Eye of the Beholder

said. "I'll reattach it later."
    "Sure. Okay." Dylan set the heavy glove on a table. "See you tomorrow, Alexa." He nodded politely at Harriet. "Ma'am."
    He disappeared in an embarrassed rush.
    Harriet turned to Alexa. "Your friend is the anxious sort, isn't he?"
    "Your fault. You made him nervous."
    "But, dear—"
    "You make me nervous." Alexa waved that aside. "Just tell me why you're here, Mac."
    "It's very simple really." Harriet's smile would have soothed a disgruntled devil. "I need a little help from one of my dearest friends."
    Alexa stared at her aghast. "Me?"
    "You."
    "Forget it." Resolutely, Alexa turned back to the stack of gargoyle boxes. "I'm busy."
    "I can see that. But this won't take long. It's a simple request, really."
    "There is no such thing as a simple request where you're concerned." Alexa lifted another box down from the stack and yanked open the lid. More gargoyle eyes goggled up at her. "You're bad news, Mac. I gave you the best years of my life, and look what you did to me."
    "Because of me, my dear, you will one day be a legend in the business. You will surpass that twit, Paxton Forsyth, himself, in prominence. In the future your verdict on any objects d'art created in the first half of the twentieth century will be accepted as the final authority."
    "Yeah, sure." Alexa was aware of a growing sense of anxiety. The deeper she dug into the heap of gargoyle cartons the more convinced she was that Joanna had been trying to tell her something important. "Let's have it, Mac. Why are you here?"
    Harriet cleared her throat. "Well, dear, as it happens, I have recently acquired a rather important client."
    "Client?" That stopped her for a moment. Alexa looked at Harriet over her shoulder. "I knew it. You're still in business, aren't you?"
    "Yes, of course." Harriet chuckled. "Can you envision me just sitting back in my rocking chair, knitting?"
    The thought of Mac not involved in the art world was mind-boggling, Alexa admitted silently. "What, exactly, are you doing these days, Mac?"
    "The usual," Harriet said airily. "I assist my clients in acquiring the very finest early-twentieth-century art and antiques."
    "Who are these clients?" Alexa asked suspiciously.
    "Wealthy, discerning collectors who, for one reason or another, prefer not to do business with the customary galleries and auction houses."
    "Why not? Afraid they'll get arrested?"
    "In some cases, yes." Harriet smiled candidly. "In others, there is a fear of deportation. Some simply are obsessed with maintaining their anonymity. Collectors are an odd lot, you know that. I cater to those who like to keep a very low profile."
    "So, you're working for criminals and lowlifes who don't dare come out in the light of day. Congratulations, Mac. Sounds exciting."
    "It certainly has its moments. Now then, the reason I need your assistance, my dear, is that I have recently acquired a very fine Icarus Ives piece for my client. Dancing Satyr. "
    Alexa groaned. "I should have known."
    Harriet's eyes widened innocently. "I take it you're with me on this so far."
    "I knew that Ives piece that Edward bought from Forsyth was one of your forgeries. I was sure of it."
    "Lovely, isn't it? I understand it's in the new Avalon Resort & Spa collection."
    "West wing. Right outside the owner's suite." Alexa glowered. "I wondered what had happened to the real one. You stole it, didn't you? And then arranged to leave your fake in its place."
    Harriet glowed with pride of craftsmanship. "Paxton Forsyth never knew the difference. And Edward Vale, being the charming dunce that he is, purchased it for the new Avalon collection. I knew I was in trouble when I heard the rumor that you were vetting Vale's acquisitions."
    Alexa was briefly distracted by that news. "The rumors about me are already on the street?"
    "Of course, dear. I told you that you were well on your way to becoming a legend."
    Alexa narrowed her eyes. "What's the problem? You've got the real Satyr for your client."
    "The problem," Harriet said delicately, "is that my client unfortunately obtained Vale's catalog of the Avalon collection. He noticed that Dancing Satyr was listed among the items housed in the hotel, and he naturally wondered a bit about the authenticity of his own Satyr. "
    A short silence descended. Alexa bit her lip. And then, from out of nowhere, the humor of the situation swept over her.
    "Oh, lord, this is wonderful." Laughter welled up. She succumbed to it. "This is great. Shot yourself in