Free Monet Talks by Tamar Myers Page A

swashbuckling,” Rob said, clearly annoyed.
    I winked at Bob. “A little jealousy is a good thing. Yes, he’s one of the five. Believe it or not, he wants to put the Taj—it’s far more than just a birdcage—up on the stage with the musicians. Sort of a centerpiece.”
    â€œBut this is a Moroccan restaurant, not Indian.”
    â€œIt’s an eclectic restaurant. The last time I was here they had paella on the menu. So tell me, guys, why would someone be willing to pay ten thousand dollars for a stage decoration?”
    Bob shrugged.
    â€œWhy did you?” Rob asked.
    â€œI bought it because it was beautiful, because it spoke to me—thanks, Rob, I think I just answered my own question.”
    â€œThink nothing of it. And anyway, it’s not the most outrageous thing I’ve heard of. I was once asked to design a room around a piece of chewing gum that had supposedly seen the inside of Elvis Presley’s mouth. The gum was on a gold dish, under a glass dome, on a pedestal in the center of the room. The owner was so proud of that thing—claimed it held Elvis’s DNA—that she couldn’t help bragging about what she’d paid for it.” Rob took a chug of his sweet tea, just to taunt us.
    â€œHow much did she pay?” I finally demanded.
    â€œFifty thousand smackeroos. Can you believe that?”
    â€œHoly Toledo!” Bob barked. That’s his favorite expression, which isn’t surprising, given that he’s originally from Toledo.
    Rob grinned, happy to be the center of attention. “The story doesn’t end there. One of my client’s friends stole the gum, hoping to clone Elvis and have his baby. But when the thief took the gum to a lab for analysis, she learned that the gum had only been chewed by a woman. Anyway, the thief sued my client for causing her “undue stress,” and won a judgment of a hundred thousand dollars.”
    â€œIt sounds like my partner’s been spending too much time in the supermarket checkout line,” Bob said.
    â€œI swear it’s true!”
    I tapped my water glass with a spoon. “Okay, guys, I’ve got this one figured out. There is no limit to how much an object is worth—as long as there is a buyer who meets the asking price. But given the fact that most restaurants struggle the first few years, and that Simone Dupree is working for minimum wage, it’s unlikely he would be willing to spend ten grand just to pretty this place up some more. The Taj Mahal birdcage means more to Blackmond than he’s letting on. Therefore, I am putting him at the top of my list of suspects.”
    â€œWe most certainly do not pay Simone minimum wage,” Rob hissed.
    â€œPlus, I bring in leftovers just about every day,” Bob growled.
    It was starting to sound like a menagerie in our private booth. “Sorry guys, I didn’t mean to ruffle any feathers.”
    â€œBesides,” Rob said, “people spend money all the time on things they can’t afford. Granted, those things usually involve mortgages or horsepower, but the operating principle is the same. When we humans desperately want something, we’re willing to throw caution to the wind. Before you circle his name in ink, tell us the other four names on the list.”
    â€œI only know two of the others; Wynnell is tracking down the other two. But the names you want are Catherine Deephouse and Martin Gibble.”
    â€œ Our Martin Gibble?”
    â€œIs there any other?”
    â€œThe one who hates your guts?”
    â€œHe doesn’t—okay, maybe he does, but that’s not why he made the list. First of all, he wanted the Taj so bad he could taste it, and second, he was unduly concerned about Monet pooping in it, and third, when I told him the mynah was missing, he jumped to the conclusion that Monet had been stolen. How suspicious is that?”
    My friends exchanged smiles. “Not