Rarities Unlimited 03 - Die in Plain Sight

him.”
    “Not your fault. He just gets mad every time he thinks about those paintings getting away from him. He’s probably calling the sheriff and raking him over the coals while we speak.” Savoy smiled with bittersweet amusement at the thought of what Rory must be going through. Serves him right to be on the receiving end for a change . “Come hell or high water, I can guarantee no more paintings will be stolen before Dad has a chance to buy them.”

Savoy Hotel
    Noon Saturday
43
    A lthough no one had said anything about it, Susa, Lacey, and Ian had decided to keep all the paintings in their sight until midafternoon, when they would go downstairs for Mr. Goodman to hang for the auction. So rather than trying to eat at the restaurant with a painting under each arm, they called room service. Two pizzas, a salami sandwich, and a huge Cobb salad with extra chicken had arrived with gratifying speed. It helped that there weren’t more than a handful of guests in the hotel at the moment. By tonight, the place would be full and room service would begin the fine old tradition of serving food as overpriced as it was cold.
    Susa and Lacey pulled designer pizza apart and began licking their fingers before taking even one bite. Ian could only eye his lunch longingly, because he was talking to the sheriff of Moreno County.
    Ian was watching Lacey hungrily, too, but there was nothing to be done about that until after the auction.
    “Thanks for the offer,” Ian said, ignoring the sound of his stomachgnawing through his backbone and the quiet ache in his crotch, “but there’s no need. We can watch over the paintings for a few hours. After the auction, the exhibit moves to the Savoy Museum for a month, right?”
    “Yes,” Rory said. “As soon as the dust settles tonight, I’ll personally escort the paintings to the museum.”
    “Sounds good to me. Anything new on the robbery?”
    Rory made a ripe sound of disgust. “You called it right. Nothing panned out. The van was abandoned on southbound I-5 about ten miles from here, close to an off-ramp.”
    “Ownership?”
    “The temporary registration was fake. Engine numbers were taken out with acid. Dude wore gloves. Not a print anywhere.”
    “Dead end,” Ian said.
    “Yeah. We figure he had a car parked near the off-ramp. If not, there’s a bus stop right there.”
    “Or a buddy picked him up,” Ian said.
    “No matter which way, he’s long gone.”
    “Mexico?”
    “Probably,” Rory said. “Could have been San Diego, but it’s a lot easier to move goods through Mexico.”
    “Hell, it could be the Russian mafiya in L.A.,” Ian said. “They’ve been bringing stolen art in from all over the former Soviet Union. Lately they’ve started sending stolen American art back. Smuggling routes work two ways.”
    “Jesus,” Rory muttered. “Welcome to the new global crime village. How the hell can we keep a lid on international crooks when we can’t even keep our own backyards weeded?”
    “That’s why organizations like Rarities Unlimited exist. They go after the exotic weeds locals don’t have time, funds, or training to take care of.”
    “Regular civic Boy Scouts, huh?”
    Ian smiled narrowly. “That’s us. Let me know if you turn up anything, Sheriff. I’m sure Susa’s insurance company will be in touch with you real soon.”
    “They’ve already sent a representative. He’s not happy about our lack of progress.”
    “If you stood to lose a couple million bucks, you’d be unhappy, too.”
    “By the way, when I questioned a man called S. K. Niall about yourhonesty, he laughed so hard I thought he’d swallow his tongue,” Rory said. “Then he told me I’d have a better chance of pinning it on the pope than on you. Said the only one you might have trusted enough to team up with on a robbery was Lawe Donovan, and if he wanted Susa’s paintings, all he had to do was ask. Then Niall told me to quit wasting his time and hung up.”
    “That’s Niall. A bottom line kind of guy.”
    “So, has Rarities come up with anything on the paintings?” Rory asked.
    “Not that I know of. And I’d know.”
    “Yeah, well, if you hear anything—”
    “I’ll tell you. And vice versa. Right?”
    “Sure,” Rory said, and hung up.
    Ian tossed the phone into its cradle. “‘Sure,’ my bleeding arse,” he said under his breath. “Cops never share anything important.” He stalked over to the table where lunch waited.
    “Did the sheriff have anything