Die in Plain Sight (23 page)

“Just two,” Susa said. “Dear Lord. How can I choose?”

Ian sighed. Sometimes Zen was quicker than anything else. “Close your eyes.”

“What?” Susa asked.

“Close your eyes and see better. The Zen thing.”

She gave him a sideways look. “Out of the mouths of babes…”

“Hey, I’m fully grown.”

“That’s what makes you a babe.”

Laughing, shaking his head, Ian crowded past Susa and took the first two paintings that were sticking out into the aisle. “Here,” he said. “Now let’s go back to the hotel and get some sleep. Tomorrow will be a long day.”

Susa took the first painting. It was a study of the desert east of the San Jacinto Mountains. The smoke tree growing out of the sandy wash was essentially feminine, grace and endurance in a deceptively fragile-looking body. Behind the tree, the mountains loomed in angles and shadows softened by the rose-colored glasses of dawn. But the brutal coming of the sun was implicit in the sparse plant life and the cryptic tracks left in the sand by animals that chose to live in the seamless night rather than in the searing light of day.

“Fascinating,” Susa said. “The oil is so thinly applied that it’s almost transparent on the canvas, yet the result has the kind of depth most artists achieve only with palette knives and gobs of paint.”

Gently Ian pried the painting from her hands and gave it to Lacey. “Glad you like it. Let’s go.”

“Show me the other one,” Susa said to Ian.

“Light’s better at the hotel.”

She raised her eyebrows and waited.

He gave her the second painting. He no longer wondered how such a delicate little flower had held her own with the Donovan men. In fact, he was wondering how they’d held their own with
her.

“Perfect,” Susa said. “Not the same angle we painted, but the same place.”

For the first time Ian looked at the painting. “Cross Country Canyon,” he said, recognizing the lines of the land even though the trees were in slightly different places. Then he frowned. “Hold it for a minute. I want to compare something.” He went to the Death Suite, selected one of the car wrecks, and came back to Susa.

“What is it?” Lacey asked.

“Can’t be sure, but…” Ian compared the two paintings. “What do you think? Same place or not?”

Susa and Lacey compared the trees and the lines of the land.

“My vote is yes,” Lacey said. “But the daylight view came first. Otherwise you’d see scars from the fire.”

“I agree,” Susa said. She looked at the intensity of Ian’s eyes and the brackets around his mouth. “Why does it matter?”

“While you two were painting, I picked up a license plate at the bottom of the ravine,” Ian said. “Just thought it was curious, that’s all. Can’t have been too many wrecks there.”

Goose bumps rippled as Susa felt the familiar but never comfortable sensation of time’s cool sigh through her core. She looked at the Death Suite lined up in horrifying celebration and wondered all over again where genius ended and madness began.

Savoy Ranch

Late Saturday morning

I
n the imposing drawing room of the ranch house, Angelique White sat on a butter-colored brocade couch and stroked Honey Bear’s soft ears. He watched her with complete adoration shining in his round, dark eyes. The fact that she was nibbling on crackers and savory country pâté didn’t hurt the dog’s focus one bit.

“Honey Bear, move your lazy butt,” Ward said, giving the retriever a hard nudge with his boot. “You’re crowding the lady.”

The dog leaned harder against Angelique’s knee.

Savoy grabbed Honey Bear’s collar and pulled him back.

“Really, I don’t mind,” Angelique said. “He’s so beautiful.”

“Tell me that after he drools all over your designer dress,” Savoy said dryly, gesturing toward the ecru silk she wore. “At least it isn’t black. Honey Bear just loves shedding on dark fabric.”

Angelique smiled and made cooing sounds at Honey Bear. He sniffed
her fingers hopefully. She slipped him a bite of pâté. The dog licked it up and drooled on the papers lined up across the coffee table.

Savoy bit back all the things he wanted to say about ill-behaved, spoiled pets. It was a good thing the ink on the deal was waterproof. He hadn’t come this far just to have a golden retriever screw up everything.

