Rarities Unlimited 03 - Die in Plain Sight

darkest painting. Under other circumstances she would have been intrigued by most of the paintings and enthralled by a few. Today she was simply fast. She went from painting to painting with a speed that suggested someone looking for something and not finding it.
    Ian followed her, grateful that the display was one of the open kinds, rather than the maze that had made him nervous at the auction.
    There were only fifteen paintings. Less than three minutes after Lacey had been given the run of the museum, she looked at him and shook her head.
    “Nothing.” Then she heard herself and cringed. “Nothing that we’re looking for,” she added quickly. “Some nice paintings, some good ones,one excellent piece of art. In all, a thin and reasonably academic cross section of southern California plein air artists. No Marten, signed or otherwise.”
    “Interesting,” Ian said. “Any obvious blank spots or cards indicating that paintings are on loan somewhere?”
    “Not that I saw.”
    “Neither did I.”
    “Let’s look at the gift shop.”
    “What for?” he asked.
    “Books that have Marten in the index. Posters of old shows by this museum. Catalogues listing the contents of old shows.”
    “Good idea.”
    Making enough noise that Jordon would know what they were doing, Ian and Lacey went through the contents of the gift store. It didn’t take very long. Like the museum, the shop was small and focused in its content.
    Ian watched Lacey go through the last oversized art book.
    “Nope,” she said, replacing the book. “He’s mentioned, but not pictured. Not him personally, not his art.”
    “Is he mentioned as part of the museum collection?” Ian asked.
    “No. Simply a talented artist who died tragically, et cetera, and very little of his oeuvre survived him.” Without saying anything else, she tilted her head questioningly toward the small storage area where Jordon was rustling among the stock.
    Ian nodded.
    “Mr. Jordon,” Lacey said, walking behind the small desk that served as a checkout counter for patrons wishing to buy books. “Sorry to interrupt, but we have a problem.”
    Jordon was on his hands and knees, counting books. His gray ponytail bobbed as he shoved himself to his feet. “What is it?”
    “We were told that at least three of the paintings from the auction were hanging in this museum.”
    “They will be.”
    “When?”
    “As soon as they’re framed or cleaned or both. Let me check.” He went past them to the small desk. His fingers moved over the computer keyboard like hurried mice. “Auction, auction…ah, here we are. Two are being framed and one is being cleaned.”
    “Cleaned?” Lacey said sharply. “I didn’t give permission for any cleaning.”
    “Really?” He frowned. “Maybe there’s a mistake.” He checked the records again. “Two landscapes and a domestic scene. All untitled. All unsigned. All unframed.”
    “Domestic scene,” Ian repeated.
    “Yes. A woman in a spa.”
    Ian thought that was a rather precious description of murder, but he kept it to himself.
    “Where, exactly, are the paintings now?” Lacey asked.
    “The basement, I imagine. We have a modest frame shop there.”
    “Before you take us down to the basement,” Ian said, “can you tell us where the rest of the paintings by Lewis Marten are?”
    “Lewis Marten.” Jordon frowned irritably, remembered that his unwanted visitors came from Mr. Forrest himself, and keyed in the name. “We don’t list any Martens in the active file.”
    “Meaning?” Ian asked.
    “No paintings by Lewis Marten are part of our present collection on display in this museum. They’re either in rotation with other collections or in storage.”
    “What about in the past?” Lacey asked.
    “Those records are kept at Savoy Ranch, along with any paintings that aren’t being actively displayed at this time.”
    “How many paintings does the museum own?” Ian asked.
    “Several hundred.”
    “With only fifteen on display. Hell of a way to run a museum,” Ian muttered.
    Jordon straightened and looked down his nose at Ian. “You’re here for the Pickfords, aren’t you? This was all litigated years ago. This is a bona fide museum open to the public, and all their caviling won’t change anything.”
    “Pickfords?” Lacey asked.
    “Jason and Stephen,” Jordon said. His tone of voice said they already knew who he was talking about. “Do you really want to see the basement storage room?”
    “More than