was that? Mary demanded.
Just some creep making crank phone calls, I said,
erasing the nasty message. It happens all the time.
No, it doesn t. What s going on, Annie? Are you in-
volved in something again? For someone who had spent a
summer picking up trash from the side of the highway as
punishment for borrowing a car without the owner s per-
mission, Mary was remarkably disapproving of my forays
into the seamier side of life.
It s nothing, Mary.
Sam stuck her head in the door. Annie, love, when will
you be going home? I have an idea for some earrings that
will be perfect with your new outfit.
Probably around four, four thirty.
Are you going to tell her? Mary demanded, her arms
crossed.
Tell me what? Sam asked.
Nothing, I said. Mary s blowing something way out
of proportion.
Nothing my ass, Mary said. Annie got a threatening
phone call.
SHOOTING GALLERY 209
What? Sam turned to me, a cut-the-crap-this-instant
look on her face.
It s no big deal, I dissembled. Loving, caring, insight-
ful friends could be such a pain sometimes. Threatening
phone calls are rarely followed with threatening behavior.
I had heard that on a talk show once.
Calls ? Sam said. How many threats have you got-
ten?
Listen you two, I appreciate your concern. I do. But
I ve got everything under control.
My friends glared at me.
Really.
Annie, you re a grown woman, you ve made your de-
cision, and I have to respect that, Sam said. But if any-
thing happens to you, I want you to know that I will hunt
you down and I will kill you.
And I ll desecrate your body, Mary added, glowering
at me.
Sam went to her studio, and Mary and I settled in to
work. A well-funded local charity was sponsoring an inter-
denominational holiday festival at a children s center and
had hired me to create the displays. We d finished crafting
the menorahs and were concentrating today on gilding the
winged plaster cherubs I had carved and poured last week.
I did make an occasional foray into the three-dimensional
world of sculpture. I forayed into just about anything that
meant getting paid for making art.
Classical water gilding technique calls for covering an
object with a thin layer of earth-red clay called bole and
floating tissue-thin sheets of real metal on top. Done prop-
erly, it yields a stunning and expensive finish. Real
gold gilt was too pricey for today s project, so we cut cor-
ners by painting our cherubs with a red oxide acrylic base
and applying composition gold and silver leaf with a
210 Hailey Lind
water-based glue called sizing. When the sizing was dry
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