“Did she quit?” Cameron asked.
“No,” Holly replied sharply, “and I hope she won’t. She’s an excellent assistant. She has an eye for art and a head for numbers. It’s a rare combination. I wish she didn’t have quite so many piercings, but—”
“She’s pierced herself?” I said, aghast.
“Nose ring, eyebrow stud, and a half dozen holes in each ear,” said Holly. “She can hide her tattoos with long sleeves, but the piercings are on permanent display. Her appearance puts off some of my more refined customers, so I’ve asked her to stay in back when they’re around. She doesn’t mind. She understands marketing.”
“If Bree’s such a treasure,” I snapped, “why isn’t she here?”
Holly eyed me speculatively as she sipped her wine. After a moment’s silence, she asked, “Who are you?”
It suddenly dawned on me that neither Cameron nor I had introduced ourselves. From Holly’s point of view it must have looked as though a pair of teetotaling philistines had burst into her gallery, demanding to know the whereabouts of one of her best employees. Had I been in her stylish shoes, I, too, would have asked a few questions.
“Forgive me,” I said. “Please allow me to explain. . . .”
By the time I finished describing my mission, Holly had polished off her first glass of wine and started in on a second; Simon had carried the bottle of pinot noir closer to her, to facilitate refills; and the pianist had paused long enough to stretch his fingers before launching into another haunting piece.
“So you see,” I concluded, “my friend and I would be endlessly grateful to you if you’d tell us where we might find Bree Pym.”
“I would if I could, but I can’t,” said Holly. “Sunday is her day off.”
“It’s Sunday?” I said, taken aback. “I had no idea. . . . I guess I’ve lost track of time.”
“You’ve had other things on your mind,” Holly said generously. “I honestly don’t know what Bree does on her days off, but Gary might. He and Bree have become great friends. She admires his music.”
As she turned to speak to the pianist, the floor jerked sideways, the wine bottles toppled over, and the whole building seemed to emit a low-pitched rumble. Cameron seized me by the shoulders and shoved me under the oak table, where Holly and Simon had already taken refuge. He dove in after me and the four of us huddled together while the floor shook, the glasses rattled, and the bottles rolled.
“Earthquake,” Cameron said in my ear.
“Are you kidding me?” I said, my hands splayed against the twitching floor. “Are you kidding me?”
“First one?” Holly asked conversationally.
“Uh-huh,” I replied, watching the paintings sway back and forth on the walls.
“It’ll soon be over,” said Cameron.
I felt two more big jolts and I don’t know how many smaller ones before the shaking ceased. I started to crawl out from under the table, but Cameron and Simon hauled me back.
“Aftershocks,” said Holly. “You might want to stay put for a bit.” She cocked her head toward Simon, who was clutching the bottle of pinot noir as though his life, or possibly his job, depended on it. “Glass of wine?”
“No thank you,” I said tersely.
I waited for the others to give the all-clear, then followed their example and got to my feet. Cameron looked supremely unconcerned, Simon hadn’t spilled a drop of wine, and Holly hadn’t even smeared her lipstick. The pianist straightened his sheet music and resumed playing, as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
“What a waste,” Holly said, surveying the puddles of pinot gris and dry Riesling spreading from the toppled bottles. “Clear it up, will you, Simon? I’ll see to the pictures.”
“What’s wrong with you people?” I exploded, looking from one calm face to the next. “How can you be so . . . blasé? We’ve just survived an earthquake.”
Simon gave me a vaguely puzzled glance, then retreated to the back room. Holly patted me on the shoulder.
“Don’t upset yourself, Lori,” she said. “Earthquakes are a part of life in New Zealand. The whole country’s riddled with fault lines.”
“Gosh, thanks,” I said bleakly. “I feel much better now.”
“And for that reason,” Cameron continued, “we have extremely strict building codes. Look around you, Lori. The roof hasn’t caved in. The walls haven’t collapsed. I think I see a small crack in the front window, but it hasn’t shattered. Nothing will protect us from a monster quake, but we’ve learned how to live with the everyday ones.”
“It’s a small price to pay,” said Holly, “for living in God’s own country.”