Interior Motives Read Free

they can’t be used in modern construction, why don’t we take advantage of their art value? The carving is magnificent.”
    Tedd headed back to where I’d stacked the doors. She ran a red-tipped finger over the intricate detail, her smile wider by the second. Dutch joined her.
    I followed, certain of my new vision.
    Patience is not one of my stronger virtues, and it didn’t show any sign of fortification right then. But I bit my tongue and zipped my lip. I waited them out.
    When Dutch gave a soft “hmm . . .” I knew I’d won the battle. And, to my credit, I didn’t crow.
    Instead, I said, “Don’t you think small, museumlike halogen spots above each door panel, like the ones I had installed around the perimeter of the waiting room, would make for a dramatic display?”
    Dutch began to nod. He whipped out his measuring tape again and nodded some more. “Not only are the doors narrower than the openings, but they’re also shorter. That means we should have enough space above them for your spotlights to aim just right. Now, I’ll still have to figure out a way to hang them without pulling down the walls—”
    “Aw, give me a break, Merrill! I can’t believe you’re about to throw up another roadblock. That should be a piece of cake for you.”
    “Yeah, like I can leap tall buildings and stop runaway trains, right?”
    I blushed again. “Well, maybe you’re not quite Superman, but you’re pretty handy with hammer and nails. Get with the program, Dutch ‘the Toolman’ Merrill. Give that old-TV-show guy a run for his money.”
    “More power, huh?”
    I faked a punch to his shoulder. “There you go! Chalk one up for the Toolman.”
    We all laughed, more out of relief at the averted stand- off than at my lame excuse for a joke. Then my cell phone rang.
    It was the shipping company about the delayed Guatemalan chairs. A multitude of apologies and excuses followed. I controlled my irritation—what else could I do? These minor headaches are part and parcel of my much-loved career.
    “So what’s the verdict?” Tedd asked.
    “Another few days—he promises . I was afraid he was even going to offer me his firstborn kid as collateral for the chairs.”
    “That’s too bad,” Tedd said. “I can’t wait to see them. The samples I fell in love with that time I went to Tijuana were incredible. I know they’re going to look fantastic in my waiting room.”
    I grimaced. “So do I . . . if they ever get here.”
    “Just so long as your part of this deal doesn’t slow my part down,” Dutch offered.
    “Give me a break! They’re just chairs. They go in last, after you’re done doing your thing.”
    “Come on, kiddies,” Tedd said. “Let’s try to get along now—”
    “Teddie!” a warbly female voice called from the waiting room. “Are you here, dear?”
    The psychologist glanced at her watch on her way to the front. “Look at the time! Yes, Darlene. I’m here. Is Jacob with you?”
    “Of course, dear. I wouldn’t come without him—it’s Cissy’s day off, remember?”
    My curiosity got the better of me—when doesn’t it? Since we began the redesign of Tedd’s office, I’d met more than a few of her other clients. I say “other” because I’m on the books too. Tedd has helped me deal with personal bogeymen a time or two. So I wanted to get a look at Darlene and Jacob, whoever they were.
    Besides, something about the elderly woman’s voice tugged at me, so I followed Tedd into the waiting room. When I walked past Dutch, I had to do some more ignoring, since he muttered, “There goes that nose again. Snoop, snoop, snoop . . .”
    It wasn’t easy, but I prevailed. Actually, it was my curiosity that won; it dragged me into the waiting room to catch a glimpse of Darlene and Jacob. I let my dignity squawk.
    In the large, boring beige space stood a tall, slender woman who brought to mind lace and tea parties and all the niceties of the late Victorian period. She wore her snow white hair