St Kilda Consulting 04 - Blue Smoke and Murder

“Light. The steel lamp near the potsherds.”
    Since Jill was the only other person in the room, she assumed he was giving the order to her. She went to a table halfway across the great room, unplugged the lamp, and carried it over to Frost.
    He dumped more books on the floor to make room for the lamp’s heavy base and long folding arm. Without being told, she plugged the cord into the nearest outlet.
    If he treated Zach like this, it’s no wonder the two of them didn’t get along, she thought. But I assume Frost’s expertise equals his arrogance. If it didn’t, Zach wouldn’t have made the trip.
    She cleared books and Zach brought more paintings until all twelve were on the library table and six empty aluminum cases were lined up behind the door. The last painting on the table was her favorite—the landscape with a woman in a red skirt.
    Frost studied it very closely. Then he picked up each canvas and searched it front to sides to back.
    “Unsigned,” Zach said. “All of them.”
    “I have eyes,” Frost snapped.
    The silence grew as he examined the last painting.
    And grew.
    Finally Frost looked up at Jill. “What horse’s ass said these aren’t Dunstans?”

42
    TAOS
SEPTEMBER 15
6:40 P.M.
    T he answer to that is complicated,” Zach said. “One of the dealers was shut down hard by Lee Dunstan himself.”
    “When it comes to art, Lee doesn’t know his butt from a warm rock,” Frost said.
    “Two words. Droit moral.”
    Frost’s lips twisted in a sour line. “Like there’s a gene for art that always gets passed on to the next generation.”
    Zach shrugged. “In the absence of provenance, the son has a lock on determining what is and isn’t a Dunstan.”
    “Horseshit.” Frost made an impatient gesture. “Yes, I know, that’s the way it is. It’s one of the reasons I got out of the art trade. Too many idiots.” He turned to Jill. “So Lee Dunstan refused to certify your paintings?”
    “I haven’t sent him any. But if what he said to Jo Waverly-Benet is any sample, I’ll save the postage.”
    “Which painting did he see?”
    “The one that’s now in rags,” Jill said, gesturing to her belly bag across the room.
    “Son of a bitch. Are you telling me that an unknown Dunstan actually has been destroyed?”
    “All I know,” she said carefully, “is that my great-aunt sent out the smallest of the thirteen paintings to be appraised. Now all I have are twelve paintings and a handful of rags.”
    Without a word Frost strode across the room, unzipped her belly bag, and dumped the contents on the sofa. When he saw the pieces of canvas, he began cursing under his breath, ugly words that he ordinarily wouldn’t have spoken in a woman’s presence.
    He left everything on the sofa and turned away.
    “Some days I despair for humanity,” Frost said as he walked back to Jill. “This is one of those days.”
    “I despair on a more regular basis,” Zach muttered.
    Frost ignored him and asked Jill, “Who else didn’t like the paintings?”
    “Nobody but you and Zach has actually seen them. I sent JPEGs of three other paintings to various gallery owners in the West.”
    “Including Ramsey Worthington,” Zach drawled.
    “And?” Frost demanded impatiently.
    “Worthington as good as told me I could be arrested for fraud,” Jill said.
    Frost’s eyes narrowed. “Show me those JPEGs.”
    Zach went to his duffel, pulled out his computer, and booted up. He got the JPEGs on screen and handed it over to Frost.
    The older man spent much less time with the JPEGs than he had on the canvases themselves. “No one even asked to see the paintings?”
    “Only someone called Blanchard,” Jill said, “after a fashion.”
    “Who doesn’t exist under that name,” Zach added.
    “What did Blanchard say about the art?” Frost demanded.
    “Not much. When he didn’t find the paintings in Jill’s car, he trashed it and left a death threat.”
    “And a ruined painting,” Jill added.
    “After our trip to Snowbird, I knew I wouldn’t get anywhere inside the Western art circuit,” Zach said. “That’s when I called your part-time cook and housekeeper, and told her that we’d be here for dinner.”
    “Well, that explains the quantity of food Lupita made,” Frost said. “She always thought the sun shined out your backside.”
    “Smart woman,” Zach said blandly.
    Jill snickered.
    “We needed an honest opinion of the paintings,” Zach said. “I came to you.”
    Frost’s mouth softened