Rarities Unlimited 03 - Die in Plain Sight

and former president of the American Figurative Artists Association, I’d be happy to help in any way I can.”
    “We’ll keep it in mind,” Ward said, glancing around at the quiet frenzy of activity. “The auction going to come off on time?”
    “Absolutely,” Goodman said. “The hotel manager assured me not half an hour ago.”
    Ward grunted. He’d believe that when he saw it. And he damn well better see it, or a lot of folks would be looking somewhere else for their next paycheck.
    “I know how pressed for time you must be with the auction breathing down your neck,” Savoy said to Goodman, “so why don’t we just get to the paintings?”
    “Of course. Would anyone like coffee or something else sent in?”
    “Nothing, thanks,” Ward said.
    Rory wouldn’t have minded some coffee, but it wasn’t worth the trouble. Ward was in a mood. Savoy knew it; he was practically oozing soothing vibes. Rory didn’t blame him. Ward could be a mean son of a bitch when he felt like it.
    Savoy looked expectantly at Goodman.
    “Right this way,” Goodman said, ushering Ward across the busy lobby. “I don’t know if you’re aware of it, sir,” he said to Ward, “but the artists Association is looking for sponsors for its scholarships for deservingchildren, with emphasis on the large immigrant community of southern California.”
    “Send a note to my office,” Savoy said before his father could take a bite out of Goodman. “We’ll get back to you on it.”
    “Thank you. It’s a very worthy cause.”
    “They all are,” Ward said. “Some day someone’s going to pitch an un worthy cause to me and I’m going to kiss the bastard on all four cheeks.”
    Goodman took the hint.
    Rory glanced around the lobby, paying particular attention to the discreet cameras that were being installed. Since he partially owned a security firm that handled the hotel, he knew that the cameras—when they were working correctly, and they were finicky bitches—gave about ninety percent coverage. It would take a real pro to sneak through the missing ten percent.
    “Did you want to show Mr. Forrest some of the other paintings you looked at earlier?” Goodman asked Savoy hopefully.
    Savoy knew he wasn’t the “Mr. Forrest” in question. When his father was along, there was only one Mr. Forrest. “No point in wasting my father’s time right now,” Savoy said blandly. “Those paintings could be acquired out of the museum cash drawer after a slow day.”
    Rory smiled faintly and thought if Savvy would show his teeth more often, Ward wouldn’t have to.
    Goodman unlocked the conference room with a master electronic key and headed toward the executive bathroom beyond. Before he could open the door, Savoy took the key from his hand.
    “Thank you,” Savoy said. “We’ll return the key at the front desk after we’re finished.”
    “Damned waste of time,” Ward muttered. “They make ’em by the gross. About as secure as a sieve.”
    Goodman hesitated, then took his dismissal with the grace of a man who was accustomed to begging for grants and scholarships among the wealthy. “Of course. If I can be of any further assistance—”
    “We’ll call you,” Ward cut in impatiently, taking the key from his son. “Thank you and good-bye. Let’s get to it, Savvy. I don’t have all day to spend on this.”
    Savoy gave Goodman a smile and a shrug that invited him to be understanding of a spoiled old man’s impatience. “Be sure to send your scholarship information to my personal attention,” Savoy said. “I’ll put it at the top of my requests pile.”
    Goodman smiled and forgot to be annoyed. “Thank you, sir.”
    Savoy waited until Goodman was out of earshot before he shut the automatically locking conference room door and turned to his father. “Your manners need some work. Goodman may be a pushy twit, but he’s well respected in the art community, whose support is important to the Savoy Museum, which is important to the family’s philanthropic image, which is very important to New Horizons, which is feeling goosy about the upcoming merger.”
    “What you don’t understand about power, boy, is that you have to exercise it. Respect is better than a friendship award every time.” Ward jerked his thumb toward the bathroom. “Now open the fucking door, please .”
    “You have the key.”
    “You bet I do.” Ward smiled. “Don’t ever forget it.” He shoved the plastic rectangle in the slot.
    Rory snickered.