Diva 03 _ Diva Paints the Town, The by Krista Davis Page B

outside. I’ve been trailing her through the neighborhood, and I think she might be living under Mordecai’s porch. When are you going back over there?” she asked.
    “I’m off to Rooms and Blooms.” I filled her in on Mordecai’s last request. “I’ll be back around two to bake the quiche and the Brie for the bequest party.”
    I arrived at Rooms and Blooms shortly before it opened to exhibitors, and an hour before the public arrived. An escalator deposited me at the entrance, and I was distressed that I was able to stroll in without anyone stopping me. The exhibitors were displaying expensive items like chandeliers, silver tea sets, paintings, and, in one case, a fancy little bulldozer designed for homeowner use. I didn’t want them walking off during the night. The hotel had promised to post a security guard, but it appeared they’d forgotten.
    I walked the entire exhibit to be sure everything was in order, pausing to admire a few spectacular booths. Iris Ledbetter’s dining room featured an antique table so highly polished that it reflected the lights trained on it. She’d installed a chair rail on the three walls and used a tone-on-tone wallpaper above it—a rich salmon pattern that repeated on a slightly lighter background. She’d picked up the salmon in the background of a fabric with white polka dots on the upholstered dining chairs. A toile window treatment repeated the salmon color on stark white, and a cushy chair in the corner was covered with the same toile. A pillow on the chair matched the polka-dot fabric on the dining room chairs and sported a salmon fringe. Silver pigeons graced a buffet of inlaid wood and a crystal chandelier lit it all from above. The room would surely bring her new design clients.
    I strolled on, picking an empty bourbon bottle out of vivid purple irises at the base of a gazebo. I found Natasha’s booth, and couldn’t imagine why she was upset that Iris would probably win Best of Show. Natasha had covered the walls with black cloth. The center featured a gigantic TV screen, on which she played episodes of her show during the day. Frightening, bigger-than-life head shots of Natasha flanked the TV screen on both sides and repeated on the adjoining walls. In the middle of the floor, a glass table displayed a tool kit. I stepped inside to have a closer look. A hard plastic case of robin’s egg blue, embellished with “Natasha” in glittery letters, sat open, displaying household tools. Hammer, measuring tape, screwdrivers—everything in girly robin’s egg blue. A larger case displayed a cordless nail gun and a cordless reciprocating saw. Natasha had made sure her name was everywhere—on the tools, the cases, and even the saw blades.
    A soft staccato noise drew my attention. I followed the sound, my Keds allowing me to tread the floors without alerting anyone that I might be near. It grew stronger, and I thought it sounded like snoring. I was dead-on.
    In Nolan DuPont’s Asian-inspired bedroom, smack in the middle of a bed that appeared to float on air, a grown man slept, stretched out comfortably. I suspected I’d found my security guard. I hustled to a kitchen exhibit, borrowed a timer, returned to Sleeping Beauty, and set it off. The jangling alarm reverberated through the silent hall with such force that Sleeping Beauty flipped right off the bed and onto the hard floor.
    I peered down at him. “Rise and shine.”
    He rubbed his head and sat up. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
    He had to be kidding.
    He scrambled to his feet. “I’ll have to escort you out.”
    I held up the timer. “If I were sneaking around, do you think I’d have bothered to wake you up?”
    He wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve. “ Awww. This isn’t good.”
    “You’d best go tell your boss. It’ll be better if he hears it from you.”
    “Yeah, yeah.” He ambled off and I hoped he wouldn’t see another bed because he might decide to take a nap on his way out.
    My small