Now You See Her by Linda Howard Page B

interpretive skills to do the same old thing over and over again.”
    He had underestimated his target. Sweeney had been raised in the art world and by the queen of sly, savage remarks. She gave him a sweet smile. “What it
takes,
darling”—her tone was an almost exact mimicry of his—”is a lot of gall to pass your kind of con off on the public. Of course, I guess you have to have something to offset your total lack of talent.”
    â€œThere’s no point in this,” Candra interjected, trying to pour oil on the waters.
    â€œOh, let her talk,” VanDern said, languidly waving a dismissive hand. “If she could do what I do, she would be doing it, making real money instead of peddling her stuff to the Wal-Mart crowd.”
    Candra stiffened. Her gallery was her pride, and she resented the implication that her clientele was anything but the crème de la crème.
    â€œI can do what you do,” Sweeney said, lifting her eyebrows in exaggerated surprise. “But I outgrew it somewhere around the age of three. Would you like to make a small bet? I bet I can duplicate any of your works you choose, but you can’t duplicate any of mine, and the loser has to kiss the winner’s ass.”
    A low rumble sounded in Kai’s throat. He turned his head, pretending to cough.
    VanDern gave him a furious look, then turned his attention back to Sweeney. “How childish,” he sneered.
    â€œAfraid to take the bet, huh?” she said.
    â€œOf course not!”
    â€œThen do it. I tell you what: I won’t limit you to just my work. Pick a classic; duplicate a Whistler, a Monet, a van Gogh. I’m sure they would be worthy of your great talent.”
    His cheeks turned a dull red. He glared at her, unable to win the argument and equally unable to think of a graceful way of getting out of the bet. He glanced at Candra. “I’ll come back later,” he said stiffly, “when you have more time.”
    â€œDo that,” she said, her tone clipped. Her annoyance was obvious. When the doors closed behind him, she turned to Sweeney. “I’m sorry. He can be an arrogant jerk sometimes.”
    â€œWithout straining,” Sweeney agreed.
    Candra smiled. “You more than held your own. He’ll think twice before he challenges you again. He’s hot right now, but fads pass, and I’m sure he knows his day in the sun won’t last very long.”
    In Sweeney’s opinion, VanDern thought he wasthe center of the universe, but she shrugged and let the subject drop.
    Candra returned her attention to the paintings, tapping one elegant nail on her bottom lip as she considered them. Sweeney’s stomach knotted again.
    â€œThey’re almost surreal,” Candra murmured, talking to herself. “Your use of color is striking. Several shades seem to glow, like light coming through stained glass. A river, a mountain, flowers, but not like any you’ve done before.”
    Sweeney was silent. She had spent hours, days, staring worriedly at those canvases; she knew every brushstroke on them. But she looked at them again, wondering what she had missed, and saw that nothing had changed. The colors still looked strangely intense, the composition was a little off in some way she couldn’t explain, the brushstrokes were a touch blurred. She couldn’t tell if it was surreal, as Candra said, or exuberant. Maybe both. Maybe neither.
    â€œI want more,” Candra said. “If this is an example of what you’ve been doing, I want every canvas you’ve completed. I’m doubling your prices. I may have to come down in price, but I think I’m judging it right.”
    Kai nodded in agreement. “There’s energy here, a lot more than I’ve ever seen in your work. People will go nuts over these.”
    Sweeney dismissed the bit about energy; that was just a buzzword. His last statement was more honest, an assessment of