Rarities Unlimited 03 - Die in Plain Sight

Dad’s going to kill me.”
    “Why?”
    “I can see the headlines: SON OF ART FORGER ALMOST APPOINTED JUDGE .” She tilted her head back but tears fell anyway. “Poor Dad. A life’s work ruined because of a father he couldn’t control and a stubborn daughter who just had to open Pandora’s box.”
    A knock came on the door. “Bellman.”
    Lacey pulled her robe closer around her. “That’s my clothes. I’ll get dressed and break the news to Dad.”
    Ian glanced at Susa. She looked thoughtful, the way she did when she confronted an entirely new landscape.
    “Go with her, Ian,” Susa said. “I have some calls to make. And Lacey?”
    “Yes?”
    “After you talk with your parents, we’ll sort through the paintings in your shop. Then we’ll take our sad hearts and go back in time to paint.”
    “What?”
    “We’re going to paint a sunset on a bluff overlooking several hundred years of history. I’ll call ahead and arrange it with the ranch’s majordomo.”
    Lacey hesitated, then smiled wanly. “Thanks. I’d like that.”
    “Good. While you talk to your parents, think about this—I still want Rarities to look at the paintings.”
    “Why?”
    “I believe they are Lewis Marten’s work. They must have survived the studio fire or been painted before his death. Don’t you see? If your grandfather was a copyist, he had to have some templates to work from, and those templates would have been true Lewis Marten paintings. Those paintings still exist somewhere. They belong to the generations, Lacey.”
    Ian started to ask a question, but a look from Susa shut him up.
    Too heartsick to argue, finally believing what she didn’t want to believe, Lacey said, “Fine. Whatever. Nothing will change the fact that Grandpa Rainbow was a forger.” A tear slid from the corner of her eye. “All I wanted to do was get my grandfather’s painting the recognition it deserves. Now my father’s reputation is on the brink of ruin and my grandfather will soon be infamous as a forger and a crook.” She laughed oddly. “The road to hell really is paved with good intentions, isn’t it?”

Newport Beach
    Early Friday afternoon
33
    W earing the dressy slacks and pullover sweater her parents had brought, plus a head-to-toe coverall borrowed from hotel maintenance and her own beat-up sandals, Lacey stood on the sidewalk looking at the front of her shop. Except for the CLOSED sign on the door during what should have been prime business hours, some puddles here and there, and the burned wreckage next door, last night could have been a bad dream.
    “It doesn’t look like anything happened to my shop,” she said. “After all the hoses and fire axes and tramping around last night, I expected to see an ungodly mess.”
    “You will,” Ian said. He’d spent time at enough fire scenes to know what waited inside. An ungodly mess just about covered it. “You sure you don’t want me to take care of this for you? I could bring all your paintings out and—”
    “No,” she interrupted firmly. “My shop, my responsibility.”
    Saying nothing, he stroked his palm over her curly hair. Behind her brave front, he knew that she was running on adrenaline, emotions, and old-fashioned grit. He also knew that seeing the extent of the damage from the fire and firemen would feel like a fist to the gut.
    He glanced over at the small woman standing on Lacey’s other side. “You tamed those sleeves yet, Susa?”
    “I’m working on it.” Like Ian and Lacey, Susa was wearing borrowed coveralls. None of the hotel maintenance crew had been remotely close to her size, so she’d rolled everything up at the ankles and wrists, and then rolled them up some more.
    “You don’t have to do this,” Lacey said. “I can sort through my own paintings. The rest of the stuff…” Her voice trailed off. She drew herself up sharply. I’m not going there. It’s just things. Crying over them won’t do a damn bit of good.
    Chin high, shoulders squared, Lacey walked toward the tranquil front of her shop, opened the door she’d locked again before going to the hotel last night, and stepped inside. The smell was an overpowering mix of cold smoke and wet everything. She flipped a switch. Miraculously, the lights came on.
    She wished they hadn’t. Gloom had been friendly to the shop, concealing the fallen plaster, water, and just plain gunk that covered every surface. The farther into the shop she walked, the worse everything looked.
    “Stay here