““That’s so rude,” she said.
“You’ve got a charming imagination. I could listen to you go on all day.”
“What did I say that you don’t believe?”
“Basically every word.”
“See, I’m just testing you. So far, so good.”
They were waiting outside Tramp City Ink & Piercing for the owner to return from a late lunch. It was the third stop on their tour of tattoo parlors.
“Technically, I’m not a maritime artifacts appraiser,” Merry admitted. “Also, I didn’t really go to boarding school in Switzerland. My mom wasn’t a consular attaché in Morocco. My dad never had a thing with Sigourney Weaver. I wasn’t the youngest of six sisters, all master equestrians. I did get married when I was eighteen, except my husband wasn’t pulped to death at an orange-juice factory. What really happened, he went to prison for counterfeiting food stamps and I divorced his ass. No kids from the marriage, thank God—that part’s true. What else? Oh yeah, I didn’t lose a three-million-dollar bauxite inheritance to Bernie Madoff.
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