The Art of Deception

that—that creature threatens to sue again, Adam will have to retain his own attorney. I won’t be involved in a legal battle, particularly when I have my business with Senhor Alvarez to complete. What time is it in Brazil?”
    “Some time or other,” Kirby murmured.
    “I’ll call him immediately and close the deal before we find ourselves slapped with a summons.”
    Adam sat back with his brandy and scratched Montique’s ears. “You two don’t seriously expect me to believe you’re worried about being sued by a cat?”
    Kirby ran a fingertip around the rim of her snifter. “I don’t think we’d better tell him about what happened last year when we tried to have her evicted.”

    “No!” Fairchild leaped up and shuffled before he darted to the door. “I won’t discuss it. I won’t remember it. I’m going to call Brazil.”
    “Ah, Adam…” Kirby trailed off with a meaningful glance at the doorway.
    Adam didn’t have to look to know that Isabelle was making an entrance.
    “I won’t be intimidated by a cat.”
    “I’m sure that’s very stalwart of you.” Kirby downed the rest of her drink then rose. “Just as I’m sure you’ll understand if I leave you to your courage. I really have to reline my dresser drawers.”
    For the second time that day, Adam found himself alone with a dog and cat.
    A half hour later, after he’d lost a staring match with Isabelle, Adam locked his door and contacted McIntyre. In the brief, concise tones that McIntyre had always admired, Adam relayed the conversation he’d overheard the night before.
    “It fits,” McIntyre stated. Adam could almost see him rubbing his hands together. “You’ve learned quite a bit in a short time. The check on Hiller reveals he’s living on credit and reputation. Both are running thin. No idea where Fairchild’s keeping it?”
    “I’m surprised he doesn’t have it hanging in full view.” Adam lit a cigarette and frowned at the Titian across the room. “It would be just like him. He mentioned a Victor Alvarez from Brazil a couple of times. Some kind of deal he’s cooking.”
    “I’ll see what I can dig up. Maybe he’s selling the Rembrandt.”
    “He hardly needs the money.”
    “Some people never have enough.”

    “Yeah.” But it didn’t fit. It just didn’t fit. “I’ll get back to you.”
    Adam brooded, but only for a few moments. The sooner he had something tangible, the sooner he could untangle himself. He opened the panel and went to work.
     
    In the morning, Kirby posed for Adam for more than two hours without the slightest argument. If he thought her cooperation and her sunny disposition were designed to confuse him, he was absolutely right. She was also keeping him occupied while Fairchild made the final arrangements for the disposal of the Van Gogh.
    Adam had worked the night before until after midnight, but had found nothing. Wherever Fairchild had hidden the Rembrandt, he’d hidden it well. Adam’s search of the third floor was almost complete. It was time to look elsewhere.
    “Hidden with respect and affection,” he remembered. In all probability that would rule out the dungeons and the attic. Chances were he’d have to give them some time, but he intended to concentrate on the main portion of the house first. His main objective would be Fairchild’s private rooms, but when and how he’d do them he had yet to determine.
    After the painting session was over and Kirby went back to her own work, Adam wandered around the first floor. There was no one to question his presence. He was a guest and he was trusted. He was supposed to be, he reminded himself when he became uncomfortable. One of the reasons McIntyre had drafted him for this particular job was because he would have easy access to the Fairchilds and the house. He was, socially and professionally, one of them. They’d have no reason to be suspicious of a well-bred, successful artist whom they’d welcomed into their own home. And the more Adam tried to justify his actions, the more the guilt ate at him.
    Enough, he told himself as he stared out at the darkening sky. He’d had enough for one day. It was time he went up and changed for Melanie Burgess’s party. There he’d meet Stuart Hiller and Harriet Merrick. There were no emotional ties there to make him feel like a spy and a thief. Swearing at himself, he started up the stairs.
    “Excuse me, Mr. Haines.” Impatient, Adam turned and looked down at Tulip. “Were you going