Rarities Unlimited 03 - Die in Plain Sight

have approached the subject in a different manner.”
    “No problem. He called me to double-check that you really were deputies instead of wise guys with costume badges. I told him you were real.” Rory hesitated as a thought struck him. “How’s the plainclothes car holding up? Some of those ranch roads are rough.”
    “Lapstrake told us we’d need four-wheel drive, so we called ahead. A Savoy ranch vehicle was waiting for us at the south gate.”
    “What you’re saying is that Lapstrake’s not trying to lose you or make life hard on you.”
    “That’s correct, sir.”
    The phone beeped; someone else was trying to call Rory.
    “Anything else?” Rory asked.
    “No, sir.”
    “Keep me posted.”
    Before Glendower could answer, Rory broke the connection, picked up the incoming call, and said simply, “Turner.”
    “Deputy Mendoza, sir.”
    Rory flipped through his mental file and came up with the right man. “You’re on the Savoy Hotel assignment.”
    “Yes, sir. At approximately nine-thirty this morning, a young woman calling herself Ms. Marsh asked to have three paintings returned to her.”
    Rory’s hand tightened around the phone. “What?”
    “She had the correct receipt but no personal identification, so theconcierge stalled as instructed. Mr. Goodman came to the hotel and identified the subject as Ms. Marsh.”
    Rory thought of all the ways Ward could make his life miserable if the paintings vanished. “Did she take the paintings?”
    “Not right away. Savoy Forrest came to the hotel. He told me to print photos of Marsh off the security cameras, then went and talked with Goodman and Marsh. By the time Marsh got the paintings and left, I had the photos and was in place to follow her.”
    “Good.”
    “She went to a shop a few blocks off PCH in Newport Beach, a place called Lost Treasures Found.”
    Rory made a satisfied sound. When the same place showed up twice in one day, a cop could be pretty sure he had his subject’s home ground.
    “She parked in back, took the paintings inside, and hasn’t been out since,” Mendoza continued. “I showed the pictures of her around the shops on either side of her business. Some woman wearing crystals and turquoise robes assured me it was Lacey Quinn, a part owner of Lost Treasures Found. Ditto the counterman at the deli down the street. Lacey Quinn comes in there all the time for bagels or sandwiches. Very positive ID.”
    “Did you run that name through our computers?”
    “Of course, sir. No wants. No warrants. Valid driver, vehicle, and business license. Current voter registration. All the outward signs of a solid, tax-paying citizen.”
    “Home address?”
    “She lives in an apartment above the shop. Should I continue surveillance?”
    Rory thought quickly. Lacey Quinn had the paintings and was at her place of work, which was also her home. There was nothing to suggest that she was going to grab the paintings and run. Even if she did, she wasn’t a rootless street person who would be hard to find.
    “Go back into the computer and get all the information you can on her and her business partner,” Rory said. “Find out if she has any family or other close friends. If she bolts, we want to know where to start looking.”

Newport Beach
    Thursday evening
24
    L acey fidgeted in front of the mirror and wished that Shayla was home to reassure her that she didn’t look like an impostor wearing a chic black dress and a wonderful rope of crystal and ebony jewelry she’d found at an estate sale. But Shayla was on her way to South America to buy local crafts for their store. Lacey would just have to suck it up and be an adult.
    “I don’t feel like an adult,” she muttered at the mirror. “I feel like a teen on her first date. And at the Savoy Hotel’s five-star restaurant, of all places. Good Lord. If Mom and my sisters hadn’t been giving me society-child clothes all these years, I’d be screwed.”
    Crystal and ebony swung from her ears as she impatiently twitched the neckline of the dress. Some cleavage was okay, but she really didn’t want an outfit that looked like it was going to slide off her nipples the next time she let out a good sigh.
    “Oh, the hell with it. The necklace pretty much hides everything anyway.”
    Lacey went to her closet and looked for something warm that wasn’t covered in paint. All she found was an old velvet brocade coat with black lamb’s wool around the collar, cuffs, and hem. The coat itself was a