St Kilda Consulting 04 - Blue Smoke and Murder

Dunstan owners have tied up in their paintings. I’m betting that at least one of them doesn’t have a tenth of the upcoming auction’s price into his Dunstans. The rest is blue smoke and auction fever. There are plenty of ways to juice the numbers, especially at an auction.”
    “Is it common?” she asked.
    “You mean like dirt? No. Common like something you should always be aware of in any auction? Oh, yeah. Millions of bucks change hands on the tip of a paddle or the lift of an eyebrow. A smart auctioneer or a savvy floor man can cover a multitude of backstage tricks. Sometimes the whole auction isn’t rigged, just certain lots in the auction. Real hard to prove and it all adds to everyone’s bottom line.”
    “So a dozen new Dunstan paintings wouldn’t be very welcome if the game is already scripted.”
    Zach smiled thinly. “About as welcome as a snake in a hen-house.”
    A young man wearing an expensive suit and a harried expression crossed toward them.
    “Here we go,” Zach said in a low voice. “Remember, we’re front people for a potential bidder, nothing more. Mr. and Mrs. Arlington.”
    “Another charade. Craptastic.”
    “You want to wait in the suite? I can take care of this.”
    “I thought you were worried about me being alone.”
    “You wouldn’t be,” Zach said, watching the crowd. “St. Kilda has ops in town, so if someone whispers St. Kilda in your ear, or Faroe’s name, do whatever they tell you to, including hit the door or the floor.”
    She took a deep breath, steadying herself for a run down unfamiliar rapids. “I’ll follow your lying lead.”
    “Pretext, not lie. You’re hurting my delicate feelings.”
    Her laugh turned into a cough as the young man stopped in front of them. “Mr. Arlington? I’m Jase Wheeler. I’m very pressed for time, as you can well imagine.” He gave them a harried smile. “As you were told, the paintings aren’t really set up for public viewing at this—”
    “No problem,” Zach interrupted, smiling easily. “My partner and I are used to artists’ studios. Nothing messier.”
    Jase tried again. “You really would have a better opportunity to examine the works tomorrow, when we move across the hall to the Grand Ballroom.”
    “Unless we like what we see today, we won’t be here tomorrow, because our client won’t be bidding,” Zach said. His smile had a lot more teeth than Jase’s.
    “I see.” Jase straightened his suit-coat. “Your client was particularly interested in the Dunstans, I believe?”
    “Yes,” Jill said. Her smile, too, was more teeth than good fellowship. She was getting tired of being transparent to salespeople when Zach was around.
    “I hope your client has a great deal of money,” Jase said to Zach. “The excitement about those particular canvases is very intense.”
    “Our client never worries about money,” Jill said, “just about getting what he wants.”
    “And he wants Dunstans, but only if they’re top quality,” Zach said.
    “I don’t recall a financial disclosure form being filled out for any client represented by you,” Jase said.
    “There won’t be any need of financial disclosure unless we like what we see today,” Zach said gently. “Or is a financial vetting required simply to preview the works?”
    “Uh, no, of course not,” Jase said.
    Zach waited.
    Jase gave in and guided them down a long narrow hall to a meeting room that was crowded with dozens of easels containing artworks.
    “Only two of the Dunstans are on the floor right now,” Jase said. “The others are still, uh, being uncrated.”
    “If you’re lucky, we’ll see something interesting in what you already have out,” Jill said coolly. “Otherwise, you might want to expedite the uncrating of the other two.”
    Jase’s shoulders tightened, but he didn’t say a word.

67
    LAS VEGAS
SEPTEMBER 16
5:13 P.M.
    A t the front of the room, two Dunstans waited in gilt frames that had been secured to large, sturdy easels.
    Zach stopped twenty feet away and studied the paintings carefully for a full two minutes. The first painting was a Great Basin landscape that glowed with its own internal light, the magic moments of late afternoon sunlight captured forever in oils. The other painting was much more fierce, a winter storm slashing down across a dry lake bed that could have been in Nevada or east of the Sierras in California.
    “Remarkable, aren’t they?” Jase said. “No one manages to catch raking light like