St Kilda Consulting 04 - Blue Smoke and Murder

a college education is worth. Guess that’s why I need an adviser.”
    And if that adviser doesn’t stop petting me, I’m going to bite him.
    Only question is where.
    Worthington’s smile warmed and he lied like the salesman he was. “In general, of course, art is universal and not gender specific.”
    “That’s why there are so many famous women artists,” Zach drawled, tracing the inside of Jill’s arm. “Universal as all hell.”
    Worthington ignored him and concentrated on Jill. “The Old Masters of the West, and Dunstan most certainly was one of them, were true products of their age. They believed masculine power wasthe force that subdued the wilderness and created civilization. That is still a fundamental belief among the collectors of Western art. It is the very touchstone of authenticity in the genre.”
    Jill nodded like a good student. “So you’re saying that you rejected my great-aunt’s painting not on the basis of the artistic technique itself, but on the political subtext.”
    “Exactly,” Worthington said. “All art is created in a historical context. That’s every bit as important an element in judging the authenticity of a work as style and pigment selection, brushstrokes and types of oils.”
    Jill fought to look like a student rather than a well-educated woman who had just been patronized by a salesman.
    Zach slid his fingers from her wrist to her elbow, and from there beneath the silky sleeve of her blouse. Caressing. Distracting.
    Warning.
    She let out a long breath. “I understand your point of view.” Arrogant, condescending, bigoted.
    “I’m sorry,” Worthington said. “I know you must have had some high hopes about the value of the painting. Believe me, I would have loved to say the canvas was a Dunstan.”
    Jill tried to look like she cared. She must have succeeded, because Zach took his maddening fingers off her arm and opened up the auction catalogue.
    “Not only would I have been introducing a new Dunstan to the art world,” Worthington continued, “the painting would have been a stellar addition to the Las Vegas auction. Our showcase lot is comprised of some of the finest Dunstans ever put under the gavel.”
    “Really?” Jill asked, not having to act surprised. She was. “With such well-known names as Remington and Russell in your catalogue, I’m surprised that Dunstan would be the star.”
    “Among Western art cognoscenti, Thomas Dunstan is without peer. Setting the intrinsic value of the art aside,” Worthington said,“Dunstan is a terribly attractive business investment. His worth has been rising sharply in the past few years.”
    Jill’s attentive look encouraged Worthington.
    “Frankly,” he continued, “we expect to set a new sales record for a Dunstan canvas.”
    Zach looked up from the catalogue. “Good luck. You’ve got your Dunstans listed at between four and seven million right now.”
    She made a startled sound.
    “That’s conservative,” Worthington said. “These are large canvases, for Dunstans. Last year, a smaller one brought four million. It was a private sale between a Dunstan family heir and a collector. Once the major collectors start bidding against each other in Las Vegas, the price could easily go to eight figures.”
    “Yeah? Who are the lucky collectors?” Zach asked.
    “That’s none of your business.”
    “Sure it is. I represent the owner of a dozen canvases that can be attributed to Thomas Dunstan.”
    Worthington’s eyes narrowed. He turned away from Zach and looked at Jill like she had just peed on his socks.
    “I’m not in the business of offering free advice,” Worthington said coldly, “but I can’t let that preposterous statement go without comment.”
    Jill waited.
    She didn’t have to wait long.
    “Your so-called adviser is leading you down a dangerous path,” Worthington said in a clipped voice. “His claim that you have a dozen unprovenanced Dunstans is worthless and actionable. If you persist in this foolishness, you will find yourself arrested for fraud. Any number of well-known art experts will be pleased to work for the prosecuting attorney.”
    “I presume the chorus of naysayers will include you,” Jill said, trying to look disappointed instead of furious.
    “You bet he’ll be there, probably singing lead,” Zach said. “Nothing like the prospect of money to put a man in fine voice.”
    Worthington’s face flushed with anger. “I have no monetary interest in Dunstan canvases.