Rarities Unlimited 03 - Die in Plain Sight

upset. She was so enthusiastic.”
    Lacey simply lifted her left eyebrow and said nothing.
    “Have you talked with La Susa about this?” Mr. Goodman asked.
    “No.”
    A server brought coffee and poured it into rainbow-hued oversized cups. Lacey ignored hers.
    “Perhaps if you would talk with her,” Goodman said, “she could reassure you that—”
    “No,” Lacey interrupted, forcing a smile. She’d learned in dealing with her mother that a polite, gentle stance simply didn’t get the job done. You have to know what you want and stick to it. “I understand that you’re the only one who can open the room where the paintings are.”
    “Ah, er…” He looked as uncomfortable as he sounded.
    Lacey’s smile thinned. “I see. Some people enjoy playing Button, Button, Who Has the Button, but I’m too old for that game. Do you have the key with you?”
    Quietly Goodman cursed the Forrests for putting him in this unhappy position. On the other hand, Ms. Marsh would come and go from his life like the wind. The Forrests were forever.
    “Mr. Savoy Forrest will be here soon,” Goodman said.
    “How nice. The key, Mr. Goodman.” Lacey wasn’t smiling any longer. She was getting angry—and frightened.
    Always pushing. Always have to do it your own way.
    I’m sorry, Dad, but it’s too late for me to change .
    Now she was trying to do the right thing and that wasn’t working, either. It should have been so easy, damn it. The paintings were hers.
    All your stubbornness won’t change the fact that my father was a forger. Now the whole world will know .
    “The key,” she repeated tightly to Mr. Goodman. “I’m running late as it is.”
    “It won’t be but a minute.”
    Anxiety streaked through Lacey. She didn’t want to believe that she was going to be the cause of her father’s career going in the toilet.
    But you’ve always wanted to be a judge.
    You don’t always get what you want .
    “Mr. Goodman,” she said distinctly, “are you telling me that until a third and wholly irrelevant party arrives, I can’t have access to my own paintings, which I left in your care?”
    Goodman smoothed the one long strand of hair that he had combed from his right ear to his left in a vain attempt to cover his balding head. “Mr. Forrest has expressed great interest in the paintings.”
    Lacey bit back on the rising turmoil of her emotions. That was another thing she had learned when arguing with her mother: the person who lost her temper first lost the argument as well. That was one of the two reasons she hadn’t gone over the table, put her face in Goodman’s, and started yelling about lawyers, police, and newspapers.
    The second reason was that she didn’t want the cat any further out of the bag than it already was.
    “I’m aware of Mr. Forrest’s interest in my paintings,” Lacey said evenly, “just as he is aware of my dis interest in selling the paintings to him. Am I to understand that somehow he is in a position to prevent me from reclaiming my paintings?”
    “Er, no, not at all. It’s just that—” Goodman broke off and pushed to his feet with a relieved smile. “Mr. Forrest, how nice of you to join us on such short notice.”
    “I’m always ready to rush around to accommodate the arts,” Savoy said. “Fortunately, my father had a set of spare hotel keys. I brought them immediately when you told me you were having a problem.”
    “Keys?” Goodman said blankly. “Oh, yes. The desk said there was a problem. They didn’t say what it was.”
    Savoy smiled and held out his hand to the casually dressed young woman whose eyes snapped with temper and intelligence. “Ms. Marsh,I presume? Savoy Forrest. Sorry to keep you waiting. Things are a little crazy when you’re running late on a grand opening.”
    Ingrained good manners had Lacey accepting the handshake even though she wanted nothing to do with Mr. Savoy Forrest.
    “How do you do,” she said formally, letting go of his hand almost in the same instant she touched it. “Mr. Goodman was trying to explain to me why I can’t take my paintings. He wasn’t very effective. Perhaps you can do better?”
    Savoy smiled even as he sized up Ms. Marsh. Like Bliss, she had a temper. Unlike Bliss, she could keep it on a tight rein. Also unlike Bliss, Ms. Marsh was either not interested in fashion or not able to afford it. Considering the fact that she was supposedly an artist and had the paint-stained jeans to prove it, he rather guessed that