Mercy sighs, leaning against a table for extra drama. “There’s been a misunderstanding.”
“There always is,” Athene murmurs. “One that usually turns out not to be a misunderstanding at all. That is, we misunderstand nothing. You misunderstand our tolerance for your nonsense. As for this particular bit of nonsense, I do not appreciate you dragging me into it.”
“I didn’t drag you into anything, Teeny.”
“Do. Not. Call. Me. That.”
“The only person being dragged into anything here is me,” I say. “That was you last night, yes? Ms. Silver?”
Mercy’s eyes glitter. “It was, and I’m delighted that you aren’t certain. That is one of my favorite disguises. If a disguise is close to your own personality, it’s easy to maintain but also easy to see through. While distancing yourself from a personality is more challenging, it’s always the better choice. There, a succinct first lesson.”
She beams, as if expecting a cookie.
“Yeah, no,” I say. “I don’t want any lessons from you, thanks. Last night’s bullshit was quite enough. You can both leave now.” I pause. “No, that sounded like a request. Leave. Now. Both of you.”
Athene’s brows shoot up clear to her hairline. “I beg your pardon?”
I wave around my shop. “This is not public property. It’s my shop. I’m going to ask you to take your little tiff outside.”
“Little tiff?” Athene says.
Mercy snickers. “Keep going, Kennedy. You’re about to give my sister a heart attack.” She mimics Athene’s crisp tone. “No one speaks to me that way, young lady. Do you have any idea who I am?”
“Out. Both of you.” I stalk to the door. “As of now, I’m closed.”
“You have really upset her,” Athene says to Mercy. “What did you do this time?”
“I honestly don’t know,” Mercy says, her voice going serious. “You passed the pop quiz, kid. I was testing your curiosity and your determination. Also, your empathy. I’m very fond of empathy.”
I snort. “I presume that’s a joke.”
“Ohhh,” Athene says. “You really did do something.” She lowers herself into an antique chair. “Please, continue. This promises to be quite entertaining.”
Mercy throws up her hands. “I’m missing something here.”
“Yes,” I say. “Empathy. That’s what you’re missing. The general ability to consider the feelings of others. I like a good prank. Kinda my speciality. But there’s fun, and there’s cruel, and then there’s downright vicious. You didn’t just cross that line, Mercury. You pole vaulted it.”
Now Athene frowns. “Mercy? There actually may have been a misunderstanding. My sister can be the living equivalent of a fart joke, but ‘cruel’ isn’t in her vocabulary, much less ‘vicious.’ ”
“Thank you,” Mercy says. “I think.”
“Wait a moment,” Athene says, rising. “I believe I see the problem. Ms. Bennett is under the impression you led her to the actual cursed painting. I was in the midst of correcting that mistake when you walked in.”
“The original cursed painting?” Mercy shakes her head. “No, Kennedy. I wouldn’t do that. The painting is a fake. Did the jinx fail to activate?”
“The jinx where a little girl’s ghost comes flying down the stairs at us? Almost makes us fall and break our necks? Oh, yeah, it activated.”
Mercy’s frown grows. “No, that’s the original curse. The real one. You got a fake. When activated, the little girl makes . . . er . . .” She glances at her sister. “Gaseous noises accompanied by a noxious odor.”
“I rest my case,” Athene says. “Fart jokes.”
“Well, then you screwed up,” I say. “Because we got the real painting.”
“That isn’t possible,” Mercy says.
Athene shakes her head. “I have already informed Ms. Bennett that she is mistaken, though I did not get the chance to explain why. We destroyed all four Costa paintings ourselves. Mercy uncursed them, and I destroyed them.”
I lift my hands. “All I know is that I encountered that curse on that painting. So did Aiden Connolly. If you don’t believe us, then check with the state police. Officers Platts and Grove. They both saw it when they came to seize it, and that was a fun explanation.”
“Seize it?” Mercy says.
“Someone reported it stolen. Then someone tipped them off that we had it in our trunk. As a prank, apparently.”
“That’s not a prank,” Mercy says. “It’s a threat.”
“Speaking of threats . . .” I take out my phone and show them the messages.
“I didn’t send those,” Mercy says. “Yes, I set up the fake painting auction. I made sure you’d see it. Actually, I’ve tried a few times, but you finally noticed. I played Ms. Silver. I sent you to the abandoned house, where you were supposed to find the fake painting. It was a legit test. The introductory lesson in our classes. The painting was fake, and I certainly didn’t report it stolen.”
“So we hallucinated the police along with the little girl?”
“Someone set you up. The question is why.” She frowns. “This is all terribly confusing.” She looks at her sister. “Any ideas, o wise one?”
“I will require more information.” Athene turns to me. “Tell us everything.”
Chapter Fifteen
Fifteen
Athene and Mercy are gone, and I’m in the back room, eating icing off a cupcake and wondering about the possibility of getting more. It’s that or rummage through the recycling to see if we left any drops in that wine bottle from yesterday.
I should call Connolly. I’ve texted, just a simple note to let him know all is well. In other words, I lied. All is far from well, but I’m not ready to discuss what just happened. First I need to understand it myself.
Mercy sent us on the painting hunt. Got it. That makes sense. I’d have grumbled over the wild-goose chase, but if that’s all it’d been, I’d have grudgingly admitted we had fun. An unexpected midweek adventure.
Yet Mercy did not do the nasty parts. Not the ghost kid or the police raid. Again, that fits what I know of her. Yet it begs the question, why would someone replace the painting with the real one and call the cops on me?
Is it the real one? Athene and Mercy are convinced they destroyed that. This must be what got Vanessa’s attention. I claimed to have encountered a cursed painting she believed destroyed. She dug deeper, and in digging, tipped off Athene, who figured it was a ploy to get her attention.
Someone intercepted Mercy’s game and inserted either the original painting or another fake . . . with a duplicate curse. Then they called the cops. Then they sent those texts so I’d think Mercy was behind it.
When the door chimes ring, I practically dive into the showroom, hoping to see Mercy or Athene. Instead, it’s a tall, willowy blonde with the grace of a cover model and an outfit that suggests she just might be, from her crisp linen dress to her elegant sandals to the delicate gold earring that catches the light as she turns toward me.