St Kilda Consulting 04 - Blue Smoke and Murder

want to thank Senator Pat Healy. He’s been real helpful in pulling this all together. We’re lucky to have him watching out for our interests in Washington.” Tal smiled like a little boy caught snitching cookies. “Got to admit, if it wasn’t for the efforts of these two great men, I’d never have been persuaded to part with my Dunstans, much less my whole collection of Western art.”
    Caitlin’s smile froze in its gracious curve as she clapped and politicians smiled and camera lights flashed their blinding message of fame. She kept smiling while Tal went on to describe the unflagging public conscience of the governor and the senator, and how important Western art was becoming, the world finally recognizing the greatness that had always been in painters such as Thomas Dunstan.
    There were no surprises in the speech for Caitlin. She had vetted every word, every action, every pause for reaction. Now all she had to do was pray that Tal didn’t screw it up and act like the shit-kicker he was by birth and inclination.
    “When this museum is completed and open to the public, millions of people will be able to enjoy the best of the paintings of ThomasDunstan,” Tal said. “And right here, right now, I want to challenge other Western art collectors to match my donation with works in their own collections. Competition is part of our great way of life, so come on down to the auction this Sunday in Las Vegas and see if you can go toe-to-toe with me for the only Thomas Dunstans to be offered for sale in decades. I promise you, we’re going to make a name for Nevada and set new records for a great Western painter!”
    The applause was really enthusiastic. Obviously, the cultured elite of Nevada had high hopes for Carson City’s future as a mecca for Western art.
    Tal grinned and stepped back, letting the governor take over again.
    “Thank you, Tal,” the governor said, then turned to face the barrage of cameras. “It is our responsibility and pleasure to make sure that our cultural heritage here in the West is protected and promoted in the same way our brothers from east of the Hudson River have promoted their regional artists. This day has been long overdue, but it’s our turn, now. The great state of Nevada will be the leader of the new Western culture!”
    The applause was loud and sustained.
    Caitlin’s smile brightened as she stood by Tal and applauded the crowd that was applauding him.
    Almost over.
    Almost.
    She kept smiling and clapping and praying for the auction to be over.

39
    TAOS
SEPTEMBER 15
6:00 P.M.
    A new Dodge Magnum was waiting for them at Taos Regional Airport. Very quickly Zach loaded the six wooden crates aboard. Even though the rental was about the size of a covered pickup truck, there wasn’t much room left over behind the front seats for his duffel and Jill’s backpack. He frowned.
    “I’d feel better if St. Kilda had rented us an armored truck,” he said as he slid into the driver’s seat.
    “Why? My paintings are just frauds,” Jill said bitterly, getting into the passenger side and shutting the door hard. “Every Western art expert is certain of it.”
    “Uh-oh. Someone was brooding while I slept on the plane.”
    “Someone thinks this is all a waste of time and money.”
    “That’s Faroe’s call,” Zach said. “Until we’re sure that Blanchard’s clock has been stopped, we play the game.”
    “I’m not sure I like the sound of that,” she said.
    “What? More game playing?”
    “Stopping someone’s clock. Sounds final.”
    Zach ignored her as he mixed with the early evening traffic. Thedaylight was slanting, rich, making everything look brushed with gold.
    “What are we doing in Taos?” she asked bluntly.
    “Seeing a Dunstan expert.”
    “Why didn’t we phone it in? Everyone else seems to.”
    “Garland Frost isn’t like everyone else,” Zach said. “That’s why we’re here.”
    Jill watched while Zach skillfully found his way around on the short, unpredictable, and narrow Old Town streets. They were lined with time-worn adobe walls and ancient one-and two-story residences and businesses. Silently she looked at cottonwood trees as ancient as the one beside her ranch house and at windows whose glass was so old that its bubbles and ripples distorted the light pouring through.
    Zach negotiated the narrow streets with the ease of long experience.
    “Do you live here?” she asked.
    “Not anymore.”
    “What made you leave?”
    “Garland