Rarities Unlimited 03 - Die in Plain Sight

mother plans a mean wedding.”
    “I sure do,” Dottie said. “And you’re about to see how I do it.” She took the photos from his hand, picked up her computer, and headed for her office, talking all the way. “First I photograph all the important participants and scan them into the style program. Then I decide clothing, hair, makeup, and shoe styles based on body type and coloring.”
    “Yeah?” Ian asked intriguede picked up the fat envelope of clippings and followed her. “Sounds like a program I once used to predict how people would look younger or older or with different noses, ears, hair, teeth, that sort of thing.”
    “My program will do that. It’s a big hit when our hospital volunteers work with the antismoking clinic, showing people how smoking accelerates the aging process.” Dottie gave him a lookover her shoulder that reminded Ian of Lacey. “Should I ask what you were doing with the program?”
    “Think of it as international planning.”
    Brody watched the two of them vanish down the hall. “You know that you’re doomed.”
    “Huh?” Lacey said.
    “She’s already planning your wedding. Even before you got here, she asked me if I still could get into the tux I wore for—”
    “No!” Lacey held up her hand. “Don’t go there.”
    She stalked off after Ian and her mother, afraid to leave the two of them alone.

Palm Springs
    Sunday night
56
    I t’s awfully nice of you to see us after-hours,” Lacey said, smiling her best Pasadena socialite smile. Why not? she thought. It goes with everything I’m wearing, including my mother’s carnivorous shoes.
    The tanned, trim, middle-aged man smiled, showing teeth as white as his silk shirt and slacks. “Any friend of Mrs. Roberts-Worthington is a friend of ours. She’s done an absolutely fabulous job of raising AIDS awareness.”
    Mrs. Roberts-Worthington was a friend of Dottie’s sorority sister, not of Lacey’s, but she didn’t feel any need to clarify the relationship. It was enough that they’d found an entrée into the Palm Springs plein air art circuit.
    “This is my client, Ian Lapstrake,” Lacey said. “Ian, Chad Oliver.”
    Oliver waited for Ian to show the veiled hostility or contempt of the frankly heterosexual male for a frankly homosexual male.
    “A pleasure, Mr. Oliver,” Ian said, holding out his hand.
    Oliver relaxed and shookIan’s hand. “Come in. My partner isn’t here right now, but he should be backsoon. Until then, perhaps I can help you.”
    Ian followed Lacey into the home that was also a gallery. Furniture, sculpture, paintings, everything was artfully coordinated in feel if not in era or medium. The fact that, like their host, the color scheme consisted of shades of white took a few moments to get used to. Even the art was executed in shades of pale, no matter what the subject.
    “Coffee, wine, beer, a cocktail?” Oliver asked.
    “Nothing, thanks,” Lacey said. “It’s enough that you’ve agreed to talk to us. We don’t expect to be entertained.”
    “I insist,” Oliver said. “I’ve been experimenting with canapé recipes. Anthony will be so pleased not to be the only beta tester.”
    Ian laughed. “In that case, make mine coffee.”
    The kitchen was the open sort, so Oliver could cook and entertain guests at the same time. Ian, who could always eat, set aside his computer case, sat on a bar stool overlooking the kitchen, and watched Oliver gather food and plates. He moved with the efficiency and grace of someone doing a familiar, enjoyable job.
    Lacey, whose interest in the kitchen was minimal, wandered off to look at the landscapes. She recognized a name here and there, but mostly she recognized money. This wasn’t decorator art. All the paintings were technically superior, a few were excellent, and one she would have loved for her own collection.
    None of them were remotely like her grandfather’s work.
    She went back and sat by Ian. In answer to his raised eyebrow, she shook her head slightly.
    Oliver pulled a plate of warm canapés from the microwave, set it on the counter near Ian, and handed over a cup of coffee. The plates were white except for a pale, ghostly ribbon of blue just off-center.
    Ian popped in a miniature quiche, closed his eyes, and chewed with obvious pleasure. When he swallowed, he said, “Wow,” and reached for more.
    Oliver grinned, poured himself a glass of wine, and went to nuke another plate of canapés.
    “Better dive in,” Ian said to Lacey,