Rarities Unlimited 03 - Die in Plain Sight

bidders for the auctioneer and his assistants.
    Ian gave the art maze a jaundiced look. It could hide a platoon of Uzi-carrying goons.
    “Down boy,” Susa said.
    Ian glanced at her. “What?”
    “I know that look. They teach it in Advanced Paranoia. Just remember that you’re here to make the Donovan feel good, not because there is any credible or even in credible threat against me.”
    Ian grunted.
    Lacey left them to sort out bodyguard protocol and went to the three panels that held her grandfather’s art. The canvases were displayed the same way she’d brought them to Susa—unframed.
    The lack of framing only enhanced the raw, edgy energy of the paintings. The desert scene bristled with the silent, endless battle to survive. Cross Country Canyon looked almost ominous, as though the land knew it would be an untimely graveyard. The drowning pool sent out dark waves separated by a horrifying scarlet scream.
    Against her will, Lacey was drawn to the grim painting. Here in thesumptuous ballroom and clever lighting, her grandfather’s work took on greater detail, greater power, becoming both more specific and more universal. The woman was Everywoman, the bracelet on her right wrist suggested intertwined hearts. Instead of being more distinct, the killer’s hand became simply male, strong without being huge, deadly without weapons, a dark force taking light from the woman. The suggestion of a spa was more distinct in the special lighting; Lacey could almost see the outline of tile work and lush plantings. Yet if she didn’t look closely, it could have been Hawaii or the Caribbean, any place where the greenery was lush and the water pure.
    Gradually Lacey became aware that someone was standing next to her, staring at the painting as intently as she was. At first glance the woman looked thirty-something. A closer look upped the age a decade or more. She was expensively turned out in blended shades of blond hair, an oyster-colored silk dress whose lines whispered Paris, and a diamond and sapphire choker that enhanced the startling blue of her eyes.
    As Lacey watched, the woman slowly lifted her right arm until her bracelet was next to the painting. The jewelry she wore was made of white gold with diamond-set hearts, intertwining. Every third heart was a larger solid metal one.
    The woman leaned closer, looking from her arm to the painting. Suddenly her hand trembled. “That’s my bracelet.”

Savoy Hotel
    Saturday evening
45
    Y ou’re sure?” Ian asked as he seated Lacey at the head table.
    “Positive.” She shivered. “It creeped me out. Didn’t do much for her, either. She turned around and left like her heels were on fire.”
    “Who was it?”
    “I don’t know.”
    Ian sat down between Susa and Lacey. “Interesting. If you see her again, point her out to me.”
    “No problem,” Lacey said instantly. “She’s coming up the aisle right now. The blonde.”
    He looked and saw a striking blonde hanging on Rory Turner’s arm. An even more striking blonde followed on Ward Forrest’s arm.
    “Which one?” Ian asked.
    “The first one. I never saw the second one before. Those gossips in the hallway were right. He’s old enough to be her grandfather.”
    “Never would have pegged him for that kind of fool.”
    “What does age have to do with it?” Lacey muttered. “Just because he’s gray around the edges doesn’t mean he’s smart about women.”
    “I suppose—just hate to see a walking cliché.”
    Savoy Forrest brought up the rear of the party with an elegant brunette in tow. Their body language said they might have been intimate once, but didn’t feel comfortable rubbing up against each other right now.
    “Well, well,” Ian said softly. “Putting two and two together, we’re looking at the happy Forrest family. I’m guessing the first blonde is Bliss, Savoy’s sister and the sheriff’s ex-and soon-to-be-again wife.”
    “I’m missing something.”
    “You should talk to cops. Biggest gossips in the world.”
    The Forrests came up to the head table and chatted while introductions were made all around. When Lacey and Bliss were introduced, Lacey managed not to give Ian a sidelong glance.
    “I understand you own the painting of the drowning woman,” Bliss said bluntly.
    “Yes,” Lacey said cautiously.
    “Where did you get it?” Bliss asked.
    “Why?” Ian asked before Lacey could speak.
    “Because that’s my bracelet.”
    Ward’s head whipped toward his daughter. “We