“Champagne?” Ward asked.

“No, thank you,” Angelique said, refusing the drink again. “I have to drive.”

“Some fruit, then?” Savoy asked, passing her an artfully arranged platter of fresh fruit. “Coffee?”

“Coffee, please,” she said. She reached toward the table. To Honey Bear’s dismay, she picked up a handful of paper rather than pâté. “If you’ll give me a moment, I’ll just flip through this.”

“Take your time,” Ward said while Savoy poured coffee all around.

Ward watched his son and Angelique from the corner of his eye. No leaning toward each other. No brush of hand over hand. No press of leg against leg. No private meeting of eyes. Silently Ward gave up the hope that his son would charm Angelique into a compromising position in time to do any good on the ultimate agreement. Nor had Rory come up with anything useful. The deal, such as it was, would stand—not all that Ward had hoped for, but a hell of a lot better than watching his empire nibbled to death by civic ducks.

Angelique read through the papers with the speed and precision of the top executive she was; then she initialed the bottom of each page next to Savoy’s mark. Only two changes had been made. Neither was important to her. After she read the last page, she signed on the line above Savoy’s signature, wrote in the date, and smiled at him.

“I can’t tell you how pleased I am about this,” she said. “It’s precisely the forward-looking, community-and family-oriented enterprise that I envisioned for New Horizons.”

“We’re pleased, too,” Savoy said. “There were times we wondered if there was a deal to be made.”

Angelique’s smile widened. “That’s what makes business so interesting, don’t you think? The uncertainty.”

Ward smiled through his teeth. He had to hand it to her—she was one hard-nosed negotiator. But it was all wrapped up now. Finally.
Everything he had worked and schemed for during his lifetime was secure. The name and accomplishments of Warden Garner Forrest would echo through the history of southern California.

Forrest
, not Savoy.

Always assuming nothing else went wrong before the final deal was signed, of course.

Nothing will go wrong
, Ward promised himself.
I’ve spent a lifetime of eating Savoy shit for this, and so did my father. It will happen

Angelique quickly dealt with the remaining copies, stacked them neatly, and put all but one in the sleek leather briefcase that she’d brought. “I believe I’ll have a sip of champagne after all. This is a day worth celebrating. A historic collaboration of land and vision, plus dinner tonight with a great artist.” She smiled at Ward and Savoy equally. “Isn’t it wonderful that some of the missing paintings have been found?”

Ward sat up straight. “What?”

“Well, not found exactly. Not the exact same paintings, from what Susa said when I met her in the hallway,” Angelique explained, accepting the champagne flute that Savoy handed to her. “The young woman—Lacey, I believe—who brought the paintings Susa was so excited about apparently has a whole stash of them. So between that and Susa’s painting while she was here, the auction will proceed as expected. With all the publicity after the theft, it should be a complete sellout.”

“Are you telling me that the Lacey woman has more paintings?” Ward demanded.

“Yes. Isn’t it wonderful?”

“Where?” he said curtly.

Angelique hesitated, surprised by Ward’s intensity. “Where does she store the paintings? I haven’t any idea.”

“My father,” Savoy said quickly before Ward could speak again, “is a collector. He loves the painter that did Lacey’s canvases. You’ve heard how collectors are—rabid.” He smiled. “Whether you know it or not, you’ve just waved a plate of pâté under a wolf’s sensitive nose.”

She laughed. “I see. I’m rather obsessive myself about certain things.” She looked at Ward. “You’ll get to see the paintings tonight, plus some that Susa painted since the theft. Such a lovely hotel you have.”

Angelique’s smile flashed. “Thank you for arranging it so that I could stay there, too. You meet the most interesting people.”

Ward smiled with the automatic reflex of a man who’d climbed to the top the hard way. “Our pleasure.”

Savoy smiled even though it irritated him that Angelique had poked into every bit of the Forrest holdings, including the paper trail that led to the Savoy Hotel.

“So where are they keeping the paintings now?” Savoy asked Angelique.

