The Art of Deception

passenger seat. Under most circumstances, Adam would’ve attributed her silence and unease to her scene with Hiller. But he remembered her reaction at the mention of the sale of a Titian.
    What was going on in that kaleidoscope brain of hers? he wondered. And how was he going to find out? The direct approach, Adam decided, and thought fleetingly that it was a shame to waste the moonlight. “The Titian that’s been sold,” he began, pretending he didn’t see Kirby jolt. “Has Harriet had it long?”
    “The Titian.” She folded her hands in her lap. “Oh, years and years. Your Mrs. Birmingham’s shaped like a zucchini, don’t you think?”
    “She’s not my Mrs. Birmingham.” A new game, he concluded, and relaxed against the seat. “It’s too bad it was sold before I could see it. I’m a great admirer of Titian. The painting in my room’s exquisite.”
    Kirby let out a sound that might have been a nervous giggle. “The one at the gallery is just as exquisite,” she told him. “Ah, here we are, home again. Just leave the car out front,” she said, half relieved, half annoyed, that the next steps were being put into play. “Cards will see to it. I hope you don’t mind coming back early, Adam. There’s Papa,” she added as she stepped from the car. “He must’ve struck out with Harriet. Let’s have a nightcap, shall we?”

    She started up the steps without waiting for his agreement. Knowing he was about to become a part of some hastily conceived plan, he went along. It’s all too pat, he mused as Fairchild waited at the door with a genial smile.
    “Too many people,” Fairchild announced. “I much prefer small parties. Let’s have a drink in the parlor and gossip.”
    Don’t look so bloody anxious, Kirby thought, and nearly scowled at him. “I’ll go tell Cards to see to the Rolls and my car.” Still, she hesitated as the men walked toward the parlor. Adam caught the indecision in her eyes before Fairchild cackled and slapped him on the back.
    “And don’t hurry back,” he told Kirby. “I’ve had enough of women for a while.”
    “How sweet.” The irony and strength came back into her voice. “I’ll just go in and eat Tulip’s lemon trifle. All,” she added as she swept past.
    Fairchild thought of his midnight snack with regret. “Brat,” he muttered. “Well, we’ll have Scotch instead.”
    Adam dipped his hands casually in his pockets and watched every move Fairchild made. “I had a chance to see Kirby’s portrait in Harriet’s library. It’s marvelous.”
    “One of my best, if I say so myself.” Fairchild lifted the decanter of Chivas Regal. “Harriet’s fond of my brat, you know.” In a deft move, Fairchild slipped two pills from his pocket and dropped them into the Scotch.
    Under normal circumstances Adam would’ve missed it. Clever hands, he thought as intrigued as he was amused. Very quick, very agile. Apparently they wanted him out of the way. He was going to find it a challenge to pit himself against both of them. With a smile, he accepted the drink, then turned to the Corot landscape behind him.
    “Corot’s treatment of light,” Adam began, taking a small sip. “It gives all of his work such deep perspective.”
    No ploy could’ve worked better. Fairchild was ready to roll. “I’m very partial to Corot. He had such a fine hand with details without being finicky and obscuring the overall painting. Now the leaves,” he began, and set down his drink to point them out. While the lecture went on, Adam set down his own drink, picked up Fairchild’s and enjoyed the Scotch.
    Upstairs Kirby found the Titian already wrapped in heavy paper. “Bless you, Cards,” she murmured. She checked her watch and made herself wait a full ten minutes before she picked up the painting and left the room. Quietly she moved down the back stairs and out to where her car waited.
    In the parlor, Adam studied Fairchild as he sat in the corner of the sofa, snoring. Deciding the least he could do was to make his host more comfortable, Adam started to swing Fairchild’s legs onto the couch. The sound of a car engine stopped him. Adam was at the window in time to see Kirby’s Porsche race down the drive.
    “You’re going to have company,” he promised her. Within moments, he was behind the wheel of the Rolls.
    The surge of speed added to Kirby’s sense of adventure. She drove instinctively while she concentrated on her task for the evening. It helped ease the guilt over