Rarities Unlimited 03 - Die in Plain Sight

should be sitting down at our own table.”
    Bliss ignored her father. She might have her credit cards back, but she was still pissed off at him for winning again. “It belonged to my grandmother Sandra Wheaten Savoy. It was given to her to celebrate my mother Gem’s birth. When Mother was twenty-one, the bracelet became hers. It came to me when she died. It’s one of a kind.”
    Bliss pulled back the long, draped sleeve on her right arm and held the bracelet under Lacey’s nose.
    “Very pretty,” Lacey managed.
    “You’re damned right it is. So why is it in that ugly painting?”
    “Blissy,” Ward said softly, “it’s time for us to sit down.”
    Savoy stepped between father and daughter as he’d always done. “Excellent idea. I’m sure you and Ms. Marsh—excuse me, Quinn—will have lots of time to talk about art before and after the auction.”
    Rory looked at the stubborn set of Bliss’s mouth, mentally calculatedhow many drinks she’d had, and decided to risk it. He ran his index finger from her shoulder to her fingertips. “Come sit by me, sugar. I’ve had a long day and need to rest up for the night.”
    For a moment Bliss resisted. But when he picked up her hand and kissed her palm, she sighed. “All right.” Then she looked at Lacey. “Later.”
    Lacey made a sound that her mother often mistook for agreement.
    Bliss and Rory left for a nearby table. Ward waited patiently while Angelique asked Susa something about which brushes were best for water and which for clouds. He didn’t hear the answer, but he did see Mr. Goodman quivering in the aisle like an anxious sheep dog.
    “Sorry to interrupt,” Ward said, smiling at Susa, “but the organizer of the event will wet his pants if we don’t sit down pretty quick.”
    Angelique looked startled, then laughed. “Naughty man.”
    He smiled. “Somebody has to be or else nobody would appreciate good people like you.”
    With a light touch on her arm, Ward guided Angelique toward the table. Ignoring the discreet place cards, he seated Angelique so that he would occupy the empty chair next to Bliss. This put Angelique at the end of the table rather than in the center of things. Savoy gave him a sharp glance but didn’t protest the new arrangement.
    It took twenty minutes, but Ward finally managed to get his daughter’s attention without attracting anyone else’s.
    “Blissy?” he murmured.
    “What?”
    “I know how much you loved your mother.”
    Bliss’s fork hesitated over her salad. “You sure you want to go into this with Ms. Angel fanning her wings so close by?”
    Ward’s smile was as hard as the silverware. “Savvy’s son has her attention, talking about saving earthworms or some such crap. No doubt the boy will have a check in his pocket before the evening is out.”
    Bliss smiled at the lettuce with its little vegetable shavings. “Go on. I promise not to choke up at the thought of how close Mother and I were not.”
    “In some ways, you’re a lot like me.”
    “Frightening thought.”
    “For both of us,” he shot back softly. “So do us both a favor. Drop the subject of the damned bracelet.”
    “Why?”
    “Jesus, Blissy, why do you think?”
    She shrugged. “Tell me.”
    “The last thing I want right now is to air any more dirty skivvies in front of Ms. Angelique. You go hollering about that bracelet, and pretty soon all the old gossip about your mother’s death is going to be on the front pages again and our rich little angel will fly the hell out of here. Then I’d be almighty pissed off at you in a way that will make every other disagreement we’ve had look as bland as banana pudding. You get it?”
    “You’ll cut me off.”
    “You better believe it.”
    “Shit,” Blissy hissed under her breath. “Always pulling strings like some damned puppeteer.”
    He laughed and ruffled her hair as though she was five instead of nearly fifty. “You’re finally figuring it out.”
    “What?”
    “If you ain’t pulling strings, somebody is pulling yours. But don’t sulk, Blissy. Someday I’ll be dead and you’ll be rich enough to buy your own puppets.”

Savoy Hotel
    Saturday evening
46
    A fter dinner the guests sifted through the maze of freestanding panels, noting which paintings were for sale and which weren’t. People read Susa’s handwritten cards next to each painting, made notes, and moved on. Mr. Goodman did the sheep dog bit, gently and relentlessly herding people along the aisles of art.