Rarities Unlimited 03 - Die in Plain Sight

a sigh. Even the drowning pool. It gives an unmistakable feeling of movement to the paintings that’s uniquely his. My strokes begin light, thicken, and end with a swirl. Just the way I do things, I guess, but it gives a ‘feel’to my paintings that is uniquely mine. Susa…Susa’s strokes are a graceful slow-motion explosion of energy, and always have been no matter how different the resulting paintings might be.”
    “Both style and technique,” Ian said.
    Lacey nodded. “Unfortunately, it’s only a way to date canvases in relation to other canvases. I can say one was probably painted before or after the other, but that’s all. Granddad didn’t leave a journal saying ‘Today, on nine October nineteen eighty-seven, I decided to use the palette knife more.’”
    “Interesting. You reversed the day and month.”
    She made a questioning noise, but it was the drowning pool paintings she was looking at, not Ian.
    Scream Bloody Murder
    “You said nine October instead of October ninth,” Ian explained.
    “Hangover from Grandfather,” Lacey said absently. “Like separating date and month and year with a period instead of a slash or putting a bar through sevens and Z’s—his way of being classy without a university degree.”
    Ian didn’t say anything. He was too busy digging up the notes he’d taken the night before. He flipped through them quickly. Benford Savoy III had died on June second. Lewis Marten had died on June fourth.
    2.6
    4.6
    Pieces of the puzzle he really didn’t want to fall into place fell there anyway. If he hadn’t been so worried about how any investigation would affect Lacey, he probably would have seen it sooner.
    “What?” Lacey asked, looking up at Ian.
    Instead of answering, he kept flipping pages, hoping he was wrong. He wasn’t. Gem Savoy had died on February ninth. 9.2 Just like the numbers painted across every version of the drowning pool.
    “Ian?” Lacey came to her feet. “What is it?”
    “The numbers on the front of each painting are death dates.” He pointed to the car wreck. “Three Savoy on June second. Marten on June fourth. And then, almost forty years later, Gem Savoy died on—”
    “February ninth,” Lacey cut in, looking at the drowning pool canvases. “Murdered.”
    There’s something wrong in Moreno County. Too many deaths. Not enough police work. Ain’t nothing changed. Stay away from it, boy.
    But Ian hadn’t.
    Digging up old graves was bad enough. Digging up old, buried murders was much worse—especially when the more pieces fell into place, the more holes in the puzzle he could see. But there was no help for it. It was too late to stop digging now.
    All he could hope was that he dug up the truth before it burned them alive.
    “Lacey? How did your grandfather die?”

Newport Beach
    Noon Sunday
51
    B liss stood behind Rory, trying to knead the knots out of his neck and shoulders.
    “What was that call about?” she asked.
    “A tail. Subject spent some time in a storage yard, then got on the freeway. They just crossed the county line, headed east in an old SUV.”
    She paused. “Is this something to do with the hotel robbery?”
    “It sure as hell would be nice. But there wasn’t anything big enough to be stolen paintings in Lapstrake’s SUV, and there wasn’t any place to hide them.”
    “Doesn’t sound very hopeful,” Bliss said.
    Rory shrugged and expected to hear his shoulders creak. “I’ve gone through the files of every one of the security guards who worked at the hotel, plus the guys who installed the electronic lock-card system at the hotel. Nothing popped. Ex-cops, ex-military, nothing but good recommendationsin their files and no sign of anything else in the last five years.”
    “What about Lapstrake?”
    “On paper, he’s a fucking saint.”
    “Now there’s an image.”
    Rory laughed and pulled Bliss into his lap for a quick, hard kiss.
    “The problem is,” he said, “if it’s not Lapstrake, I’m shit out of luck when it comes to leads.”
    Bliss nuzzled his neck. “Do you think he’s stupid enough, or arrogant enough, to work for Rarities, steal Susa Donovan’s paintings, and drive off with them in his own truck while being followed by your deputies?”
    “That’s what working inside is all about—arrogance. Nobody expects the guard to be the crook.”
    “Good thing you’re on the right side of the law.” She nipped his neck.
    “Why?”
    “God knows you’re arrogant enough to steal elevators