“Susa didn’t mention it. Rather close to her, I’d imagine.”

“No need,” Ward said. “If the hotel hadn’t been turned upside down getting ready for the auction, the theft never would have happened.” He stood up. “Excuse me. I’ll check on security right now.”

And while he was at it, he decided grimly, he would drill Rory a new asshole for losing track of Lacey Quinn just when she would have led him to a stash of Lewis Marten paintings.

Christ, can’t anyone do the job anymore? Seems all I do is wipe asses and tie shoes for the next generation. Not a man in the lot of them.

Angelique watched Ward stalk out, then turned back to Savoy. “Goodness, I didn’t mean to insult him.”

“Not your fault. He just gets mad every time he thinks about those paintings getting away from him. He’s probably calling the sheriff and raking him over the coals while we speak.” Savoy smiled with bittersweet amusement at the thought of what Rory must be going through.
Serves him right to be on the receiving end for a change
. “Come hell or high water, I can guarantee no more paintings will be stolen before Dad has a chance to buy them.”

Savoy Hotel

Noon Saturday

A
lthough no one had said anything about it, Susa, Lacey, and Ian had decided to keep all the paintings in their sight until midafternoon, when they would go downstairs for Mr. Goodman to hang for the auction. So rather than trying to eat at the restaurant with a painting under each arm, they called room service. Two pizzas, a salami sandwich, and a huge Cobb salad with extra chicken had arrived with gratifying speed. It helped that there weren’t more than a handful of guests in the hotel at the moment. By tonight, the place would be full and room service would begin the fine old tradition of serving food as overpriced as it was cold.

Susa and Lacey pulled designer pizza apart and began licking their fingers before taking even one bite. Ian could only eye his lunch longingly, because he was talking to the sheriff of Moreno County.

Ian was watching Lacey hungrily, too, but there was nothing to be done about that until after the auction.

“Thanks for the offer,” Ian said, ignoring the sound of his stomach
gnawing through his backbone and the quiet ache in his crotch, “but there’s no need. We can watch over the paintings for a few hours. After the auction, the exhibit moves to the Savoy Museum for a month, right?”

“Yes,” Rory said. “As soon as the dust settles tonight, I’ll personally escort the paintings to the museum.”

“Sounds good to me. Anything new on the robbery?”

Rory made a ripe sound of disgust. “You called it right. Nothing panned out. The van was abandoned on southbound I-5 about ten miles from here, close to an off-ramp.”

“Ownership?”

“The temporary registration was fake. Engine numbers were taken out with acid. Dude wore gloves. Not a print anywhere.”

“Dead end,” Ian said.

“Yeah. We figure he had a car parked near the off-ramp. If not, there’s a bus stop right there.”

“Or a buddy picked him up,” Ian said.

“No matter which way, he’s long gone.”

“Mexico?”

“Probably,” Rory said. “Could have been San Diego, but it’s a lot easier to move goods through Mexico.”

“Hell, it could be the Russian
mafiya
in L.A.,” Ian said. “They’ve been bringing stolen art in from all over the former Soviet Union. Lately they’ve started sending stolen American art back. Smuggling routes work two ways.”

“Jesus,” Rory muttered. “Welcome to the new global crime village. How the hell can we keep a lid on international crooks when we can’t even keep our own backyards weeded?”

“That’s why organizations like Rarities Unlimited exist. They go after the exotic weeds locals don’t have time, funds, or training to take care of.”

“Regular civic Boy Scouts, huh?”

Ian smiled narrowly. “That’s us. Let me know if you turn up anything, Sheriff. I’m sure Susa’s insurance company will be in touch with you real soon.”

“They’ve already sent a representative. He’s not happy about our lack of progress.”

“If you stood to lose a couple million bucks, you’d be unhappy, too.”

“By the way, when I questioned a man called S. K. Niall about your
honesty, he laughed so hard I thought he’d swallow his tongue,” Rory said. “Then he told me I’d have a better chance of pinning it on the pope than on you. Said the only one you might have trusted enough to team up with on a robbery was Lawe Donovan, and if he wanted Susa’s paintings, all he had to do was ask. Then Niall told me to quit wasting his time and hung up.”

