St Kilda Consulting 04 - Blue Smoke and Murder

work, and then we sent them out to the Breck ranch.”
    “What about the paintings?” Jill asked.
    “What about them? That letter you showed me was pretty plain about the fact that they weren’t worth anything. Take the insurance settlement they offered and consider yourself lucky.”
    “But why would Modesty suddenly move the paintings to my place and leave me a note saying life isn’t as safe as I think?”
    Purcell snorted. “I followed up with one of the appraisers your aunt tried to employ, a nice young man up near Salt Lake. He as good as saidright out that the painting she sent him was a fake or a forgery. Maybe Modesty decided the other paintings were dangerous because she tried to pass them off as valuable. That’s a crime, you know. Fraud.”
    “But—”
    “I’d advise you to keep that in mind, Miss Breck,” the sheriff cut in. “If you try to pass those paintings off as something they’re not, you could end up in real trouble. The criminal kind.”
    Jill’s strong hands gripped the arms of the chair. She stared at the lawman and counted to ten. Twenty.
    Thirty.
    Purcell leaned forward and smiled almost gently. “I know death is hard to accept, especially for an overeducated young woman like you. I just want you to understand that I have acted in good faith in this matter. If I didn’t believe that Modesty’s death was an accident, I’d pursue it to the limit of the law.”
    “But you believe that her death was accidental.”
    “Me, the fire chief, the coroner, and everyone else who looked at the facts. Modesty Breck was a stubborn old woman, hell-bent on living alone. We also know she was getting more frail. Did you ever think that she might have moved the paintings and papers to your cabin and then not so accidentally killed herself so she wouldn’t be forcibly moved off that ranch for her own good?”
    A chill went over Jill. “Are you saying that Modesty meant to die?”
    Purcell shrugged. “Given what you told me, suicide is as much within the facts as the verdict of accidental death. If you insist, I’ll reopen the case. But it sure would make collecting any life insurance more difficult. As the beneficiary, that’s something you should think about.”
    It took Jill several silent moments to get a grip on her temper.
    Purcell was everything she and the Breck women had hated about the Mormon West. If Jill wanted any answers to her questions, she’d have to find them herself.
    She thought again of the card Joe Faroe had given her, then dismissed it. She wasn’t being stalked. The only danger she was in was losing control and assaulting an officer of the law.
    “Thank you for your time, Sheriff. I won’t be bothering you again.”

7
    SNOWBIRD, UTAH
SEPTEMBER 12
1:30 P.M.
    R amsey Worthington frowned at his computer screen. It was a large screen, noted for showing the fine details of any properly prepared photographic file. As an auctioneer in high demand and the owner of several galleries selling fine Western art, Worthington frequently had to make judgments of fine art via electronics. If the piece interested him enough virtually, he would ask to see it physically before he made a decision whether to buy, trade, or represent the art in question.
    “Something interesting?” John Cahill asked.
    Worthington looked up at his manager and occasional lover. Cahill wasn’t the jealous type. Neither was Worthington, at least not when it came to sex. As always, Cahill was dressed in a way that was neither too formal nor too casual, suggesting wealth and breeding without insisting on it. Not for the first time, Worthington wished that his wife had half of Cahill’s understanding of style.
    “I’m not sure,” Worthington said. “The photo is obviously made by an amateur.”
    Cahill leaned over Worthington’s shoulder to look at the screen. “Photo sucks, but the painting looks fabulous. How big is it?”
    “She didn’t say.”
    “She?”
    “Jillian Breck.”
    “Oh, hell. Not that crackpot again,” Cahill said, disappointed.
    “No. Some relative of hers, apparently. Same last name, different first name. Supposedly the old woman died and Jillian Breck is the heir.”
    Worthington clicked to a second image. It was as powerful as the first.
    Cahill made a disgusted sound. “Whoever is out there painting these ‘Dunstans’ should give it up and paint under his own name. He’s good enough to make a decent living. With the right representation and some luck, he might