St Kilda Consulting 04 - Blue Smoke and Murder

had became iconic, the essence of the best of Western art.
    Of the known Dunstans, Talbert Crawford owned thirteen. The rest were in museums or personal collections. Not for sale, in other words. And Tal had offered a lot of money. He’d even coaxed one out of the Dunstan family collection. Rumor said the cost was seven figures.
    “Perhaps it might be time for both of you to expand your collecting horizons,” Shilling said gently. “There are many fine Western painters who—”
    “I’m afraid not,” Caitlin murmured. “Not until we’ve bought all the available Dunstans. Talbert is quite firm on that.” Fanatical, in fact. “Breadth in a collection is all very well and good, but depth is crucial.”
    “I don’t know of any available Dunstans with unclouded provenance,” Shilling said.
    “But I keep hearing rumors of at least one new Dunstan. Perhaps as many as a dozen.”
    Silently Shilling condemned the gossip network of Western art collectors. “I’ve heard some rumors, myself.” Seen JPEGs, too. Unsigned canvases, every one. “Naturally I called Ramsey Worthington. Neither one of us can pin down the rumor to a specific collector, curator, or anyone with credentials. It’s like trying to capture smoke in your hands.”
    “I traced one rumor back to Park City, the Art of the Historic West gallery,” Caitlin said.
    Shilling rubbed a palm over his thinning hair. “Yes, I know of that rumor. The gallery supposedly sent the painting out to several people for appraisal.” He shrugged. “The consensus was that it wasn’t a Dunstan.”
    “Still, I’d like to see the painting myself.”
    “So would I. In fact, I requested at least a photo.”
    “And?” Caitlin said sharply.
    “The painting has gone missing. Indeed, there’s growing question whether it ever existed in the first place. The closer the big Vegas auction comes, the wilder the rumors. It happens almost every year. With barely a week to go, you have to expect things like this.”
    And Shilling had no intention of adding to rumors that undercut the sale of real, signed art.
    Caitlin sipped coffee. A delicate frown line appeared between her dark, elegantly shaped eyebrows. “But this rumor had more substance. I was sure of it.”
    Shilling put a professional smile on his face. “Believe me, I had great hopes, too.”
    “You’ll tell me if anything else comes along with Dunstan’s name on it?”
    “Of course. You and Talbert are always the first on my call list.”
    “Good.” She smiled. “If I found out otherwise, I would be very hurt.”
    And Shilling would never see another dime of Crawford’s millions.
    Both of them knew it.
    Neither of them was rude enough to say it out loud.

6
    BLESSING, ARIZONA
SEPTEMBER 12
LATE MORNING
    S heriff Ned Purcell rocked his high-backed chair away from the desk and stared at the ceiling.
    “The fire was almost a month ago, Miss Breck. The ruling has already been made. Your great-aunt died in an unfortunate accident.”
    “I understand,” Jill said evenly. “But considering her note to me, and the convenient loss of one of our family paintings, I feel we should look at things again.”
    “Miss…” He bit back an impatient word and looked out the window. The Breck women had been nothing but trouble for a century. Ornery to the bone. “In the big scheme of things, Modesty probably had a part in her own death. Old ladies who live alone shouldn’t try to pour fuel oil into a stove that’s already burning.”
    Jill straightened her back against the wooden chair on the other side of the sheriff’s desk. She was real tired of hearing how women shouldn’t be living without the protection and oversight of a man. That point of view was one of the biggest reasons she’d rarely looked back after leaving the Arizona Strip for a college scholarship in California.
    “Great-aunt Modesty was born on that ranch,” Jill said. “She livedwith that stove her whole life. She was used to doing her own chores, including maintaining old engines and pouring fuel oil, branding and cutting and haying. Frankly, I was having a hard time accepting that she tripped and scattered burning fuel oil all over the kitchen. Then, when I found her note and the old trunk, I really felt the whole matter should be looked at again.”
    Purcell picked up the cream-colored Stetson that was as much a part of his uniform as the tooled leather belt with its gun, nightstick, handcuffs, and bullets.
    Jill waited. She knew