Gift of Gold

rapiers, and daggers dating from the fourteenth to the nineteenth century. Walking through Kincaid’s door was rather like walking into an ancient armory.
    The only object hanging in the office that was not overtly lethal in nature was a Caitlin Evanger painting. Hatch disliked Evanger’s work, even though he freely admitted he was fascinated by it. A lot of people were. Kincaid was an avid collector, however, and seemed to be entranced by the disturbing style and ferocious images that characterized Evanger’s work.
    Hatch resisted the urge to shift restlessly while he waited for Kincaid to make his wishes clear. He stood, placid and politely expectant, as Kincaid swiveled around in the chair to examine the view of San Francisco far below.
    “You have this week’s report on Evanger?” Kincaid asked, his eyes narrowed as he studied the Bay.
    “Yes, sir. The investigative agency has maintained the round-the-clock surveillance you ordered when you first heard the rumors about Evanger getting ready to sell her final painting.” He glanced at some papers in his hand, although he already knew the information cold. He never showed up unprepared in Kincaid’s office. “According to their report, Evanger and her companion returned from the health spa before the weekend. The only other incident of any significance is the fact that they entertained on Monday evening. Their guests arrived that afternoon and left the next morning.”
    “Evanger had guests?” Kincaid’s voice was as close to sharp as it ever got. “That is, indeed, significant. The original background report I commissioned from that agency mentioned the fact that she seldom, if ever, entertained. It confirmed she was very reclusive. She’s never even granted an interview.”
    “I remember.” Hatch glanced at his notes. “Her guests were two people she met while she was at the health spa, a local restaurant owner named Verity Ames and her employee, Jonas Quarrel. The report speculates that Quarrel and Ames may be sleeping together. That part is unconfirmed. It sounds fairly unimportant, Mr. Kincaid. Ames is just barely making a living and Quarrel is nothing more than a dishwasher/waiter. Not the sort of people who would be investing in expensive art. I don’t think you have to worry about them.”
    “You never know, Hatch. Artists are, by nature, unpredictable and eccentric. Given the little information the agency could dig up on Evanger, we have to assume she’s more unpredictable and eccentric than most artists. Evanger might have taken it into her head to let these two see the painting. It’s not inconceivable that they are interested in
Bloodlust.
Maybe one of them has a rich daddy who could loan the money to buy it.”
    Hatch decided it was time to pull his small rabbit out of the hat. “The report goes on to say that Evanger placed a phone call to her agent this morning to announce just how she will go about selling
Bloodlust.
”
    Kincaid didn’t move but there was no doubt that Hatch had his full attention. “At an auction?”
    “A private auction, according to the agency. She’s going to conduct the bidding herself in her own home.”
    “When? Who’s invited?” The questions were rapped out like gunshots.
    “That part was a little unclear.” Hatch frowned over the report. “Apparently she’s going to have a party. A send-off for herself as she prepares to leave her career behind, I suppose. A number of people involved in the art world will be there, but only a handful of people will be asked to return after the party to bid on
Bloodlust.
”
    “I must be on that guest list, Hatch. More important, I must be on that list of bidders. See to it. I want that painting.”
    Hatch nodded, foreseeing no difficulty. Any artist, regardless of how eccentric, would be delighted to know that Damon Marcus Kincaid was interested in bidding on a painting. If Kincaid was interested, the price was practically guaranteed to go very high. When Kincaid wanted something, he got it, regardless of what he had to pay for it. If this Evanger woman had any brains she would jump at the chance of having Kincaid among the bidders. After that, her only problem would be to make sure there were enough other wealthy, determined would-be buyers present to ensure a lively auction.
    “I’ll contact Evanger’s San Francisco gallery immediately,” Hatch told his employer.
    “You do that. Now.”
    Hatch’s mouth tightened, although he was used to the tone