Rarities Unlimited 03 - Die in Plain Sight

the Pickford arm of the “family” was present. Sandra Wheaten Savoy’s nephew Steven the accountant or his son Jason the lawyer didn’t miss a meeting, or a trick, when it came to making sure that the Pickfords’ fifteen percent of the action produced every possible dime of money. Today it wasSteven who waited to argue pennies, his eyes and pencils sharp, calculator at the ready.
    Also present and ready to fight were the Savoy Sharks, the two New York lawyers who kept minutes, digital recordings, and score at every Savoy Enterprises meeting. The men had names, but only Savoy remembered them. To the rest of the family, lawyers were as interchangeable as they were important.
    “Sorry to keep you waiting,” Savoy said to them.
    Both lawyers smiled graciously. They were on retainer and Savoy Forrest was the man who signed their checks.
    “The governor wanted to know if she could count on our support for her re-election,” Savoy continued, looking around the table. “I assured her that she could.”
    Bliss made a rude noise and smoothed her hair, which was several shades of blond and cost four hundred bucks a month to keep that way. She resented the governor because she kissed Savoy’s ass instead of hers. But then, so did everyone else at the table except Pickford. He was simply a pain in everyone’s ass. He liked the governor well enough, though. She’d quietly pushed some amendments through the state legislature that resulted in a tax windfall for Savoy Ranch—and thus for the Pickfords’ fifteen percent. The vice president of the United States was trying to do the same for the Savoy Ranch at the federal level.
    “Now, for the first item of business,” Savoy said, shuffling through the soft leather folder in front of him and pulling out papers. “You know how honored the Savoy-Forrest family is that the Savoy California Impressionist Museum has been selected to receive the—”
    “Christ,” Pickford said loudly, “is this going to cost us more money? At last count you’d spent twenty million of our corporate money building a museum and acquiring so-called art for your private collection of—”
    “Not private,” cut in one of the Savoy Sharks. “The museum is a tax-exempt, nonprofit organization funded and run by Savoy Enterprises for the cultural enrichment of the community, county, state, and nation. The museum is open to the public on a regular, published basis and—”
    “Spare me the legal bullshit,” Pickford said over the lawyer’s words. “Everyone knows that Savoy Forrest and his daddy pick all the paintings and some of them hang in the Savoy Museum Wednesday through Saturday. Only fifteen paintings are on display at any one time, and you’vegot more than two hundred of the things. If that isn’t private use of Savoy Enterprises money, it sure as hell looks like it to me.”
    “Your legal opinion didn’t hold up in court,” one lawyer said coolly, shooting his cuff.
    “Only because Savoy Forrest owns the bench and the honorable ass on it.”
    “Thank you for your input, as always,” Rory said. “Do drive safely and well within the speed limit on your way home.”
    Pickford shifted his suit coat and shut up for the moment.
    Savoy reached out, checked his sister’s watch, and said, “Almost thirty seconds without an argument. A new record. My compliments, Steven.”
    Rory snickered.
    Bliss bit her lip against a smile. Savoy knew just how to jerk the Pickford chain and look innocent as an egg while doing it.
    Savoy lit a cigarette and waited. Smoke rose swiftly, sucked away by the air-filtration system.
    No one spoke.
    “Shall we try for thirty-one?” he asked.
    “Just cut to the chase,” Pickford said, tapping his well-manicured fingers on the table. “This isn’t a press conference called to congratulate the true Savoy blood on their civic virtue. You have the power, so you have a tax-exempt hobby that takes money away from taxpayers in general and the Pickford family in particular. Next topic, please.”
    “You’re welcome to visit the museum,” Rory said. “I’ll make sure you get a free pass.”
    Pickford gave him a slicing sideways look.
    Savoy drew on his cigarette, then placed it in the smokeless ashtray Bliss had nagged him into using. “I’m afraid the next topic won’t please you, Steven. This board has been invited to host a table at the Friends of Moreno County charity dinner and auction.”
    “Charity is only free if you’re poor,”