Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 81947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Barb raised her glass. “An elegant solution. And if you play a little do-si-do around the desk while you’re at it, then all the better.”
“Barb!”
She shrugged. “What, darling? It’s been years. I mean, Millie and I have seen more action than you since that cheating bastard you dumped.”
Both of my eyebrows rose as I looked from one elderly sister to the other. I mean, true, they were both fabulously stylish with that fun moxie that I hoped to embody when I was their age…. But more action? Truly? “Are you being serious now?”
Millie counted off her fingers. “For me, there’s been Bob from the pickleball courts. Morty from the Seniors Club and… oh, what was his name? Jacob, also from the Seniors Club.”
“Don’t forget about David.”
Millie frowned. “David?”
“From the produce section of the supermarket.”
“Oh, yeah, Zucchini Pie David! Oh, he was a sweetie. And so eager to please in bed.”
Barb tapped one perfectly manicured nail against her lips. “Let’s see. What’s my body count?”
Body count!
This must be what hell was like. Listening to your sweet, like-a-grandmother, elderly neighbors chat about their sexual exploits… while realizing they had a higher body count than you.
My brow furrowed. “It’s not my fault. I’m selective when it comes to men.”
Barb rolled her eyes. “Darling, a diamond dealer is selective. You’re a freaking nun. The pope himself would say, ‘all right already, just go fuck someone!’”
“I’m pretty sure the pope wouldn’t say that.”
Millie shrugged. “How do you know? Have you met him?”
Barb smiled as she gestured between her and Millie. “We have.”
“What a cutie. The current one. Not that one with the name like a rat who looked like a cartoon villain.”
I wasn’t surprised. The two of them were still celebrated throughout both the theatre and movie industry for their amazing costumes. They’d even received both a Tony and an Academy Award for their work.
“Var looks like a Bond villain,” I offered.
They both leaned forward. “Really? And his name is Var? How intriguing.”
“It’s short for Varlaam.”
Millie wagged her finger at me. “I like that. It’s a strong, sexy name with just a hint of arrogance. You want that in a man. David is a good name. And he was great in bed.” She swished her flat hand back and forth. “Morty, eh. That’s the name of an accountant or the guy who cleans your gutters, but he wasn’t so great at cleaning out the pipes, if you know what I mean.”
So help me God, I did.
“Ladies, we need to focus. Even if I found the paintings, how am I supposed to sneak them out of the Four Monks? I can’t just roll them up, they’re not canvas. They’re painted on poplar wood planks.”
Barb frowned. “Why would you do that? Sounds very inconvenient.”
“And expensive to frame,” added Millie.
“It wasn’t exactly by choice. That’s what da Vinci painted on.”
Barb and Millie were aware of what we called my “lucrative hobby.” They thought it was great fun to be living next door to a secret art forger. It made them feel very, as they put it, bohemian.
Barb scoffed as the ice in the cocktail shaker rattled in her hand. “Leave it to a man, even one who’s been dead for hundreds of years, to make things inconvenient for a woman.”
I groaned and buried my head in my arms again. “What am I going to do?”
Millie patted my shoulder. “Like I told Barb when we were brought in for that 1992 production of Bertolt Brecht’s The Caucasian Chalk Circle.”
Barb grimaced as she took a sip of her second martini. “Oh, hate that play. Over twenty actors to deal with, all wearing shades of beige. It was an absolute Moose Murder.”
I’d since learned that was theatre talk for a terrible play based on a notorious Broadway flop.
“Anyway,” continued Millie. “I told Barb we can only deal with one train wreck at a time. Find the paintings first. Then we’ll figure out how to get them out of the club.”
I raised my head. “That’s actually good advice.”
“Of course it’s good advice. Don’t act so surprised.”
Okay, this was a solid plan.
I would simply return to Var’s office and play the part until I found the paintings. It would probably only take me an hour or two, and then I’d ghost.
And I’d never have to see Var again.
He would go back to doing his mafia thing, and I’d go back to doing my thing.
Problem solved.
We’d both just be a kinky little memory to one another.
Yup. This was a good plan.
CHAPTER 19
VAR
“So I heard you got bitch slapped by ceiling girl today.” Vaska entered the Red Star sauna and took a seat in the wooden bleachers near the top where the heat would be the most intense.
Swiping the terrycloth from my face, I glared at Anton. “Really?”
Anton adjusted his wool felt hat before leaning back. “Don’t blame me. I only told Brynn.”