False Premises Read Free Page B

door. Two months ago, we had placed a Mary Washington chair from the 1800s in this very spot. Although the upholstery of the two chairs was roughly the same cinnamon color, this one’s hand—that all-important feel of the fabric against one’s skin—was dreadful. The stretcher was now a plain dowel, and the front legs had been lathed with modern machinery.
    My stomach in knots, I made my way to the writing table. Pulling the drawer all the way out, I had to bite my lip as I caught sight of the bottom. Cheap particleboard. The joinery was crap—stapled together. The eighteenth-century desk I’d selected and installed in this house had been handcrafted with loving dovetail precision, mortise and tenon legs. Sick at heart, I replaced the drawer.
    I’d stepped into my own worst nightmare. Every stick of furniture in sight had gone from a gorgeous antique to a tacky reproduction. Anything beyond a cursory inspection would reveal that at once to any knowledgeable eye.
    What the hell was going on here?
    Could someone have conned Laura and Dave into believing these fakes and frauds were the fortune in antiques that they’d purchased? But that was impossible. Laura would know instantly that these were fakes. And the authentic pieces had been in place the last time I was in this house, just two months earlier.
    There was the slightest hitch in Laura’s step as she walked into the room and spotted me, and it broke my heart. I’d come uninvited, and, obviously, she knew I would instantly realize that the furnishings had been switched.
    “Erin,” she said, that warm, Julia Roberts–like smile instantly on her face. “This is a surprise.”

Chapter 2
    Had Laura hidden Dave’s glasses because she’d sold the antiques while he was on his business trip? Did she now plan to skip town with the profits? No, that was absurd. Nobody in their right mind would attempt such a thing. And Laura was a wonderful friend. I felt a pang of guilt for even thinking that she’d do something so rotten and underhanded.
    I tried to calm myself. “I came over to make sure you were okay. I had visions of that guy you flipped to the floor last night tracking you down a second time. He left just a minute after you did.”
    “That’s what I was afraid he’d do, too,” Laura replied. “So I headed straight for my car while calling the police. I’m sorry I didn’t call you back and explain all that to you last night. But Dave had been gone a whole month and got home unexpectedly, and we had a lot of catching up to do.”
    “Did you recognize the guy with the dreadlocks or something?”
    “Unfortunately. Though not at first . . . not underneath the beard and all that phony hair.” She glanced over her shoulder, then said softly, “I don’t know his name or anything, but he’s been stalking me all over town.”
    “He has ? Stalking you? Why?”
    “I have no idea. He must have spotted me someplace and developed an infatuation.” She combed her hair back from her face, her fingers trembling slightly. “What happened after I left?”
    “He claimed he was an undercover cop, then he left, too.”
    Laura absently stroked her neck along the line of her cream-and-rose-tinted silk scarf. “He’s no cop. I’m sure of at least that much.”
    Despite the serious subject matter, the duplicated furniture surrounding us pulled my attention like iron filings to a magnet. It was all I could do to keep my eyes focused on hers. I asked, “But you don’t know where he lives or works? And why he suddenly donned a wig?”
    “Exactly.”
    It was no use; my vision was drawn to the camelback sofa against the east wall. The seat cushions and back used to be covered in black woven horsehair, painstakingly blended with the original strands. The upholstery was now some sort of trashy-looking nylon-synthetic blend.
    “It scares me half to death,” Laura said, recapturing my full attention. “At least the police are on the lookout for the guy now, so maybe