"Shadow - 341201 - Back Pages - Grace Culver - Double Chocolate" - читать интересную книгу автора (Brown Roswell)

But there couldn't be many sales made. A thin film of dust was spread over
the roll of wrapping paper beside the counter. Mr. Jorgen obviously wasn't
making much out of his business.
"It was that vase at the very back of the window," Her voice sounded feminine
and helpless to a degree. She put down the bright red pocketbook on the edge of a
chair behind her while she pointed.
Jorgen stepped around her, lifted the bit of pottery over the back of the
showcase, and put it in her hands. She glimpsed a Made in Brooklyn stamp on its
bottom before his persuasive voice poured over her.
"Imported, Madame. Ver' fine. Comes from Latvia. A very special low
priceЧ"

The back of the redhead's neck tingled. She yearned to spin about and face
him suddenly. But instead, still keeping him out of her line of vision, she moved
forward a little and held the vase up to the lightЧstudying it intently.
"No," she said at last, her voice regretful. "No, it isn't the right color after
all. I wanted it for a special place, you see. I'm sorry."
Now she did turn toward him. He was standing a good two feet from the chair
where she had left her pocketbook. His hands were extended to take back the
vase. He was smiling unhappily.
"I, too, am sorry. PerhapsЧsomething else?"
"I haven't time to look, this afternoon. But I'll certainly be back! Thank you
so much."
She caught up the red pocketbook and tucked it neatly under her arm. As she
marched out of the store, she was conscious of Ivan Jorgen moving along at her
back and purring something about, "ver' fine turquoise bracelets, if MadameЧ"
At the end of the block, the black-and-silver facade of a beauty shop boasting
the name of Maison de Chic glittered impressively. In its windows, an
ornately-lettered card announced: "Paris Manicure Our Specialty."
Grace ducked quickly into the lobby. Screened from the street, her fingers
fumbled with the clasp of the bright bag crooked in her arm.
A roll of small billsЧones, fives, tens Чfanned open in her free hand. Her
sherry eyes narrowed in triumph as she held them to the light.
On each of the noses of her own Lincolns, Washingtons and Hamiltons she
had made three inconspicuous dots with the excellent green ink of the Importer's
Trust.
But the noses of all the faces before her now were innocent of any blemish!
The bills had been switched while she was alone with the proprietor of the
"curiosity store."
It was Jorgen, then!
"And will he be sore when he finds out he's taken in some of his own
phonies in trade! Just proves they're good, if they fool the man who made 'em!"
A black-gowned Frenchwoman, weighted down with artificial pearls,
approached her brightly.
"Bon soir", Mademoiselle. A manicure?"
Grace shook her head.
"No, thanks. I stepped into the wrong shop by mistake."
"But perhaps, now you are here, Mademoiselle? Our Paris system, it makes
the hands so chic, so alluring to the gentlemen!"
"I've just left a gentleman," Grace chuckled softly. "And I think my hand was