Eye of the Beholder

thought. He'd finished what he'd come here to Avalon to do. He had no more excuses for hanging around.
    The only thing holding him here was a fantasy.

    Harriet gave Alexa a cheerful smile. "It's almost time to close your shop, dear. Why don't we go somewhere and have a nice cup of tea together? We can talk over old times."
    Alexa opened another box of gargoyles. "The last thing I want to do is have a cup of tea with you, Mac."
    "Coffee, then," Harriet said irrepressibly. "I noticed a cute little cafe at the end of the walk."
    "It's closed indefinitely." Alexa examined the monsters inside the box and closed the lid. "What do you want, Mac?"
    "Oh, dear. I see you're still a trifle upset with me."
    That was too much. Alexa shoved the carton of gargoyles back into place in the stack and swung around to confront Harriet.
    "Upset? Why should I be upset, Mac? You pretended you were my friend and mentor, but you set me up to take the fall when your forgery scheme fell apart. You left me to face your irate clients. You disappeared without a trace, leaving me holding the bag."
    "I know you won't believe me, dear, but I never intended for you to get into trouble because of my little side business."
    "Side business? You're an art forger. You cheated some very powerful people. They were not happy when they found out they'd been taken to the cleaners. Experts hate it when someone makes a fool out of them."
    "I suppose I should be ashamed at having duped the so-called experts and the critics." Harriet twinkled. "But you must admit , some of them had it coming. Such an arrogant, prissy lot."
    "That arrogant, prissy lot tore my reputation to shreds. I was found guilty by association. I've had to go to ground for over a year to let the worst of the gossip dissipate. I may never fully recover."
    "Nonsense. Ultimately, the publicity will serve you well. Trust me."
    "Trust you? Mac, I did trust you once and you betrayed me."
    "There's no need to go all melodramatic." Harriet smiled benignly. "You'll do just fine, believe me. When the reviews of your wonderful Art Deco collection at the Avalon Resort & Spa hit print, you'll be hailed as the brilliant expert who exposed the McClelland forgeries."
    "If the word McClelland ever appears next to my name in print again, I'll be doomed."
    Harriet shook her head sadly. "You've got fantastic instincts when it comes to early-twentieth-century art, my dear, but you still have a great deal to learn about how things work in the art world."
    Alexa folded her arms. "In the past year, I've learned more than I really want to know, thank you very much."
    "Nonsense. What you fail to grasp is the importance of mystique."
    Alexa raised her brows. "Mystique? Is that another word for stupidity?"
    "No, dear, it's another word for presence. For fascination. For excitement. For charisma. For glamour. In short, for all the qualities that captivate those who make a living in the world of art."
    "Oh, yeah?" Alexa swept out a hand to indicate the cluttered back room full of imitation marble statuary, cheap tapestries, and fake swords. "Does this look like I've got a lot of mystique in my life?"
    "Give it time, my dear." Harriet looked wistful. "Young people are always so impatient."
    "Impatient?" Alexa yelped. "Is that what you—?" There was a movement in the doorway. She broke off to glance between two towers built of Greek pedestals and saw Dylan. He had a Styrofoam cup in one hand. He gave her an awkward smile.
    "Uh, sorry." He glanced uneasily at her and then at Harriet. "Am I interrupting anything?"
    Harriet gave him her charm-the-client smile. "Not at all, dear boy. Alexa and I are old friends. We haven't seen each other in a while. We were just renewing our acquaintance."
    "I see." Dylan looked dubious. He turned to Alexa for guidance.
    She managed to unclench her teeth. "Was there something you wanted, Dylan?"
    "Brought you some tea." He held up the plastic cup. "Iced. I'll, uh, just put it down on your front counter."
    "Thank you, Dylan."
    "Sure. Any time." He stepped back and came up hard against the full-sized suit of sixteenth-century armor. There was a loud clang. One of the metal gauntlets clattered to the floor.
    "Oops." Dylan's pale face flushed a dark red.
    "Careful, there," Harriet said brightly.
    Dylan winced. He stretched out his arm to scoop up the fallen gauntlet. Then he stood holding it with an abashed expression. "I'm not sure how to put it back."
    "Just set it down on the table," Alexa