Midnight Jewels

distracted unless he chose to be.
    He glanced around the apartment as he waited for her to appear in the doorway, unconsciously picking up further clues about Mercy. The place was filled with color and a certain amount of casual clutter. She obviously favored bright, vivid hues. There was no mauve, pale mint green or baby blue in the compact, well lit room.
    The sofa was lemon yellow, accented with turquoise throw pillows. The lamps were high tech in design, deep orange with all sorts of kinky twists and turns. The bookcase was also orange, finished in a shiny lacquer that added sparkle to the room. There was more sparkle from the mirrors on the wall behind the sofa that picked up the tiny scrap of cove view. The carpet was a strong slate gray and the walls were stark white.
    The pictures on the walls caught Croft's attention. There were dozens of them, all watercolors, all done by the same hand and all showing a terrible technique and a total lack of understanding of the medium. There were pictures of the cove as seen from the tiny balcony of the apartment, pictures of sunsets on the water, pictures of sailboats, pictures of the islands lying offshore.
    The colors of sky and water had been laid on with a heavy hand. A lot of purple and cobalt blue. The sails on the boats were far too bright. The islands were thick green blobs on the horizon instead of misty, half-seen visions. The sunsets were the same orange as the bookcase in the living room. Whatever delicacy of line or subtle color that might have been achieved had been ruined at the start by a brush that had obviously been wielded by an assertive, poorly trained, although clearly enthusiastic hand.
    Croft was startled to find himself oddly charmed by the cheerful watercolors on the walls. Normally such lack of restraint would not appeal to him. At the same time he felt an urge to take the painter by the nape of her neck, lead her to the paper and show her how watercolors should be done.
    He knew without asking that the pictures had been painted by Mercy Pennington.
    The one other purely ornamental feature in the living room was a brilliantly hued wooden screen. It was in three parts and stood six feet high. This was a professional, not an amateurish creation. The panels were painted with a stunningly exotic tropical motif, all lush green leaves, turquoise sky, brilliant flowers and vivid orange fruit that must have come directly from the artist's head. It didn't look like any fruit Croft had ever seen. All in all, the scene was one of primal innocence, a tropical paradise, an unreal, too vivid dream.
    But in the center panel a sleek, golden-eyed leopard crouched. It was an intruder, a lethal visitor that was not truly a part of its surroundings. It was a creature from another, far more sinister world and it brought a threat to paradise and innocence. It dominated the environment in which it found itself, faintly disdainful of the soft, bright beauty surrounding it. The expression in the leopard's gaze was remote and superior, arrogant and detached. It was as if the leopard knew another kind of reality and preferred that other, more natural habitat. But there was a longing in those great, golden eyes, too, a silent, secret wish to be part of the lush, sweet brightness that was all around.
    The impossibility of the leopard ever being accepted in paradise was what made Croft turn away from the panel painting. For its own peace of mind, the creature of the night had better continue to enjoy its separate, more dangerous reality.
    Croft finished his examination of Mercy's living room just as she walked in with an old, leather bound book in her hand. "Did you buy your furniture to match the screen or did you buy the screen to match the furniture?" he asked out of curiosity.
    She grinned, her eyes bright with appreciative laughter. "I bought the screen and then had to get new furniture to go with it. Not the most efficient way to furnish a place."
    "No, but there's a certain logic to it," he admitted.
    "I take it you don't approve of my taste?"
    He thought about that, turning the question over in his mind while she raised her eyebrows. "It suits you," he finally said, satisfied with the decision.
    "Gee, thanks. I think. I'll bet I can guess how your house is furnished. Very bare, with no unnecessary bits and pieces hanging around to clutter up the place, hmm? Maybe the austere, Japanese style with shoji screens, wooden floors, a couple of elegantly stark pieces of