St Kilda Consulting 04 - Blue Smoke and Murder

time. If word of a pending bankruptcy got out, the collection would go at fire-sale prices.”
    The lawyer looked at Worthington, who didn’t disagree.
    Grace set more papers on the table. “Which brings us to Thomas Dunstan.”
    “An iconic, very valuable Western artist,” Worthington said promptly.
    “Yes,” she said, picking up another piece of paper. “Mr. Crawford bought one of Dunstan’s paintings last year for four million dollars. Lee Dunstan sold it to him, then donated a share of another Dunstan to Carson City’s new museum to offset the taxes.”
    “A bargain,” Tal drawled. “It was one of Dunstan’s best, and biggest.”
    Grace lifted a dark eyebrow. “Bargain or not, it raised the value of the rest of your large Dunstans by millions of dollars. But one sale of one painting wasn’t enough to convince the IRS that your entire art collection was adequate compensation for your outstanding tax bill. I believe the figure they required was eight million per Dunstan.”
    “Dunstans are worth it,” Tal said.
    “That remains to be proved in the marketplace,” Grace said.
    “It will be proved tomorrow,” Tal retorted.
    “If you believe the buzz,” Grace agreed. “Or if the auction is rigged. That, Mr. Jenson, is not legal.”
    Worthington started an indignant defense of the auction.
    “Save it for the reporters,” Grace said in a clear, cutting voice. “My question to you, Mr. Worthington, is what would happen if twelve previously unknown Dunstans came on the market at the same time?”
    Dunstan started ranting about “lying Breck bitches.”
    Jenson leaned over and said something in Dunstan’s ear that cut off the rant in midword.
    Tal said, “The only new Dunstan I heard about lately was an out-and-out fraud. Some old lady running a con. Lee set her straight.”
    “I have a copy of a letter telling Modesty Breck that her paintingwas essentially worthless,” Grace said, “and by the way, lost in the mail. Convenient.”
    “I object to that characterization,” Jenson said quickly.
    Grace ignored him. “A few weeks after Modesty received the letter, she died in a fire that the county coroner—an elected rather than a medical position, by the way—said was caused when she tried to refuel a hot stove.”
    Worthington winced.
    “Her great-niece, Jillian Breck, inherited,” Grace said.
    “What does that have to do with us wasting our time here in—” Jenson began.
    “When Jill sent JPEGs of three of her paintings to various art houses,” Grace said over Jenson, “she didn’t receive any responses. Then someone called ‘Blanchard’ phoned her and offered to buy the paintings. In the end, he didn’t buy anything, but he returned the missing painting to her as slashed-up rags, along with a note that told her to go away or die.”
    Everyone except Jenson shifted uneasily, carefully not looking at each other.
    “Jill went to Garland Frost, a very well known expert on Western art,” Grace said. “While she was at Frost’s house, Harry ‘Score’ Glammis shot Frost and burned the shipping crates he thought contained twelve unsigned Dunstan paintings.”
    “What the hell?” Tal muttered.
    Caitlin shut her eyes. Her nails cut deeper into her palm.
    “The paintings weren’t burned that time, either,” Grace said. “Jill discovered that her paintings and Frost’s two signed, authenticated Dunstans all had the same thumbprint along the lower edge of the stretcher.”
    Worthington sat up straighter and looked at the twelve paintings with a combination of lust and horror.
    “Jill went to Canyon County to search for a set of Dunstan’s fingerprints. She found it. She also found that the thumbprint on her paintings and Frost’s wasn’t Thomas Dunstan’s.”
    “Told you so,” Lee said fiercely. “Lying bitch was—”
    “Jill Breck has all of you by the hair your barber doesn’t cut,” Grace interrupted coldly. “I suggest you shut up and listen.”
    Lee’s jaw sagged open.
    Faroe smothered a smile.
    “The thumbprint belonged to Jill’s grandmother, Justine Breck, who was also an artist,” Grace continued smoothly. “Along with the thumbprints on the arrest cards, Jill found a letter in which Justine told Thomas Dunstan that she was through living a lie.”
    Lee started ranting again, but it was under his breath.
    Faroe stepped from the doorway long enough to let Jill and Zach in. Zach stayed with Faroe, leaning against the wall, wearing pretty much the same