Free Finding the Forger by Libby Sternberg Page B

blush. “But of course you couldn’t. Not the way that dress hugs you so deliciously.”
    I don’t think I’ve ever been described as “delicious” before. And if some guy at school had just said that to me, I’d have swung at him. Or at least squinted. But somehow Neville could get away with saying a whole lot of things just because of his dreamy British accent. So when he pulled me a little closer, I didn’t resist, and that’s exactly how Doug found us—with Neville’s arm slipped around my waist and his lips perilously close to my ear as he whispered sweet and funny nothings to me.
    Doug was not amused. He stood ramrod straight, then shoved his hands in his pockets, looked at me, raised his eyebrows (which I was smart enough to know meant “what the hey is going on here?”), and pursed his lips before speaking.
    “Kerrie’s okay. Sarah’s helping her. They said they’d wait forus downstairs.”
    Doug was jealous. And, I’m ashamed to admit, I liked it. Something inside me said, “take that, you jerk. You ignored me to take care of sob sister Kerrie, so this is what you get—your girlfriend on the arms of Hugh Grant.”
    But once I’d had my satisfying moment of silent revenge, I pulled away from Neville and stood next to Doug. I might be weak, but I’m not stupid. Doug was my guy.
    And Doug wasn’t stupid, either. He knew Neville was putting the moves on me. Staking his claim, Doug grabbed my hand.
    “Let’s catch up with the crowd,” he said as if actually interested in the art exhibit. I was touched. Doug was pretending to like this hoity toity stuff just to please me. My eyes welled with tears of joy.
    Well, not really. But my mouth turned up in a kind of goofy grin that I’m sure knocked out my sophisticated look, good haircut or not.
    Neville, meanwhile, was undaunted by Doug’s territorial attitude. He strode right along with us, as if we were the Three Musketeers. And he kept up his funny banter, which annoyed Doug as well as most of the other art patrons within earshot.
    Trouble is, I’m a sucker for amusing banter. Okay, okay, I’m a sucker for anything silly—it doesn’t even need to rise to the level of “banter.” So I had a hard time controlling myself. To keep from laughing, I kept biting the insides of my cheeks. If this kept up much longer, I was going to need oral surgery by the time we were finished.
    But we were finished in a few minutes. Fawn Dexter said something about the generosity of several important patrons such as Jean Connelly, everyone applauded, and we were on our wayback to the food again.
    When we tramped back downstairs, Kerrie and Sarah were waiting for us, looking like the best of friends, which is what they used to be. In fact, it now looked like Kerrie was comforting Sarah, who was pale and distracted, glancing this way and that as if looking for someone. Spotting Hector across the room, she shot him a glance that said “betrayal.” He, meanwhile, looked at her like a confused puppy, which, come to think of it, is a look I’ve seen on a lot of guys’ faces. It must be standard issue.
    I did the introductions and then turned to Sarah.
    “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
    “Well, I . . .”
    Kerrie stepped forward. “She thought she was locked out.” “I had to go to my car,” Sarah said. “I had a blouse there. And when I tried to get back in, the door was locked.”
    I looked over my shoulder at the museum’s front door, which was open.
    “Not that door,” Sarah said. “The one by the dumpster.”
    Hector headed our way, and behind him I saw another figure enter the scene, a very familiar figure. Connie! But she didn’t come toward us—I’m not even sure she noticed me or cared that I was there. Instead, she headed purposefully up the stairs as if on a mission.
    Sarah saw her, too, and quickly turned to us to announce she was hungry. It was as if she wanted to draw attention away from Connie’s presence.
    “I can drive us all