Sammy Keyes and the Art of Deception (17 page)

I went back inside the Bean Goddess to where I'd stashed my stuff, and as I was strapping on my backpack, I noticed part of an abandoned Sunday paper on a table nearby. So I paged through it, looking for the review Hudson had talked about. I mean, Hudson had called it horrific, but how bad could it be? Was this just some damsel-in-distress game Diane was playing? And why Hudson? Don't get me wrong—I love the guy. And yeah, for seventy-two, he's kinda handsome. But he's seventy-two! Why couldn't Diane find someone, you know, fiftytwo? Or
sixty
-two?

I spotted the review. And halfway through, I had to sit down. The reviewer said that Tess's paintings “demonstrate unbridled courage” and “allow us to liberate our imagination from our mechanical mind” and that Austin Zuni's work “haunts the continuum of dominance”— whatever that means. Then came the part about Diane's paintings.

At first I couldn't even breathe. Then my heart started pounding and my hands started sweating and I wanted to punch something. Some
body
. How could they say that about
Whispers
? About
any
of her paintings? Sure, I could hear catty ol'
Tess
saying something like this, but a reviewer?

I looked at the top of the column. At the reviewer's name. Ned Bristol. At his chumpy little picture, smiling from the page. “You're a jerk!” I yelled at the paper. “And a moron, too!” And I had lots more to say, believe me, but all of a sudden I stopped and looked at the picture again.

Closer.

In my mind, I took off the faddish glasses.

Erased the smile.

And slowly a wave of heat spread from my head, down my back and out my arms.

It was him!

It
had
to be.

I looked over at Tess and her Disciples, laughing and yapping and drinking brewed bean juice. And I knew right then that Hudson was right.

The Splotter was wearing no clothes.

FOURTEEN   

I tore out of the Vault and rode my skateboard hard and fast. I don't remember the turns or the lights or the traffic—I was too busy
thinking
to pay much attention to what I was
doing.

Inside, my head was a jangly, jumbly mess. On the one hand, Tess Winters was mean and I
wanted
her to be guilty. She was snobby. She was cold and hateful and phony. I wanted to throw a bucket of paint on her and her broomstick and make her dissolve.

But on the
other
hand, I was confused about Diane. I mean, I liked her, but she had come between Hudson and Grams, and I was sort of panicked about it. I didn't want Grams to be sad or hurt or any of that, plus I didn't want to lose Hudson as a friend—something that was already happening, thanks to my big mouth.

But even though I knew Grams thought that Diane was a sneaky manipulative purple-eyed dragon—even though it might hurt Grams' feelings for me to help Diane—if I was right about Tess, someone had to expose her.

When I reached the arch of roses, I popped up my board and carried it down the gravel driveway to Diane's house. And as I got close, I noticed that Diane already
had company. Near her walkway was one of those European motor scooters. You know, bigger than a bike, but not quite a motorcycle?

Anyway, this thing was bright white and had about fifty rearview mirrors on it. Seriously, they were different shapes and different sizes, sticking out all around the front end like a wall of glass.

I checked it out long enough to learn that it was called a “Vespa,” then went up and stood at the front door. And when I finally reached up to ring the bell, my arm seemed heavy. Weak. Like it just didn't want to do it.

But I knew I had to tell her. So I pushed the doorbell, took a step back, and waited.

The door didn't open, but a curtain to my right moved slightly. I waved like, Hey, I know you're there, even though I couldn't see who it was.

Forever later, the front door swings open and Diane peeks out at me saying, “I'm sorry, Sammy, but it's not a good time.”

Her eyes are all puffy and her cheeks are flushed, and she's got a mangled hankie in her hand.

She starts to close the door on me, so I cry, “Wait! I have something I have to tell you!”

She cocks her head a little like, Oh?

“It's about Tess. She …” I pull the newspaper review out of my back pocket and hand it to her.

“She what?”

“First, do you know this Ned Bristol guy?”

She nods. “He's interviewed me several times.”

“Does he always wear glasses?”

She shakes her head. “No …”

“Do you know what he drives?””

She focuses on me a little closer. “Why?”

“Just tell me—does he drive a purple Camaro?”

“Yes … he does.”

“That's him!” I said, slapping the paper in her hands.

“That's who?”

“The guy who took an envelope from Tess! Out the side door of the Vault! A couple of hours ago! I'm sure she was paying him off.” I tapped on the paper. “For this!”

Her face morphs from soft-puffy-smile to eye-popping surprise. Then she grabs me by the wrist and hauls me through the house and into the living room. And who's sitting on the fireplace hearth?

Jojo.

Big surprise, huh? I mean, who else would drive a motor scooter with fifty funky mirrors?

Anyway, he jumps up when he sees me, looking sort of guilty and very confused. “Sammy?”

“Tell him,” Diane says to me. “Tell him everything you just told me.”

So I do, and when I'm done, Jojo says, “Wait a minute, wait a minute. Are you sure it was Ned?”

“I followed him down the alley. I watched him zoom off in a jacked-up purple Camaro with chrome bumpers and Bondoed doors. You know anyone else who has one of those?”

“No, but come on. Tess could have been handing him tickets to the movies. You can't just accuse people of paying people off.”

“You should have seen the way she did it, Jojo. She kept looking over her shoulder.”

