Rarities Unlimited 03 - Die in Plain Sight

Jacinto Mountains. The smoke tree growing out of the sandy wash was essentially feminine, grace and endurance in a deceptively fragile-looking body. Behind the tree, the mountains loomed in angles and shadows softened by the rose-colored glasses of dawn. But the brutal coming of the sun was implicit in the sparse plant life and the cryptic tracks left in the sand by animals that chose to live in the seamless night rather than in the searing light of day.
    “Fascinating,” Susa said. “The oil is so thinly applied that it’s almost transparent on the canvas, yet the result has the kind of depth most artists achieve only with palette knives and gobs of paint.”
    Gently Ian pried the painting from her hands and gave it to Lacey. “Glad you like it. Let’s go.”
    “Show me the other one,” Susa said to Ian.
    “Light’s better at the hotel.”
    She raised her eyebrows and waited.
    He gave her the second painting. He no longer wondered how such a delicate little flower had held her own with the Donovan men. In fact, he was wondering how they’d held their own with her.
    “Perfect,” Susa said. “Not the same angle we painted, but the same place.”
    For the first time Ian looked at the painting. “Cross Country Canyon,” he said, recognizing the lines of the land even though the trees were in slightly different places. Then he frowned. “Hold it for a minute. I want to compare something.” He went to the Death Suite, selected one of the car wrecks, and came back to Susa.
    “What is it?” Lacey asked.
    “Can’t be sure, but…” Ian compared the two paintings. “What do you think? Same place or not?”
    Susa and Lacey compared the trees and the lines of the land.
    “My vote is yes,” Lacey said. “But the daylight view came first. Otherwise you’d see scars from the fire.”
    “I agree,” Susa said. She looked at the intensity of Ian’s eyes and the brackets around his mouth. “Why does it matter?”
    “While you two were painting, I picked up a license plate at the bottom of the ravine,” Ian said. “Just thought it was curious, that’s all. Can’t have been too many wrecks there.”
    Goose bumps rippled as Susa felt the familiar but never comfortable sensation of time’s cool sigh through her core. She looked at the Death Suite lined up in horrifying celebration and wondered all over again where genius ended and madness began.

Savoy Ranch
    Late Saturday morning
42
    I n the imposing drawing room of the ranch house, Angelique White sat on a butter-colored brocade couch and stroked Honey Bear’s soft ears. He watched her with complete adoration shining in his round, dark eyes. The fact that she was nibbling on crackers and savory country pâté didn’t hurt the dog’s focus one bit.
    “Honey Bear, move your lazy butt,” Ward said, giving the retriever a hard nudge with his boot. “You’re crowding the lady.”
    The dog leaned harder against Angelique’s knee.
    Savoy grabbed Honey Bear’s collar and pulled him back.
    “Really, I don’t mind,” Angelique said. “He’s so beautiful.”
    “Tell me that after he drools all over your designer dress,” Savoy said dryly, gesturing toward the ecru silk she wore. “At least it isn’t black. Honey Bear just loves shedding on dark fabric.”
    Angelique smiled and made cooing sounds at Honey Bear. He sniffedher fingers hopefully. She slipped him a bite of pâté. The dog licked it up and drooled on the papers lined up across the coffee table.
    Savoy bit back all the things he wanted to say about ill-behaved, spoiled pets. It was a good thing the ink on the deal was waterproof. He hadn’t come this far just to have a golden retriever screw up everything.
    “Champagne?” Ward asked.
    “No, thank you,” Angelique said, refusing the drink again. “I have to drive.”
    “Some fruit, then?” Savoy asked, passing her an artfully arranged platter of fresh fruit. “Coffee?”
    “Coffee, please,” she said. She reached toward the table. To Honey Bear’s dismay, she picked up a handful of paper rather than pâté. “If you’ll give me a moment, I’ll just flip through this.”
    “Take your time,” Ward said while Savoy poured coffee all around.
    Ward watched his son and Angelique from the corner of his eye. No leaning toward each other. No brush of hand over hand. No press of leg against leg. No private meeting of eyes. Silently Ward gave up the hope that his son would charm Angelique into a compromising position in time to