Rarities Unlimited 03 - Die in Plain Sight

asked dryly.
    “I have at least three weeks coming to me.”
    “Four, actually, but it’s not like you to give such short notice. What’s wrong?”
    “You know those paintings that Susa’s nuts for?” Ian asked. “The ones that aren’t signed?”
    “The ones that are going to make a nice dent in our monthly overhead by the time we check them out?” Niall asked.
    “Yeah. I got a look at the whole collection. There’s a series that Lacey calls the Death Suite.”
    Niall grunted. “Lovely.”
    “Wait until you see them. Anyway, we were exhibiting one of them tonight, a blonde being drowned in a spa, when Bliss Forrest told Lacey that the woman in the painting was wearing the same bracelet that belonged to her mother, who died in her spa.”
    “Murder?” Niall asked sharply.
    “Not according to the public knowledge.”
    “So you’re taking a vacation to investigate a murder that didn’t happen?”
    “It’s more complicated than that,” Ian said.
    “Bloody hell.” Then he sighed. “Go on, boyo. I’m sitting down.”
    “Even though it’s not a Rarities problem, I’d like permission to access your computers. I could get the same information out of the county library archives, but it would—”
    “Take three times as long,” Niall interrupted impatiently. “You have clearance for the computers. Go in through the address I’ll leave in your e-mail. Do you have the skill or do you need Research?”
    “I hope not. I can’t afford your rates.”
    “Anything else?”
    “Just thanks.”
    “No worries. Susa thinks the sun shines out your arse, which makes us look like geniuses with the Donovan.”
    The cell phone went dead with Niall’s usual lack of ceremony. Ian hesitated, then called his great-uncle in Bakersfield. After a lifetime in law enforcement, Carl Lapstrake’s hours were unpredictable. Tonight he must have been up late watching TV, because he answered on the first ring.
    “Well, which one of my ten thousand relatives is it this time?” asked a raspy voice.
    “Great-nephew Ian. How’s it going, Gr’uncle?”
    “’Bout like always this time of year. Tule fog is hanging on. Must have had fifty wrecks on the highways this week.”
    “Ouch.” Driving code-three in the kind of fog that hid the front end of your own squad car was something no cop liked to do, but if you worked in California’s Great Central Valley, sooner or later you had to do just that. “Bet you’re glad you’re retired.”
    “Some days I like it better than others. What do you want?”
    Ian grinned to himself. So much for small talk. His grandfather’s brother was famous for being downright curt unless he was feeling talkative. He maintained he was much too old to waste time making nice.
    “I’ve got some questions about Moreno County,” Ian said. “Thought maybe you and cousin Chuck could help me out, since you both put in some time in uniform there.”
    “Long time ago. Hell, gotta be forty years now.”
    “At least. But you spent ten years down in Moreno County and Chuck spent, what, five?”
    “Twelve for me, six for my nephew. What do you need?”
    “Some background, mostly. If Moreno County is like the one I grew up in, the local deputies know who’s buying, who’s lying, who’s screwing somebody he shouldn’t, that sort of thing. The Moreno County sheriff, Rory Turner, is affable enough, but not real forthcoming, if you know what I mean.”
    “Rory, huh? Let me think.”
    While his great-uncle thought, Ian punched the built-in record button on his cell phone. If the old man got going, he was a regular talking encyclopedia.
    “Rory, Rory,” Carl muttered to himself. “Oh, yeah. Got it. Must be Morley Forrest’s son’s gofer.”
    Ian opened his mouth to ask for clarification, but Carl was still talking.
    “The Savoy family is always tight with whoever is the county sheriff. Hell, they elected ’em, and a lot of the other county and state officials in the bargain.”
    “Morley Forrest,” Ian said when Carl paused. “Is that Ward Forrest’s father?”
    “Yeah. Named after Davina’s father.”
    “Davina?”
    “Davina Berentson, Morley’s wife, a socialite type. Benford Savoy the Second was Morley’s real good friend, introduced him to the right people. Berentson was one of ’em. Morley Forrest wasn’t even a shirttail cousin to money, but he knew how to be useful. Savoy money got Morley elected sheriff and then DA and then state attorney general. Morley might have