“But that doesn't mean he's the guy! It could have been—”

“Joseph, clearly this review is the result of a bribe. Ned Bristol has never written anything even remotely scathing in his life! It's always been gushy small-town puff pieces. And now this? It's Tess's style, Tess's thoughts, Tess's words. He just took the bribe to place it.”

“Yeah!” I said. “And I'll bet he's also the Squirt Gun Bandit! She was probably desperate to get your paintings out of there because of that
L.A. Times
guy!”

“Why … I'll bet you're right!” Diane says, then adds, “First she tries to steal my paintings, then she tries to destroy them this way.”

Jojo shakes his head and tisks. “But Ned wouldn't risk his
job
—”

“He'll never
admit
it, Joseph. Although he's certainly made no secret of the pittance he gets paid at the paper, so maybe he doesn't even care. The point is, this all makes sense now. Tess is just trying to push me out of the limelight, and frankly, I'm more than happy to leave.” She puts her hands on her hips. “I want my paintings back, Joseph. Today.”

“No, no! You don't! Don't you see? All she's done is push you
into
the limelight! That ridiculous review will make people curious! They'll be coming in in droves.”

“To see my ‘conspicuously out of touch' paintings? No thank you.”

“But Di, be
reasonable.
None of this is my fault! And
I'm heavily invested in you! I've taken out ads, I've done promo three counties wide. I got the
Los Angeles Times
to cover you! When that hits stands around the globe, none of this will matter!”

“It does to me.”

Jojo takes a deep breath and puts both hands up. “Okay, okay. I'll investigate. I'll get to the bottom of this and—”

“
You'll
investigate?” She shakes her head like, Oh yeah—fat lotta good that'll do.

“Wait and see! And if Tess is behind this, we'll expose her and
she'll
be the one to suffer. Not you, not me. Tess.”

Diane crosses her arms. “But none of this will happen before your contract with her is up, am I right? After all, you're invested in her as well, no?”

He gives her a helpless shrug. “What can I do? I'm legally bound to her.”

“Not if she's broken the law!” She shakes her head again, then sort of crumbles into the folds of a worn-looking armchair. “Oh, let's stop bickering. I don't want this. You don't want this.” She sighs. “Perhaps I
am
ready to pursue other avenues.” She looks at Jojo. “Like you encouraged me earlier?”

Jojo's eyes get bigger. And bigger. And
bigger.
“Do you mean … ?”

She nods. “I think lithographs might be a good idea after all.” She lets out a big sigh and says, “The art world has been run over by people like Tess—I just can't stomach it any longer.” She gives him a tired smile.

“Would you release me from my contract if I agreed to prints?”

Jojo dashes over and slides down on one knee, holding one of her hands with both of his. “Yes! Yes, yes, yes! I'm so glad you've finally seen the light! Do you remember how reluctant you were to show them at all? How you priced them so high, hoping maybe they
wouldn't
sell?”

“Did I say that?”

“You didn't have to! It was obvious to me! Obvious from the day you unveiled the first one. You wouldn't even show me the others, remember? They're
personal
to you.” He pats her hand. “This way, we'll sell the prints, you'll keep the originals—it'll be the best of both worlds!”

She smiles at him, then lets out a choppy sigh. “Okay, then. Let's do it.”

Jojo jumps up. “Darling, I am on it. I'll get Michael to shoot the negs right away and—” He stops short and says, “I
am
your agent and distributor on this, then, right? We
do
have an exclusive agreement, right? One you won't renege on, right?”

She laughs and waves a hand. “Write it up. I'll sign anything that's fair. I just want my paintings back.”

He sort of spins around like he's not sure which direction to run, then says, “I'll put it together right now! Right away. No, no, I'll get Michael going first. Oh! You won't regret this, Di. This is the smartest career move you've made!” He kisses her hand, then whispers, “And expect Tess to be catty and condescending when she hears. She'll call it crass commercialization, but only
because she'll be green—just green! And don't you think I'm going to let this review thing drop. I have friends at the paper, too.” He winks at her. “Let's see what trouble I can cause Neddy boy!”

So he dashes for the door, but I intercept him and whisper, “Uh, Jojo? Your landlady was looking for you at the Vault….”

His face squinches up. “You didn't tell her where I was, did you?”

“No! I didn't
know
where you were. But Jojo, I think you'd better pay her. Real soon.”

“I will, dumplin', I will.”

“No, Jojo, I mean like, today.” I hesitate, then say, “Why don't you ask Austin to help you? She said he's co-leasing.” And before my mouth knows when to shut up, out comes, “I can't believe he's your
brother.
”

Jojo's eyes get all big, then they come down to half-mast. “He's my
half
brother, and a pitiful one at that.”

“But—”

“Thinks he's such a star.” His face comes in real close and he says, “Do you know what his real name is? It's Harold
Flunk.
”

“But—”

“And blood's only important to him when he
wants
something.”

“But—”

“The opportunist! He won't do lithographs with me! He's holding out for ‘better distribution.' But now,
now
I'll show him!” Then with a huff, he spins around and darts for the door.

I just kind of stand there blinking after him, and when I turn around, there's Diane on the sofa with her head cocked like, And what was all that about?

It probably would have been polite for me to tell her, or at least
leave
, but instead I went over and said, “Um, Ms. Reijden?”

“Yeeeees … ?”

“There's something I have to know.”

“Oh?” she says, but it comes out more a sigh. Like she'd rather I'd just go away.