“That’s Niall. A bottom line kind of guy.”

“So, has Rarities come up with anything on the paintings?” Rory asked.

“Not that I know of. And I’d know.”

“Yeah, well, if you hear anything—”

“I’ll tell you. And vice versa. Right?”

“Sure,” Rory said, and hung up.

Ian tossed the phone into its cradle. “‘Sure,’ my bleeding arse,” he said under his breath. “Cops never share anything important.” He stalked over to the table where lunch waited.

“Did the sheriff have anything new to report?” Susa asked.

“All the leads are dead ends.” He sat down next to Lacey, tilted her chin, and neatly licked up a smear of pizza sauce. “Mmm, garlic and cream. My favorite. Artichoke and basil, too. Doesn’t get much better unless you put a pound of pepperoni on top. You going to eat all that?”

She swallowed, told herself that her heart hadn’t really turned over at the warm flick of his tongue, and managed to speak. “You have a salami sandwich the size of a TV and a gi-normous salad of your own that you haven’t even touched.”

“Your point?” He eyed the pizza on her plate.

“I should have ordered a bigger pizza.”

“I’ll let you nibble on my salami.”

She looked at his dark eyes and lazy smile and forgot to breathe. “You will?”

“Any time.”

A piece of Susa’s pizza plopped down on top of Ian’s salami sandwich. “Quit tormenting her,” she said.

“Does that mean you want some of my—” he began, turning toward Susa.

“No,” she cut in ruthlessly. “I have a fine salami source of my own.”

Ian snickered and began eating. Lacey watched in fascination as food disappeared. Even the messy salad didn’t slow him down a bit.

“Why are you staring at me?” Ian asked finally.

“I only have sisters. My dad is a couch potato. I had no idea how much an active man could eat.”

“Wait until you have dinner with the Donovans,” Susa said. “Appalling.” She looked at Lacey. “Did your parents bring something fancy you can wear tonight? Don’t ask me why, but people always dress up for art as though it somehow makes everything more valuable.”

“God, yes, Mom brought everything she ever wanted me to wear,” Lacey said, rolling her eyes. “I’m going to be painting in designer dresses unless I hit a few garage sales.”

“It’s a shame that little black dress couldn’t be saved,” Ian said, smiling down at his salami. “Great neckline. Hemline wasn’t bad, either.”

Lacey tried not to laugh or blush, and failed both ways. She lobbed her napkin at Ian, who caught it, tucked it into his shirt collar, and dived back into his lunch.

“Thanks, darling,” he said. “I couldn’t find mine.”

“It’s in your lap,” Lacey said.

“You sure? Maybe you better check.”

“This tricycle is about to be turned into a bicycle built for two,” Susa said, winking at Lacey. “If I’m not awake by four, pound on the door until you get a coherent sentence from me. Not just a word or two, mind you. An intelligible whole sentence. Otherwise I’ll just roll over and go back to sleep.”

Susa picked up her pizza and beer, went into her bedroom, and closed the door. A moment later the radio began blaring out a reggae retrospective on a local station.

“Should I feel bad?” Lacey asked.

“Why?”

“I didn’t mean to drive her away.”

“You didn’t. One thing I’ve learned about Susa is that she does pretty much what she wants. Another thing is that she likes spending time alone. Before your place burned down, we went to separate ends of the suite after an early dinner. Her choice.”

“So you were just giving her an excuse to get away gracefully?” Lacey asked, her voice almost wistful.

“You haven’t checked for my napkin yet.”

She looked at his eyes and felt her heart do the back-flip thing again.
Slowly she leaned forward and checked under the table for his napkin. It was there. So was he. Right there.

“Oh,” she said.

“Is that ‘Oh, shit’ or ‘Oh, boy’?”

“You finished with lunch?” she asked.

“You have something in mind?”

“Oh, yeah.”