Rarities Unlimited 03 - Die in Plain Sight

wind…
    “My God,” she breathed. “Another Marten.”
    “No. Another David Quinn,” Lacey said. “A roomful of them, as a matter of fact.”
    Susa shook her head like a woman coming out of one dream and into a deeper dream.
    “I saw him paint that one,” Lacey said, pointing to the canvas Susa was holding.
    “ En plein air? Or was it painted in his studio from a field study?” Susa asked.
    “Studio and field study.”
    “Where is it?”
    “The field study?” Lacey asked.
    “Yes.”
    Lacey frowned and looked around the unit. “I don’t know. It might not have survived. Like you, Grandpa destroyed paintings all the time.”
    “Probably a good idea in his case,” Ian said. “If the original is gone, it’s harder to prove forgery.”
    Lacey flinched and didn’t disagree.
    “How could anyone destroy an original Marten?” Susa asked. Then, quickly, “Never mind. That was my heart talking, not my brain. But still…”
    “I didn’t bring you here to make you feel bad all over again,” Lacey said. “I just wanted to prove to you that you didn’t have to mourn those three stolen paintings. They weren’t Martens. They were Quinns, and there are a lot more where they came from. And maybe, just maybe, an original Marten or two or three is waiting to be discovered somewhere in the hundreds of paintings I inherited. Since I was raised with the paintings,I don’t think I’d be able to tell the difference between original or forgery. But maybe you can separate the wheat from the Wheaties.”
    “Or Rarities could,” Ian said. “It’s what they do and they’re damned good at it.”
    “Sure. Send them the whole bloody lot,” Lacey said unhappily, “but don’t ask me to pay for it. I can’t.”
    “I can,” Susa said. She glanced around. “Looks like another triage job,” she said, mentally rolling up her sleeves. “Let’s get to work.”

Newport Beach
    Friday night
40
    Y ou lost them twenty minutes ago?” Rory repeated into his cell phone. He looked at his watch. Almost nine o’clock. He hadn’t been with Bliss long enough to kiss her properly and already something had gone wrong.
    The irritation in Rory’s voice made Bliss look up from the cheese pastries she was making. Glumly she wondered if he was going to have to rush off and leave her watching TV alone. The drop in her spirits surprised her. It told her how much and how quickly he’d become part of her life again.
    The best part.
    “How’d it happen?” Rory asked. “You get out to take a crap or what?”
    The deputy at the other end of the conversation swallowed hard. “The subject had been cooperative, so we didn’t worry when he went through a yellow light. It was busy—Friday night and all—so we just let him go rather than endangering civilians by taking the light red.”
    “Uh-huh,” Rory said, understanding their predicament but not real sympathetic at the moment. “So, did the light stick on red?”
    “No, sir. He rabbited. Turned off the highway into a residential area. By the time we got there, he was gone.”
    “If I were you,” Rory said, “I’d pray to God that nothing happens to Susa Donovan before she gets back to the hotel, where you and your partner will be waiting for her.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Call me when you pick them up again.”
    Rory didn’t wait for the deputy’s agreement. He punched out and called Ward.
    “Hope I didn’t wake you,” he said when Ward answered the phone.
    Ward snorted. “That’ll be the day. You fight with Bliss and decide to play cribbage tonight with an old man after all?”
    “Not yet. Just got a call from my men. They lost Susa Donovan.”
    “How’d they lose her in a hotel?”
    “It wasn’t in the hotel. It was PCH on a Friday night.”
    Silence.
    Mentally Rory prepared himself for the abrasive edge of Ward’s tongue. It wasn’t a happy prospect. Rory was still raw from the explosion that had come when Ward realized that the paintings he wanted to buy had been stolen.
    “No big deal,” Ward said, “unless you think she stole the paintings herself or had it done, and is going to pick them up again.”
    “If she did, I’m a long way from proving it. Besides, why would she do it? It’s not like she needs money. Ian Lapstrake, now, maybe there’s a possibility. But I got to tell you, nothing in the information I’ve dug up on him suggests he’s anything except the answer to a mother’s prayer.”
    “Huh? You making any progress at all on