Rarities Unlimited 03 - Die in Plain Sight

“Anything else on your mind?”
    “The fire in Newport Beach. From the address called in to 911, it sounds close to that girl’s shop.”
    “A lot of girls have—”
    “The one with the paintings,” Ward interrupted. “Quinn or whatever the hell she’s calling herself now.”
    Rory rubbed his hand over his face and told himself to be patient with his once and future father-in-law. Then he told himself to wake up and start thinking about his boss rather than how good it was going to feel to spread Bliss’s knees and dive in.
    Girl. Paintings. Quinn.
    Damn. No wonder Ward’s dick is in a knot.
    “Are you saying that Lacey Quinn, the young woman whose paintings you want to buy, that her shop—where she’s keeping the paintings now—is on fire?” Rory asked.
    “How the hell would I know?” Ward shot back. “All I remember is that the place your men followed her to is in the old section of Newport and there’s a fire burning in the old section of Newport right now. Get up and find out if my paintings are safe!”
    Rory didn’t bother to point out that the paintings weren’t Ward’s yet—if ever. From all Savoy had been able to find out, the lady wasn’t interested in selling. On the other hand, Rory couldn’t think of the last time the old man had taken no for an answer.
    “I’ll make some calls,” Rory said, and hung up.

Savoy Hotel
    Friday morning
30
    W rapped up in a thick terry cloth hotel robe, Susa glanced at the closed door of the second bedroom and then at Ian. “How is Lacey?”
    “She was asleep when I left her. Hope she still is.” He raked his fingers through his hair and wondered if he would ever get the ghastly smell of death out of his skin and his mind. “Losing everything is a bitch, but at least Lacey didn’t roast like her neighbor.”
    “From what you told me about it, I doubt that the woman ever woke up.”
    His mouth flattened. “Sure as hell hope so.”
    “Are you certain Lacey lost everything? She said they got the fire out before it got into her shop.”
    “Smoke and water damage,” Ian said succinctly. “Some of the durable stuff, glassware and jewelry and metal and such, can be saved. Posters and textiles…” He made a sharp gesture with his hand. “Dead loss.”
    “What about her paintings?”
    “Mostly ruined, I’d guess. Maybe not. I don’t know much about the staying power of oil and canvas.”
    “Better than pastels or watercolors.” Susa frowned. “I’ll help Lacey go through her paintings when she’s ready. She might throw out something that could be saved with proper treatment. Did you ask about insurance?”
    “She has it. Whether it pays anything helpful is up to the claims adjuster and the lawyers, if it comes to that.”
    Susa looked at Ian’s spiky hair and grim eyes. “How about some food or coffee or a drink?”
    “No thanks. I’m still digesting smoke.”
    “Some salve for your burns?”
    “Been there, done that. Smeared Lacey all over while I was at it.” He almost smiled. That part, at least, had been enjoyable.
    “Sleep?”
    “In a while. I’m waiting for a call from the arson investigator.”
    Eyes narrowed, Susa watched Ian pace. “Arson? Lacey didn’t say anything about that.”
    “All fires are routinely investigated.”
    “Nice try, doesn’t fly,” she shot back. “You wouldn’t be waiting up if you didn’t expect something more than routine.”
    “Bet your boys never got anything past you, did they?”
    “Constantly, but nothing that mattered.”
    Ian looked over his shoulder at the closed door, then walked over and stood next to it, listening intently. If Lacey was awake, she wasn’t moving around.
    Susa waited with the patience of a mother or a hunting cat. Sometimes there wasn’t much difference.
    “From what I could see, the fire started in a trash barrel,” Ian said. “Then someone dumped the barrel and the fire poured over the aisle between the two shops. Just in case that wasn’t good enough, some kind of accelerants were used—kerosene or gasoline—plus what looked like chunks cut from those paraffin-and-sawdust logs folks use for fires when they don’t want to bother with wood. Stuff burns like a bastard, even in a downpour.”
    “Why would anyone set fire to Lacey’s shop?”
    “It wasn’t Lacey’s shop, it was Cosmic Energy next door.”
    “Then why are you sending out the kind of feelings that make my Druid ancestors twitchy?”
    Ian shot her a dark look. “What kind