Rarities Unlimited 03 - Die in Plain Sight

Lacey said. “What lice.”
    “You’re slandering insects,” Susa said. She looked at Ian. “Since the paintings aren’t here, I presume you got away long enough to take them downstairs?”
    “Yes.” He patted the breast pocket of his suit coat. “I have a signed receipt complete with Polaroid photos of each painting.”
    “That was nasty of you.” Susa smiled. “Well, are we ready to face the mob?”
    “The mob isn’t here for me or Ian,” Lacey pointed out.
    “But we’ll protect you,” he said.
    “I’m whining, aren’t I?” Susa sighed and looked at her watch. “Let’s go see the paintings before dinner. If they haven’t displayed them properly, there’s still time to fix it.”
    The moment they stepped into the hall, it was obvious that the auction would be a success. Expensively dressed people were everywhere—leaving their hotel rooms, waiting for the elevator, chatting with friends. The lobby was crowded with glitter and flash and hummed with excitement. Bits of conversation drifted by like wind-driven leaves.
    “—seen the latest girlfriend? My God, she has to be fifty years younger than—”
    “I rather fancy the dark painting, so brutal and—”
    “If she gets another face-lift, she’ll have a goatee.”
    “If he gets another one, he’ll have two.”
    “—dreadful art at that show, just dreadful. It could have been left by the janitor when he changed the lightbulbs.”
    “Look, isn’t that La Susa?”
    “Omigod, look at those shoulders.”
    “Hers?”
    “ His. Great butt, too.”
    “Do you suppose they’re lovers?”
    “Actually,” Ian said under his breath, “my shoulders and butt have been very close since birth.”
    “Behave,” Susa said mildly.
    “Why?” he muttered. “Nobody else is. I feel like meat in a deli.”
    Lacey smiled. “You are meat in a deli, my beautiful salami.”
    “Get used to it,” Susa said, winking at Lacey. “Most of the good-looking single men here are gay. But if any of the old ladies pinch you, I’ll smack their bony fingers.”
    Ian wondered if it was okay for a good-looking single man to roll his eyes.
    The fragmented conversations went silent in the elevator, only to resume with redoubled volume in the lobby.
    “Stand on my right,” he said to Lacey, “but don’t get in the way of my right hand, okay?”
    “Why?”
    “Guess.”
    Belatedly she realized that he wanted to be free to reach beneath his suit coat for his weapon.
    “Oh. Got it,” she muttered, and went to stand on his right side. But not too close. “So much for holding hands, huh?”
    “That’s why they call it work.”
    Ian put his left hand on Susa’s elbow, a grim look on his face, and stared down anyone who tried to approach her as they crossed the lobby. When a look wasn’t enough, he simply told the person that Susa would be available for conversation after the auction.
    “Thank you,” Susa said after he had turned away the fourth person. “You’re as good at that as Archer or Jake. Not quite rude and certainly not friendly.”
    “It’s something you learn in Junkyard Dog 101.”
    Lacey grinned.
    “This way,” Ian said, steering Susa toward a hallway that was discreetly marked as the Surf Ballroom.
    “Nice carpet,” Lacey said, eyeing the intricate, vaguely Persian patternthat had been done in shades of aquamarine and gold. “Wonder what it will look like in a few years.”
    “Used,” Ian said.
    “Gee, you’re really fun when you’re working.”
    Mr. Goodman came out of the Surf Ballroom, spotted Susa, and hurried forward. “Ms. Donovan, you look marvelous.”
    “Thank you,” Ian said before Susa could speak. “If you’ll excuse us, we’re on a rather short clock. Seating at the head table begins in five minutes and Susa hasn’t had a chance to see the auction layout.”
    “Oh, of course. If you have any questions….” Mr. Goodman was talking to Ian’s back.
    There was a uniformed deputy standing outside the entrance to the ballroom and two more covering other exits. The small raised stage at one end of the room featured Susa’s paintings. The forgeries were prominently displayed on movable panels just in front of the stage. The rest of the “Found by Susa Donovan” paintings formed an art maze that took up a third of the ballroom. The remainder of the big room was filled with plush folding chairs whose rubber feet left no marks on the gleaming wooden floor. Each seat held a paddle with huge numbers to identify