St Kilda Consulting 04 - Blue Smoke and Murder

anything, Jill’s paintings are in better shape than yours. Brighter. More vivid.”
    “They were kept in a trunk in the attic,” she said.
    Frost winced. “Well, that’s better than being stored in a barn. Have you hit them with the black light?”
    “No,” Zach said.
    “Why not?”
    “No black light,” Zach said. “No time.”
    “Make time,” Frost said. “Get mine. Second drawer, right side of the desk. Check the female figures in Jill’s paintings. They could have been over-painted, added later, whatever.”
    Zach went to the desk and returned with what looked like a hand-held work light, except that the bulb was black rather than clear and it was battery operated. Jill watched over his shoulder as he turned on the light and aimed it at the first canvas. A purple glow spread across the landscape.
    “Ultraviolet light,” Zach said.
    “Goth kids used them in raves,” Jill said.
    “I can’t see you at a rave.”
    “Funny, I don’t have that problem with you.”
    Zach’s teeth flashed eerily in the backwash of the light. “When I’m not raving, I use UV to detect repairs or over-painting on canvases.”
    Jill looked at Frost. “Is that what you think happened? The female figures were added later?”
    “It wouldn’t be the first time,” he said. “Was your great-aunt an artist?”
    “No, but my grandmother was. From what my mother told me, Justine Breck did portraits of children and flowers.”
    “Female things,” Frost said.
    Jill bit her tongue.
    Zach used the black light on each of the canvases in turn, paying particular attention to the female figures in the pictures.
    “Anything?” Frost asked impatiently.
    “No. The figure is integral to each painting. Same for the gas station in Indian Springs . All painted at the same time as the landscape, and all necessary to the balance of the painting as a whole.”
    “I could have told you that,” Jill said under her breath.
    Frost ignored her. With easy expertise, he popped one of his paintings out of its frame and set the canvas among her paintings. He did the same with the second.
    A chill prickled over Jill’s skin. Without the frames, the signed Dunstans fit very well with the unsigned canvases. Speechless, she looked at Frost.
    “Thank you,” Frost said, but he was looking at Zach. “I haven’t seen anything like these paintings in twenty years.”
    The two men faced each other for a long moment, each trying to say something that stuck between their minds and their tongues.
    “You’re welcome,” Zach said finally. “I knew you would give an honest opinion, whether it was the one I wanted or not.”
    “Is it?” Frost asked.
    “The one I wanted?”
    Frost nodded.
    “Part of me is doing backflips of delight,” Zach said.
    “And the rest of you?” Frost said.
    “The rest of me is going to call St. Kilda and tell them that this assignment has just morphed into a grenade with the pin halfway out.”

43
    TAOS
SEPTEMBER 15
7:10 P.M.
    S core sat in the back of the anonymous rental minivan. He was parked close to a cutesy bed-and-breakfast sign. That was the good news—a strange vehicle wouldn’t be noticed.
    The bad news was that the B&B actually had some guests, even though it was the lull between summer tourists and winter skiers. But there wasn’t enough foot traffic to get in the way and the van’s heavily tinted glass offered surprising privacy. He was rather comfortable as he stared across the street and down the block at the iron gate and high adobe walls of Garland Frost’s home.
    The really bad news was that nothing Score had learned about Frost made him want to smile.
    Western art expert. Big reputation despite lack of degrees. Uncanny eye for good stuff. Retired.
    But not so retired that St. Kilda can’t get to him.
    At least Frost has a reputation for being arrogant. People spend a lot of time on their knees before they get his attention.
    With any luck, the Breck bitch will piss him off.
    The script from the bug in Breck’s sat/cell was tantalizing, but hardly definitive. Amy was running it through various electronic cleaner programs. He should hear from her or Steve any minute.
    He’d better.
    Man, this is turning into a real cluster. I have to know if Frost is looking at JPEGs or the real thing or refusing to look at all.
    And I have to know real soon.
    The auction was breathing down his neck. The worst-case scenario told him that Frost was looking at the real paintings.
    I can get over or