Rarities Unlimited 03 - Die in Plain Sight

sell five of my father’s six signed Martens in order to keep the gallery after my parents died. Since then, I’ve bought two Martens. Neither of them is signed.”
    “When did you buy the unsigned ones?” Lacey asked.
    “One was about thirty years ago and one was about ten, eleven years ago. I’ve heard of others coming on the market, but I’ve never seen them.”
    Lacey looked at Ian and wondered if he was thinking what she was about the timing. Thirty years ago Lacey’s parents were buying a new home. About ten years ago Lacey had been trying to get enough money to study overseas. And her grandfather, despite his contempt for higher education, had given her the money to go.
    “Now that you mention it,” Katz said thoughtfully, “the men who sold them to me could have been in those photos you showed me, but I couldn’t swear to it, wallpaper being pretty much wallpaper and all. Thirty years is a long time and I’d just had my first cataract surgery ten years ago so my right eye wasn’t what you’d call real sharp.”
    “If Rarities contacts you directly,” Ian said, “would you be willing to let them examine your three paintings?”
    “I wouldn’t have to pay anything?”
    “We’ll even pick them up and deliver them back to you,” Ian said, especially as I’ll be doing it on my vacation time . “Rarities’ insurance carrier would cover you door to door. Plus we’d give you a hard copy file of our research and our conclusions as to the authenticity of the unsigned paintings.”
    “Why?” Katz asked baldly. “Normally Rarities charges thousands and has a waiting list as long as this century.”
    “We have other clients who are interested in unsigned Lewis Marten paintings. Having access to your signed painting would be worth a great deal.” Ian smiled gently at her. “As you know, museums have all kinds of internal constraints on where and why and how long they can let out their collections. Paintings by Marten—signed paintings—are real rare. We’d appreciate a chance to look at yours.”
    “Young man, you’ve got a real nice smile,” Katz said.
    Lacey choked back a laugh.
    “Thank you, ma’am. I have to give my grandmother credit for it. I got it from her.”
    “How about this?” Katz said, settling in to bargain with the relish of a person whose life’s work consisted in working on a profit margin that changed from customer to customer. “You can take those three paintings and I’ll take Rarities’ opinion as to the art.”
    “And?” Ian asked warily.
    “And you’ll agree to sell the six landscapes through my gallery,” she said, pointing a bony finger at the computer.
    “They aren’t signed,” Lacey said, “and they’re not for sale.”
    “Sooner or later everything’s for sale,” Katz said. “Trust me. I’ve been to enough estate auctions to know. Do we have a deal?”
    “ If those five paintings come on the market, it will be through your gallery,” Lacey said.
    “Five? What about the sixth?”
    “The desert landscape is promised to someone else.”
    “Good enough.” Mrs. Katz’s grin showed teeth that were as improbably light as her hair was dark.
    “How many clients do you have waiting for them?” Ian asked.
    “Enough for a lot more paintings.”
    Ian wasn’t surprised. Seven of the eleven galleries they’d visited had said the same thing. Apparently selling fake Martens was a thriving underground business on the collector circuit.
    And somebody was willing to kill to keep it that way.

Southern California
    Monday evening
60
    I s Mr. Milford available?” asked a woman’s faintly raspy voice.
    His hand tightened on the phone. Very few people knew that name. Four of them had called him in the past twenty-four hours. He’d hoped that his own call would put an end to it.
    Obviously it hadn’t.
    “Speaking,” he said.
    “This is Mrs. Katz from Seaside Gallery. I have a line on five paintings by Lewis Marten.”
    “Signed?”
    “Unfortunately, no. I’ve only seen digital representations, but the paintings look excellent. Definitely some of his best work.”
    “All landscapes?”
    “Two coastal mountains, three coastlines.”
    He didn’t know whether to be relieved or irritated that none of the crucial paintings were being offered by any of the callers. Why in thename of Christ doesn’t the bitch just gouge me like her grandfather did? Why is she dragging it all out?
    “Are the landscapes for sale?” he asked, wondering if the